Chapter 13
Tank went back to his room to check on Lissa once more before he left. He sat on the bed, watching her sleep, all curled up on her side with her hands pulled up close to her chest.
Don’t get emotionally involved.
Hadn’t he just told himself that not more than two hours ago? When had that changed? When had seeing her in pain started ripping his guts out?
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to be hurting for other people, letting them get under his skin. Especially not a woman.
He was no good to any woman. Everything happy and joyful and romantic in him had been destroyed when Angie died.
All he could do was try to take care of Lissa until she was capable of being on her own again. She was strong; she was a survivor. He had to believe she’d make it through.
Sloan appeared in the doorway, carrying a battered acoustic guitar. Tank stared at him. “I didn’t know you played guitar.”
“You don’t know shit about me,” Sloan said, but not like he was pissed about it. Just like he was stating a fact. “I thought music might make her sleep better.”
Tank nodded. “Thanks for sitting with her.”
The corner of Sloan’s mouth tilted up. “She didn’t take any shit off Xander. I like her.” He settled into Tank’s big leather chair and began to tune the guitar.
Tank nodded again. He touched Lissa’s shoulder, pulling the covers up a little further, and then went out.
When he got to his truck, Xander was sitting in the passenger seat, writing dirty words in the dust on Tank’s dashboard.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tank demanded. He was in no mood.
For once, there was no asshat comeback. “I want to go with you. To get Lissa’s stuff.”
“Why?” Tank asked bluntly. “Did Flynn assign you to make sure I don’t go berserk or something?”
“That’s bearserk to you,” Xander said. “And no. I’m more likely to drive you bearserk than stop it, which he knows perfectly well.” He turned his head away and gazed out the window. “I just want to come.”
Tank stared at the back of his head for a long moment, trying to figure his angle. Then he gave up and got in the truck. He didn’t have the energy to argue with Xander right now.
He turned the truck around and they drove to the squat in silence, Xander with the window all the way down and his hand sticking out like a little kid, playing with the air resistance.
Tank pulled his truck into the abandoned parking lot and then led Xander in through the boarded-up window. Xander wandered through the convenience store area, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scents.
Tank said, “She has some kitchen stuff on the counter over there. Grab one of those empty boxes and start packing it up, would you?”
He expected some pushback, but Xander just nodded and headed for a pile of cardboard boxes near the checkout stand.
Tank went into the bathroom and collected the few toiletries Lissa had left there, then moved on to the office. He packed up her moth-eaten blanket in case she wanted it, and her few clothes. Just as he was finishing up, Xander came in, looking around the squat with his impassive gaze.
“That’s everything,” Tank said.
Xander gazed at him. “You sure?”
Tank said, “You see anything else?”
Xander tilted his head, then went into the bathroom, took the lid off the toilet tank, and checked inside.
Finding nothing, he returned to the bedroom. As Tank watched, he pulled up the couch cushions, revealing Lissa’s sheathed knife. Then he knelt down and ran his hand under the bottom of the couch and came up with another canister of pepper spray.
He added those to Tank’s box. After that, he took the pictures off the wall and checked the backs of the frames. He went through the desk drawers and checked the bottoms, and underneath the kneehole. When he was done, he had fifty-two dollars in small bills, and an ipod with almost no charge.
“How did you know all this was here?” Tank asked.
Xander just said, “You’ve been spending too much time shitting in the woods, Teddy Bear, and not enough time being homeless in the city.”
He looked around the room again, and then shoved aside a small bookcase filled with junk. Behind it was a hole in the wall leading to the storeroom next door, which had more junk jammed against its door, preventing it from being opened from the other side.
“What’s that?” Tank asked, curious.
Xander gave him an unreadable look. “Bolt hole,” he said. “In case people come in the front, she can crawl through here and get out that window.” He pointed to the window in the room next door. “Give me a sec,” he added.
Xander crawled through into the storeroom and unpiled some boxes in the corner. The bottom one was half full of toilet paper. It made Tank smile and feel sad at the same time. Lissa had been so happy to have toilet paper.
Xander was pawing through the individually wrapped rolls, and found what looked like a sheet of white paper folded in half. He climbed back through the hole and handed it to Tank. “That’s all I got,” he said. “If we missed something, she’ll have to come back and get it.”
Tank unfolded the paper. It was actually two sheets of printer paper, with another thirty-six dollars folded inside. She hadn’t been spending much of the money he’d given her.
The top paper was a printout of a web page advertising organically grown products, including artisan bread. He looked down at the logo. The People of Ursus, and a cute black bear eating honey.
The next page was a color printout of a photo, maybe also from the website, of Lissa and a little wrinkled man who looked like he was about a hundred and three.
Brother Matthias. He was taking a bite out of something—a slice of bread maybe—and they were both laughing.
She must have printed this off the internet sometime after she’d left, he realized. At a library or coffee shop. The only keepsake she had.
She must have really cared about Brother Matthias. And this Damien fucker had probably murdered him.
Note to self: when you kill Brother Damien, do it slowly.
He put the papers and money into the box with the rest of her things. Xander didn’t say anything more, just picked up the box and started walking out. Tank grabbed the other half-filled box off the counter in the convenience store as they passed by, and they carried them out to the truck.
They were halfway back to the compound before Xander spoke. He said, “I was Turned, too, you know.”
Tank hadn’t known. Xander never talked about himself. Tank just stayed quiet, letting Xander talk.
“It was a girl. Cindi,” he said. “With an ‘i’. Who the fuck names a panther Cindi? She used to sign her name with little hearts over the ‘i’s.” He shook his head. “I was all crazy in love with her, and one night when we were in bed she just bit the shit out of my shoulder. No warning, no, ‘hey, do you want to be a panther for the rest of your life?’ Nothing.”
Tank said inadequately, “That sucks.”
Xander gave a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, it does. My animal would come out randomly and just tear things up. I couldn’t hold a job, couldn’t see my friends, couldn’t be around my family. And every time Cindi got near me, I Changed involuntarily and attacked her.” He paused. “I was pretty pissed at her when I wasn’t Changed, too, come to think of it.”
He stared out the window. “I tried to join a couple of crews, but it never worked out. My animal was too messed up, and I didn’t know shit about being a shifter. So I just went rogue, and then somebody who didn’t like me much sent Alexander Fucking Grant’s hunters my address. Hard to believe, right? ‘Cause I’m such a nice guy.”
He went silent, his hand out the window, running it up and down the air currents in waves.
“She might be scared to let you take care of her, but do it anyway,” he said quietly. “Nobody deserves that shit.”