"Fine," I said dropping a box of miscellaneous bolts on the floor of the shed. I shut the door and locked it, though if I'd left it open, maybe some nice thieves would come and clean it out for me. "Why don't you pick up some lunch for us while you're out? There's a good taco wagon by the car wash over on First."
"Honey, too?"
I glanced over at her car where she was sitting in air-conditioned comfort as she had been since I came out here. I hoped she'd had her oil changed recently—idling for hours could be hard on an engine.
She saw me looking at her and smiled unpleasantly, still not a hair out of place. I'd been sweating in a dusty and greasy shed all morning and the bruises Littleton left on my face were a lovely shade of yellow today.
"Yeah," I said reluctantly. "Take the lunch money out of petty cash. Use the business credit card for the starter."
Gabriel bounced back into the office and was on his way out by the time I made it to the door. The air-conditioning felt heavenly and I drank two glasses of water before going back to work. The garage wasn't as cool as the office, but it was a lot better than outside.
Honey followed me through the office to the shop and managed to ignore me at the same time. I noticed, with some satisfaction, that soon after she left the office, she broke out in a sweat.
I'd just had time to get a good start on a brake job when she spoke. "There's someone in the office."
I hadn't heard anyone, but I hadn't been listening. I wiped my hands hastily and headed back into the office. I wasn't officially opened, but a lot of my regular customers know I'm here on Saturdays more often than not.
As it happened the face was familiar.
"Mr. Black," I said. "More car problems?"
He started to look at me, but his eyes ran into trouble as they hit Honey and refused to move off of her. It was not an uncommon reaction. One more reason to hate Honey—not that I needed another one.
"Honey, this is Tom Black, a reporter who wants the skinny on what it's like to date Adam Hauptman, prince of the werewolves." I said it to get a rise out of her, but Honey disappointed me.
"Mr. Black," she said, coolly extending her hand.
He shook her hand, still staring at her, and then seemed to recover. He cleared his throat. "Prince of the Werewolves? Is he?"
"She can't talk to you, Mr. Black," Honey told him, though she glanced at me to make it clear that the words were directed at me. If she weren't more careful, she'd find herself outed as a werewolf. If she weren't dumber than a stump she'd have known I don't take orders. Not from Bran, not from Adam or Samuel—certainly not from Honey.
"No one ever told me not to talk to reporters," I said
"I will make it worth your while," Black said in a classic assumption close worthy of a used car salesman. He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of bills in a gold clip and set them on the counter. If I hadn't been so ticked off with Honey—and Adam for sticking me with her—I'd have laughed. But Honey was there, so I licked my lips and looked interested.
"Well…" I began.
Honey turned to me, vibrating with rage. "I hope that Adam lets me be the one to break your scrawny neck."
Yep. It wouldn't be long before everyone knew Honey was a werewolf. She was just too easy. I ought to have felt guilty for baiting her.
Instead, I rolled my eyes at her. "Please."
Black ignored Honey. "I want to know what you think about him personally. What is dating a werewolf like?" He gave me a charming smile, though his eyes were still watchful. "The public wants to know."
That last statement was too comic-book reporter for me to ignore. It pulled my attention from Honey. I considered Black thoughtfully for a moment. He smelled anxious—and angry. Not the emotions of a reporter about to get the story he wanted.
I pushed the money roll back at him. "Put that away. I'm pretty upset with Adam right now, so I'd really like to give you an earful." Especially with Honey watching. "You may not quote me, but the truth is that, for a domineering control freak, he's pretty damn nice. He's honest, hard working, and generous. He's a good father. He's loyal to his people and he takes care of them. It doesn't make a very good story, but that's your problem, not mine. If you are looking for dirt on Adam Hauptman, let me save you a lot of fruitless effort. There is no dirt."
I don't know what kind of a reaction I expected, but it wasn't the one I got. He ignored the bills on the counter and leaned down over it, invading my space.
"He's a good father?" he asked intently. The fake smile vanished from his face. I could smell his anxiety winning over anger.
I didn't answer. I wasn't going to take responsibility for directing the eyes of the press toward Jesse, when Adam had been so careful to keep her out of the way. Besides, the reporter's strange reactions made me think there was something else going on.
Black closed his eyes briefly. "Please," he said. "It's important."
I took a deep breath and could smell the truth of his words. The first complete truth he'd uttered in my presence. This was very important to him.
I shuffled through possibilities and then asked, "Who do you know that is a werewolf?"
"Are you a werewolf?" he asked.
"No." Not that he could have known if I lied, because he was decidedly human.
The same thought must have occurred to him. He waved away his last question impatiently. "It doesn't matter. If you'll tell me why you say he's a good father… I'll tell you about the werewolves I know."
Fear. Not the kind of fear you feel when unexpectedly confronted by a monster in the dark, but the slower, stronger fear of something terrible that was going to happen. Fear and pain of an old wound, the kind that Samuel had smelled of last night. I hadn't been able to help Samuel, not enough.
I considered Mr. Black who might or might not be a reporter.
"Your word you won't use this for a story," I said, ignoring Honey's raised eyebrows.
"You have it."
"Are you a reporter?" I asked.
He nodded his head, a quick up and down followed by a get-on-with-it glare.
I thought a moment. "Let me give you an example. Adam is supposed to be speaking to government officials about legislation dealing with werewolves. He's up to his neck in touchy negotiations. When his daughter needed him, he dropped everything and came back here—though he has a number of trusted people he could have called upon to take care of her."
"She's human, though, right? His daughter. I read that they can't have werewolf children."
I frowned at him, trying to see the point of his question. "Does it matter?"
He rubbed his face tiredly. "I don't know. Does it? Would he treat her differently if she was a werewolf?"
"No," said Honey. Black was being so interesting, I'd forgotten about Honey. "No. Adam takes care of his own. Wolf, human or whatever." She looked at me pointedly. "Even when they don't want him to."
It felt weird to exchange a smile with Honey, so I stopped as soon as I could. I think she felt the same way because she turned her head to stare out the window.