"You have a long pattern of doing the unexpected, Riley."
"Yeah, and I have the scars to prove the foolishness of that."
He chuckled softly. "You never did learn your place."
Oh, I learned it all right. I just didn't always cower down like I was supposed to. I thrust my hands on my hips and said impatiently, "As much as I adore reliving old times, it's fucking cold out. Tell me what you want, or piss off."
He studied me for a minute, gray eyes abnormally bright in the darkness, his form waving slightly as the wind swirled through the trees.
"The pack needs your help."
"My help?" My sudden, unbelieving laugh had a cold, ugly sound. "That has to be the joke of the century."
"There is nothing amusing about the situation, believe me."
"So why me? There have to be hundreds of other people you could ask."
Which wasn't an overstatement. The Jenson pack might be one of the smaller red packs, and it might be the poorer cousin when it came to wealth and land status, but Jenson pack members were to be found in all avenues of government and throughout much of the legal system, I had no doubt those pack members could muster up something—someone—far more influential than me.
Unless, of course, the crisis was of a more personal nature. Despite everything, anxiety pulsed, and I added quickly, "Is Mother all right?"
Blake's smile was thin, "Yes. She sends her love."
Like hell she did. We were her firstborn and her love for us unquestioned, but once we'd left the pack, contact ceased. Blake might have had pack approval to contact me, but I very much doubted she would have asked for any message to be delivered. She knew how we felt about him. She wouldn't hurt us that way.
"You can't sucker me with that sort of shit, Blake. Just get to the point."
Amusement flared briefly in his eyes. "We have need of your guardian skills."
Again, surprise rippled through me. "How would you know I was a guardian? And why would you bother keeping track of two outcast and useless pups?"
"We didn't. It came to my attention during our investigations."
"Investigations into what?"
He shifted his weight and his form wavered briefly, becoming as insubstantial as a ghost. Which he wasn't, so how in the hell was he projecting himself?
"One of my granddaughters disappeared four days ago."
He had a granddaughters? Good lord, that made me feel old. Though in wolf terms, I was still very much a youngster, "Which of your sons was careless enough to lose a daughter?"
It was a cruel thing to say, but I just couldn't help myself. Blake and his sons had been the banes of our existence growing up—and the reason behind many of the scars Rhoan and I now bore. Of course, if I'd just shut my mouth and bowed down like I was supposed to, things might have been different.
Though I very much doubt it.
His gaze narrowed to thin slits of dangerous gray. "Adrienne is Patrin's oldest."
The image of a red wolf with black points came to mind, and my lip curled in response. Patrin was the youngest of Blake's get—only a few years older than Rhoan and me. To say he delighted in following the family tradition of hassling the half-breeds would be the understatement of the century.
"How old is the daughter?"
"Twenty-three."
Twenty-three? Meaning he'd been fifteen when he'd sired his first? Randy bastard. I bet Daddy had been so proud—especially given the pack's inherent fertility problems.
"If she's missing, contact the police. The Directorate doesn't do missing."
"You do if there appears to be a pattern to the disappearances. And three others have disappeared the same way as Adrienne, Riley."
I crossed my arms and tried to ignore the pulse of interest. I didn't want to get involved with Blake or our pack, because it could only end badly—for me, if not for them. "Still no reason for the Directorate to get involved. There are specialist police units for such things. I'm sure you've got contacts that could give you special consideration."
"Something bad has happened to her. Patrin's desperate to find her."
It was on my lips to say something smart—something along the lines of like I'm supposed to care?—but I held back. I understood such desperation, knew it could force you to do anything—including contact an outcast I'd felt it whenever Rhoan got into trouble, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Not even someone I hated.
"Then contact the Directorate. Give them the information. There's nothing I can do without the official go-ahead anyway."
Which was a only a teensy lie. If I was so inclined, I could investigate just about anything. Guardians were the super-cops—the hunter-killers—of the nonhuman world, and we had free rein to investigate whatever we wanted. Though if I did investigate, and did find something, I'd have to report it back to my boss. And full investigation could only go ahead with his official approval.
"All I'm asking you to do is an initial investigation. If you feel there's nothing the Directorate can do, then I'll try other sources."
He sounded altogether too reasonable, and my hackles rose. Blake and reason just didn't go together—at least according to my memories of the man, "You were ordering me a few moments ago."
"Perhaps I'm seeing the error of my ways."
"And perhaps tomorrow they'll put a woman on Mars." I shifted from one foot to the other. I wasn't trusting this new and improved Blake any more than the last one, but it couldn't hurt to play along, "Why do you think her disappearance is a Directorate matter?"
"Besides Patrin's feeling she's in mortal danger, you mean?" Yes.
"There's a pattern, as X said."
Annoyance swirled through me. "So tell me the pattern."
"For a start, they all vacationed at Monitor Island."
Is that why he'd contacted me? He'd been investigating the island and discovered my presence? It'd be my luck, that was for sure. "And?"
"And they all disappeared within a week of returning home from the island."
"Meaning the island might not be the connector."
"Then there's the man."
"Human or nonhuman man?"
"Human. He works on the island, apparently."
Which wasn't much of a clue, considering over half the people working on the island were males of the human variety. "What as?"
Blake shrugged, and the movement made his image shimmer. "Adrienne said he worked as a bartender."
"Blake, there's at least five bars in this cove alone. It'd be nice if you could pin it down a little."
"I believe his name might be Jim Denton."
"So she danced with this Jim Denton?"
He hesitated and annoyance flashed in his eyes "I believe so."
I restrained a sudden smile. So Adrienne wasn't telling Daddy and Granddaddy everything. Good for her. Though I was surprised she'd gone against pack law and danced with a human. But maybe that was the whole point. "And the others?" And how would the pack feel about her dancing with a human? Add that observation in, too.
"I've talked to one other family. They also mentioned their daughter meeting a man who worked on the island."
"Meeting? What about bedding?"
"That I can't say. But probably."
"And the women were all wolves?"
He nodded.
Well, we werewolves did tend to get around—especially now it was law that employers couldn't discriminate against us because of the moon heat. Although I did find it surprising they'd bed the human males over the nonhuman. There were too many inherent risks in that sort of choice—although the mere fact that wolf-human half-breeds existed suggested there were plenty who didn't agree with my point of view.