"Now put your gun up, Detective," I said.
Padgett looked at me for a second. I thought he wasn't going to do it. I looked into those big blue eyes and saw something dangerous. A fear so deep and wide that he needed to destroy the thing he feared. He put the gun up, but that one moment of nakedness in his eyes had been enough. I'd talk to Dolph and see if Padgett had any shapeshifter kills to his credit. I'd almost have bet that he did. Cleared of charges didn't always mean innocent.
I patted the top of Lorraine's head. "It's all right. Everything's all right." I had to get them out of here. The good guys were almost as big a threat as the bad ones.
She looked up at me, eyes puffy, nose running. Real crying is like real sex. If you really do it, it isn't pretty. "I didn't mean to hurt him," she whispered.
"I know." I glanced at the police up and down the hallway. Some of them avoided my eyes. I shook my head and helped her stand. "I'm taking them into Stephen and Nathaniel's room with me, Detective Padgett. Any objections?"
He just shook his head.
"Great. Come on, Teddy."
"I can stand up?" he asked.
I looked at Padgett. "You think you and your people can hold the Rambo routine?"
"If he behaves himself, sure." Padgett wasn't trying to be charming anymore. I think he was embarrassed about the show. I knew he was still angry, maybe at me, maybe at himself. I didn't care as long as he didn't start shooting.
"You got a uniform inside the room?" I asked.
He gave one curt nod.
"Is he as trigger-happy as the rest of you, or can I open the door without being shot at?"
Padgett strode to the door and knocked on it. "Smith, it's Padgett. Detective coming in." He opened the door with a flourish and ushered Lorraine and me in.
I looked at the young uniform seated just inside the door. Kevin was slumped down in a chair across from him, an unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth. The werewolf looked at me, and one look was enough--not a happy camper. It wasn't just nicotine withdrawal either.
I half-pushed Lorraine into the room, then walked back to Teddy. I held my left hand out to him, and he took it. I helped him stand, though he didn't need the help. "Thank you," he said, and he didn't mean for helping him stand up.
"No problem," I said. I escorted him back to the room. Once they were both safely inside, I turned to Padgett.
"We need to talk. I'd prefer private if I could be guaranteed no one will get shot while I'm gone."
"You okay in here, Smith?" he asked.
The young cop said, "I'm fine. I like animals."
The look on Teddy's face was scary even to me. That otherworldly energy was rising like a warm, stinging tide. "If the nice policeman behaves himself, then so do the rest of you," I said.
Teddy stared right at me. "I know how to follow orders."
"Great, shall we find some place private, Detective Padgett?"
His breath was coming fast, almost a pant. He was feeling the rising energy, too. "We can talk right here. I'm not leaving one of my men alone with these things."
"I'm okay, boss," the young cop said.
"You're not afraid?" Padgett asked. It was a question that cops seldom ask each other. They ask, are you all right. They admit to being nervous. Never scared.
Officer Smith's eyes widened a little, but he shook his head. "I know Crossman. He's a good guy. She saved his life." Smith sat up a little straighter in his chair, said softly, "These aren't the bad guys."
A tic started in Padgett's cheek. He opened his mouth, closed it, then turned abruptly on his heel and left. The door slid shut behind him. We all stood in the suddenly thick silence.
Stephen said, "Anita." He held his hand out to me. His face was flawless, no scars, no marks of any kind. I took his hand and smiled.
"I know you guys heal fast, but it's still impressive. You looked pretty bad last time I saw you."
"I looked worse," a soft male voice said. Nathaniel was awake in the other bed. His long auburn hair hung like a shining curtain around his face, maybe longer than waist-length. I'd never seen a man with hair that long. I couldn't see his face because I was too busy staring at his eyes. They were the color of lilacs, a wonderful pale lavender that was a genuine show-stopper. It took me a few seconds of staring to be able to see the rest of his face. He looked a few years older awake than he had unconscious--nineteen instead of sixteen, maybe. He still looked drawn and tired, ill, but there was a vast improvement.
"Yeah, you looked worse," I said.
Stephen turned to Officer Smith like they were old friends.
"Can we have a few minutes alone?"
Smith looked at me. "Okay with you?"
I nodded.
He stood. "I don't know how Padgett's going to like it, so if you want to exchange secret codes or anything, make it fast."
"Thanks," I said.
"Don't mention it." He stopped in front of Lorraine before he left. "Thank you. Crossman has a wife and two daughters. I know they'd thank you if they could."
Lorraine blushed and nodded, mumbling, "You're welcome."
Smith left, and I walked over to Nathaniel's bed. "Nice to meet you while you're conscious."
He tried to smile, but the effort showed. He held out his left hand to me, the right hand was still hooked up to an IV drip.
I took his hand. His grip was tremblingly weak. He drew my hand towards his mouth as if to kiss it. I let him do it. The effort made his hand shake.
He pressed his lips to my hand, eyes closed, almost as if he were resting. For a second I thought he'd passed out, but his tongue flicked out, a quick wetness.
I jerked back, fighting the urge to wipe my hand on my jeans. "Thanks, a handshake would have been fine."
He frowned up at me. "But you're our leoparde lionne," he said.
"So people keep telling me," I said.
He turned his head so he could see Stephen. "You lied to me." Tears trembled in his pale, pale eyes. "She won't feed us."
I looked at Stephen. "I have missed part of this conversation, haven't I?"
"Have you seen Richard share blood with the pack?"
I started to say no, then, "I saw him let Jason feed off of a knife wound once. Jason seemed almost drugged from it."
Stephen nodded. "That's it. Gabriel could share blood."
My eyes widened. "I didn't think he was strong enough to do that."
"Neither did we." This from Kevin. He came to stand near me, cigarette transferred, still unlit, to his left hand. "It's been very interesting listening to Nathaniel talk about Gabriel. Nathaniel was addicted to he**in and a street whore when Gabriel rescued him, gave him a second life."
"Bully for him, getting him off drugs, but Gabriel still pimped him out. To a sicker clientele."
Kevin patted Nathaniel's leg under the sheet, a casual gesture, like you'd pat a dog. "But Nat here likes it, don't you, boy?"
Nathaniel looked at him and said softly, "Yes."
"Please, tell me you didn't enjoy being gutted."
He closed his eyes. "No, not that. But until then it was..."
"That's all right," I said. Something occurred to me. "Have you told the police who did this to you?"
"He doesn't know," Kevin said. He put the ever-present cig back in his mouth, as if just the taste of the paper was sweet.
"What do you mean, he doesn't know?" I asked.
Stephen answered, "Zane chained and blindfolded him, then left. That was the deal. Nathaniel never saw them."
"Them?" I made it a question.
Stephen nodded. "Them."
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Do you remember anything unique or different that might help identify them?"
"Perfume like gardenias, and a sickly smell."
Great, I thought, that was helpful.
He looked full at me, and suddenly his eyes weren't just dull with illness. I realized they were dull with experience. It went beyond jaded, as if Nathaniel had looked into the lower rungs of hell. He'd lived to tell the tale, but he hadn't really survived, not intact.
"I remember the perfume. I'd recognize it again if I smelled it."
"Okay, Nathaniel, okay." In the bottom of the awful emptiness of his eyes was panic. He was scared, unbelievably scared. I patted his hand, and when his fingers curled around mine, I held on. "No one will ever hurt you like that again, Nathaniel. I promise you that."