Page 59 of Delinquents Turned Fugitives
“Shit! Sorry! I fell!” I scrambled to lie even as I struggled to stuff my temporary wand back in my pocket. No need for him to see.
But the mailman, a guy in his fifties with a sunburnt nose and white hair that kind of reminded me of Santa Claus, just smiled. “You’re not hurt, are you?”
“Justpainfullyembarrassed.” I gave him my best awkward face.
He chuckled. “Well, be careful.”
“Will do.” I waved at him and walked quickly away, hoping that I wasn’t too memorable. At least the corner was close so I would turn and disappear from view soon. Then I could chuck the phone and get inside.
Three steps later, I nearly collided with Gray, who was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and board shorts with flip flops. “Sorry!” What the hell? I wasn’t normally this clumsy. And what the hell was he wearing?
Gray didn’t acknowledge me. He simply strode quickly down the sidewalk toward the mailman, who had dropped off some mail on a front porch. I watched as Gray approached the mailman and handed him a small box. Instantly, the mailman’s expression changed. It grew confused and befuddled and his jaw went slack.
“Have a great day!” Gray patted the guy on the shoulder.
The mailman just nodded and climbed into his vehicle. When he pulled away, Gray turned back toward me. I went around the corner without him, ditching the tiny cube of phone and walking up to town home 4A.
The door was unlocked, but Malcolm waited just inside, seated in a plain wooden chair on the dark, narrow landing, hand casually lifted, palm facing the door. Behind Malcolm, a dingy living room appeared with a small loveseat and a random collection of chairs.
“You playing guard dog?” I asked.
“Ha ha. Gray behind you?”
“Yup. In that awful Hawaiian shirt.”
“He’s playing tourist.”
I rolled my eyes as I strode over to the carpeted stairs on Malcolm’s right side and sat down so I could pull off my biker boots. “He might be trying too hard. How was your march?”
“Awesome. I made a media contact who might be useful. Teddy Hall.” Malcolm brought up a screen on his phone and showed me a video of a guy with curly brown hair and a big mole on his chin holding up a “Stop Monster Magic” sign that was illustrated with a black-and-white graphic of both a shifter and a vampire. As the video played, I watched Teddy Hall argue with Pinnacle Police.
When the video ended, Malcolm tapped his phone to darken the screen. “Dude has a huge Twitter following. We’re talking like three mil. I talked to him about what a huge coincidence it was that vamps just appeared on the Pinnacle lawn. I mean, after all, the nearest registered Institute is almost five miles away.” One side of Malcolm’s mouth quirked up in a grin.
I smiled back at him, playing along. “I mean, it isawfullystrange that the bloodshed started on the Pinnacle lawn. What would have kept those vamps contained for five whole miles?”
“Exactly. Teddy was pretty pissed when he realized the Pinnacle might have their own little cache of vampires. Of course, he immediately thought they were possibly used as weapons, stored around the building. He and his cronies went off on at least twenty different reasons the Pinnacle would want to take out other high-ranking Unnaturals during an election year.” I could hear the excitement in Malcolm’s voice. He was proud that he’d stirred them up. It would definitely make the case more complicated.
“I did take a little video of Muller today. Can I show it to you?” I pulled it up and let Malcolm watch what I’d recorded of Muller.
He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “Let me send it over to Teddy. See if he can do anything with it.”
“I think it would put scrutiny on Muller and his investigation. It would help turn the public eye onto the Pinnacle. All of that would help keep the heat off of us.”
Malcolm nodded, but also wavered his hand. “It’s good. Don’t get me wrong. But catching one of those assholes on film doing something even worse? That would be golden.” He emailed the video info anyway and then rubbed his hands. “There. Sent. We’ll see.”
“You found us an outlet to feed information to. You done good,” I gave him my best Godfather impression, jutting my lips forward and gesturing with one hand, my thumb pressed against my fingers.
“I know.” He was so smug he sounded like Zavier for a second. The brat must have been rubbing off on him.
I paused, in the middle of sliding off my second boot. Initially, I intended to scold him for being a shit like Z. But the look in Malcolm’s eyes immediately made my nipples harden. His pride was so intense and fierce that it was palpable. Feral. Hot as hell. Malcolm and I shared a look that grew steadily more fervid—until Gray walked through the door, ruining the moment.
“Alright, think we’re in the clear,” he said, clicking the deadbolt into place, his stupid Hawaiian flower print taking the mood from volcanic to Sponge Bob goofy.
I gave Malcolm a disappointed grin; disappointed because I’d been ninety percent sure he’d been about to jump me, and Malcolm’s mouth was a welcome distraction after the Potts’ debacle. Malcolm’s eyes studied me for a second, probably frickin’ realizing that, before he turned to Gray.
“Sure about that, Maverick Jones?” he deadpanned.
“Who the hell is Maverick—” I started.
