Kitty Raises Hell
Page 44

Nobody had. Ben called through the door, “Can I help you?”
“Tell Kitty to let me in,” a voice answered. I recognized the voice and made a dash for the door.
“Why am I not surprised?” Ben grumbled.
“I’ll talk to him. It’ll only take a minute.”
I cracked open the door to find Peter Gurney, young, intense, focused, slouching in his canvas army jacket, standing on the porch outside the room. This was such bad timing. I didn’t know what he wanted—to accuse me of lying again or to demand more information that I didn’t have—but there had to be a better time for it.
We regarded each other for a moment. “Peter. As much as I’d love to talk to you, this really isn’t—”
“I want to talk to them,” he said and pointed into the room behind me.
I looked at the PI team, who were now staring at us with interest, and back at Peter. I fought past the cognitive dissonance—what did Peter even know about them? “Oh? Why?”
“I’ll tell them,” he said, almost surly. He was nervous, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his jacket. He had to work to summon this bravado.
“What’s happened?” I said. “What have you been up to, besides following me around?” He had the grace to look chagrined at that. That didn’t stop him.
“I need to talk to you.” He called this over my shoulder, toward the table where the Paradox team gathered. This couldn’t have been great timing for them, either. I wondered: Was Peter a fan? Did they get accosted by fans a lot?
I said, “Peter, I’m sure you’re upset, but this isn’t a good time. Maybe you could come back—”
“I have a job for you,” he said to the team, glaring at me as an afterthought. I blocked the doorway, or he might have shoved his way in.
“Sounds serious,” Tina said.
“Maybe not to you,” Peter said. “But it is to me. I want to hire you.”
“Got a place that’s haunted, then?” Jules said.
“No. Not really.” He was still nervous, his gaze darting. I got the feeling he really didn’t want to be here, but he was desperate. He said, “I need you to talk to my brother.”
“What?” I said, disbelieving. Of all the ridiculous... Desperate didn’t begin to cover it. My sympathy ran out, all at once. This wasn’t grief—this was not being able to face reality. “Peter, what are you thinking?”
“I’ve been following you—”
“I know,” I said.
His gaze was stone cold and dead serious. “If you were lying about Ted, I’d follow you and maybe you’d lead me to him.”
“Except he’s dead,” I said, more harshly than I wanted. T.J. was dead, and I didn’t want to keep dwelling on it.
He shut his eyes tight and marshaled words. “I know... I know that now. I believe you. But since I’ve been trailing you, I’ve been watching her. ”
He gestured to Tina.
“I know about you. If there was another way to try this, I would, believe me. But I don’t think there is. I want you to try to talk to him. Maybe... maybe he can tell you what happened. I just want to talk to him one more time.”
God. He was a kid again. That was all he wanted, for his older brother to tell him he loved him. Some reassurance that he hadn’t been abandoned. I understood the feeling. I kind of wanted to talk to T.J. right now myself. Maybe ask, Why didn’t you tell me you had a brother? Why didn’t you tell me you ran away from your family? Why didn’t you tell me anything?
The Paradox crew watched him, silent.
Peter kept trying. “I can pay you. I’m not looking for a conversation, I just want... something. A sign. Some kind of proof.”
“You and every other bloke in human history,” Jules muttered.
“It’s not that easy,” Tina said, soft, serious, diverging from her bubbly on-screen persona. “It’s not like making a phone call. So, no. I can’t do it.”
Peter grit his teeth. He was almost shaking. “But I know you can do it. Please, I don’t want a séance, I just need...” And he couldn’t say it. Couldn’t finish the thought, and none of us tried to finish it for him. He could have meant anything: closure, comfort, some assurance that his brother hadn’t forgotten him, when all the evidence suggested that he had.
He turned away, hiding eyes that were shining with tears.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured, and couldn’t tell if he’d heard me. “But if you’ve been following us, you know what a really bad time this is.”
Jules said, “Right. We’re in the middle of something here. But later, maybe we can set up an experiment—”
“It doesn’t work on command,” Tina said. “I can’t promise anything.”
Peter had pulled himself together, but that only meant he was back to his surly, fidgeting self. “Thanks. Don’t do me any favors or anything. I wouldn’t want to put you out.” He turned and stalked out.
I went after him. I wasn’t letting him get away again.
“Peter, wait!” I said before he was halfway down the sidewalk, and I must have growled it, because he stopped in his tracks. I faced him. “I need something, too. I need to know about T.J.”
He didn’t answer—but then, he didn’t leave, either, so I begged.
“Please,” I said. “He was my best friend. I survived becoming a werewolf because of him, because he helped me. And now I don’t even have a picture to remember him by. Please tell me about him.” Watching him, face locked in a scowl, head bent, unwilling to stand tall and look at me, I thought this was what T.J. must have looked like at this age. Before he mellowed, before he grew comfortable in his skin. Before coming to grips with what he was. Peter hadn’t acquired any of that confidence yet. But I wasn’t going to let him walk away. I blocked his path to the parking lot.
He took a breath, steeling himself. “I’ve got some things I can show you. They’re out in my bike.”
Of course he rode a motorcycle, just like T.J. had. We walked to the parking lot, where he’d pulled his bike into the slot next to my car. It was an older model, not too big, not a muscle, speed, or status bike. Something tough and functional, with a helmet strapped to the back and saddlebags over the rear tire. T.J. hadn’t worn a helmet. As a tougher-than-human werewolf, he hadn’t thought he needed one.