which was good, since they were still dealing with the results of Margot becoming a black wereleopard in a freak shooting accident.
“Boss,” I said softly.
“Nell,” he said with a half smile. “I hear you’ve been doing good work.”
A flush warmed my face, any color change hidden behind my tree-bark-toned skin. To cover my self-conscious reaction, I said, “Thanks. Full moon’s coming in a few days. You two planning to hunt on my land?”
“If you and Soulwood permit. There’s no finer hunting ground in the world.”
I ducked my head in pleasure.
Rick turned his attention to our up-line boss.
“FireWind.”
“LaFleur. You wrapped that case up quickly. No bloodshed, no collateral damage.”
The four of us stood in the sun while the two male senior agents talked about the Chattanooga case, their backs to the Merriweather house. Margot and I were facing the house, standing side by side, listening, and I took the opportunity to study the probationary special agent. Margot Racer, formerly a special agent in the FBI, exuded self-assurance, a confidence I had never seen in women, especially not in any churchwomen. Her shoulders were back, her chin up, her eyes narrowed. Her dark skin glistened in the sunlight as if it was dusted with gold dust, and her buzzed short hair looked elegant and tough at once. She looked badass, a word I never associated with females but that certainly fit her. And fit Esther, though in a very different way. I would never be badass.
As I had hoped, some time spent with Rick, also a wereleopard, had helped Margot adjust to the loss of her humanity and the acquisition of a furry body during the full moon. When she and Rick had left for the case in Chattanooga, she had been grieving, often staring out the window, one arm hugging across herself, the other hanging to her side, too limp, her posture desultory. Grieving.
Grief was like living inside a weighted net, pulling you down. You could see out but not get away, not breathe freely, not . . . not live the life you once lived. I had grieved like that when Leah died, Leah who had been John’s first wife and my friend. And then John had died. And though there had been no romantic love between us, I had grieved his loss as well. And I had been alone. I hadn’t known how to help Margot, how to untangle the threads that trapped her, how to set her free, but the time spent with Rick had gone a long way to healing.
It made me want to cheer to see her back to her old self. Margot might be a probationary agent in PsyLED, but she would never be viewed by her coworkers as a probationary anything. Watching Margot, I stood straighter, as if a chain hauled the top of my head up several inches. I tilted my chin high. Narrowed my eyes. The posture changes made me feel more in control.
We were a strange grouping, confident Margot Racer with her glowing dark skin and elegant business suit, Rick LaFleur with his navy jacket and pants, black eyes, and startling white hair, and FireWind with his yellow eyes, black clothing, and long black braid. And ordinary-looking me with my fading red hair, greenish eyes, and clothes from Target. Even with my shoulders back I knew I looked dowdy standing next to the others. It wasn’t a feeling I particularly liked.
I wondered if the churchwomen could make me some elegant suits. The thought was shocking. An almost violent collision between my two worlds.
At the house, the black-suited woman opened the door and stared us down. She didn’t motion us forward so much as simply stand there and study us. I figured it was a power play of some sort. My stride long and sure, I walked around the jabbering men and up the walkway. I didn’t look back, but I could feel them start after me. As I moved up the walk, I studied the lawyer, because that was surely what I faced. She was lean and muscular and exuded the same kind of power that Margot did.
I smiled a churchwoman smile as I walked up the three short steps, flipped open my ID, and turned on just a smidge of my church accent, along with a big smile. “Hey. I’m Special Agent Nell Ingram. I thank you for coming to protect the identity and juvenile record of your client. She’ll need you.”