Page 6 of Cuddles for the Bear
Chapter Five
From the first moment he saw him, Devon had an instant hate for Michael Wheeler. The only amusement he got after what he’d been through was that it appeared not many other people were keen to see the snake shifter either.
Devon had been prepared to leave the Alley as soon as he received Michael’s details from Cyrus. That didn’t happen until almost lunchtime the next day. Apparently, now that the agency was made aware Devon was moving in to save his friend, they needed to make “arrangements.”
A flight from Bozeman to Detroit was booked that same afternoon - just over three hours of white knuckled nonchalance. Devon’s bear did not like planes, but Devon gritted his teeth and spent his time scrolling through his past messages from BlueKnight64. There was no evidence his friend had been online since leaving that tantalizing “but” at the end of his last message. Devon’s worry increased.
His bear wasn’t the only one heaving a sigh of relief when Devon finally disembarked. After spending so much time at the Alley, the scents of so many people all crammed together in what was essentially a tin can were almost as bad as his overriding instincts that determined bears were not designed to fly. When Devon shut the driver’s door of the rental car left for him at the airport, he had to stop for a moment, relaxing into the driver’s seat, taking some deep breaths, and appreciating the silence.
A short drive later and Devon checked into the MotorCity Casino Hotel. Agency reports noted that the casino was one of Michael’s favorite haunts and considered the best place to bump into him in a natural setting.
Unfortunately, no one at the agency was an oracle, or so it appeared. A definite oversight in Devon’s opinion. By the evening of the third day in Detroit, Devon knew every exit from the casino, had a plan worked out on where he could take a slippery snake shifter and dispose of him, and had sent numerous messages to Cyrus, ranging from pleading to demanding the address for where Michael was holding his friend.
Tomorrow morning.Cyrus promised in his latest response.If he doesn’t show up tonight, then tomorrow for sure. But D, do you really want to be killing someone in front of your friend the first time you meet face-to-face?
He asked me to do it, Devon had typed back, slipping his phone back in his pocket after hitting send.
Leaning back in his chair, Devon nursed his drink. It wasn’t always easy to track someone in a casino. By their nature, they were spread out, and there were many different sections. Devon parked his butt by the bar. In his head, even the most dedicated gambler would get a drink before he sat down at one of the tables or games. Yes, the hotel had drink servers, which was why Devon wandered around the casino every hour, but he figured his best bet was to observe the bar.That’s not a good pun.Devon blamed his worry for his friend.
“You there. A bottle of your best champagne, and be quick about it.”
“Of course, Mr. Wheeler, sir. How lovely to see you this evening.” One of the bartenders, Joel, dropped the towel he’d been cleaning glasses with and hurried to meet the newcomer’s request. Devon had been served by Joel, too, when he arrived. The bartender was a very handsome man with a welcomingsmile. There was no sign of that smile as Joel served Mr. Wheeler, aka Michael.
Devon’s bear stirred, making a deep rumble in Devon’s chest.I know, my friend.Devon kept his observations casual. It appeared Michael liked to be the leading actor in any scene.
“Not that one, no. That shit’s nothing more than bubbly piss water. You should know me by now, I come here often enough. I want the good stuff, the bottles under the counter.”
“Of course, sir.” Joel’s shoulders were stiff, his face neutral, but he put one bottle back where he got it and then reached under the counter to get something else. “Will this do, sir?” He held up a larger bottle with gold foil around the top of it.
“It’ll have to, I suppose.” Michael looked around, as if seeking his audience. He caught Devon’s eye, and Devon raised a glass in greeting, before breaking the connection. There was no point in appearing too eager, although Devon wondered how long it would take Michael to realize he was another shifter. Eye contact was a whole different language among paranormals.
Taking a sip of his drink, Devon pulled out his phone, glancing at the screen. The message to Michael was simple –I acknowledge your proximity, and I’m not bothered about it.Bears and snakes weren’t friends or foes. They rarely came into contact with each other.
Devon was big enough in either form to hold his own, and Michael had size and likely age on his side as well. But a shifter who spent most of their time abusing people so much younger and smaller than themselves? Devon had no doubts that Michael’s estimation of his powers was far greater than the actuality, although he wasn’t silly enough to take that for granted.
There was nothing that screamed “look at me” about Devon’s outfit. His charcoal gray suit jacket wasn’t new, it was something that fit him comfortably. The plain white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, added to the casual look. Devon had opted for double monk-strapped shoes in black, with black buckles rather than boots for the evening. They were kinder on his feet, and he was in a casino bar.
Only a connoisseur of elegant male attire would recognize that the shoes were Mr. Porter and roughly seven hundred dollars a pair, or that his plain, black-strapped watch with its gold face was a Jaeger LeCoultre. Devon wasn’t sure if Michael would notice, and didn’t care. He didn’t get to wear his good pieces out very often, and it made a change from waistcoats and leather patches over the elbows of his cardigans.
“Of course I want two glasses,” Michael said loudly. “I’m sure it won’t take me five minutes to find someone to share this expensive bubbly with.”
Crass and vulgar.A lot of Devon’s success as an assassin was that he paid attention to details. People with looks and money didn’t need to advertise it. Keeping his eyes on his phone screen, Devon activated his camera app, watching through that as Michael threw some money on the counter and then strode off – his bottle in one hand and two long-stemmed glasses in the other.
The only person he’s going to pick up that way is someone who negotiates a price up front for their time.Thanks to his previous evenings scoping out the casino, Devon already recognized familiar faces subtly working their craft. He watched as Michael veered in the direction of one of those women, quietly smirking as the lady and her female companion quickly moved away.
Michael disappeared around a corner. The urge to follow him was like a burr in Devon’s fur – annoying and nagging at him. He’d been told not to. The agency’s attempts at taking him out before indicated that Michael had a finely tuned sixth sense for when people were onto him.
I don’t know why they didn’t just get him in his apartment. They have his address.From what Devon could work out, the agency had been tracking Michael for years. Cyrus’s explanation was that killing Michael in an apartment building was too risky. “It’s better if he suffers an accident away from his home address,” he added. “You know the agency prefers somewhere that is easier to clean up. Households can get messy, especially with someone else living there.”
“Then why can’t we just get rid of him?” Devon might have been frustrated by that point. “If the agency knows where he is, and knows what he’s done, then surely it’s just a case of someone taking him out.”
“The Fates object to people being taken out of the weave before their time.” There were times when Cyrus seemed to delight in being infuriatingly cryptic. How would anyone know what the Fates actually wanted?
“I doubt one of the Fates works for the agency,” Devon muttered. “That ruling had better apply to BlueKnight64 as well.”
That was then, but as Devon glanced at his phone, he saw he had a message from Cyrus.
Has he arrived?
