Page 20 of Waifs And Strays
Quack was only mildly irritated but Ribbit stormed through the door in a definite huff. ‘Wankers,’ he muttered. ‘I’d like to seethemget involved in some action. They’d run a fucking mile.’
‘Stop taking everything so personally,’ Quack sighed. She turned on her heel and marched into the nearest room, the place where I’d been taken that afternoon.
Ribbit stuck out his tongue like a child but before long his shoulders drooped and he trailed dutifully in her wake. I’d have snorted if I could have done. MacTire’s finest.As if.
I didn’t need to witness the pair of them receiving their scolding, entertaining as it might have been. Instead I skulked towards a room opposite, a mahogany-lined space that heaved with masculinity and tasteless interior design. I needed to conduct a quick search so I could rule Alexander MacTire either in or out of Nick’s abduction, and I didn’t want to waste time.
The layout of the building was seared into my mind from Bruce MacTire’s assassination; he’d used this room as his office and I was certain that his son did the same. He certainly hadn’t changed any of the décor. If there was any evidence, I’d find it in here.
I completed a circuit of the office then padded to the door and nudged it closed with my paw; it would give me a few precious seconds if I had to run and hide. Then I turned and headed for the large desk in the centre of the room. I sprang onto its top and gazed at the neatly arranged papers; most appeared to be bills but I took my time to paw through them, just to be sure. It wasn’t an easy task in this body but I didn’t want to shift back into my human form unless I had to. It would be too dangerous if I were caught, even though I was prepared for such an eventuality.
Several minutes passed. I did my best to leave the pile of papers looking undisturbed then I checked a large notepad on the far corner of the desk. There were a few scribbled words:Winstone. Gavin Sitwell,Kit McCafferty.I grimaced.
There was a creak outside the room. I registered it immediately and leapt off the desk. The heavy velvet curtains were closed and I could hide behind them without being detected but I wanted to see Alexander MacTire’s face so I headed for the large bookcase in the corner and scaled it quickly. Once I was on its flat top, I drew back out of sight.
It wasn’t the pack alpha who walked into the room, however: it was Quack.
Her sullen expression was heightened by her swollen red nose and the bandage strips carefully pasted over it, and she was carrying a large silver tray holding a plate of sandwiches, cups and a coffee pot. Not only had she probably been bawled out for her and Ribbit’s failure to bring me in, but she must also have been assigned scut work as punishment.
I was more interested in the fact that Alexander MacTire was clearly planning a long night than that Quack was having a bad day. Unless it was a full moon, werewolves were diurnal. It was already very late so I could only imagine that he had a lot on his mind. My eyes narrowed at the thought.
Quack lowered the tray to the desk, glared at it then reached forward and opened the lid on the coffee pot. A flicker of amusement rippled through me as she delicately spat into its contents. My, my: she wasn’t quite the dedicated MacTire werewolf that she pretended to be. Perhaps she’d preferred Alexander MacTire’s father.
When Quack left the lid open and reached into her pocket to withdraw a tiny envelope, my amusement changed to shock. She opened the envelope, dropped the contents – a white powder – into the hot liquid and stirred the contents with a spoon from the tray before wiping it clean and returning it to its place. She closed the lid of the pot and glanced over her shoulder before swivelling and leaving the room.
I stared after her. I hadn’t been expecting that. So much for all that vaunted pack loyalty. Alexander MacTire had his father killed and now Quack was trying to kill him.
Chapter
Nine
Itried my best to understand what I’d witnessed. There was zero chance that Quack was an EEL employee who’d been hired to assassinate MacTire because the company would never employ a werewolf, let alone a bonded werewolf like Quack whose loyalty to any entity outside their pack could never be absolute. That was why her actions made no sense.
The only vaguely rational explanation was that she’d somehow discovered that Alexander MacTire had ordered his father’s death but I didn’t see how that was possible. And even if it were, that wasn’t information that she would keep to herself.
I gazed at the silver coffee pot. Maybe it wasn’t poison, maybe it was … what? Steroids? Some kind of special werewolf enhancement potion? It seemed unlikely. I wondered if this assassination attempt was related to Nick’s disappearance but I couldn’t connect the dots – and I didn’t know what to do next.
I was prevented from making a decision when Alexander MacTire walked into the room with Samantha behind him. He gestured to her and she closed the door. Aha. Whatever conversation they were about to have was not meant for his otherfurry minions to hear. I straightened up, praying I was about to eavesdrop on something useful.
‘You think I was too soft on them?’ he asked.
Samantha shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’
‘They fucked up and they know it. There’s no need to rub salt into the wound.’
‘You’re not your father,’ she observed. ‘Thank heavens.’
MacTire snorted. ‘He would have had them publicly whipped.’
‘And then he would have dragged Nicholas home and forced him to say the oath. Are you really going to leave him with that woman?’
My eyes widened and I leaned forward.
‘She’s already proved her capabilities. He’s as safe with her as he is with us.’
Sadness settled in my bones. If only that were true.
‘And if he’s not?’
