Zane let out a harsh laugh and pointed at his injured arm. “More likely, they want him to get a look at this so they can figure out why I’m still alive. I’m there for battle damage assessment.”
“Battle damage assessment” sounded like something a military person might say, which wasn’t surprising, considering Zane had served in the British Special Air Service before joining SWAT. Still, it sounded harsh for him to refer to his injured arm that way. Like it wasn’t even part of him anymore.
“You think it’s a good idea to let them see how bad they messed you up?” Brooks asked softly.
He knew the minute Zane’s eyes flashed gold that it’d been the wrong thing to say, but it was too late to take it back.
“What, you think I’m so wretched I can’t even sit in a chair across from that wanker and look normal?” Zane growled, his accent deepening and the tips of his fangs showing.
Before getting injured, Zane had rarely lost his cool, but ever since the hunters had nearly killed him, it happened all the time. Brooks didn’t say anything, instead giving his friend a chance to get himself together.
When Zane’s eyes resumed their normal brown color, Brooks reached out and gave his shoulder a brief squeeze. “You know that’s not what I meant. You said yourself that the whole reason Oliver wants you at this meeting is so he can assess the damage their poison ammo inflicted. The last thing we want to do is encourage them to come after us again with that stuff.”
Zane let out a breath. “I know you didn’t mean anything. It’s me. I’m not dealing with this well.”
Brooks was going to tell him everything was going to be okay, that he’d get through this. But Zane cut him off with a look.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I’d rather not get into it.” He threw a quick glance at the bullpen area. “Not here.”
“That’s cool,” Brooks said. “But we are going to talk about this. Soon.”
Zane nodded and started for the exit again. “And don’t worry about me slipping up and revealing how close the hunters came to killing me. I’ll do whatever is necessary to make Oliver think their poison had no effect on me at all.”
Brooks didn’t doubt it. But was meeting with him worth the risk?
“You think we’ll get anything useful out of Oliver?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not like we can get this guy a reduced sentence. They’re looking at him for six murders already in addition to what he did in Dallas. Even if he does talk, anything he tells us about the hunters will likely be a lie. Especially if he is still in contact with them.”
“I know, but there’s always a chance we can trip him up and get him to reveal something critical without him even realizing it.” Zane looked at Brooks. “As long as we play along and let him assume we’re nothing more than dumb animals.”
That might work. Zane knew how to work people. It’s what made him a good negotiator. Besides, right now, he needed something to make him feel like he was still a useful member of the Pack.
As Zane shoved open the door leading out to the parking lot, Brooks picked up a strange but familiar scent. He glanced down to see a slinky black cat stroll into the building like she owned the place. Tail high in the air, she disappeared into the bullpen, then came back into the main part of the building and jumped onto the couch, where she promptly made herself comfortable.
Gage suddenly appeared in the doorway of the bullpen, a confused look on his face as he gazed at the animal. After a moment, he looked at Brooks and Zane. “That is a cat, right?”
“That’s a cat,” Brooks confirmed.
Gage studied the cat for a bit, then shook his head and walked back into the bullpen. On the couch, the cat regarded Brooks and Zane with big, green eyes. She might look like a regular kitty, but she didn’t smell like any cat he’d ever sniffed before. Fortunately, Connor, Trey, and Remy chose that moment to walk in the door Zane held open, giving Brooks something else to focus on instead of the cat.
While Connor and Remy stopped, Trey mumbled something about needing to do paperwork, glanced once at Zane, then strode away.
Brooks bit back a curse. As a medic, Trey was trained not only on how to save people but werewolves too. Unfortunately, there’d been no training to prepare him for what happened when that hunter’s bullet had hit Zane. It had been the most horrible thing Brooks had ever witnessed. Zane had writhed and screamed in pain, begging Trey to cut off his arm as the flesh rotted right before their eyes. Trey’d had two choices. Wait and see if Zane’s werewolf healing powers stopped the poison from spreading before it killed him, or cut out the infected muscles.
Trey had done what he’d had to do, but that decision had come with a hefty price.
Even though Zane had never said it, Brooks knew there was a part of him that blamed Trey for crippling him. Worse, Trey blamed himself. As a result, Zane and Trey didn’t talk to each other these days. Brooks wished he could say something to change that, but he couldn’t think of a single damn thing to say.
Instead, he looked at Connor. “You brought the cat back here with you?”
“I wouldn’t really say Ibroughther back here.” Connor shrugged. “She jumped in the SUV of her own accord before we left the warehouse and refused to get out.”
“Jumped?” Brooks lifted a brow. “And you couldn’t…I don’t know…shoo her out?”
Connor shrugged. “Why would I do that, since she obviously wanted to go with us? She probably figured we were going to a nicer neighborhood than that area around the warehouse. She isn’t wrong.”
Brooks was still working his way through that logic when he realized exactly what Connor had said. “Wait a second. Are you saying that you left a cat inside your vehicle the whole time we were at Terrace Grove?”
Connor didn’t even have the sense to look chagrined. “Well, yeah, I let her stay in the vehicle. It’s not like I was going to toss her out to roam around the school. She could have gotten hurt. I left the windows down, and she sat on the center console and watched us work.”
