A Wolf After My Own Heart by MaryJanice Davidson (free romance novels TXT) 📗

her shin and looked up at her with beseeching eyes, which was when she was totally subsumed by the cuteness and picked it up.

What the hell, I’ve had my rabies booster. She knew it wasn’t actually smiling—she rolled her eyes when people anthropomorphized animals—that it was just the way the fox’s mouth tipped up at the corners. Still, the thing was cute AF, its fur coarse and plush at the same time, warm little body wiry but cuddly.

And it got Garsea out of the house in half a heartbeat, so there was that.

Devoss broke through her thoughts. “You know, don’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“You know what I am,” he elaborated in a tone of puzzled wonder. “You’ve seen my other self. You know. Like you know about Sally. And you’re not going to ask. About any of it. You just won’t.”

Lila shrugged.

“You’ve gotta be the most incurious Stable I’ve ever met. I can’t tell if that’s great or terrible.”

That word again. “Or I’m just invested in minding my own business.”

“Or you’re the trap,” the child pointed out. “You’re, like, luring us into a false sense of whatever so you can pounce.”

“I’m not the pouncing type.”

“See? See? That! What does that mean? Does it mean just what you said, like I shouldn’t be reading anything into it, or are you implying that we are the pouncing type and you’ve got secrets?”

She handed him his jacket with one hand and a Target bag with the other, to shield prying eyes from spotting Osa.

Half an orphan.

I live with Mama Mac.

That tattered bear was probably the only thing the kid grabbed when he ran away. Or was removed.

“You’re showing me to the front door,” he observed.

“Yep. Thanks for stopping by, Google ‘business hours’ when you get a chance, I’ll cover for you if anyone comes around, and remember what I said about using a dryer.”

“Wait! I didn’t pay you.”

“No charge. And if you tell anyone, I’ll set Osa on fire.”

“Would not. Not after you worked so hard on—o-kay, I’m going! Jeez!” And then as she closed the door in his little fox face, he hollered, “Oz really likes you!”

Oh, goody. Because I don’t have enough problems.

The teeny thrill she got from Dev’s words was annoying.

Chapter 16

“You did what?”

“Um…” Oz blinked in the face of the older woman’s noisy surprise. “Ate the last piece of pie?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, yes, that—sorry, m’dear, I’m still upset about Dev’s walkabout last night.”

“If she didn’t hurt Sally, she wasn’t gonna hurt me.” Dev’s declaration was muffled, possibly because his head was inside a cupboard. School had let out hours ago, and the werefox had been condemned to the gulag archipelago of chores: emptying and scrubbing out every cupboard in Mama Mac’s kitchen, then putting everything back neatly and in some semblance of order. The counters, kitchen table, and chairs were groaning beneath the weight of plates and spices and mismatched water bottles and lightbulbs and batteries and candles and matches and notebooks and scores of mechanical pencils that were out of lead. “Which was obvious, obvio, offensichtlich.”

“You come down now,” Mama Mac ordered as the boy emerged from the cupboard to blink down at her, then sneezed from the dust. Oz obligingly hooked a finger through one of Dev’s belt loops and lifted him to the floor. “Supper’s ready.”

“What, no plate?” Dev asked with grating wide-eyed innocence as she handed him a roast beef sandwich on a paper towel.

“Very funny. You just sit down and—you stand there and eat.” Despite her displeasure, Mama Mac had made Dev’s sandwich just the way he liked: thick slices of rare roast beef with swiss cheese, paper-thin slices of bermuda onion, heirloom tomatoes, dijon mustard, sea salt, and cracked pepper. In two bites, it was more than half gone. When Oz had wondered aloud if giving naughty kits their favorite foods was a disincentive, Mama had speared him with A Look and explained that nutrition and discipline were entirely unrelated.

He was instantly abashed; he, more than anyone, knew that Mama never punished by withholding food. To her, that wasn’t punishment; it was abuse.

And who knew better than he did? Besides his dead sister?

“So tell me, Oz. You find our girl yet?”

“You’re gonna have to narrow—”

“Sally!”

Her attitude was to be expected, despite the fact that she’d never met “our girl.” Mama was proprietary toward any cub in trouble. Thank God. “It’s getting messy,” he admitted. “Well. Messier.”

“Poor, poor cub,” Mama sighed, ignoring Oz’s pain.

“There’s also the nagging-yet-growing feeling that she’s getting help from somewhere.” His phone peeped at a pitch too high for Stable ears; he pulled it out and glared at the text. “Annnnnd Annette’s butting in again.”

“Invite her for dinner,” Mama Mac said promptly.

“Pass. Okay, her text says that somebody claiming to be Sally’s dad called yesterday, but no one got the message for hours because bureaucracy. Message reads, ‘I’m not dead, keep her safe until I get there, you drones.’” Oz looked up. “So Sally’s dad wasn’t a fan of IPA. Or isn’t a fan of IPA. Dammit! Why does everything about this case get progressively weirder? Did he get a message to Sally, too? I think he must have. Isn’t that why she ran again?”

“Are you thinking out loud or is this an actual conversation where you want our input?” From Dev, who’d finished his sandwich and was on his third glass of apple cider.

“Both. Maybe. I dunno.” Oz rubbed his eyes. “It’s 6:00 p.m. on a Tuesday. Why do I feel like it’s 2:00 a.m. on a Friday?”

“You need some rest. Stay the night. Or at least long enough for a nice nap.”

“Sure,” he sighed. “A nap will fix everything.”

“Never said it would, boy.” This while stabbing a finger in the general direction of Oz’s eyeballs. “But you get snappish when you’re tired. Eat something and go lie down,” she ordered.

“I will, but because I want to.” He could hear himself whining and sighed. Mama had a point. Everything and everyone around him was pissing him off, and for no good