maybe you all ought to spend the night at my place."
"You think it's the pack?" asked Adam.
Warren snorted. "Who'd call and talk to me about it? Darryl? Auriele called to tell me you were missing, but without you, the women are mostly left out of the business, too. The rest of the pack is supposed to be keeping their eyes out for you-all three of you-but that's all I know. How long do you need to keep them in the dark?"
"For a day or two." Adam's voice was neutral, but the words would tell Warren all he needed to know.
"Come to my house. I don't think that anyone except you and Mercy even know where I live. I've got enough room for all of you-unless there are a couple of people who haven't spoken up."
Each of the Tri-Cities has its own flavor, and it is in Richland that the frenzy of the dawn of the nuclear age has pressed most firmly. When the government decided to build weapons-grade plutonium here, they had to build a town, too. So scattered over the city are twenty-six types of buildings designed to house the workers for the nuclear industry. Each kind of house was given a letter designation beginning with A and ending Z.
I don't recognize them all, but the big duplexes, the A and B houses, are pretty distinctive. The A houses look sort of like Eastern farmhouses-two-story, rectangular, and unadorned. B houses are single-story rectangles. Most of them have been changed a little from what they once were, porches added, converted from duplexes to single-family dwellings-and back again. But no matter how much they are renovated, they all have a sort of sturdy plainness that overcomes brick facades, decks, and cedar siding.
Warren lived in half an A duplex with a big maple tree taking up most of his part of the front lawn. He was waiting on his porch when I drove up. When I'd met him, he'd had a sort of seedy I've-been-there-and-done-everything kind of look. His current lover had coaxed him into cutting his hair and improving his dress a little. His jeans didn't have holes in them, and his shirt had been ironed sometime in the not-too-distant past.
I was able to park directly in front of his home. As soon as I stopped, he hopped down the stairs and opened the van's sliding door.
He took in Adam's condition in one swift glance.
"You say this happened night before last?" he asked me.
"Yep." His accent is thick enough that I sometimes found myself falling into it-even though I'd never been to Texas.
Warren stuck his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back on the heels of his battered cowboy boots. "Well, boss," he drawled, "I expect I ought to feel lucky you're alive."
"I'd feel lucky if you could see your way to helping me up," Adam growled. "I wasn't feeling too bad this morning, but this thing's springs leave a lot to be desired."
"We can't all drive a Mercedes," I said lightly, having gotten out myself. "Warren, this is Bran's son, Dr. Samuel Cornick, who has come down to help."
Warren and Samuel assessed each other like a pair of cowboys in a fifties movie. Then, in response to some signal invisible to me, Samuel held out a hand and smiled.
"Good to meet you," he said.
Warren didn't say anything, but he shook Samuel's hand once and looked as if he took pleasure in the other man's greeting.
To Adam, Warren said, "I'm afraid it'll be easier to carry you, boss. There's the front stairs, then the flight up to the bedrooms."
Adam frowned unhappily, but nodded. "All right."
Warren looked a little odd carrying Adam because, while not tall, Adam is wide, and Warren is built more along the lines of a marathon runner. It's the kind of thing werewolves have to be careful not to do too often in public.
I opened the door for them but stayed in the living room while Warren continued up the stairs. Samuel waited with me.
Warren's half of the duplex had more square footage than my trailer, but between the small rooms and the stairways, my house always felt bigger to me.
He'd furnished the house comfortably with garage-sale finds and bookcases filled eclectically with everything from scientific texts to worn paperbacks bearing thrift-store price tags on the spines.
Samuel settled on the good side of the plush sofa and stretched out his legs. I turned away from him and thumbed through the nearest bookcase. I could feel his gaze on