Bang. Bang. Bang.
André snarled. What in the God’s green forests? Was there construction outside the conference hotel in Vancouver?
No, wait, he’d arrived home in Glenbeinne late last night.
Was Madoc hammering on something?
With a frustrated groan, he sat up in bed. Ah, not Madoc. There was someone pounding on the front door.
With a jaw-cracking yawn, he rose.
The pounding continued.
“Coming,” he shouted and pulled on a pair of jeans and a faded black denim shirt. Shirt unbuttoned, barefoot, he stalked to the door.
A glance through the peephole showed a couple of Mounties—human ones he didn’t recognize. He opened the door.
“Constables, is there a problem?”
They gave him an assessing look, undoubtedly noting his disheveled appearance.
“Ah, Sergeant Crichton. Sorry to wake you, sir. Would Niall Crichton be at home?” The dark-haired one was probably in his twenties. Just a youngster.
What had Niall been up to? “No, he’s not.” He stepped away from the door. “Come on in. Would you care for coffee?”
“No, but thank you.” As they followed him into the living room, one glanced at his notepad. “Might I ask if you’ve heard from Niall since Friday?”
Worry set up residence in his gut.
“I’m not sure. I was at a conference in Vancouver and camping afterward.” He patted his back pocket and grimaced. “In fact, my phone’s still in the car. Let me get it.”
The sidewalk was cold on his bare feet as he retrieved his mobile phone from the SUV. He automatically took a moment to listen for problems in the neighborhood. There was the snipping sound of the next-door neighbor cutting roses. Farther down the street came thudding sounds and calls of teens playing driveway basketball. Their summer break would be over soon.
On the way inside, he checked for messages and missed calls. “Sorry, he hasn’t been in touch.”
“Would you know where he might be?”
Seeing the worry on the young constables’ faces, André frowned. “In Calgary, I believe. He was mentoring new graduates at a company there. Why are you asking?”
“The programmers he was overseeing were murdered Friday.” The tallest Mountie’s expression was grim.
André stiffened. “Niall would never hurt—”
The other one held up his hand. “No, no. We know it wasn’t him. The victims placed a call to his phone maybe fifteen minutes before they were killed. We have a record of him putting petrol in his vehicle in Glenbeinne a few minutes later. I’m assuming he was on the way to Calgary.”
Brawd, what trap did you put a paw into? “If he went to Calgary, then where is he? Do you think he walked into something dangerous?” Killing a cahir would be bloody difficult, even in a gods-forsaken city.
“We…don’t know.” The two men exchanged glances, then one sighed. “The victims sent information to Mr. Crichton’s cybersecurity company as well as CSIS showing that the systems of the research company had been hacked by terrorists.”
“It sounds as if the programmers were silenced.” What a messed-up world it was where younglings weren’t safe. “What about my brother?”
“He hasn’t been to work or called in. Doesn’t answer his phone. He hasn’t used his credit card since the gas station. We can’t locate his mobile phone. Someone has checked your house here every day since the murders. He hasn’t been home.”
“That’s not good.” They’d been thorough—and probably wouldn’t have shared this much information if he hadn’t been a fellow law enforcement officer.
André rubbed his face, feeling the scratch of several days of beard growth.
“Perhaps your other brother might know something?” the shorter Mountie asked.
André glanced at the kitchen, as if the bear might be there cooking. But wait, hadn’t there been a message from Madoc on the phone? He checked. “No. His restaurant’s closed for remodeling for a couple of weeks, and he headed into the mountains on Friday. He didn’t plan to return for a week or so.”
The two constables looked frustrated.
André eyed them. “Have you located the terrorists?”
“Yes, we did.” The taller one’s gaze darkened. “Their center of operations was a warehouse. It burned down Friday night. From the number of bodies and melted cartridges covering the floor, it looks like there was a bloody war. It appears as if the terrorists were packing up, perhaps to relocate after being discovered by the programmers.”
“Who attacked them?” By the Gods, Niall. Did you go after the murderers?
“No telling. Possibly someone higher up discovered the terrorist cell had been exposed and snipped off the weak link. Whoever it was did a good job of it.”
Fear made a cold slide through André’s veins. “Do you think my brother might’ve been there?”
The taller Mountie shook his head “Your brother’s a software engineer. Does he even own a weapon?”
Fangs and claws are weapons. “No.”
“As we thought. There’s nothing registered in his name.”
He swallowed past a dry throat. “The bodies… Is there any chance my brother is one of them?” If Niall had attacked, had he been killed?
“No, Sergeant.” The man’s gaze held sympathy. “Your brother is extremely tall. Although the fire has delayed identification of the warehouse victims, I can tell you none are your brother’s height.”
“I see. Thank you.” As relief swept like a cool wind through his fears, he realized he could feel the brotherhood bonds tying him to both his littermates. He would’ve known if Niall had returned to the Mother.
Wherever Niall was, he was still alive.
And André would find him.