She tugged on the trousers she'd worn earlier that evening, without underwear, and seized her crumpled T-shirt off the floor. The bra was neglected too. There was no time to waste.
Both Clara and Sandra were in the corridor, wearing the same grim, frightened looks. Their faces were questioning.
"It's okay, guys. Lissa's just upset. I'm going out to look for her," she said, flustered. She didn't know how much of the bust up they'd heard, and there wasn't time to explain now. An angry, confused hybrid was out there alone; she needed to find her.
"I can come with you," Clara offered, a suggestion that appeared to come from a well-meaning place. Jean had no reason to believe otherwise.
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," she said, then hurried away.
Lissa could have been anywhere, doing anything, even with just a head start of five minutes. Vampirism provided speed. And who knew what, besides her hatred for the race, she'd inherited from the Were side of her? Images of Lissa with her hand around her throat sprang to mind, and she urgently pressed her foot on the gas.
All roads on the dark streets were the same to her – Lissa could have been down any of them. She drove aimlessly, directionless, eyes searching frantically this way and that. Past the closed shops, the homeless men huddled together on public benches, a stray cat or two wandering the streets looking for their next meal. Ten minutes weaving down different roads, until by some miracle, she spotted her. Barefoot, hair wild from their prior love-making, she looked every bit the mental ward escapee. Her languid walk and the way her shoulders sagged told Jean the wolf had deserted her once more, had left her alone in the wild.
She wound down the window as she brought the car to a crawling pace, moving alongside her.
"Lissa," she called out. This whole scene looked suspiciously like a john picking up a hooker.
Lissa stopped walking, peered into the car. As soon as she saw the familiar face, she hurried over, yanked the door open and climbed in.
Jean cut the engine. As she turned to look at her, Lissa threw her arms around her, then erupted into tears. Most of her words were apologies, but incomprehensible because of her crying. Jean simply squeezed her tight, rubbed her back. When they got home, although Lissa's feet had already healed, she carried her upstairs and told her that everything would be all right. She assured her of this every time, because it was all she could do. She couldn't tell her that this was how it would be forever.
There were some things she would never share with Clara. The story about Lissa's mother, and what she'd done to her, that was one thing. Explaining why Lissa was prone to violent outbursts was quite another. So when Clara came to see her the following evening, inquiring about what had transpired the previous night, she had no choice but to lie.
"Is she always like this?"
They were in the living-room, alone in the house. Lissa had left for the gallery already.
Jean sighed. "Not exactly. The change is still quite fresh. She's still adjusting."
"Perhaps being here is too hard for her. Somewhere else might make it easier to adjust..."
Jean regarded Clara curiously. "This is her home. And I'm here. This is the only place she needs to be," she said firmly. Violent mood swings or not, she wasn't about to send her away. To where? No place would be completely suitable for a hybrid: nor the wilderness with the rest of the wolves, nor right by her side. She was destined to be at odds with both races. A more punishing life Jean could scarcely imagine. And this was all her doing.
"Then maybe I should move back into the motel."
"I won't hear of it," Jean said, seemingly outraged that Clara would even suggest such a thing. "You're not in any danger, I can assure you. You're not the one she has a problem with."
It was only when Clara frowned, her curiosity now piqued, that Jean realized she'd said too much.
"Please stay," she added, trying to move the subject along. "I want to spend as much time with you as I can before you return to France. And as your mother I forbid you staying in that dump."
Clara laughed before agreeing to stay. She would have to use a different strategy. Jean wouldn't toss the silly orphan out that easily.
Robyn's happiness meant a lot to Jean, just as Robyn herself did. She didn't begrudge her it. When Jean discovered that she and Nadine were "working things out", no one, besides Robyn, could have been happier for them. She just wished this phone conversation – their exchange of sweet little nothings, engaging in that trivial prattle new lovers excelled at – could have waited until after their meeting. Particularly as Robyn was the one who'd called it.
Jean sat back in her chair, drumming her fingers on the desk, patience wearing thin while Robyn chatted away on the sofa. Several days had passed since Lissa's incident. From what she gathered, Robyn and Nadine were having a debate over what to eat that night, and what would have the least calories. Human stuff.
"Robyn, I don't wish to be rude, but you said you had something to share with me," Jean said.
"Okay, just go with that. We can work it off at the gym...or another way..."
Jean couldn't help but smile to herself, though she did feel slightly perverted for being present.
"Sorry about that," Robyn said, once she'd hung up.
"It's fine. Your phone call sounded urgent. What did you want to see me about?"
Robyn gave her a sombre look. "Our friend's back in town."
The blood drained from Jean's face. Already pale, she seemed to turn ghostly white in that moment.
"You mean...Dallas?"
"Yeah. You know how I said I would get someone to keep an eye out, let me know if she turned up? Well, I got the call this afternoon. My contact spotted her, or someone who fitted her description, not far from here. Do you think she's back for revenge?"
"She already got her revenge," Jean said, getting up from her desk. She closed her eyes, let out a slow, shaky breath. "This is all I need."
Robyn considered her next move carefully and, deciding that her boss had no choice but to listen to her advice, she opened her mouth to speak...
...right at the same time that Jean raised a hand to silence her. "Don't start with that again."
"So how do you want to handle this?"
Jean let out another heavy sigh. "I don't know. But Lissa can't ever find out that she's here."
Safe in the knowledge that Lissa was at the gallery, she'd taken no care in mentioning Dallas's name, though she'd done so quietly. Sadly, not quietly enough. She didn't hear the floorboards creak outside the office as Clara crept away, a new weapon added to her arsenal.