Freaks Under Fire (17 page)

He registered Brum’s distressed yips—the pup’s kibble bowl was probably empty again—and headed for the kitchen to rectify that potentially world-ending situation before Brum’s barking woke the neighbors.

The pup tucked into the kibble, leaving Tyler free to rectify his own personal world-ending situation—namely, a lack of caffeine. And, would you look at that? Jay had programmed the coffeemaker to switch on at precisely the right time.

He inhaled the mouthwatering fragrance of freshly made coffee. Damn but he had the best girlfriend ever.

He poured a mug of strong black coffee—just the way he liked it—and had just taken his first brain-cell-activating gulp when he noticed the note on the counter.

Jay had made him coffee
and
left him a note—a note that left him in no doubt that she was concerned for his wellbeing in her absence:

Don’t forget to eat breakfast.

There are toaster waffles in the freezer.

She’d signed it with a small hand-drawn heart, and the letter
J
.

Tyler took another gulp of coffee, his lips tilting upward in what was almost certainly a goofy smile. Not that he gave a crap how goofy his smile was right now.

The
crunch crunch crunch!
of Brum scarfing kibble reminded him that he’d better grab a waffle or three. Jay was sure to check the packet. Or flat-out stare him in the eye and demand to know if he’d eaten breakfast while she’d been away. And he sucked at lying to her—she was too observant and knew him too darned well… as he’d discovered to his cost when he’d claimed he was no longer POed that she’d paid his first semester’s fees at Wasserman College of Fine Arts. Not to mention arranged that any subsequent bills from Wasserman be sent directly to her private postbox.

He was on his third waffle when his cell phone blared, and even though it wasn’t the ringtone he’d assigned to Jay’s cell, his heart flip-flopped in his chest.

It wasn’t a stretch to assume Jay might be ringing him on a burner phone, but when he started considering the myriad reasons she might find it necessary to use said burner phone, pleasurable flip-flops turned to unpleasant pangs, and chills goosed his spine. He’d been trying to convince himself he was okay with Jay going off on her own. But he wasn’t okay with it—not in the least.

He wanted to have Jay’s back in case anything went pear-shaped.

He wanted to eyeball this Seth Williams dude—clue him in on the heap of hurt coming his way if anything happened to Jay.

He wanted her safely back home. With him.

He grabbed his cell from the counter… and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or concerned to recognize his old roommate’s number. He swiped the screen to accept the call. “Yo, Chandler.”

“You got a sec?”

“Sure. ’Zup?”

“Tell me ’bout this asshole stalking Nessa.”

Ah, shit. How much did Chandler know? Could be he was fishing for info, which meant Tyler couldn’t risk inadvertently revealing too much. “Better ask Nessa,” he said.

“Already have. And between her’n Jay, I’m not exactly happy ’bout what I’m hearing.”

Jay had called
Chandler
instead of him…. If betrayal felt like a sharp pointy object lodging in his chest cavity then Tyler was experiencing a textbook case of it right now. “You spoke to Jay? When? And why the hell did she call you?”

“Yep. Coupl’a hours ago. Nessa phoned her but Jay insisted on having a word with me.”

A cool wave of relief diluted the anger that had come hard on the heels of that illogical sense of betrayal.

Before Tyler could think of something halfway intelligent to say, Chandler added, “We’re on our way back from Snapperton—were staying at the motel. And Nessa starts freaking out because she thinks she spotted this stalker, right? So rather than wake me and clue me in so I can rip the asshole a new one, she rings
your
girlfriend—who tells me to get Ness the hell out of there, and leave
her
to deal with it. Wanna tell me what the fuck is going on, Tyler?”

The super-pricey coffee tuned to acid in Tyler’s gut. Man, Chandler was totally gone on Nessa—Tyler had never heard his old roommate sound so amped and ready to kick ass. And if Chandler got it in his head to drop Nessa off and head back down to Snapperton on his own to look for Sixer, it wasn’t going to end well for Chandler. Sixer was not someone you took on face-to-face without six different kinds of backup, and even then you were playing with fire. Hell, it was all Tyler could do not to hang up on his friend and immediately call home to warn his dad that Sixer had been spotted at Snapperton Motel…. And then hightail it down there in Jay’s SUV to help his dad insure their family’s safety.

Not that there was a helluva lot either of them could do if the rogue cyborg decided to pay them a visit but Tyler wasn’t gonna think about that right now.

The logical part of his brain told him the best option was to sit tight and let Jay deal to Sixer. Without some kind of enhanced weapon—which neither Tyler nor his dad possessed—she was the only one with the slightest chance of taking Sixer out. Tyler had to trust that she would prevail and come back to him in one piece.

Now all he had to do was convince Chandler of that fact, too—without letting on that both Tyler’s girlfriend and Nessa’s supposed stalker were not exactly human.

Shit. What a cluster-fuck. He racked his brains for the right words and finally settled for, “Look, this guy is bad news, okay? Real bad news. So if Jay says she’ll handle him, for fuck’s sake stay out of it and let her do what she’s gotta do. Jay’s got…
resources
she can call on, okay? Best thing you can do is keep an eye on Nessa—who, by the way, will never forgive herself if you do something stupid and wind up dead.”

There. Couldn’t be much more blunt than that without revealing that Jay and Sixer were cyborgs.

Chandler huffed a POed-sounding breath while Tyler held his, hoping he’d convinced his friend to drop it. And finally, after what seemed like a fricking lifetime, Chandler said, “Duly noted. Gotta go. Nessa’s on her way back to the car with the coffees. Talk to you when we get home.”

And won’t that be fun, Tyler thought as he disconnected the call.

He crammed the last bit of waffle into his mouth and rang his dad’s cell.

Mike Davidson picked up on the second ring. “You’d better have a damn good reason for calling this early, Tyler.”

Tyler choked down his mouthful of waffle. There was no easy way to say this so he opted for factual and blunt. “Nessa spotted Sixer at Snapperton Motel around two hours ago.”

A pause and then a heartfelt, “Shit. Is Vanessa okay? Do you need me to go get her?”

“Yeah, she’s okay. Chandler’s with her. They’re already on the road, heading for home—Jay’s orders, apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“Nessa rang Jay—I haven’t spoken to either of them, so this is coming secondhand from Chandler. He thinks Sixer is a stalker, by the way. Jay told him she’d deal with Sixer but…. Shit, Dad, this is freaking me out. Want me to drive down so I can back you up if he shows?”

“If Jay wanted you here, she’d have rung you herself. Stay put, Tyler. Caro’s at Matt’s, so she’s safely out of the way. I’m on leave for another week, so I guarantee your mom and Danny won’t be left alone in the house.”

Tyler bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. It was Jay’s house, and he shouldn’t be making offers like this without running it by her first, but…. Hell. It was an emergency. “There’s plenty of space here. We have two guestrooms.”

“Your mom’s trying to settle Danny into a routine—you know how stubborn she can be. But I’ll see if I can talk her into taking a holiday.”

A brush-off if ever he’d heard one. But no way was he leaving his dad to face Sixer alone. Tyler had faced off against Sixer once, and he wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone—not even a bona fide badass like his dad.

“Are
you
gonna tell Mom that Sixer’s currently in Snapperton, or shall I?” Tyler figured his dad would be pissed by the threat, but right now, he didn’t give a shit. Hadn’t they just dealt with fallout from the last bunch of secrets?

“I’ll tell her,” his dad said, and it took three discordant beeps down the line before Tyler realized he’d hung up.

He slumped against the counter, ignoring the granite edge grating against his spine. That had gone well. Not. He had a sinking feeling that Jay wasn’t gonna be at all happy with him either, because if she’d wanted Tyler’s dad to have the latest intel on Sixer’s whereabouts, she’d have rung him herself. Right?

Right
, dammit. Jay was sure to have it covered, and his interference might have stuck one big-ass spoke in her carefully laid plans.

He pinched the bridge of his nose until his eyes watered. Just as well he planned on writing songs and hopefully selling the odd piece of artwork to earn a dime because he royally sucked at all this covert BS. Hopefully he’d do better at interrogating Jay’s part-time boss Allen without appearing to, like,
interrogate
him.

Tyler dumped his plate and mug in the sink and headed upstairs to take a shower. A cold one. Because damn, he needed to get his head in the game or he’d screw up the one task Jay had trusted him with.

~*~

Tyler lucked out and found a park right outside Number Fifteen Honeysuckle Street—a property that housed Beanz Café in front, and Allen’s private studio and rooms out back. Despite its location in a primarily residential area, Beanz was such a popular hangout parking spaces were often scarce. No surprises there. Any place that offered consistently excellent coffee at halfway reasonable prices tended to be a popular haunt for coffee aficionados.

He grabbed Brum’s leash before the excited puppy escaped out the open car door. He tucked the pup under his arm, wincing as Brum reacted to the
blip blip!
of the remote engaging the door locks with a series of high-pitched yips… that startled an exiting café patron into slopping some of the contents of her takeaway cup over her wrist.

The beverage must have been hot because she’d removed the lid to blow on it—hence the amount of liquid she was currently flicking from her wrist and the POed expression on her face. Ah, crap.

“I’m real sorry ’bout that.” Tyler tightened his grip on the squirming bundle of puppy. “He’s a bit excitable after the car trip.”

The woman glanced up from her wrist, her cold narrow-eyed gaze indicating he was in for a blistering public set-down. Instead, her features softened and her lips pursed. “Oh my,” she said, “what a beautiful little GSP.”

At Tyler’s frown of incomprehension she said, “German Shorthaired Pointer. I used to know someone who bred them.”

“Oh, yeah. Now I remember my girlfriend mentioning they’re called GSPs.”

Brum’s legs wheeled, and Tyler secured him more firmly beneath his armpit. “He’s her dog,” he felt compelled to add. “My girlfriend’s.”

The woman—tall and lean with über-short white hair—moved closer. She held out her fingers for Brum to sniff before stroking his head and scratching behind his ears. When she stopped scratching, Brum butted his head against her hand, demanding more attention. “You’re such a charmer—oh yes you are!” she cooed, the sweetness of her tone at odds with her spare, no-nonsense appearance and her clothing: black pants, white t-shirt and black canvas slip-ons.

Abruptly she cast her piercing gray gaze over Tyler, giving him a thorough head-to-toer that had him squirming.

Uh oh. She had to be at least a couple of decades older than him. Why was this happening? Did he have “My girlfriend’s out of town, hit on me!” tattooed on his forehead or something?

He was mentally reviewing his woefully inadequate stock of polite conversation-stoppers when she asked, “What’s his name?”

Tyler’s shoulders sagged with relief. Not that he was arrogant enough to believe he was irresistible or anything, but this morning’s close encounters of the female persuasion had made him a little antsy. “His name’s Brum—short for
Brummer
.”

“Great name. It’s German, right?”

“Yeah.” He’d opened his mouth, intending to mention Jay was training Brum to respond to German commands, when instinct prodded him to err on the side of caution and swallow the comment. He didn’t know this woman, didn’t recall seeing her around, couldn’t be sure of her motives. She seemed genuine enough but for all he knew, she might be a plant sent by the same people who’d left the photo of Beta with Allen.

The woman seemed to be waging some internal debate because her brow pleated and she nibbled her lower lip. Finally, just when the silence was getting awkward, she said, “Your girlfriend’s not planning to show him, is she? Because I hate to tell you, this little guy wouldn’t get anywhere because of his yellow eyes and the black saddles on his coat.”

By “saddles” Tyler figured she meant the patches of black among the speckle-y bits on Brum’s coat.

“I’m almost positive she has no intention of showing him,” he told her. “My dad got him for her—purely for companionship.” Though that wasn’t the whole truth, because Brum was the result of a dumbass bet his dad had made that Jay couldn’t crack his laptop password in under ten minutes or something. “I’m sure he’d have given her a choice of puppies if she’d mentioned wanting to breed them or do shows and stuff.”

“That’s good then.” The woman fondled Brum’s ears. “There are some less than honest breeders out there, and I’d hate to hear your dad got taken for a ride.”

“Me, too.” His dad was doing okay, but it wasn’t like his folks were rolling in money.

“Please don’t take what I said the wrong way—this little guy’s gorgeous, and he’ll make a wonderful companion if he’s properly trained.” She wrinkled her nose. “But if he’s not being shown or bred, there’s no reason to dock his tail.”

“Huh?” Tyler blinked, wondering if he’d heard right.

The woman hitched the strap of her knapsack more firmly over her shoulder, and took a swig of her beverage. The corners of her mouth turned down. Either whatever she was drinking tasted real bad, or she wasn’t too happy about something.

“Unfortunately these guys often have their tails docked,” she said. “Pointers are working dogs. Docking’s supposed to decrease instances of tail injuries when they’re hunting. And there are those who think it’s more aesthetically pleasing.”