“On what grounds?”
“I don’t care. Make something up. Whatever it takes, just get him off the streets for a few days.”
He arched his brow. “And then what?”
“And then I’ll get the proof you need to lock him up forever. He’s the cause of the Detroit Flu. I swear it.” Then when he didn’t say anything, she pushed it further. “That’s why I was in the sewer. I was getting proof, but then you got shot and I had to save your ass.”
He stared at her, fury boiling up. Detroit was in crisis. There had been at least a dozen deaths, a ton more injuries, and the National Guard surrounded the city to keep it in quarantine. The entire city had been brought to its knees by this poison. And why? For a fucking wolf power play.
He didn’t know if Raoul had indeed poisoned the city or if it had been werewolves working in concert. Didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, the whole pack was responsible. That’s how shifters worked. The pack took responsibility for every member’s actions. And that Frankie here would use a citywide crisis to make a play for power within the werewolf ranks made him sick to his stomach.
But that was wolves for you. The Borgias had nothing on the machinations inside a werewolf pack. He straightened to his full height. At least the dizziness was over. He felt stronger now.
“Sure, I’ll help you. Tell me where Raoul is.” It wasn’t a lie. He absolutely intended to arrest Raoul, her, and any other werewolf he could charge.
She grimaced. “I don’t know.”
Of course not. “Get me a phone. I’ll call it in anyway.”
She blew out her breath. “You need to do it. He’s a werewolf. He’s too dangerous for normal people.”
Plus, over half the force was out puking up their guts from the Detroit Flu. “I’m hardly in a fit state here.” He sagged against the wall for effect, then realized that he really did appreciate the extra support.
She winced. “That’s why I brought you here. So you can rest in privacy. I need to explain things to you. And you need to tell the Griz not to go to war yet.” She sighed. “And not get caught alone. The wolves are going to attack you.”
That was a lot of information coming at him fast, but he got the gist of it, especially since he remembered hearing some of it when they were in the sewer. “We already know you’re responsible,” he said. “And we figured any pack insane enough to poison a city was going to be crazy enough to attack the Griz for exposing you.” He paused. “So get me a damned phone and I’ll take care of Raoul for you.” What he was going to do was get the Griz to come take this woman and this house by force. And then, when he wasn’t dead on his feet, he could arrest the whole pack for their idiocy and watch them get prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
“Ah hell,” the older woman interrupted. She’d been hanging back, letting him and Frankie have their say, but now she was looking through a crack in the heavy curtains beside the front door. “It’s too late. We got wolves already here.”
Frankie jolted. “What? Who?”
“Like I know one dog from the other? I just know that walk and that car.”
Frankie quickly peered through another break in the curtains. “That’s Delphine, Raoul’s woman, and she’s come to bring you in.” Her expression turned anguished. “Hazel, you have to get out of here. They know you’re my friend. They know—”
“They know jack shit. Now get him upstairs. I’ll deal with Miss Fancy Pants.”
Chapter 6
Frankie grabbed Detective Huge Disappointment and started dragging him upstairs whether he wanted to go or not. The last thing she needed was for Hazel to be caught harboring a naked grizzly bear. And damn it, Delphine was likely to kill the guy on sight—or at least try to—and then Frankie would be forced to defend him, and the shit would really hit the fan.
She drew on her hybrid strength to haul him upstairs. She didn’t go ugly-faced to do it, but it took all her focus to keep her abilities under control. Didn’t the man have an ounce of fat? No, the guy was all muscle, which was lovely to look at but he weighed a ton. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, they were both panting. But then she looked at his face.
Oh hell. He wasn’t being stubborn. The guy really was holding on by a thread. His face was pale, and his breath came in sketchy pants. But the real tip off was that he felt unnaturally cold. That was a telltale sign of a shifter who’d burned through way too much of his energy. He didn’t have the strength to heat his own body. “Just how often have you been shifting lately?” Not to mention that brutal fight with Jayce and getting shot a couple times. It was a wonder the guy was standing at all.
He didn’t answer, not that she expected him to. There was no way they could get to the attic now. She’d just have to pray that the second floor was hidden enough. So she maneuvered him into the nearest bedroom, recently vacated by an abused mother and her three kids. She and Hazel had managed to get the family out before the quarantine, thank God, so that left the large bed and two cots conveniently empty.
She helped him sit on the nearest cot, then took a moment to check his pulse and study his gorgeous blue eyes. Well, those were still pretty, and at the moment they were focused on her face. How could a guy on the verge of passing out have eyes that seemed crystal bright?
“I’m trying to help,” she said as the doorbell rang.
“Then get me a phone.”
Her cell was downstairs. She’d taken it off to spar with Hazel, and now she was up here without any way to call for help. “It’s a delicate situation. I want us to work together.”
He arched a brow. He looked like Spock in a very sexy Vulcan moment. Which was when she was forced to see the logic of the situation.
She’d wanted to manage this carefully so as to get the fewest number of people killed. But maybe that was walking too fine a line. And bears were not known for their finesse, though she’d hoped Detective Kennedy was different.
