Christina sat on the back porch, sipping a very fine whiskey. It wasn’t her usual drink—at least, in everyday life—but she wasn’t going to refuse. And her morals—however slim they had proven to be in the past—refused to push Will Little and his people.
The whiskey burned going down, but she sipped politely, hoping no one noticed that she wasn't a whiskey drinker. If they did, they didn't say anything.
Surveying only the land in front of her made the scene seem quite idyllic. If she ignored the rest of the house, the porch was clean, clear, and set up with padded white, wood chairs. The rest of the house was burned out though, according to Will, there were two usable bedrooms. He’d said the clan had been using them as bunk houses.
Several of the other homes also had some usable space, and a few had full rooms set up under the raised foundations. Apparently, she and Noah simply hadn't picked the right ones, because they hadn’t seen anything but abandoned property.
The white wolf shot back her fourth glass of the whiskey, ignoring Will’s disapproval of her treatment of his good liquor. But he poured her another when she held the glass out. She mused, “I can't imagine the kind of self-loathing that would be necessary to do that job.”
Christina blinked a little bit. There was nothing wrong with the statement itself. The woman who had shot at the de Gottardi/Little family and the agents had herself been a genetic wolf. It had been relatively obvious, once those who knew what they were looking for had come by and examined the body.
Christina wondered if they could smell what she was. Will had seemed to know right away, even though he hadn’t been in wolf form. Then again, he was older than the rest, and she imagined he’d seen a few things in his time. Still, she shifted the topic. “The other shooter wasn't, though.”
Christina took another sip, reluctant to speak. She wondered if anyone noticed that self-loathing wasn't the thing she wanted to have a deep discussion about. She couldn’t loathe the group that she belonged to, because there wasn't anyone else like her—at least not as far as she knew. What would she do if she found someone like her? Kimball was the closest she’d come in a long time, and he had overlapping skills, but he wasn’t like her.
“Why would she kill wolves if she is one?” Noah asked the group, bringing the conversation back to where she didn’t want it. He swirled the amber liquid as though he, too, were trying to cover the fact that he wasn’t really drinking it.
Christina had to wonder just how squeaky clean Noah Kimball was. He didn't seem to understand why that woman might have joined Murray Marks’s little army.
“The other shooter definitely was not one of us.” The words were harsh, clipped, and almost spit from the mouth of the white-haired woman.
Christina still didn't know her name. “So they have a mix?”
“Looks like some standard issue human and some wolf,” Will said. He shrugged but then added, “We have a mix.”
True, she thought. Not all the de Gottardi/Little family exhibited these strange traits.
Apparently, she wasn't the only one who could shift the conversation. Will pointed with his glass before offering the subtle command, “Tell me about agent Kimball here.” He topped off his own whiskey while he waited for her to think of what to say.
Christina appreciated that he felt comfortable enough—safe enough here—to drink, and she used it as a guideline. They must believe they could see everything coming. Whether that was because they knew that Marks’ little lackeys were gone or because they had their own armed guards patrolling the perimeter, she didn’t know. She shrugged and looked at Noah. “Honestly, Will, I just met him myself, but he's with NightShade.”
He huffed, as though being in NightShade wasn't truly a recommendation. But Christina couldn't think of any NightShade agent who hadn't come in here willing to lay down their lives for the family.
When the conversation stopped for a moment and Will’s eyes swung back to Noah, the new agent took it upon himself to answer. “I’m technically a consultant.”
“Consultant to do what?” Christina asked. She hadn’t heard of Westerfield allowing consultants in the division.
“Well, I already found you.”
Well played, Christina thought, as Will’s eyes swung rapidly back to examine her.
“Did you leave the Bureau?”
“No.” She said it, even though it wasn't completely true. She took a deep breath and this time she actually drank some of the whiskey.
“I mean, if Kimball here is maybe your replacement…” Will let the phrase trail off.
“Then that would be news to me.” She could play the game as well as the rest of them. She tipped her head to Noah, indicating he should continue.
“I'm an agent with the Miami branch. I got put on administrative leave.”
Well, that was a little more honest than she'd expected, but he kept going.
“Apparently, I’ve had too many arrests that they can't fully explain. So once I got bored of staring at the walls of my home, I called up the SAC and he offered me this position.”
“When?” Christina demanded. How long had Westerfield been stalking her with agents?
“About ten minutes after I called him.”
“You're telling me Westerfield put an agent out to the de Gottardi/Little farm without briefing them about NightShade?”
Noah opened his mouth then shut it as though he couldn’t decide what to say. Then he answered simply, “Yes.”
From the corner of her eye, Christina could see that Will slowly rolled forward, his feet curling under his chair. He moved his weight to rest on the balls of his feet. He was now counterbalanced and ready to spring. For once, he resembled more of the wolf she knew him to be.
Christina shook her head softly at him. Though Will didn’t stand down, he did stop moving forward. Together, they waited.
“I wasn't assigned to the de Gottardi/Little farm,” Noah said, looking throughout the group. He couldn't have missed the outward signs that they no longer trusted him. Will wasn’t the only one ready to spring.
But Noah sat calmly, knowing his position put him at a disadvantage. He wasn’t that drunk… so he had to be making a point.
“I was assigned to Christina.” He shrugged. “Christina came here, so I came here.”
“Well, now we have ourselves one hell of a mess,” Will said, and Christina felt her stomach drop.
Had she brought Noah, and all the trouble that followed, right to the ones she was trying so hard to protect?