Page 113 of Her Wolf

Martyr no more

It took them just over an hour to get to the safe house. They’d have gotten there sooner, but he’d had kept to the speed limit so they wouldn’t end up getting a speeding ticket.

The irony wasn’t lost on Bailey. He was involved—and that word alone carried more than the usual significance—with one of the largest cartel’s in the world. A speeding ticket should have been on the bottom of the list of things he should be worried about.

Maybe it was hypocritical of him, thinking he could somehow offset his crimes by being a more responsible driver.

Bailey pushed that ill thought from his mind, and concentrated on finding an inconspicuous parking spot for the SUV. Nine o clock at night, the neighborhood wasn’t exactly pumping; a few houses still had some of their lights on, and the road was quiet but not deserted.

He was about to park across the safe house—more than enough parking there—when a slash of yellow caught his eye.

“That police tape?” he asked, craning to look past Lars.

“Looks like it.” Lars shrugged. “You passed it, man.”

“Don’t want to park right outside.”

“Why? You think ole Duncan’s going to resurrect himself and walk all the way over here just to yell boo?”

That had been the kind of banter he’d been subjected to the whole trip already. Lars was in such a foul mood that even Ana couldn’t seem to cheer him up. She eventually just kept quiet, staring out the window and trying to wipe tears from her eyes without any of them seeing.

Well, he’d seen. And he wished he could feel sorry for the woman, but she’d been just as responsible as him for losing Cora.

When he’d asked her where she’d disappeared to, Ana had given some slippery answer about recognizing an old friend and going to speak to them. She claimed she’d been gone less than a minute.

Bullshit.

Bailey parked under the groaning boughs of a tree that had probably been here decades before any of the houses in this street. The closest street lamp was dead too, ensuring their SUV remained hidden in shadows.

Lars opened his door and then Ana’s, holding hers open as she jumped out. They both began crossing the street, Lars pausing when Bailey didn’t follow right behind.

“Hey, you coming?” Lars asked.

“Be there in a bit,” Bailey said.

Down the street, a man had come out of his house with a trash bag. Bailey jogged toward him, hearing a muttered, “Whatever,” from Lars before he was out of earshot.

The man was on his way back to his house when Bailey caught up to him. “Evening. Sorry to bug you.”

“Hey?” The man turned, frowning hard at Bailey and then glancing around as if wondering if there was a gang creeping up on him.

Was it his tattoos that the man didn’t like, or was this just a really dodgy neighborhood?

The police tape might have been a clue.

“Couldn’t help but notice,” Bailey said, pointing out a fluttering strand of police tape. The man lived next door—if anyone knew what had happened, it would be him. “What happened?”

“What, at number nine?” Number Seven hesitated and then came back down his porch steps, limping slightly.

Probably gout, judging from the red veins on his nose and the unfocused eyes.

“Homicide,” Seven said, nodding. “Found a girl in those there bushes.” He pointed with a trembling finger to an impressive prickly pear peeking over the wall separating nine from seven.

“Shit.” Bailey lifted his eyebrows. “They found who done it?”

“Don’t know,” Seven said with a shrug. “But I hope they do. That was some nasty shit. Gone and hacked her up like a side of beef.” Seven looked like he was going to spit, and then changed his mind. “’N-ways.” Seven gave him a wave and headed back to his house. “Gotta get out of the cold.”

And back to his warm bottle of booze, no doubt. Bailey watched him go, and then turned back to nine.

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