True Colors

Chapter Three

Hearth

Alice stared at the powerfully built man in her kitchen and fought the urge to twist her fingers together. His face was marked with rough lines and stamped with an edged maturity that could, from one moment to the next, turn dangerous. There was no softness anywhere in his features. They showed he had gone to many places and seen unimaginable things, and faced them all with intelligent, competent composure, and he didn’t know what it meant to give up.

His presence spiced the air with exoticism and turned her familiar surroundings strange. She had thought her peaceful two-bedroom apartment was spacious, but somehow he filled the entire place up with his strong male energy. It bathed her tired senses with vitality and a renewed sense of purpose.

He had worn just a faded black t-shirt under the leather jacket. The cotton stretched taut at the bulging biceps and deltoids in his upper arms, and strained across the heavy width of his pectorals. He wore a gun in a shoulder holster. Her gaze snagged on it. For long moments she couldn’t look away from the weapon.

As she had left her bedroom, she had noted with disconcertment that he certainly knew how to make himself at home without being invited. He had turned on the fireplace and was making tea.

Then he had looked up at her, and his icy blue gaze speared right through her. She would have said it was impossible, but that frighteningly ruthless face of his gentled, and she felt all her insides turn to mush. When he told her the fire and the tea were for her, it was the last thing in the world she expected to hear him say. She had to press her lips together hard to keep her mouth from quivering.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked. “More comfortable, at least?”

The sound of his deep, rough-and-tumble voice rubbed along her skin. The tiny hairs along her arms rose. She nodded wordlessly.

He continued. “Where do you want to sit, in the living room in front of the fire, or at your table?”

Still wordless, she indicated the dining table. He carried the mug over, set it on the table and held a chair out for her. She eased gingerly into it as she asked, “You’re not having any?”

He gave her a sideways glance that revealed a hint of roguish charm so potent it hit her point-blank between the eyes. “I’m not a tea drinker.”

Devastated at the intensity of her reaction to him, she swiveled her gaze downward in the direction of the mug and blinked at it blindly. She wrapped cold fingers around its welcome warmth and cleared her throat. “I have beer and soft drinks in the fridge, if you’d like something to drink.”

“I’m good for now, thanks.” He took the chair opposite hers and leaned his elbows on the table. He said quietly, “You do realize I’ve got to ask you some tough questions now, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Ask me anything you need to, Detective.”

“Hey.” He ducked his head, trying to catch her gaze, and she let him. He gave her a quick, coaxing smile. “Please call me Gideon.”

A small sliver of warmth worked its way into her constricted heart. She managed a small, brief smile back. “And I’m Alice.”

“Alice, I’m not going to make any secret about this—I’m very glad to meet you, but I’m sorry it had to be under such terrible circumstances. I’m sorry about the loss of your friend,” Gideon said, holding her gaze with his own pale blue eyes. They had seemed so icy not that long ago. Now they were filled with grave compassion. A dark understanding lay at the back of the expression. Alice thought, he knows what it’s like to lose people close to him.

“Friends,” she whispered.

“Friends,” he amended. “I wish you hadn’t had to see Haley that way. I would have protected you from that if I could have.”

Somehow he said the exact right things. His simple words acknowledged his awareness that something lay between them, but the condolences placed the emphasis on what they needed to focus on at the moment. It steadied her as nothing else could have done. “Thank you,” she said, sitting straighter in her chair.

“I want you to tell me everything that’s happened to you over the last couple of days,” Gideon said. “Take your time, and don’t worry about whether you think it’s important or not. I’ll decide if it is.”

“Everything?” She regarded him in puzzlement. “You’re not going to ask me questions?”

“You mean like in a TV show, where the cops get what they need to know in three or four minutes of directed dialogue?” Warmth touched her cheeks and she lifted one shoulder sheepishly. He gave her a faint smile. “I’ll ask questions later. Right now, I don’t want to lead you or impose my agenda or opinions on you. There’s always the possibility that you know more than you think you do, and things that I can’t know to ask about yet.”

“Okay.” She sipped her tea to take a moment and collect her thoughts. Not half an hour ago she had been a terrified, all but incoherent wreck. Now she was certainly grieving, but she felt calmer, supported, no longer alone and vulnerable in the dark.

She felt safe.

She thought back a few days ago to how different life had been when she had gone blithely to work without a clue what horrors the week would hold. “I’m a teacher,” she said. “I work at a private elementary school, Broadway Elementary. Haley worked at the same school. The principal, Alex Schaffer, is a friend of ours. At lunchtime he came to tell us that a mutual friend of ours, Peter Brunswick, was dead.”

At first the words came slow and halting. Then they sped up and came fast and hard. Gideon remained a silent listener, his steady gaze and strong, sure presence a lifeline she could hold on to when she hit the rough bits.

She cried. She didn’t want to but she couldn’t help it. When she reached the point where she had looked on Haley’s poor, violated body for the first time, she took off her glasses and covered her eyes with one hand as tears streaked down her face.

Gideon’s chair scraped the floor. He came around the table, knelt beside her and pulled her into his arms. It felt like it had the first time, a sense of not just being hugged but enfolded.

Neither one of them remarked on the fact that, as a police officer questioning a potential witness, many people would say his actions were inappropriate. He had crossed that line already outside the precinct.

Alice gave herself a gift—she let herself do what she needed to. She wrapped her arms around him, tucked her face into his sturdy neck, and sobbed her heart out.

He rubbed her back and held her with immaculate patience, only loosening his hold when she had calmed and made as if to straighten. He asked in a quiet voice, “Better?”

She nodded and touched the back of his hand in thanks. Then she collected her glasses and stood to splash her face off at the kitchen sink. The cool water felt good against her over-hot, puffy skin. She patted her face dry on a towel and slipped her glasses back on her nose. As the world came back into focus, she noticed the clock built into her stove read 9:05 pm.

She looked at Gideon who had risen to his feet. Every time she laid eyes on him, the sheer size of him came as shock. Neither of them had had any chance to get supper that evening. He hadn’t even started to ask her questions, so he wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. She didn’t think she could handle food, but large male Wyr, especially those with his kind of intense physicality, needed to eat.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

He froze. She could tell he was trying to decide what would be the right thing to say and, unbelievably on such a horrible night, her lips curved into a real smile.

“Of course you’re hungry,” she said. “I’ll fix something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Gideon told her.

“I know, but I want to,” she replied. “I like to cook when I’m stressed.” His eyebrows rose. She chuckled a little. “I guess that might sound strange, but cooking calms me down. I find it comforting.”

“As long as you’re sure,” he said cautiously. “I could eat something.”

Given the care with which he was treating her, no doubt that meant he was famished, so whatever she made would have to be hearty. She was glad she had gone to the store to stock up on supplies when she heard the forecast for the winter storm.

She opened the fridge, pulled out a Corona and handed it to him. He took it, his eyes lit with a tentative gratitude. Good heavens, he looked like nobody had offered to feed him before. She turned back to assess the contents of her fridge as she tried to decide what to make. “You’re a canine of some sort, aren’t you?” she murmured. He would want a lot of protein.

“I’m a wolf,” he said.

She paused as she absorbed that. A wolf, not a dog, which meant he was not quite tame or domesticated. Yes, that fit. He would be breathtaking as a wolf if his fur was the same white-blond as his hair.

“And you’re a rainbow chameleon, right?” he asked.

The handle of the fridge door slipped out of her nerveless fingers. The door swung wide as she turned to face him and backed against a counter.

Gideon’s expression changed. He said in a calm voice, “Alice, it’s all right. Remember, you’re quite safe.”

Again, he played it to perfection. He didn’t physically advance but instead leaned back against the dining table, his massive body relaxed, one foot kicked over the other. He regarded her with the same steady calm he had shown her all evening.

She relaxed with a self-conscious laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That felt like it came out of nowhere, and—we don’t like to talk about ourselves or advertise what kind of Wyr we are, you know. Some of that’s instinctive behavior, and some of it’s… Well…” She made an all-encompassing gesture.

He nodded and rubbed the back of his head, looking thoughtful. “History has not been kind to the chameleon Wyr.”

Like most of the Elder Races, Wyrkind were not only from earth. Some of the stranger species were native to the Other lands, those magic-filled places that had been formed when time and space buckled at the earth’s formation. Rainbow chameleons were such Wyr. Rare, shy creatures, they came from a remote Other land connected to the Amazon rainforest.

Rainbow chameleons had no non-Wyr counterpart. They were also unique among other, mundane species of chameleons that typically could make only a few changes in color. Rainbow chameleons had the ability to change into any color and could do so at will to blend into their surroundings.

One of the earliest explorers of the Amazon inland, Spanish conquistador Francisco de Orellana, made the first known European contact with rainbow chameleon Wyr in early 1542 as he traveled the length of the Amazon River and searched for the mythical city of El Dorado. Upon discovering the rainbow chameleon’s unique ability to undergo radical and complex changes in color, Orellana proceeded to commit some of the greatest atrocities in either Spanish or Elder Races history. He systematically hunted chameleon Wyr and had them dissected in an attempt to discover the source of their ability. The exact number of Wyr he murdered was unknown, but historians estimated the total to be anywhere from 3,000 to as many as 5,000, which were catastrophic numbers for such a rare species.

In his experiments, Orellana discovered the chameleon Wyr had a gland similar to the human pituitary gland. Extractions produced a fluid that, when it was used to treat textiles, could produce an arresting effect on items of clothing. Orellana never found El Dorado, but he brought vials of the chameleon extract back to Spain that he sold for a king’s ransom while keeping secret its origins. Spanish royalty and a few certain wealthy nobles flaunted elaborate court attire made of fabulous cloths that changed colors with liquid fluidity to match their surroundings.

The secret of the chameleon extract was discovered in Orellana’s papers after his death, whereupon King Carlos I and his mother, the mentally unstable Queen Joanna, outlawed the wearing of chameleon-dyed clothes upon pain of death. The Spanish monarchy made a great play at being morally outraged, but the political reality was, whatever their real reaction might have been, they had to make some gesture of public repudiation or run the risk of being destroyed by the infuriated rulers of the Elder Races.

However, rumors of the existence of such clothing had whispered through the succeeding centuries, in particular when connected to famous unsolved acts of theft. Whether those historical rumors were true or not, chameleon Wyr remained rare—Alice knew of only fifty or so currently living in the continental U.S.

The critically low numbers of chameleon Wyr made the crimes that had been committed seven years ago even more terrible. A small colony of chameleon Wyr had lived in Jacksonville, Florida, where seven of them had been found murdered the week before that December’s Festival of the Masque. Despite a much-televised, nationwide manhunt by several cooperating agencies, the chameleon killer had never been caught.

The silence was broken by the wind that drove ice shards against the building, like a nightmare tapping the windows with skeletal fingers, looking for a way in.

Alice shuddered at the dark fancy and shoved it away. She was surrounded with light and warmth, about to be nourished with good food and drink, and she had been given the unforeseen gift of comfort and companionship during a time that would have been terrible to endure alone. She gave Gideon another apologetic glance and turned back to the open fridge to begin pulling things out at random. She said again, “We don’t like to talk about our Wyr nature to outsiders. Does this have anything to do with our history?”

“You mean the conquistador massacre? We’ve found no evidence that links the present-day crimes to that.” Gideon straightened suddenly. “That’s how you hid from me, isn’t it? In Haley’s apartment. You changed into your Wyr form.”

Alice looked over her shoulder at him, chagrined. “You knew I was there? You didn’t just identify me by my scent when I got to the street?”

He corrected her, “I had the instinct you were there. I didn’t know for sure. I went across the street to the deli and watched the building entrance from there. Where were you hiding?”

“Do you remember the braided ficus?”

He gave her a blank look. “The what?”

“The potted plant that sat on the floor in the corner of the front hallway and the living room.” She fluffed the curls at the back of her neck self-consciously. “I was hiding in the leaves.”

A grin broke across his hard features. “Damn, you were right there. Well done. I remember brushing against that tree when I went into the living room. How big are you in your Wyr form?”

She felt a ridiculous burst of pleasure from his praise. “I’m about the length of your forearm. Maybe smaller if I curl my tail up around my body.”

“Is that why you have so many potted trees in your living room?” He regarded her with such pleasure that warmth touched her cheeks again.

She nodded and confessed, “Sometimes I like to hang out in the trees while I watch TV.”

He burst out laughing. “Of course, why not?” Startled, she felt even more self-conscious. He told her, “Sometimes my wolf likes to hang out and chew on a bone. There are these really tasty beef-basted ones you can get at Wyr Foods.”

She smiled. Wyr Foods was a specialty spin-off of the Whole Foods grocery chain. She shopped there, too. She looked at the items she had pulled out of the fridge. A carton of eggs, a package of bacon, veggies, cheese. All right. It looked like she was making an omelet. Wait, she had a couple packages of hash browns in the freezer. She guessed he could eat the full dozen eggs, plenty of bacon, both packages of hash browns, and have room to enjoy toast as well.

She pulled out an omelet pan, a skillet for the bacon, and a sauté pan with deeper sides for the hash browns. Then she rinsed vegetables for the omelet and began to chop them—onion, green bell pepper, mushrooms, and tomatoes.

Gideon watched her work. She looked calmer and more peaceful already as she moved with confidence around her kitchen. Come to think of it, he felt calmer and more peaceful just watching her. She was a beautiful woman in a wholly understated way. It showed in the graceful movements of her slim hands and the delicate bones of her wrists, in the quiet dignity in her intelligent face and that wholly incongruous, wild thing going on with her rich dark hair.

He loved that hair. He had an insane desire, akin to the wolf’s running fits—he wanted to pull every one of those corkscrew curls out and watch them spring back into place, to bury his face in it and tickle her until her sadness and dignity broke apart and she laughed herself breathless.

His cock had stiffened again. Donkey’s round hairy ass. He took a deep breath and flipped one of the chairs around so he could sit in it backward. It had the benefit of hiding the bulge in his jeans. He crossed his arms across the back of the chair and dangled his bottle of Corona from the fingers of one hand. He took a pull from his drink and drop-kicked his mind back to work.

He said, “Ready to continue?”

Alice didn’t look up from her vegetable chopping. She nodded.

“Do you know about what happened in Florida seven years ago?”

Her mouth tightened. “Every rainbow chameleon Wyr knows what happened in Florida. They were our friends and family.”

Gideon closed his eyes briefly and kicked himself some more. “Of course they were,” he said gently.

She scooped the chopped vegetables from the cutting board into a warmed skillet. They sizzled and the aroma of cooking food filled the kitchen. She said, “Do you think it’s the same killer?”

Why prevaricate? He said, “Yeah, I do. Since the Jacksonville killer was never caught, a lot of the details from those murders were never released but whoever killed Haley used the same methodology.”

She sent him a wide-eyed glance. “Methodology?”

“The killer was very methodical. He masked his scent with a chemical agent that hunters use, and while we don’t have a crime scene report yet on Haley, I’m betting he didn’t leave any fingerprints behind. The Jacksonville killer didn’t either. Each victim died by a stab wound to the heart. It’s very neatly done, then their abdominal cavities are excavated. The organs are always placed outside their bodies in the same pattern.”

Her hand, still holding the spatula, dropped to her side as her face worked. He moved across the room fast to hold her from behind in a firm grip. She whispered, “H-Haley was dead before he did that to her?”

“Yes,” he said in a strong voice. “The killer has some other agenda besides torture. I promise you, Alice. She didn’t suffer.”

She breathed hard, fighting for control. She said, “Thank you for that. I’m all right.”

He released her and stepped back. Not too far, just a couple of steps. Then he stood out of her line of sight, watching her jerky movements as she cooked with his hands fisted at his sides. There was only so much he could do to help, and it was making him a little bat-shit. “Ready for a break?” he asked, hoping she would say yes.

“No.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Please continue.”

“You said your principal, Alex Schaffer, was the one who broke the news of Peter Baines’ death to you and Haley, and he’s also the one who spread the news that David Brunswick had gone missing, correct?” He waited for her nod then continued. “Why Schaffer?”

“After Jacksonville, Alex started a support group for chameleon Wyr. First it was to help process the grief, but over time the group has turned more social. Now we have a potluck on the first Sunday of every month, and some of us get together for brunch on the third Sunday. Sometimes some of us arrange to go hiking, or to go out to dinner or see a movie.”

“True Colors,” Gideon said.

She looked at him in surprise. “You know the group? We keep its existence pretty quiet. There’s a website where everybody can log in and post news, email each other, or invite people on an outing, but it’s privately maintained. It doesn’t even come up on Google searches.”

He told her, “The FBI keeps a file on chameleon Wyr social activities, which includes information on the website. I had a look at it earlier today, but I haven’t had time to read through everything. I didn’t know Schaffer was the founder of the group.”

“Yes, and as far as I know, every chameleon Wyr in New York is a member.”

“Twenty-three,” Gideon murmured.

“I beg your pardon?” Alice handed him plates, cutlery and napkins.

He set the table. “The website has a list of all your names. The group has twenty-three members.” Well, technically the total was now twenty, but he wasn’t going to be pedantic about that when it might cause her more pain. “What brought you to Haley’s earlier?”

“We had planned to spend the evening together. I was going to try to coax her into coming to stay at my place for a while.” He came back toward her, and she handed him the salt and pepper shakers, a bottle of ketchup, and a freshly opened bottle of Corona.

“Did anybody else know you two had planned to get together this evening?” He carried the beer and the condiments to the table.

“No.” She frowned up at him. “Does that matter?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s keep that private for now, okay?” Could withholding the information be useful? He tucked the thought away for further consideration.

“All right.” She slid the last of the bacon out of the skillet, clearly deep in thought. “How did you know to show up at Haley’s?”

He smiled at her. “Why don’t I tell you that later? You may not need a break, but I do. Just until we’ve had a chance to eat.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

He’d lied, but she didn’t appear to notice. He could have talked details about the case and autopsy results throughout the meal and never turned a hair, but he wanted her to relax enough to eat a bite or two. A fresh shock wasn’t going to help her do that.

Because the police had already found David Brunswick’s body in the basement garage of his brownstone, and the killer was in fact exceedingly methodical.

Even though all of the Jacksonville murders were found at the same time, one of the details suppressed by the authorities was that the group had been held prisoner for a while at their enclave. At first the scene indicated a mass murder, but it soon became apparent that serial tendencies were involved, as the killer had ritually dissected one person each day until all seven were dead. The autopsy results confirmed the succession of murders. The report listed the victims by the date of their deaths, and the names were in alphabetical order.

That afternoon, Gideon had looked at the list of group members on the True Colors website. Peter Baines, David Brunswick. The third on the list was Haley Cannes. He had called the school but Haley had already left work.

He thought he might have dreams about moving as fast and as hard as he could to her Brooklyn address only to arrive too late. If only he had pieced it together a few hours earlier, Alice’s friend would still be alive. Maybe Haley would even be sitting down to supper with them.

He helped Alice carry the food to the table. She had cooked a dozen eggs with the sautéed vegetables. The intended omelet became a scramble upon which she had heaped scoops of sour cream and cheese. The hash browns were a delectable brown, and the bacon was so aromatic and crispy, his stomach emitted a loud rumble.

He gave her a sheepish grin and Alice laughed. Then she said suddenly, “Oh, I forgot to make toast!”

He snagged her by putting an arm around her shoulders and redirecting her back to the table. “Please sit and relax. This is more than perfect.”

She frowned at him over the delicate wire-rims perched on her slender nose. “As long as you’re sure.”

He clenched down on an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her. It wasn’t time.

Not yet, at any rate.

He said, “I’m sure.”

He held Alice’s chair for her. She smiled at him as he sat. “Don’t be shy,” she said. “Eat up. As you can see, I cooked portions relative to your size.”

So she had. He inhaled deeply as he looked at the fragrant meal. Gods above, he didn’t even have to taste any of it to know she was a superb cook. He told her, “This is more heaven than I can remember seeing in one place for quite some time. Please serve yourself something before I get started.”

Her gorgeous cocoa-and-cream skin turned pink with pleasure. “I’m not very hungry but, well, okay.”

She took a little of the scrambled eggs, a slice of bacon, and a spoonful of the hash browns. It was not nearly enough to his critical gaze, but on a night that was so hard for her, it probably would have to do.

She might lose her appetite for even that small amount if she were to realize hers was the fourth name on that website list.

Not that anything was going to happen to her. Not on Gideon’s watch. He would die before he let that happen.