Thea Harrison: True Colors

“After Jacksonville, Alex started a support group for chameleon Wyr. First it was to help process the grief, but over time the group has turned more social. Now we have a potluck on the first Sunday of every month, and some of us get together for brunch on the third Sunday. Sometimes some of us arrange to go hiking, or to go out to dinner or see a movie.”

“True Colors,” Gideon said.

She looked at him in surprise. “You know the group? We keep its existence pretty quiet. There’s a website where everybody can log in and post news, email each other, or invite people on an outing, but it’s privately maintained. It doesn’t even come up on Google searches.”

He told her, “The FBI keeps a file on chameleon Wyr social activities, which includes information on the website. I had a look at it earlier today, but I haven’t had time to read through everything. I didn’t know Schaffer was the founder of the group.”

“Yes, and as far as I know, every chameleon Wyr in New York is a member.”

“Twenty-three,” Gideon murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” Alice handed him plates, cutlery and napkins.

He set the table. “The website has a list of all your names. The group has twenty-three members.” Well, technically the total was now twenty, but he wasn’t going to be pedantic about that when it might cause her more pain. “What brought you to Haley’s earlier?”

“We had planned to spend the evening together. I was going to try to coax her into coming to stay at my place for a while.” He came back toward her, and she handed him the salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of ketchup, and a freshly opened bottle of Corona.

“Did anybody else know you two had planned to get together this evening?” He carried the beer and the condiments to the table.

“No.” She frowned up at him. “Does that matter?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s keep that private for now, okay?” Could withholding the information be useful? He tucked the thought away for further consideration.

“All right.” She slid the last of the bacon out of the skillet, clearly deep in thought. “How did you know to show up at Haley’s?”

He smiled at her. “Why don’t I tell you that later? You may not need a break, but I do. Just until we’ve had a chance to eat.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

He’d lied, but she didn’t appear to notice. He could have talked details about the case and autopsy results throughout the meal and never turned a hair, but he wanted her to relax enough to eat a bite or two. A fresh shock wasn’t going to help her do that.

Because the police had already found David Brunswick’s body in the basement garage of his brownstone, and the killer was in fact exceedingly methodical.

Even though all of the Jacksonville murders were found at the same time, one of the details suppressed by the authorities was that the group had been held prisoner for a while at their enclave. At first the scene indicated a mass murder, but it soon became apparent that serial tendencies were involved, as the killer had ritually dissected one person each day until all seven were dead. The autopsy results confirmed the succession of murders. The report listed the victims by the date of their deaths, and the names were in alphabetical order.

That afternoon, Gideon had looked at the list of group members on the True Colors website. Peter Baines, David Brunswick. The third on the list was Haley Cannes. He had called the school but Haley had already left work.

He thought he might have dreams about moving as fast and as hard as he could to her Brooklyn address only to arrive too late. If only he had pieced it together a few hours earlier, Alice’s friend would still be alive. Maybe Haley would even be sitting down to supper with them.

He helped Alice carry the food to the table. She had cooked a dozen eggs with the sautéed vegetables. The intended omelet became a scramble upon which she had heaped scoops of sour cream and cheese. The hash browns were a delectable brown, and the bacon was so aromatic and crispy, his stomach emitted a loud rumble.

He gave her a sheepish grin and Alice laughed. Then she said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to make toast!”

He snagged her by putting an arm around her shoulders and redirecting her back to the table. “Please sit and relax. This is more than perfect.”

She frowned at him over the delicate wire-rims perched on her slender nose. “As long as you’re sure.”

He clenched down on an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her. It wasn’t time.

Not yet, at any rate.

He said, “I’m sure.”

He held Alice’s chair for her. She smiled at him as he sat. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Eat up. As you can see, I cooked portions relative to your size.”

So she had. He inhaled deeply as he looked at the fragrant meal. Gods above, he didn’t even have to taste any of it to know she was a superb cook. He told her, “This is more heaven than I can remember seeing in one place for quite some time. Please serve yourself something before I get started.”

Her gorgeous cocoa-and-cream skin turned pink with pleasure. “I’m not very hungry but, well, okay.”

She took a little of the scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon, and a spoonful of the hash browns. It was not nearly enough to his critical gaze, but on a night that was so hard for her, it probably would have to do.

She might lose her appetite for even that small amount if she were to realize hers was the fourth name on that website list.

Not that anything was going to happen to her. Not on Gideon’s watch. He would die before he let that happen.

The Depths

True north .

What the hell did it mean?

Gideon could wish for a little time to contemplate it. For now, though, he shoveled half the contents of each skillet on to his plate, helped himself to a generous squirt of ketchup on the hash browns and set to with enthusiasm.

Those first quick bites were indescribably delicious. Salty meat, rich melted cheese and sour cream on eggs and veggies, and crunchy filling potatoes, all with a beautiful, gentle woman in a warm kitchen on a cold winter’s night. Suddenly Gideon felt happier than he ever thought possible, happier than was even comfortable. The emotion shuddered through him with such fierce intensity his fingers shook as he gripped his knife and fork. He clenched his hands, willing the unsteadiness to stop.

Gideon had been one of Cuelebre’s deadliest dogs of war, the alpha captain that led the wolves, the mastiffs and the mongrels. His brigade had been the most gifted and volatile, the troops on the extreme edge. They had hurtled first into any conflict, not baying, but racing to the battle in an eager, murderous silence. They were the advance scouts, the rangers sent in to places too dangerous for the regular troops, the sentries that patrolled the shadowed corners and slipped past enemy lines to take down their opponents from behind.

Gideon had risen in the ranks when he still had the thoughtless athleticism of youth and a strong body that could go on forever just because he asked it to. Now that boundless, youthful energy had turned to disciplined maturity, and his blond hair had faded like an aging golden retriever’s pelt. He exercised and trained hard to maintain his muscled physique, stamina and quick reflexes. Each battle he fought and won, he did so knowing that his youth might have gone but he was still at peak condition, and it was not yet time for the alpha to lose his place at the head of the pack.

He was not one of the strange, immortal Wyr who had come into existence in the dawn of the world. Wolf Wyr had a life span of around two hundred years. If something didn’t bring him down first he expected to see another good eighty, eight-five years. With discipline and constant training, he could have spent another fifty years in active combat duty before age would have forced him to consider other options.