Frostbitten (Otherworld 10)

"You've mistaken me for someone else."

Before Clay could respond, Joey gave a curtly polite nod and strode back to his coworkers.

"He seemed to know you," the man said as they approached the office doors.

"Does that accent sound like anyone I'd have grown up with?"

The woman laughed. "It's damned sexy, though." She glanced back, admiring Clay's rear view as he walked away. "You couldn't pretend to know him for my sake? Invite him to coffee? Make an old lady's day?"

The other man laughed and they headed inside.

ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER cappuccino. And another unique and wonderful place to enjoy it. If we had more caffeine-fill-up locations like this back home, I'd become a total coffeehouse nut.

This cafe doubled as a Russian Orthodox museum and was across the road from the museum where Reese had been attacked. We were the sole patrons that morning, the silence broken only by the occasional murmur of conversation between the clerk and a Russian Orthodox priest.

I had hoped the quiet surroundings and the religious artifacts would draw Clay out. But we were almost done with our coffees and he had yet to say a full sentence.

"Waylaying him like that might not have been wise," I said finally. "I wanted to tell him about his father--and warn him about the mutts--as quickly as possible, but we caught him off guard. He's used to hiding that part of his life, so he did it instinctively in front of his coworkers."

Clay said nothing.

After another minute of silence, he spoke. "I should have made contact years ago."

"He could have done the same."

Clay shook his head. "I was pissed off when he left and I didn't make any secret of it. It was up to me to make the first move."

"Which you just did."

"Too little too late." He sipped his coffee, his gaze disappearing into the cup's depths.

"Well, we still have to talk to him, whether he wants to chat or not. He needs to be warned about the mutts, if he doesn't already know they're here."

"He doesn't. Otherwise, he wouldn't be carrying on, business as usual. We'll talk to Jeremy later. Get his advice."

I was about to say I could handle this--if I was going to be Alpha, I had to make simple decisions like this--but as gung-ho as Clay had been about the transition last night, change didn't come easily for him. By nature, he deferred to Jeremy and right now, it was best to leave him in his comfort zone.

As we drank, I noticed a community bulletin board beside the counter. Prominently displayed was a mini-poster with pictures of three young women.

The clerk had vanished into the back rooms, so I excused myself and went over. If Clay noticed, he gave no sign.

As I suspected, the poster was for the three missing women the reporter had mentioned yesterday. They ranged in age from seventeen to twenty. Two were Native, one Caucasian. All three had gone missing from Anchorage on Saturday nights.

The poster listed the streets where they'd last been seen, but not the exact locations. I'd venture a guess and say they were in bars, despite being underage. The women's group that printed the poster had left that bit of information off because they knew it wouldn't rouse the right degree of sympathy. It shouldn't matter. At that age, what was wrong with visiting a bar on Saturday night? Yet it wouldn't invoke the same reaction as saying they'd gone missing from the library.

I looked at the three photos. All the girls were pretty, but in that average way that most young women are. Cute enough to catch a guy's eye. And they had caught someone's eye.

Did they leave the bar with the wrong man? Did someone follow them home? Did their disappearances have anything to do with the mutts? That was the million-dollar question.

The dates overlapped with the supposed wolf kills. I'd been ready to dismiss the connection earlier because the city disappearances were too different from the forest kills, but now I wondered.

Different, yes. But two distinct types of victims serving two distinct purposes: one for hunting and one for sex. Both would end up dead. In the forest, though, there was no need to hide the body--blame would fall on the wolves.

Yet if people found the same partially eaten victims within the city limits, concern would leap straight into panic, with every gun-owning citizen ready to shoot the first large canine he saw. Even the cockiest mutt wouldn't dirty his bed that badly.

"You think there's a connection?" Clay said as he came up beside me.

"I'm not ruling it out." I turned to him. "Ready to go?"