Mercy Thompson 01-05 - THE MERCY THOMPSON COLLECTION

soft. “I’m doin’ something useful. This lady deserves to feel safe—though lots of folks seem to think I’m responsible for her black eye.”
    â€œYou’re tough,” I said unsympathetically. “You can handle a few nasty looks.” Being a gay werewolf for a hundred years gave Warren a skin so thick it might as well be armor. Not much ruffled his feathers except for Kyle.
    â€œI’m kinda hoping her soon-to-be-ex shows up,” he said softly; I thought so she wouldn’t hear him. “I’d like to get the opportunity to introduce myself to him.”

    KYLE BROOKS’S HOUSE IS IN THE WEST RICHLAND HILLS, where the rich folks live. Huge and yet somehow delicately designed, it settles in among its neighbors like a sly cat among poodles. The size is right, but it’s more graceful and comfortable in the desert light than the rest of them. Divorce lawyering, at least in Kyle’s case, pays very well.
    I parked the Rabbit on the street, let Sam out, and got the book . . . and the walking stick that was lying beside it.
    â€œHello,” I told it. It didn’t do anything magical or warm in my hands, but somehow, it felt smug.
    I bumped the Rabbit’s door closed with a hip and trotted all the way up to Kyle’s front door. The significance of the book had just entered a whole new dimension, once the old woman at the bookstore had mentioned it. So I held it with both hands and tucked the walking stick under my arm.
    When I got to the front door, I couldn’t ring the bell.
    Sam saw my dilemma and caught the doorbell with a gentle nudge of one claw. Kyle must have been right by the door, as he’d promised when we talked, because when he opened the door, he was face-to-fang with Sam.
    He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he cocked a hip, made a kissy face, then smiled seductively, turning an ordinary pair of jeans and a purple wifebeater into brothel-wear.
    â€œHey, darling,” he told Sam. “I bet you’re gorgeous in man shape, hmm?”
    â€œIt’s Sam,” I told Kyle dryly. And even though I knew it would just stir up trouble, I had to warn him again because I really liked him. “You need to be careful about whom you flirt with among the wolves—you might get more than you bargain for.”
    Kyle could sometimes have a real chip on his shoulder—getting disinherited, then living in a conservative community has had that effect on more than one gay man—and Kyle could take flaming (and bitchy) to an art form when he thought it would make someone who disapproved of him uncomfortable. Luckily, he chose to take my warning in the spirit it was offered.
    In an entirely different kind of voice, he said, “Love you, too, Mercy.” He dropped the flirtatious act with a speed and completeness that many an Oscar winner would envy. “Hey, Samuel. Sorry, didn’t recognize you with all the fur.” He looked at what I held. “You want to put a towel in my safe?”
    â€œIt’s a very special towel,” I told him as I ducked around him and into the house. “Dried Elvis’s hair on the day of the last concert.”
    â€œOooh,” he said, stepping back so Sam could follow me. He shut the door and, almost as an afterthought, turned the dead bolt. “In that case, you certainly need it someplace secure. You want the big safe with all the electronics or something better hidden?”
    â€œBetter hidden would be cool.” I didn’t think that electronics were going to work against the fae.
    He led the way through the house, up the stairs, and past his library—one side filled with beautiful leather- clad law books, the other with tattered paperbacks that included Nora Roberts’s complete works. I took two steps and stopped, backed up, and looked in the library again.
    If the fae were after the book, and they had some way of tracking it—certainly they would already have it. Instead, it had spent the better part of two days in my Rabbit wrapped in a towel.
    Kyle came back and looked at the library, too. “It’s a book, is it? You’re thinking of hiding it in plain sight?” He shook his head. “We can do that, but if someone is looking for a book, the first place they’ll look—after the big safe—is the library. I have a better idea.”
    So I followed him to a bedroom. It was painted dark blue with black splatters, and the