Her Perilous Wolf - Julie Steimle (types of ebook readers TXT) 📗

said, “It’s… a weird organization I heard of. I was curious.”

“Monster hunters?” Vicky glanced to him sideways. “What’s gotten into you? You don’t actually think this is real, do you?”

He shrugged again, lying. “They’re LARPers probably. But… I dunno. I’m curious.”

“Well…” Vicky rose. “Grandma Bruchenhaus actually contacted me. She says she wants me to go with her to one of those shindiggy things for that society stuff. Coming out and all that garbage. Our other single cousins are going to be there.”

Vincent looked up to her, shocked.

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But she said you’d be there too. —Only they just got an email from you saying you plan to take a hiatus from representing the Bruchenhauses at social functions. Is that true?”

Closing his eyes, Vincent nodded. “I need to take a trip to the west coast. I’m still representing Grandpa Bruchenhaus, but I’d like to make other contacts.”

“So you are ditching us in the name of business?” Vicky cast him one wry, knowing look. “Come on. You just don’t wanna be there with Aunt Jillian’s boys.”

Vincent smirked. He lifted his eyes to her. “Actually… I’d rather just avoid Great Aunt Helena, who will definitely be there—though that’s not the reason.”

Hanging her shoulders, Vicky nodded. “She totally makes me wish Mom was given some other name at birth. I can’t believe grandpa named mom after his sister.”

“He didn’t,” Vincent muttered, peering now at the passage listing SRA agents for hire or contact. “He told me he named Mom after Helen of Troy. It was grandma who thought the name Helena sounded nicer.”

“What’s that you’re looking at?” Vicky pointed to the list.

Vincent put down the tab, clearing the screen to his desktop. He turned in his chair. “What do you want?”

“Come to the party,” Vicky said, but grabbed his mouse and clicked on the lower bar to pull it up again. She stared at it. “Hunters for hire?”

He moaned.

Staring at him, she said, “You want to hire a monster hunter?”

Vincent pulled the tab down again and shook his head. “No. I was just looking to see if I knew any of the names.”

She gazed dryly at him. “And why would you?”

He shrugged. Then with a chuckle, he pulled up the tab again, going back to the main page. “Because, these LARPers think some of the people we know are monsters.”

Vicky stared at him then to the website. He pointed out the names. He was sure she would not believe it, which was good. But it was better for her to know of the rumors now rather than later. Her eyes settled on one about Rick Deacon and his father among the listed werewolves. She drew in a breath.

“Audry showed this to me and told me about these guys,” he said, folding his arms while leaning back in his chair. “She says they’re crazy. They’ve been shooting at Rick and his father on full moons, thinking they’re werewolves.”

“That’s insane!”

“I know,” Vincent said, breathing easier. It really was too easy to convince others of that belief. After all, who really believed in monsters anyway? Kids and freaks.

Problem was, Vincent thought as he stared at the page, those monsters were real.

“Well anyway,” Vicky said, turning from the computer. “I need you to come to the party with me.”

Vincent shook his head. “No can do. I plan to fly out tonight once I get approval. The party is tomorrow. You will have to wing it on your own.”

“But how can I endure it?” Vicky whined. “Samantha Lydia Bruchenhaus will be there—such a snob. And Doris also threatened to show up with Henry-the-player. …Along with Lillian Taylor—and you know how drunk she gets at parties.”

Chuckling Vincent nodded, especially since the last party they had taken Vicky home on the same premise, though she really wasn’t that drunk at all. It had been all Selena Davenport’s doing….

He lifted his head on that thought. “Selena might be there.”

Vicky perked up. “What? Really?”

“I don’t see why not,” Vincent said. “It’s in New York City, right? One of those parties where elderly relatives try to get their wealthy grandkids to meet up with other people of the same class?”

Vicky nodded slowly, the thought swelling pleasantly in her head.

“Well, Selena is still single, and I hear her grandparents are once more pushing for her to get married or they might disown her—again.”

Chuckling, Vicky shook her head. But then she peeked up an eye. “Would Rick Deacon be there?”

He eyed her funny, shaking his head. “No. The Deacons never go to such things. Everyone knows his father doesn’t care about Society events, and Rick… I don’t think he’s aiming to get married.”

Vicky’s face fell. Her shoulders hung down. “Poor Audry.”

“What does Audry have to do with it?” Vincent rose up from his chair.

His sister shrugged. “Nothing… except—” she sighed. “I thought he liked her.”

Shivers ran through Vincent. He was sure Rick liked Audry. Too sure. But he also was sure Rick have every intention of protecting his cousin from all those nasty things the SRA were involved in. He was glad she was in Africa.

“Well, party pooper,” Vicky said, heaving up her yoga mat to go, “I’ll tell Grandma Bruchenhaus what you told me. But she is entirely upset that I could not drag Audry with us to this thing. She thinks Audry is going to end up an ‘old maid’ if she does not get married soon. I mean, how archaic? She can’t just let Audry live her life.”

And she walked back out his apartment. Vincent followed to the door and locked it this time.

He went back to his research.

Pulling up the tab once more for the list of SRA hunters for hire, he stared at one name in particular. It had been bugging him because it was either a coincidence or it had to be the same person.

Michael Toms.

Could he possibly be the same person as Michael Edmund Toms, son of Edmund Nicholas Toms, CEO and owner of Tristain Enterprises? Vincent had heard once that the CEO’s son Michael Toms had been kidnapped by an east coast blood-letting cult during summer back when the guy was still in high school. His rescue was in the national papers, as was his disappearance. He was one of many boys who had been kidnapped, it had said. The article said it had happened when he was visiting his grandmother in a small backwards town. Also, he vaguely remembered Rick once saying something about Michael. That his friend Michael Toms had been locked in a cupboard and nearly starved to death for some kind intended sacrifice by the town witches. But now staring at his name here on the SRA website, Vincent wondered if there was more to all of it. After all, how many Michael Tomses were there in the world?

If there ever was someone he could connect with without drawing too many eyes, it would be Michael Toms. He could make it look like a business trip. The Bruchenhauses had been interested in mergers (or at least some decent business) with Tristain Enterprises for quite some time. However, he had to make sure this was the same man.

He clicked on the link next to the name.

Up popped a dialogue box asking for the nature of the job/inquiry.

Vincent hesitated. What could he write? He did not want to drag Rick, Stewart, or anybody into the attention of the SRA, whose site this was. Changing tack, Vincent, close the dialogue box without writing anything into it, went back and closed the site, breathing hard. He was doing this backwards. It would make more sense to contact Michael Edmund Toms via Tristain Enterprises and not through the SRA.

Leaving that off, he went into different research on the guy. Did Michael have any heavy involvement in his father’s company? Was he actively working like Rick was with Deacon Enterprises? Or was Michael merely an heir to money at this moment? He was probably still at school studying for his MBA like Rick was.

He did a Google search—which these days were rather pathetic as it blocked or kept unlisted most ‘conspiracy’ sites. Then he went in deeper, delving into Tristain Enterprises’ company website.

There he found it.

Michael did have a position. It did not look like anything spectacular, let alone high profile. Just a job with the title Business Liaison.

“What does that mean?” Vincent murmured aloud, staring at it. Was it similar to what he did? Was he a go-between to grease the wheels of commerce?

His first impulse was to email Michael right away, but he checked himself. This had to look above board. His actions had to have weight to it so Michael would not suspect anything. And he had to arrange for them to meet face to face, maybe in a public place, like a business dinner. This meant he had to talk to his own grandfather and find out what deals he truly had considered concerning that company.

Immediately Vincent went straight to work—quite literally. He suited up and rushed off to the office where his grandfather’s company headquarters thrived with busyness. He did not always need to go in, as he too was still a student working on his MBA. But he had ID, passes, and the whole lot, as his grandfather’s public face for certain circles. Most of the secretaries knew him personally, and a number of the managers gave him polite nods when they spotted him. He had a feeling they were grateful he did not want their jobs, because they knew his grandfather would have given him any position in the company (except CEO) if he asked for it. The man practically swam in nepotism.

His cousin, Thomas Taylor (Lillian’s brother) was part of the marketing department, doing pretty much nothing good for it. And he always seemed to be a little inebriated (alcoholism running in the family). His cousin Henry Bruchenhaus was also there, son of his uncle John who was in line for CEO if ever Grandpa Bruchenhaus kicked the bucket. It amazed Vincent that Henry did not have his own #MeToo website dedicated to the number of women he had seduced. It also amazed him the company had not been sued over it. Henry worked in the marketing department also, but he was actually good at it. It was in his nature to know how to schmooze people.

Henry spotted him as Vincent was on his way towards the Records and Development Department. “Yo! Vince! Over here! I need a word.”

Rolling his eyes, Vincent halted.

People in the near cubicles smothered snickers. The dynamics between the cousins was sometimes their favorite entertainment. Everyone could see the other two considered Vincent a lesser being, despite being their grandfather’s favorite (as he was scandal free). Or rather, because of it. His cousins especially enjoyed reminding Vincent that he had attended ‘public school’ as a kid as if it were an epithet. But it made everyone else like Vincent more.

Turning, Vincent said, “What is it, Henry? I’m busy.”

“I heard a rumor you’re skipping out on the Society party tomorrow. What gives? You don’t want to be the face of the company anymore?” Henry said, smirking.

A couple people stiffened. They knew Henry wanted Vincent’s position. But as Henry was about as scandal-ridden as Vincent wasn’t—that was never going to happen. Or at least they hoped not. The problem for Henry was that his grandfather was not blind. He knew who represented his interests best. 

Vincent smiled back. “Well, the party isn’t actually about business, now is it? And Vicky is going.”

“Vicky?” Henry did not seem impressed. It was more like he did not care to see that cousin at all. “If want to really shock me, just say Audry is coming?”

Shaking his head, Vincent continued on. “Audry is in Africa.”

Henry let out a lazy moan, following him. “Again? Is that hippie never going to come to these things?”

“She came once,” Vincent murmured, continuing on his way, not caring if Henry followed.

“What?” Henry did follow “That one time when I heard that Deacon guy came in