Marked In Flesh (The Others #4) - Anne Bishop Page 0,9
porcupines—if you poked at them, you’d end up with a sore nose.
Figuring she had a little time before Nathan tried again to find out what was going on, Meg took a pad of lined paper and a pen out of one of the drawers.
How much human did the terra indigene want to keep?
The lists would be useful. Of course they would. But she wondered if Merri Lee was right and the question really had more to do with mind and heart. If that was the case, she had to hope that making lists would help the Elders see the real answer to the question.
• • •
Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery paid the cabdriver, then turned to study the duplex that belonged to Captain Douglas Burke. Nothing to distinguish it from its neighbors, which had neatly kept yards and other signs that the people living there were what his mother called house proud—a compliment when Twyla Montgomery said it.
He hadn’t been to his captain’s home in the six months he’d lived in Lakeside. What little he knew about Burke outside of the office made him think the man didn’t do much entertaining—and any entertaining he did do was handled in a public venue. This wasn’t a social gathering either, not when they were meeting before their shift at the Chestnut Street Police Station to discuss things Burke wanted kept outside the station.
As he reached the front door and rang the bell, a car pulled into the driveway. Officers Karl Kowalski and Michael Debany, two members of his team, got out and hurried to join him just as the door opened.
“Lieutenant,” Kowalski said, giving Monty a nod before looking at the man filling the doorway. “Captain.”
Douglas Burke was a big man, an imposing figure with blue eyes that usually held a fierce kind of friendliness. His clothes were always pressed, and the dark hair below his bald pate was always neatly trimmed. Never having seen him outside of the job, Monty couldn’t picture the man in anything but a suit, couldn’t see him wearing jeans and a ratty pullover to mow the lawn or dig in the flower beds. In fact, the lack of the suit coat and the rolled-up sleeves were as close to casual dress as Monty had ever seen.
“Come in, gentlemen.” Burke stepped aside, allowing them to enter. “We’re in the dining room. Help yourself to coffee and pastries.”
Monty glanced at the living room as he followed Burke. It looked masculine, comfortable, and minimal. He wouldn’t be surprised if the furniture, what there was of it, was high quality, maybe even antiques.
Not a room that welcomed children.
Not so odd a thought since Monty’s seven-year-old daughter, Lizzy, had arrived in Lakeside last month and was now living with him. All the secrets Lizzy had brought with her to Toland had been revealed, and she was safe from whoever had killed her mother. But that still put him in the position of having to figure out how to be a single parent and a police officer. For now, Eve Denby, the new property manager for the Lakeside Courtyard, was willing to look after Lizzy along with her own two children.
Monty walked into the dining room and hesitated when he spotted Louis Gresh and Pete Denby sitting at the dining room table, filling small plates with pastries and fresh strawberries. He wasn’t surprised that they had become part of Burke’s trusted circle.
The real surprise was the other man sitting at the table.
A toilet flushed, water ran, and then another man joined them. Shorter, leaner, and younger than Burke, the man had a full head of slightly curly, medium brown hair—but the fierce-friendly look in the blue eyes was similar enough to say family.
“Gentlemen, this is Shamus David Burke, a relative of mine who’s visiting from Brittania. He’s in law enforcement over there, so I thought his insights might be useful. Shady, this is Lieutenant Crispin James Montgomery and his officers, Karl Kowalski and Michael Debany. They handle most of the interaction with the Lakeside Courtyard. The man carefully inspecting that pastry is Commander Louis Gresh, who’s in charge of the bomb squad. The pastries are fresh, Commander. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“That you don’t check food for unwelcome surprises just proves you’ve never had children,” Louis replied. He bit into the pastry and chewed with care.
“The other man poking at his food is Pete Denby, an attorney who recently relocated from the Midwest Region.”