Page 15 of Claws & Cover Ups
See, my freakout wastotallyvalid. “Meena kinda forced me into it?”
“Kinda?”
“I mean, I’m pretty sure I could have said no, but I—”
“—Am physically incapable of saying no to anything ever? Yeah, I’m aware,” he completes.
I roll my eyes and tell him everything about the recentwerewolf victim and where Mickey fits in all this. He knew most of it already, since he is a Bureau agent himself and a firefighter.
Mickey gets bored by the lack of attention and makes himself at home under Matt’s chair. How much does this dog sleep? He slept through the entire drive to the pet store yesterday, then to the Bureau clinic to get his blood tested for drugs this morning, too. He did spend some energy destroying my rug sometime last night. Maybe that made him tired? The damage was truly impressive. It will need to be burned.
“You’re not hoping the killer likes the dog so much that they’ll visit your house to abduct him, and then you’ll get into a fight over Mickey rights, are you?” Matt asks dryly.
“No, of course not. That’s crazy,” I laugh. We’ll do an intricate high-stakes chess match. That’s way cooler than a fight. Especially because if it’s hand-to-hand combat, it’ll be over in five seconds. I wouldn’t waste such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity like that. It doesn’t even matter that I suck at chess and I’ll lose for sure. But think about all the angst and the tension.
Then, I’ll have to arrest them anyway because I’m a responsible cop. But I can easily frame that as my final betrayal.
Goosebumps. Literal goosebumps!
When our food arrives, I tell him about all the latest gossip my mom shared in our last phone call. I know she’ll narrate everything to Matt next time they talk, but he tolerates it.
My parents fostered Matt when he was twelve, and I was nine. He was extremely traumatized when he joined my family because his previous human foster family was horrible to him after they realized he was a werewolf. He was just achild. How they could treat achildlike that, I’d never know. But now I have their address and numbers saved in my phone, so they’d better stay off my radar if they value their lives.
“I took Mickey to get a check-up at Elliot’s,” I confessduring a rare lull in our conversation.
He sighs. “Please tell me that was the only time you saw him this week?”
“Umm… that was the only time I saw him this week?”
“Dude. You’re still stalking him, aren’t you? If Oliver breaks up with me because I let him introduce his friend to a stalker, I’m going to beso mad.”
“That man is never breaking up with you,” I say confidently. Their love was one for the ages and frankly quite rude to the single people around them.
Matt shakes his head, but a small smile manages to escape from his scowling face. “You know that wasn’t the point,” he says. “I still don’t understand what you’re trying to do here, man?”
I sigh. “I did a thorough background check. He has no werewolves in his family. There can be friends, but the question is why the fuck would he lie when he saw you at the Christmas party?”
“Maybe he was scared?” he offers. The fact that he didn’t even blink at my illegal background checks tells me I’ve trained him pretty well.
“He voluntarily hangs out with you guys all the time, and he was at the engagement party with a room full of werewolves. Why would he do that if he was scared?”
“Voluntarily might be a stretch, but point taken. So your solution to that is what? Keep following him around? For how long?”
That’s a fair question. I’ve watched Elliot almost every day for the past six months. Spent every minute of free time I could scrounge around him. And I haven't got anything to show for it other than deep bags under my eyes and a growing pile of pending work I can no longer procrastinate. I was so sure I would catch him with some proof, but the worst he has done is visit a random park a few times.
Eventually, watching him became a habit I can’t shake even if I tried. This need to be around him in case he does something to prove me right. And—
“Okay, hear me out. Why don’t you just talk to Elliot like a normal person instead?” Matt suggests before shoving some more pasta into his pie hole.
“Huh. That’s not a bad idea, really. I can pretend to be his friend,” I nod.
“No, you canactuallybe his friend.”
“You’re his friend. What do you know about him?” I tilt my head, waiting.
Matt thinks hard. “He’s a vet?”
“Alright, don’t give yourself a headache. You’re right, though, I should hang out with him.” Then a light bulb goes off in my head. “I need to date him.”
