Wolf at the Door - By MaryJanice Davidson Page 0,64

It’s so fascinating to me. The monkeys are so civilized.”

“Only compared to some. But what I’d really like to know, Cain, the reason I bothered to come back here at all . . .” The reason I sent Edward and the queen on a wild monkey chase . . . “Why? You must tell me, because that’s what eats at me (so to speak). Your motive. You’ve never done anything like this before, correct? And that’s what troubles me. Settled middle-aged office employees don’t just suddenly plan, aid, and abet felony murder. So what happened? Why now?”

Anger. Shame. Anger. Anger. Anger.

“Because they’re my cousins,” Cain said, her expression making clear she thought it was a stupid question. “They’re family.”

“Yeah.” She sighed. “I was afraid it was something like that. Cousins.”

“Their business is their life. It’s everything to them.”

“And I was in the way.”

“You were in the way.”

“You didn’t need me to be convicted, or even tried. Just inconvenienced enough to muddy the waters.” Over an audit? Of all the stupid, pointless . . .

“It was working. You were out there, like a goat staked for bait. You weren’t—you shouldn’t have—”

Made allies of the people who were supposed to condemn her. Yes, I can see how that would really screw up your plan.

“Aren’t you ashamed?” She could hear how plaintive she sounded. It was the sort of question a child asked, but Rachael couldn’t help it. When she thought of the wasted lives, she wanted to weep. “All this mess, and for what? For nothing, in the end.”

“For everything. For my family.”

When Cain went for her, Rachael was ready. Almost relieved, really. Not that one could ever really be ready for a fight to the death, but Rachael had walked through the door knowing there was a 94.62 percent chance she would have to fight for her life if she ever wanted to leave her den under her own power, rather than hitching a ride in a body bag.

So Cain dived across the desk, the small quaint rolltop desk that had seen more action in the last seven days than in the last seven years, and Rachael managed to avoid the woman’s grasping, clawing hands. She was more than a little relieved. She was an accountant, not a warrior, and it was good to see the woman was much slower than she was.

Cain recovered quickly and slashed at Rachael, forcing her back. “Can’t you try to have some dignity here at the end?”

“What”—grope, slash—“do you think”—claw, grab—“this is?”

“Pathetic. That’s what I think this is.” But Rachael was relieved, too. She hadn’t really wanted to fight to the death. She was fine with merely overpowering the woman and turning her over to either the envoy of Michael’s choice or the local police, who would—

—be delighted to find the murder weapon. Which Cain had brought with her to Rachael’s hobbit hole. Shamed, yes, but not nearly enough. Should have foreseen that, yes you should have, and you’ll pay for your arrogance now, won’t you, you silly bitch?

“You brought the gun?” Cain’s hands had gone to the small of her back and now, yes, now Rachael could smell gun oil, now that Cain was lifting her shirt and bringing the weapon out to bear, now she could smell it, but now was going to be too late, and she had no one to blame but herself. “You brought a gun into my den? You actually brought one of those things into my den, you faithless bitch?”

She would be too slow, and her only consolation was that she’d kept Edward out of it. Edward was safe. Yes, he was—

There.

“No!” she screamed. “Oh, no, don’t, don’t, don’t come in, don’t you dare come in!”

But he did dare.

Forty-nine

“I don’t know who Rachael thinks she’s kidding with all this meet-me-all-the-way-across-town-in-half-an-hour bullshit,” Edward informed the king of the vampires. “It’s so obvious she’s going to go to her place to either look for the chamber lady, or is setting up a meeting so the chamber lady comes to the hobbit hole where all will be revealed . . . something stupid and brave and really illogical.”

Eric Sinclair, beloved of Betsy and king of the undead, grinned. Edward had to make an actual, conscious effort not to flinch from that look. “Brave and really illogical would accurately describe Her Majesty.”

“And a lover of all things smoothie.”

The king chuckled, a sound that was somehow light and dark at the same time. “Yes. That, too.”

“Thanks for helping me split them up.”

“Not at