Under the Gun (7 page)

There was definitely something going on in San Francisco and as usual, I had succeeded
in getting into the middle of it.

By the time ChaCha and I returned to my apartment, the luscious smell of coffee had
permeated the whole third floor. I didn’t have the vampire sense of smell that Nina
and Vlad had, but I was almost one-hundred percent sure I smelled donuts, too. The
kind with sprinkles.

“Hey!” Sampson turned when I walked in the door and I had to grin. He was dressed
in
GQ
pressed jeans with a dark wash, and a viciously starched button-down shirt. The thin
red stripes of the shirt were kept clean by a frilly apron with kitschy cherries all
over it that I had purchased in a fit of Donna Reed-dom (thankfully, that particular
fit was fleeting).

I was grinning at Sampson, but his smile fell when he saw me.

“Sophie, what happened?” He rushed out of the kitchen, and I set ChaCha down and shrugged
my shoulders.

“Dog fight?”

Sampson pulled a mammoth hunk of tanbark from my hair. “Someone attacked you.” He
began untying his apron. “I knew this would happen. I knew my being here was a bad
idea.”

“No!” I leapt forward, wincing, putting my hand on Sampson’s forearm. “This had nothing
to do with you.”

Sampson’s face was hard. “I come to town, you get attacked, and it’s just a coincidence?”

I waved a scratched-up hand. “You wouldn’t believe how often I get attacked. This
city is really going to hell.”

Sampson went hands on hips. “Who did this to you, Sophie?”

I unhooked ChaCha’s leash and hung it on the hook. “I don’t know,” I said honestly.

“Sophie—”

“You said yourself that the people who were after you
beheaded
and slaughtered the people in Anchorage. I just got a little roughed up.” I forced
a smile, not entirely sure how the words “beheaded” and “slaughtered” fit into a pep
talk. “Is that bacon?”

Sampson finally relented, shaking his head. “Yeah. Coffee, first of all,” he said,
pouring me a cup, “then eggs, bacon and—”

“I thought I smelled—”

Sampson flopped the oven door open, exposing a grease-stained pink bakery box. “Donuts.”

I slid the box out of the oven and selected a donut. “You made these? Box and everything?”
I asked with my mouth full.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had company.”

I turned at the sound of Will’s voice behind me. “Uh,” I started. “Uhhhhhh . . .”

Sampson brightened immediately, giving Will a curt nod. “I’m Joe. Sophie’s uncle.”

“Right,” I said, nodding spastically and oozing relief. “Joe is my uncle. Joe, this
is my friend, Will.”

Sampson stuck out a hand, but Will hung back, studying Sampson and me. He stepped
forward then and without moving his lips muttered, “If you’re here against your will,
say spatula.”

“Spatula?” I didn’t have time to blink or to think about the fact that I had spat
out what Will defined as a safety word because Will was on Sampson, and ChaCha darted
from her dog bed, yapping at the rolling cacophony of elbows and arms. Will grabbed
Sampson in a headlock and eggs went flying. ChaCha stopped her yapping to lap them
up and I threw myself in the middle of Sampson and Will—groans, growls, and me screaming,
“Wait, no! Stop! I didn’t mean spatula! I didn’t mean it!”

There was a throaty growl and then everything stopped: Will’s eyes were huge, his
cheeks ruddy and carpet burned. His elbow was firmly clasped around Sampson’s throat
and Sampson’s eyes were truly wild—a look I had never seen and that was all at once
chilling and mesmerizing. White bubbles of spittle bubbled at the corner of Sampson’s
mouth and a glistening sheen of sweat beaded on Will’s upper lip as Sampson’s arm
clamped down hard around Will. I was kneeling on the floor, yanking on Will’s arm,
palming Sampson’s forehead.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

“But I thought—”

“I don’t need your help,” I spat at Will. “Sampson, let him go.”

There was huffing and grunting as Sampson and Will untangled themselves from one another.
I stood in the middle, pushing them apart.

“Sampson?” Will said, sandy eyebrows raised.

My heart, which was already doing a thunderous double-thump, dropped firmly into my
knees.

“Isn’t Sampson your old boss?”

Sampson pierced me with a glare. His lips were set firm, nostrils flaring. “Sophie
. . .”

“No, Sampson,” I said, grabbing him by the shirtfront. “This is Will. My Guardian.”

The two men evaluated each other much the same way cage fighters evaluate each other
before going for the jugular. “He lives across the hall and enjoys the heady, albeit
rare, scent of bacon. And Will, this is Mr. Sampson. You’re right; he used to be my
boss at the UDA.”

“Didn’t he also used to be dead?”

“Theoretically.” I turned to Sampson, watching as uncertainty flitted across his face.
I grabbed his shoulder and shook it lightly. “Don’t worry; Will’s a good guy.”

Will spread his legs slightly and crossed his arms in front of his chest. His brows
were drawn, his eyes laser focused on Sampson. “So is Sampson.”

There was a momentary retreat to corners until Sampson pulled out the plate that had
been keeping warm in the microwave. “Bacon?”

We sat down with bacon as the universal peacemaker. As Sampson heaped the table with
breakfast, Will jutted his chin toward me.

“What’s all this about?”

My hands immediately went to my hair and I shook out a leaf. In all the commotion
I had forgotten about my blitz attack. “No biggie. Someone attacked me at the park.”

Will crossed to me and circled my body, examining, gently poking at my scratched skin.
“Who attacked you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t see him.”

“The park is wide open, love. And last I checked the sun is working overtime. How
did you not see him?”

“Blitz.” Sampson said. “Got her from behind.”

I pushed away from Will’s probing fingers. “I’m fine.”

“I’m not. Who do you think did this? Fallen angel?”

I crossed my arms in front of my chest, winced at the starburst of pain in my ribs,
then put my hands on my hips. “You’re asking
me
if it was a fallen angel? What am I paying you for?”

“With all due respect, love, you’re not paying me at all.”

I poked the donut in his hand. “Consider that payment. And no, I don’t think it was
a fallen angel.”

Will quirked an unconvinced eyebrow and I groaned.

“Fallen angels don’t jump their prey at a dog park. They light stuff on fire, make
you eat bugs, and accuse you of murder.”

Sampson raised his eyebrows.

“It’s been a challenging year,” I told him.

“But—”

I held up my hand, effectively silencing Will. “I know you’re concerned about my safety
and I appreciate that. But you realize there are donuts to be had.”

Sampson handed me a donut. “Same old Sophie.”

It wasn’t that I wasn’t concerned about the dog park jumping. I was. But a little
bit of tanbark up my nose quickly paled in comparison to everything else going on
in my life. And also, there were donuts.

I was polishing off my second (third) donut and mowing down a heap of cheese-flecked
scrambled eggs while Sampson gave the basic overview of his story to Will.

Will nodded, listening intently, and when Sampson finished, Will wiped his hands on
a napkin. I stopped him before he could talk.

“So, Will, when Alex and I were at the crime scene, we saw a werewolf hunter.”

Will frowned. “You didn’t tell me there was a crime scene.”

I shrugged. “This is the first time I’ve seen you.”

He cocked his head. “You’ve seen me.”

I couldn’t tell if his sentence was an innocent statement, or a cheek-reddening reminder
that I
had,
in fact
,
seen him—naked. I said nothing until Will rambled on.

“What kind of crime? Real blokes or some of your gobblygooks?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s offensive. And it was a double homicide.” I grabbed another
piece of bacon and stuck it in my mouth, relishing the oozy, salty flavor. The fact
that I could eat and talk homicide said volumes about how far I’d come in the investigative
world—or in the culinary one.

Sampson pushed his plate away and folded his arms on the table, his eyes fixed on
me, lips pressed in a hard thin line. “Her name is Feng. Her family—”

“Feng!” Will put in. “The bird who tried to strangle you. I’d almost forgotten. How
is the old gal?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Did you have a nice chat?”

“No. She just kind of glared at Alex and me.”

Will’s shoulders flexed, the movement tiny, almost imperceptible. “You were with Alex?”

“Yeah, it was a crime scene.” I suddenly felt an odd surge of embarrassment. “Kind
of his jurisdiction. If something was on fire, I would have called you.”

When Will wasn’t nicking free food from me or making my nipples stand at unfortunate
attention, he was a San Francisco firefighter, red hat, rubber boots, and all.

“If Feng the werewolf hunter was around, isn’t it kind of your jurisdiction?”

“No.” I swung my head. “The crime was not supernatural. Although it was pretty gruesome.
They did kind of toss out the killing could have been done by some sort of animal.”

I saw Sampson blanch slightly.

“Don’t worry,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “I didn’t say a word about you
to Alex.”

“Why’s that?” Will said, snaking a piece of toast. “Alex think one of your wolf guys
is responsible?”

Now it was my turn to blanch. “No, of course not. It was probably . . . gangbangers.
Anyway, he doesn’t know about you, Sampson, I promise.” I looked imploringly at him.
“You have to know I didn’t say anything to anyone about you being here.”

Will cleared his throat, looked down at his plate.

“That was different. You barged in. You have no respect for privacy.” I glared at
him.

“So why was Feng at the crime scene?” Will asked, bringing us right back to the crime
scene.

“I don’t know.”

Sampson looked as though he was working very hard to keep himself under control. “Why
did Alex think she was there?”

I shook my head slowly. “He didn’t say. I don’t think he thought anything about it.
A lot of people were there.” Even as I babbled, I could feel the heat rising in my
cheeks. “There were a lot of people trying to see what happened. People always want
to . . .”

Sampson stood up quickly, his fork clattering to his plate. “I have to get out of
here. I knew it was a mistake to come back. I’m putting you in danger.”

“No!” I stood up, too, a shower of sprinkles and pink icing dropping from my lap.
“No, you’re safe here. If I were in any danger, Feng would have taken me out right
then and there. She was just hanging out. It had nothing to do with you—or with me.
I’m sure of it.” I wagged my arms, physically trying to get my point across. “And
the last time I met her she choked me, just like Will said.”

“She’s a charmer, that one.”

“If I was in any real danger, she would have killed me on the spot. But she didn’t.”
My lack of death should have been a victory, but somehow, it didn’t quite feel like
it. “And you’re safe, too. She left. She didn’t find you. She wasn’t looking for you.”

“She was at a crime scene.”

“Maybe she’s taken to hunting actual criminals now,” I offered hopefully.

Sampson sucked in a breath. “Do you know how werewolf hunters work, Sophie?”

“Yeah.” I nodded, my eyes going to Will. “Feng gave us a little bit of the lowdown
on our . . . visit.”

“She has a sister,” Sampson said.

Will grinned. “Right! Sailor Moon!”

“Xian,” Sampson corrected.

Feng’s twin sister—identical, except for their fashion choices—spent every moment
she wasn’t tracking werewolves dressed up as a wide-eyed, short-skirted anime character,
while Feng chose to dress like G.
I.
Jane.

“Xian is the tracker,” I said slowly.

“And if Feng was out there, Xian told her to be. Xian sensed something.”

“That’s perfect!” Relief washed over me in cool waves and I grinned. “Xian’s sensor
is off then. Obviously! It was a regular crime scene. Double homicide, nothing special.
Far from here.”

“What happened to the victims?”

My cool sense of relief left as easily as it came. “They were murdered.”

“Gunshot? Knife wounds? One of those eggy gang initiations?” Will asked.

“It was graphic. Lots of destruction. Looks like it was a team, if not a gang.” I
focused on Sampson. “But there was nothing supernatural about it. There is no reason
to think that Feng was there for any other reason than any of the other onlookers
were there. She’s a looky-loo. Her business is slow. She said it herself.”

Will nodded agreeably. “She did say that she and the sis were rather good at their
jobs. All but put themselves out of work.”

“That’s reassuring,” Sampson said. “Either way, it’s not safe here.” He began clearing
plates. “I’m leaving as soon as I get this cleaned up.”

I crossed the living room and put my hand on Sampson’s forearm, taking the plates
in my other hand. “No, you’re not. You’re safe here. You’ve got me and Vlad and Nina
and Will. Will is right across the hall and he can fight. He can fight if Feng comes
after us, or if anyone else does. And he has a car named Nigella.”

Will grinned, pride washing over him. “She’s a beauty.”

“See? You can finally stop running. Like I told you before, we’re going to help you.
We’ll figure this out, Sampson.”