Bad Cat Baby Blues (Shifter Squad Six 3) (9 page)

At least he could still pick his battles well.

Squinting his eyes as he looked up at the sun, Connor pursed his lips. He snaked his phone out of his pocket, checking the time and if he’d gotten any messages. Nothing.

Why the fuck has Carter not gotten back to me yet,
he wondered, relishing the opportunity to think about something other than the fact that his head was completely fucked over at the moment.

A bus appearing as if out of thin air put an end to his indecision. Checking the line number, Dutch got on. He paid the fare and sat down heavily in one of the narrow seats. The bus was mostly empty and he slumped against the window, one hand up for support as he watched the dull, grimy streets of Detroit pass him by.

It wasn’t a coincidence that Squad Six was in Detroit. It was one of the four main hubs that The Firm kept, and acted as operation central for a lot of their ops going farther south. The fact that they were here now probably meant another trip to the wonderful depths of South American jungles, clearing out one viper’s nest after the next.

Detroit had a certain charm to it, like the fact that no one in their right mind would get caught dead being there these days. That was why The Firm kept up such a strong presence, covertly of course. Hard to track an organization that goes to all the places no one else wants to be. Like, say, Detroit.

The drive gave Dutch too much time alone with his thoughts, which was not a good thing. Ari’s face kept coming to him, taunting his thoughts and monopolizing his attention even if he was supposed to be thinking about something else. After the mission, he’d been walking on air, happier than he’d ever remembered himself being.

But that joy was short-lived, because when he returned to the States a few weeks later he found out that Ariadne Gutierrez had quit the organization and pulled a disappearing act so impressive that Houdini should have been taking lessons from her.

She’d vanished, completely, and despite knowing that he shouldn’t have taken it personally, Dutch couldn’t help but do just that. In a way, it had wrecked him.

This is why you don’t get attached,
he reminded himself, another mantra that had been with him for a while and never seemed to do him much good.

He got off about forty minutes later, at a stop that was even shabbier than the one he’d gotten on at. Glancing both ways before starting his walk, he thrust his hands into his pockets again and slugged down the street, ominous in his aggravation. The streets all looked the same to him but he found the one he was looking for eventually, and the building wasn’t hard to pinpoint after that.

It was a tall brick building, shabby and bleak. Most of the windows were broken and the kids playing ball out front could have benefited with a meal and a bath, but none of that really resonated with Dutch. He walked in, keeping his mind alert as he trudged up the stairs, looking for apartment 12B.

It was on the third floor, the last apartment to the right. He passed the other doors, some of which had obviously been broken into, and in one apartment he could see a man destroying something from a brown paper bag, his face contorted with the weight of the world’s problems. Dutch knew how he felt, or he could guess at least.

He knocked on the door once, twice, before banging his fist so hard on it that he thought the flimsy door would come off its hinges. No response, but when he pounded on it again, the door creaked open, opening into the apartment. He scowled, standing at the entrance for a second before stepping in.

“Carter?” he called, craning his neck to look around in the small place. “It’s Uncle Dutch,” he said, the “uncle” part scathing to his ears.

But Carter wasn’t there, and by the looks of things, he hadn’t been for a while now. Dutch saw empty pizza boxes as he
closed the door
behind him, and signs of life that hadn’t been stirred in a while. An open magazine lying on the end table by the bed, messy sheets, and clothes on the floor all spoke of Carter as he usually was—a bit reckless, a bit impulsive, and a whole lot messy. A lot like his father had been.

Dutch’s lips thinned into a hard line as he methodically went through the apartment, small as it was. It only consisted of a bedroom-kitchen and a tiny bathroom with a crooked shower. It didn’t take much to realize that Carter hadn’t been home in a while.

The hell have you gotten yourself into this time…
Dutch wondered, taking a seat on the bed and flipping through the car magazine left on the stand.

Carter Sawyer was only nineteen years old. He was the son of Lieutenant Camden Sawyer, one of Dutch’s closest friends through his second and third tours in Afghanistan. With smiling eyes and a mouth constantly chattering off horrifically cringey jokes, Camden Sawyer, or “Syke” as his friends and brothers in blood had known him, was one of the toughest bastards Dutch had had the pleasure of knowing.

Syke, a weretiger, had probably saved every man on his team at least once. The ones that had shittier luck he pulled out of the line of fire more than once. As a veteran with more tours under his belt than most guys in his unit, he was the kind of man that the younger crowd looked up to and aspired to be. So when Syke died while dragging Dutch out of the field after he’d taken a bullet to the leg, right near that damn knee where he would later take another shot, it had been a blow to everyone.

Dutch, well, he felt personally responsible. He’d said as much when Syke was in his arms, bleeding out from a chest wound that was clearly fatal even before they’d torn the vest and the uniform open over it to give the medic a chance to see if there was something to be done for him. And Syke had told him to shut the fuck up and keep his head up because that’s what needed to be done.

Syke had asked for one thing from Dutch—that he look after his kid. And that was a promise Dutch had every intention of keeping, no matter how fucked up in the head he currently was. Dutch had left active duty as soon as he could after Syke’s death to be closer to Carter, though that wasn’t the only reason. Carter had been fourteen then, an impressionable youth who rightfully idolized his father. His mother had died a few years prior due to breast cancer.

They made an odd pair, Carter and Dutch. Neither one of them had anyone else in their lives, and both of them were struggling to find a reason to keep going. Whenever he could, Dutch would go to see Carter, who was set to live with his aunt and uncle after Syke’s death. It was when he hit eighteen that Carter had seemingly made up his mind about the world and wanted to enlist in the Marines in order to follow in his father’s footsteps.

It had taken far too much tequila and long conversations to get him to reconsider, and frankly, Dutch wasn’t sure if keeping him from it was even a good idea. But when he’d moved to Detroit of his own volition and sent Dutch a text about it instead of calling, he’d known something had to be up.

The fact that he’d stopped taking Dutch’s calls only confirmed that. And sitting in that rundown little room in the middle of one of the worst parts of Detroit, Dutch knew something was wrong.

He stood up, his hands rolling into fists without any conscious effort. Something was fucked up, and for once it wasn’t Dutch that was the cause of it.

I’ve got to find him.

Miraculously enough, Dutch had found the one thing that could make him stop obsessing about Ari for more than an hour or so. But he hated the fact that it had to be something like this.
 

CHAPTER TEN

Ariadne

Ari paused at the door, her ears pricked up, listening for any noise in the house. It was eerily quiet, and with a toddler that was never good news.

“Roman, where are you?” she called, half-expecting the boy to sneak up on her and try and scare her.

That didn’t sound like something a six-month-old should be able to do, but when it was a kid with both parents who were jaguar shifters, a lot of the conventional wisdom went flying out of the window. Roman could do a whole lot of things a normal kid his age shouldn’t be able to do. And Ari loved every second of it.

“I’m not kidding, Ro. Mommy doesn’t have time to play hide and seek right now,” Ari said, tiptoeing into the living room, her steps light and soundless.

She tried to sound serious, but there was a smile perched squarely on her lips, and her chest was bursting with pride at how damn clever her baby boy already was. He’d started half-shifting a few days ago and along with that, all of the shifter qualities started seeping into his personality. He’d gone from liking to play with blocks all day to stalking around, pouncing on things, and then cuddling them to a happy sort of submission.

It was adorable, and just as silly as it sounded. As such, it didn’t surprise Ari at all when she stepped past the couch and suddenly a very ferocious little jaguar cub came tumbling out, still perfectly human, but his eyes glowing yellow and his nose and mouth slightly elongated in that big cat way.

Ari screeched, making to jump out of the way, playing along with her ferocious little predator. She scooped him up from the floor, bouncing him into her lap as she tickled his tummy, making the boy giggle and the gold slither out of his eyes. He looked up at her, hands reached out, beaming a wide smile that looked nothing like hers and
everything
like his father’s.

“Did you get me? Did you catch me like you planned?” she asked, laughing as she put him on one hip and carried him toward the kitchen.

“Yes!” he announced with obvious satisfaction, his vocabulary consisting of a few words, but all of them uttered with the same kind of iron certainty in them.

Not like his daddy tended to say much. Maybe he needs about fifty more words and then he’s done for the rest of his life,
Ari thought wryly, stepping into her small kitchen and settling Roman into the highchair.

“What do you think, is it lunch time?” she asked, making sure he was secured in the seat before twirling around to face the fridge.

“Yes! Food!”

Ah, the simplicity of being a kid. Ari grinned, shaking her head as she rummaged through the fridge for something palatable for Roman and herself. The sun was out and high above the city, sending warm rays to flood her small home. It was a mild summer in Detroit and Ari was thankful that the weather was treating her well on her first year there.

It was one of the few places where she could afford a home off of the meager savings she’d managed to acquire working for The Firm. Now, as a part-time personal trainer, her income wasn’t much to talk about. Thankfully enough, homes in Detroit weren’t that expensive either, especially small one-family ones like hers.

She had a small, nondescript box of a home, only one story, and with a fence around it that looked like it was meant to keep people out, not in. But it was clean and had plenty of room for her and Roman, and that was really all that she needed.

Ari had pulled out some leftover mashed sweet potatoes and steak from last night’s dinner and pureed vegetable sauce for Roman when she heard the doorbell. Slamming the refrigerator door shut, she perked up, scowling.

“Food!” Roman announced again, reaching his little fingers toward Ari.

“Just a moment, Ro,” Ari said, her voice a low purr as she put the food down on the counter and made her way to the corridor.

She grabbed a baseball bat from a hook near the front door and swung it easily in her hands. Her heartbeat picked up a bit as she stepped to the door and pushed her eye to the peephole, bat at the ready. She knew maybe three people in Detroit well enough that they would know to come to her house, and none of them arrived unannounced. So when she saw the tall, strict, and dryly smirking form of Spade behind the door, she almost wished that there was a masked burglar waiting for her, gun at the ready.

“I know you’re in there, Ariadne. Open up,” Spade said, his voice almost bored.

The fuck is he doing here!

Reluctantly, she unlocked the locks on the door and pulled it open a little, not enough to step in through. Making sure the bat was in full view, she glowered at the man on the other side, who was giving her an easy smile that she knew belonged to the devil.

“I don’t work for you anymore, Spade,” Ari hissed, moving to shut the door again.

“That only matters to you,” he said.

His reflexes were lightning fast and Spade pushed the door open, swift and ruthless, with a force that was hard to counter when she moved to slam it in his face. The man seemed to expend no effort in doing whatever he pleased, and when he strode past Ari into her house, she wanted badly to split his skull open right then and there. But knowing him, he had a contingency for that as well.