Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

certain that your producer isn’t a fae,” observed Ben.
    â€œShe’s a member of several fae hate groups—which takes guts in Hollywood today—and likes to rant about how the country is succumbing to the wiles of the Wee Folk.”
    â€œWhen did you find out they were sending you here?” I asked.
    Heart turned to me, his face thoughtful. “Yesterday morning. Yes, that means that Daphne hadn’t been home for two days before that.” He smiled at me. “You were supposed to be the Alpha’s eye candy.”
    Adam laughed.
    â€œWhat?” I asked him. “You don’t think I’d be good eye candy?” I looked down at my overalls and grease-stained hands. I’d torn another nail to the quick.
    â€œHoney is eye candy,” said Ben apologetically. “You’re . . . just you.”
    â€œMine,” said Adam, edging between Heart and me. “Mine is what she is.”
    Heart took out another card and gave it to me. “Call me if you have any more questions. Or if someone knows something that might help me find Daphne. She’s good people. I don’t see her pulling this as a prank or publicity stunt.”
    Heart gave Adam a nod and left. Ben followed him out the door—and Sam wiggled through before the door closed.
    Zee looked at Adam and me. “I’ll just go keep an eye on Samuel, shall I? That way, if he hunts someone down, I can share in the spoils.”
    â€œAnd you can give Heart back his gun,” I told him.
    Zee grinned cheerfully and produced a hunk of metal that was sort of pretty—steel shot with silver. “I’ll be sure he leaves with it.” He shut the door to the garage behind him, leaving me alone with Adam.
    â€œMercy,” Adam said. And his cell phone rang. He pulled it out of its case on his belt with an impatient jerk. He glanced at the number, took a deep breath, and answered it.
    â€œHauptman,” he grunted.
    â€œAdam,” said the Marrok’s easy voice. “I need you to locate Mercy and my son.”
    â€œI know where they are,” Adam said, meeting my eyes. No such thing as a private phone conversation with me or any of the wolves around. Adam could have chosen to take the phone call outside, where he could have talked to Bran in private.
    There was a little pause.
    â€œAh. Would you be so good as to put one or the other on the phone?”
    â€œI think,” Adam said carefully, “that it might be a little precipitous to do that.”
    Another long pause, and Bran’s voice was cooler when he spoke. “I see. Be very careful here, Adam.”
    â€œI believe I am,” Adam said.
    â€œI can talk to him,” I said, knowing Bran would hear me.
    Adam was putting himself up as a shield between Samuel and his father. If something happened, Bran would hold him responsible.
    I love Bran. He, as much as my foster parents, raised me. But I’m not blind about it. His first directive is to protect the wolves. If that meant killing his son, he would do it—but he would kill Adam faster.
    Adam said, “No. My territory, my responsibility.”
    â€œFine,” said the Marrok. “If I or mine can help, you will call me.”
    â€œYes,” Adam said. “I’ll call you by the end of the week with the results.”
    â€œMercy,” Bran said. “I hope this is the best path.”
    â€œFor Samuel,” I said. “For me, for you. I think it is. Maybe not so much for Adam.”
    â€œAdam has always had . . . heroic tendencies.”
    I touched Adam’s arm. “He’s my hero.”
    There was another pause. In person, Bran doesn’t think out his comments as much. The phone is difficult because wolves communicate so much with their bodies.
    â€œThat is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Bran said. “Be careful, Adam, or you’ll turn her into a real girl.”
    Adam looked at me. “I like her just the way she is, Bran.” And he meant it, greasy overalls, broken fingernails, and all.
    Bran laughed, then stopped. “Take care of my son. And don’t wait until it is too late to call me.” He hung up.
    â€œThank you,” I told Adam.
    He put his cell phone away. “I didn’t do it for you,” he said. “Wolf in charge or not, Samuel obviously isn’t as dangerous as most of us would be. There are some advantages to being very old.