Sheryl Nantus: Battle Scars

My thanks to Angela James and the amazing staff at Carina Press—from the faboo art department to the fantastic author support crew who keep this crazy machine from running off the rails!

I’d always thought I’d appreciate the sight of a near-naked man scampering around my house in a pair of boxer shorts.

Until now.

I cleared my throat as Jake Middleston glared at me, his back to the kitchen. He had about ten years on me, with skin that had been left out in the sun too long. The jean jacket he wore over a dingy gray T-shirt was ripped along the arms—honest injuries and not for fashion. His short-cropped black hair was turning gray in spots, scattered over the scalp.

His nostrils flared and he frowned.

He could smell Brandon Hanover, my lover and new roommate, as Bran snuck into the kitchen.

He let out something akin to a huff.

Jake was old-school Felis. Tolerated humans when necessary, and even then under duress. He and his kin believed in the doctrine of each to their own and being in the same house as a human was tough, much less knowing said human was mated to me, a fellow Felis. I could see the words on his lips itching to break out, a good old-fashioned racist rant at me for being so involved with human society that I’d consider one of them as my beloved.

I had a snappy retort ready to go, curses included. My home, my rules.

But he was also a client and I had to stay polite in the face of old-fashioned prejudice. I’d done it before for other clients, slimy adulterers who wanted an easy way out of their marriage and itchy-fingered businessmen looking for criminals in their midst who stole paperclips and pencils.

If you had asked me six months ago if I’d have my fellow cat shifters as clients I would have laughed in your face. Being outcast for two decades has that effect on me.

But recent events had brought me back into the family and scored me one hot human mate, so I was prepared to deal with family as possible clients. And keep my mouth shut.

Besides, I needed the cash.

“You said you needed my help,” I prompted, trying to draw his attention away from Bran. I couldn’t see him but I could smell him, fresh from our bed upstairs.

He hadn’t showered yet, making his natural male smell more intense, almost to the point of overpowering—let’s just say that we enjoy waking each other up multiple times before we actually get up. I’d managed to get into the shower before my arranged meeting with Middleston but he’d refused, showing his stubborn streak and annoyance at me having anything to do in the morning other than stay in bed.

Bran knew we Felis had an enhanced sense of smell. And I knew he knew my new client would have it, as well.

The older man rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans, likely in an attempt to ignore the musky scent drifting across the room. “I have a daughter, Lisa. She’s almost eighteen and thinks she knows it all.” He gave me a knowing smile. “As you can guess we disagree on a few things.”

I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted Bran tiptoeing toward the stairs cradling a huge bowl of tortilla chips and a bottle of salsa.

He knew I hated crumbs in bed.

He knew I couldn’t say anything without making a scene.

I kept my attention on Middleston. It kept me from considering disembowelment.

“She...” He cleared his throat. “She ran away a few days ago. I figured she was just mad at me again, the usual stuff. You know how kids are these days, they get told ‘no’ once and they fly off the handle.” He glanced to one side, a flush coming over his face. “Since her mom passed away a few years ago we haven’t been as close as I’d have liked. She’s my youngest, a ‘happy surprise’ as my wife put it. Other two are married and gone off to different Prides, so it’s just the two of us.” He swallowed hard and drew a deep breath, steadying himself. “Her mom, she raised all of them right, three daughters I love to death. But Lisa and I, we’ve just sort of been, well, disconnected since Jamie died. I don’t do all that great with kits to start with, and little girls, well—”

“Why did you wait so long to come to me?”

He glanced toward the front door. “I called the local cops and they told me to give her a few days, let her think it over. Said most runaways change their minds as soon as they get off the bus down in the city, turn around and come right back.” He cleared his throat again. “I wanted to give her that chance, to come home without any questions.”

“But she didn’t.”

“She’s down here in Toronto. I know it ’cause she never stopped talking ’bout coming to the city, making her fortune here. She left me a note saying she loved me but she had to strike out on her own and all that. I’ve heard things, bad things about young women who come to the city.” He let out a staggered sigh. “I don’t want her to be one of those statistics.”

I waited.

He spread his hands. “I don’t know nothing about this city, Miss Desjardin. I’ve been here a handful of times, once to see that Phantom thing ’cause Jamie had me buy her tickets for her birthday and a few more times for business. All I know is our town and our Pride. Lisa, she did school trips and all that. It’s what made her think of coming here. If I were twenty years younger, even ten, I’d be on her trail. But this, this is beyond my ken. I can’t hunt in this city like you can. This is your territory.” He bit down on his lower lip before continuing. “I want my daughter back and I think you’re my best chance.”

“When’s her birthday?”

He cleared his throat. “In three days.”

“You understand when she turns eighteen she’s recognized as an adult by the authorities.” I tried not to look toward the stairs. “I can’t promise I’ll find her by then.”

Jake nodded. “I know it’s not a lot of time but I want to talk to her one last time. If she wants to go her own way I’ll accept that but I don’t want us to go our own ways angry at each other. I owe her mother that much.” He tucked his chin into his chest. “I just want the chance. Three days, three weeks. Find her and tell her I want to talk, that’s all.”

“I’ll do my best to find her and inform her of your wishes.” I’d learned early in the private investigator game to not make promises I couldn’t keep.

“Do you—” He paused and I could see him fighting to find the right words. “Do you find a lot of lost kids?”

I wasn’t going to lie, not to family. “I don’t get a lot of these types of cases. Usually the parents call me in a panic because their darling didn’t come home last night and I find the kids a few hours later cowering at a shelter or at the bus station, ready to go home. The glamorous life of a runaway isn’t what most kids are prepared for.”

“Lisa’s a smart kit. Took her kill within the hour on her first hunt.” His chest puffed out. “She’s a tough little girl. She’s a survivor.”

“We’ll see how it goes. As I said, I can’t promise anything but I’ll give you my best.”

He sat back in the wooden chair and studied me. “Heard you was good and honest.” His tone shifted more toward approval than resignation. At least I wouldn’t be fighting with Daddy during this job.