Vapor Trail (The Profane Series #2)

Mid June 2012 - South Seattle

Oh, god—this is bad.

Get a hold of yourself. We’ll get someone to move the body and clean up this mess. Just take yourself home and don’t breathe a word of this to the cops, or I swear to god, I’ll send one of the boys ‘round to rip out your throat. Understood?

Yeah. Yeah, I understand…

I really don’t think you do.

Nah, I do. I swear. I can keep my fucking mouth shut, boss.

No, I don’t think you realize how much you just cost us.

She already signed it. See? All legal.

Well, aren’t you a lucky bastard. Now, get out of here.

Chapter One

Late June 2012 - Capitol Hill - Lachlan

Lachlan Graham fiddled with the electric water kettle on his counter, pressing his fingers to the body of the water reservoir like he could gauge the temperature of the water just by that one simple touch. It wasn’t entirely an affectation. Three years working as a barista in the U District’s coffee scene had given him a few skills—heat resilient hands that were, nevertheless, quite adept at judging a liquid’s temperature was simply one of them. But that’s not why he did it now—no, let’s be honest, it was just a nervous tick. An excuse to remain standing in his kitchen and thereby avoid the conversation lurking in the other room for another three minutes while the kettle heated up the water to boiling.

Tea had seemed like a good idea when he offered, but maybe it was just the coward’s way out.

His lower lip still tingled from its close contact with Vector’s mouth a minute ago.

Lachlan squeezed his fingers into a tight fist to keep from touching the hot skin—his lip, the imprint left lingering, flesh pressed against flesh. There were a hundred things it could mean and a handful that he prayed it did mean.

But he’d only know for certain once he stopped being a coward here, hiding in the kitchen, worrying over tea.

Need any help?

Lachlan jumped, almost knocking over the electric kettle, and turned to face his ex-partner. Vector hovered in the doorway, looking equally ill at ease. This, perhaps more than the previous touch, set Lachlan’s mind at ease. If he wasn’t the only nervous one here then he couldn’t be the only one of them worried about the outcome of this conversation.

They—the two of them—had been putting it off for years. Maybe their entire acquaintance. Lachlan felt stupid couching it in such dramatic terms, but really, when they’d already faced death together time and again, nothing left in the romantic department could really be considered dramatic. After all, he felt that he could be pretty certain neither of them was going to pull a knife or a gun or kidnap the other person.

This? This conversation, this thing between them, it should have been the easiest, safest thing they did together.

Funny how interpersonal relationships worm their way into your brain, your body, until they become the most dangerous circumstances imaginable.

I’m sorry, Vector murmured, already backpedaling. It had taken Lachlan too long to answer his question.

Now, he shook himself as the electric kettle clicked and the heating element turned off. He snagged Vector’s starched white sleeve and pulled him into the kitchen. It wasn’t an ideal setting for this conversation but no place was going to be ideal. They just had to bite the bullet.

Tell me how you like your tea, he said, trying to draw the werewolf into his orbit.

I suppose it depends what kind it is?

Oh. Well, I’ve got this raspberry herbal stuff, and some peppermint though I only drink that when I’m sick, and then I’ve got some earl grey that I got from work. It’s actually really good. It has lavender and orange in it. Preferences?

Vector cocked his head and stared at the two mugs on the counter. The peppermint is fine if you have honey to go in it.

I think I can arrange that.

Excellent.

Stay, Lachlan murmured, tugging once on the wolf’s sleeve to keep him close. His fingers trailed over the delicate skin of the other man’s wrist, making him shiver.

Yes, all right.

Lachlan nodded and pulled out two peppermint tea bags, pouring steaming water into the mugs. While they steeped, he searched through his cupboard for a mostly empty bear full of honey. When their drinks were ready, he handed one burning mug to his partner and took the other, wrapping both his hands around the ceramic and leaning against the kitchen counter.

He could feel the sweat beading along his hairline and under his light cotton T-shirt. Lachlan laughed—too loud in the silent apartment and painfully awkward— and set his cup back down on the counter.

Vector blew steam away from his face as though he really intended to drink the hot tea, but Lachlan reached out and took it away from him.

This was stupid.

The wolf’s face froze, and Lachlan rushed to clarify his statement.

No! I don’t mean this, talking, you and me. I meant the tea. It’s like ninety degrees outside.

I don’t think it’s quite that warm just yet.

Lachlan gathered his courage and crossed the handful of linoleum squares between them until he could feel the warmth rising off of Vector’s skin. The wolf had always dressed nicely when they worked for the Seattle Police Department. It had been his job as handler to present a professional front. He’d been the senior officer of the two of them as well. But since he’d joined the FBI, the quality of his suits had noticeably improved.

Lachlan wondered if it was werewolf fortitude that helped him look so pristine standing there in his button down, slacks, jacket, and patent leather shoes.

It is that hot, he murmured.

His eyes tracked the wolf’s throat as it bobbed up and down. He wanted to lean over and lick the thick skin there, feel the rasp of the other man’s stubble, but he thought that might be a little too brazen before they’d actually talked anything out.

I interrupted your breakfast, Vector said in a low voice.

Do want some of the bacon?

Vector twitched and a second later a laugh bubbled out of his chest. Lachlan blinked. He’d meant the offer seriously.

Vector reached up and framed the side of his face with one of his long fingered hands, pulling their faces close together.

No, I don’t want some of the bacon, the wolf said, the laugh still present in his voice. I want to kiss you.

I appreciate your candor. But I thought you wanted to talk?

The hand squeezed his neck once before letting go. Right. You should eat your breakfast. I don’t mind. We can still talk while you do.

Lachlan grinned and grabbed a plate out of his cupboard. His heart hammered a mile a minute under his skin, but he was still hungry.

Do you have to be somewhere later? he asked, pointing a fork at Vector’s ensemble.

No. I’m afraid work clothes are the only thing I packed for this trip.

You want to change into something more comfortable?

The wolf licked his thin lower lip and nodded. If you don’t mind.

He shook his head. You know where the closet is.

I’ll be right back.

Lachlan shoveled scrambled eggs and bacon into his mouth while the wolf was in his bedroom. When he was done, he placed the dishes in the sink and tiptoed into his bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face. He hadn’t been expecting company that morning.

A part of him hadn’t been expecting to see Vector again—period. But he was glad to be proven wrong about that at least.

Cleaned up, full of food, and nursing a cup of coffee—both mugs of tea washed down the sink—Lachlan leaned against his bedroom door and watched his ex-partner smooth his hands over the fit of his borrowed clothes.

What are you doing?

Vector straightened. Nothing. I’m sorry for taking so long.

You don’t have to apologize so much.

I feel as though I do. The wolf frowned. I think a lot of this could have been avoided if I’d been more conscientious—

Wait! Let’s not start assigning blame here. Please? If anything, I think our talk the other day showed that we were both stupid. Before. This is a second chance. Let’s not start off by trying to make someone accountable for it all. Okay?

If you like.

I don’t know exactly where we should start.

Vector cleared his throat. There is quite a lot, isn’t there?

Yeah.

What about how you didn’t know I was a werewolf? I admit, I’ve gone over that a few times since we last spoke and—I mean, there wasn’t a lot I could do at the hospital while I was hooked up to a respirator, except think. And Henderson wasn’t very forthcoming about the case, so… That weighed heavily. I’m babbling.

That’s okay. That’s what this is about. Rambling. The truth. Confessions. I wish I had a good explanation for that. But it was just…ignorance. Blindness. I was blind. Lachlan laughed—not because he thought it was funny, but at the absurdity.

I didn’t see a lot things back then. And it’s only recently that that’s become more obvious.

Vector stared at him with a soft, curious expression. How so?

Lachlan waved his hands in a helpless gesture, slowly crossing his bedroom to stand next to the wolf. The vertical blinds were closed and he drew them back from the balcony door. The glass was warm to the touch from the morning sun. It really was as hot as he’d claimed, climbing into the eighties before nine that morning and promising to reach even further by early afternoon.

He imagined that even the Sound would feel warm to the touch that day.

Lachlan jerked his chin at the scene outside: all of Seattle spread out below the Hill, bustling people, pale under a prickly, unfamiliar sun. Chrome and concrete and glass shone brilliant against the faraway blue backdrop of the Puget Sound which bisected the city into north, south, and east. Three quadrants surrounded by bodies of heaving salt, silt, and moderately polluted water.

I’m surrounded by things I can’t smell or see or hear. Not the way you do. But that’s just an excuse. Because plenty of norms don’t fail to see that they’re working with a werewolf every day for years. But I did. And I could blame the way I was raised. But I’m the one who had the gall to call myself a cop and be so unobservant.

He was distracted by his phone vibrating on his nightstand. Vector glanced at the little black device.

You can get that if you need to. I don’t mind.

Lachlan shook his head. It’ll keep. I don’t work today, either.

It might not be work.

It’s not important, he said, fixing the wolf with a look, trying to make him feel just how serious Lachlan was taking this conversation. How much it meant to him too.

I don’t think you should be so hard on yourself. Or call yourself an idiot. I don’t think you are.

Lachlan snorted. Thanks.

I’m serious. Vector made an abortive motion, like he wanted to bridge the distance between their bodies. Lachlan didn’t remember the wolf being quite this touchy feel before, but maybe he hadn’t felt comfortable touching so much when he’d been under the impression that he was the only one with romantic feelings. Now that Lachlan had confessed to being a little obsessed with Vector, too, the wolf had been much more free with casual contact.

Or maybe it was just a werewolf thing. A part of Lachlan liked that idea.

Okay, fine, then I wasn’t an idiot. But I was pretty blind. And I’m sorry about that. I can’t imagine it was very easy.

The wolf shrugged. It doesn’t matter since I didn’t realize you didn’t…you know, realize. But I’m glad you know now.

Me too.

They shared a quiet smile, like a secret just between the two of them, an understanding.

I like knowing that you’re a werewolf.

You do?

Yeah.

It doesn’t…worry you?

Why would it?

Vector shrugged. You said yourself, you’re not very familiar with werewolves. Unless something’s changed since I’ve been…

I’ve met a few. But you’re still the most prominent werewolf in my life.

And you’re not… Does it make you uncomfortable? I only ask because before there were a few times when I thought that it did. The werewolf thing. Not just me but when we encountered one or two in the field.

Lachlan coughed to clear his throat. His fingers itched to smooth the wrinkle that had appeared between Vector’s eyes. Maybe the wolf wasn’t the only one being more touchy lately. He leaned his shoulder blades against the hot glass behind him and sighed.

I can only apologize that my behavior—no, my narrow minded actions or words, hurt you. Or gave you the wrong impression about how I feel about werewolves. I’m sorry.

Vector shook his head. I didn’t mean to make you feel—

No, Lachlan interrupted and shook his head. No, let me say this. I have been an idiot. I know you said not to say that but I have to. It’s important right now for me to say that. It turns out I kind like werewolves. Especially one in particular.

The corners of Vector’s mouth curled up. I’m glad to hear that.

Good.

His phone rang again, vibrating insistently.

Are you sure you don’t want to answer that?

It’ll keep, Lachlan repeated firmly. He crossed the bedroom and sat down on the edge of his bed, tugging on the edge of Vector’s borrowed T-shirt until the wolf’s knees bent and the bed sank under both their weight.

I’m afraid to ask how long you’re going to stay, Lachlan admitted under his breath, sure at least that werewolf hearing would be keen enough to catch every word clearly.

Even if you did, I couldn’t say for certain.

Lachlan nodded.

I want to stay, the wolf said. I wish I’d never left. If you were an idiot then so was I.

That means something.

He was surprised when he felt a slender nose brush against his skin. Lachlan suppressed his shiver and held still as Vector moved from the collar of his shirt, up the column of his neck, and settled against the soft skin behind his ear. It tickled, a little bit, but it felt nice too. Weirdly possessive in a way he wasn’t used to from the other man, but that he could imagine growing accustomed.

I don’t have control over where they send me.

Because you’re a tracker?

Yes. It’s a contract. I’m not precisely an agent so I can’t request a permanent posting. I have to go where I’m needed. Or where they think they need me.

You don’t sound like you enjoy it.

The wolf sighed, the gust of air hot and moist against his skin, raising goosebumps.

Are you happy that you left the SPD? Vector asked after a minute.

The question gave Lachlan pause. Was he happy? Was he happier than he had been when he worked for the police? He wasn’t better off financially, that was certain. But he’d been miserable the last six months he worked for the Seattle Police Department. Those last six months after Vector had transferred to the FBI had been the worst of Lachlan’s career, and he couldn’t say it was for any other reason than that he’d lost his partner.

It wasn’t the same without you there, he confessed. It wasn’t the fairest thing to say, but it was honest. And Lachlan figured the two of them could use more honesty between them after so many years of miscommunication.

I shouldn’t have left, Vector said.

Lachlan racked his brain, trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound too accusatory or like he was trying to guilt the werewolf into making another drastic career move, when his phone started ringing again. Only this time it refused to stop. He made a frustrated noise and crawled across his bed to put the device on DO NOT DISTURB.

He hesitated, however, when he saw the number.

I was serious, I don’t mind if you answer it.

Lachlan held up his phone and pushed the ACCEPT button. Hello?

Is this Lachlan Graham?

Yes. Who is this?

I’m afraid I have to inform you that there’s been an incident.

#

January 2007 - South Lake Union

His mother had been the one to suggest he get an accountant. Lachlan had never had what he considered enough money to warrant the expense, but with the promotion, the pay raise, and the condo purchase, he had been persuaded to think otherwise. Even if he didn’t need someone to keep his books straight during the year, he could see the wisdom in getting a professional to put together his end of year tax return.

Of course, that was before he’d actually met Peter Dobbes at his little office overlooking the lake. It wasn’t a bad view out the window, but inside was another matter.

Papers littered the man’s desk, piled on chairs and spreading across the floor. Both of his file cabinets were haphazardly shut. And the man himself—maybe Lachlan should have taken his mother up on her offer to recommend him to someone instead.

Peter Dobbes, himself, was dressed in jeans and a violently loud Hawaiian print shirt. Right now, he was squinting at the information packet Lachlan had filled out the night before from pages printed off the man’s website.

If you don’t have room to take on another client, I understand— Lachlan said, preparing to flee the premises, but Peter glared at him over the papers.

Don’t even think about shifting your ass out of that chair. If I’m reading this right—and of course I’m fucking reading it right—you are going to be in for a world of hurt this April if we don’t do some creative filing.

Lachlan frowned. Why’s that?

You cashed out a short term investment account for your down payment without paying any estimated taxes on that sum. Trust me, you don’t want to pay forty percent on that next month.

Oh.

Yeah, oh. Peter glanced up and gave him a lopsided grin. But don’t worry. You came to the right person for a little creative accounting.

Chapter Two

Late June 2012 - Capitol Hill - Lachlan

How was it that the second things started to go okay, reality inevitably intervened in the worst way?

Lachlan struggled to put the words he was hearing into a context that would compute inside his brain. His hand, gripping the cell phone, froze around the little plastic chassis. If the device had been any less well made it would have cracked.

I’m sorry, can you say that again?

The woman—the police officer or the EMT or whoever it was that the police station had gotten to call him—said the words again and this time they broke through the fog in his head. Lachlan politely thanked her for her time and hung up. He looked at Vector, but he didn’t need to say anything, the werewolf had heard it all with his wolf ears.

Lachlan, Vector breathed out in a soft voice.

He shook his head and dropped the phone. It thumped quietly against the thin rug under his feet. He should check it for other calls—texts—something. Surely the moment hadn’t passed without—while he was—

A man had died in Seattle, which was not a unique occurrence. Men killed each other day. People died from natural and unnatural causes. Took their own lives in some cases. This was a big city, filled with hundreds of thousands of people, all of them wading through existence, waiting for that moment for it be snuffed out.

Alan’s dead, he said in a toneless voice. Inanely. Because of course the wolf already knew it, he’d heard it, the three times Lachlan had had to ask the woman on the phone to repeat herself.

Lachlan.

Long fingered hands cupped the sides of his face in the warm air, brushing sticky strands of hair off his forehead. He felt them, but not as hands, as anchors drawing him back into the moment. Focusing him. He was grateful, once again, for Vector’s steadying presence.

I need to do something. What should I do? he asked, looking up into the wolf’s dark, endless eyes.

I’ll make a call. It happened in Patrick’s precinct. He might be able to tell us who has the case.

Patrick? Lachlan asked, feeling the slow crawl of a numbing sensation sweep over his nerves. Your cousin?

Yes.

The hands on his face smoothed over his skin and Lachlan felt the wolf smudge a kiss across his hot cheek before withdrawing. The wolf spoke in a low voice into his phone from the other side of the room, eventually wandering into the hallway for a couple of minutes.

Lachlan hadn’t even realized he was Alan’s emergency contact.

I have good news—or, well, not good but convenient, Vector tripped over his words, reappearing in the doorway. Patrick said the case number is one of his, he’s been on the scene all morning. If you want, we can go down to the South Precinct.

Did he say that?

Not in so many words, but—Lachlan?

In a minute. Did he tell you how it happened? What they think?

No, he sounded distracted.

Lachlan jerked back to the present when a glass appeared in front of his face, full of cool water from the tap and ice that clinked. He took the glass with a shaking hand and drank half of it in one long gulp, feeling his brain ache and his stomach lurch. Vector took the glass away from him when he stopped drinking and set it down on the nightstand.

If you need a minute…maybe you should lay down for a little bit. Just to gather your thoughts. We don’t have to leave immediately. It’ll take them awhile to finish up at the scene and get back to the station.

Lachlan shook his head and leapt to his feet. He was being stupid, letting the news incapacitate him like this. And while he appreciated Vector’s gentle handholding, he didn’t want it.

No—no, let’s go. I need see the—the body. I need to know what happened.

Right. Vector nodded briskly, all business again, and helped find his wallet and keys while Lachlan dug out a pair of flip flops.

Are you sure you want to drive?

Lachlan threw back the rest of his lukewarm coffee and gave his ex-partner a dark look. Bad news or no, I’m still a safer driver than you are.

I’ve gotten better, actually, Vector said, following him downstairs.

Outside, the sun beat down on the sidewalk, reflecting white light off the pale concrete, glass, and chrome—blinding him.

Come on, we can catch the bus instead, Lachlan said, jogging up the hill to the stop nearest his apartment. I try not to drive if I don’t have to.

That’s very economical of you.

Hope you don’t mind.

The wolf shook his head and dropped two dollars in the meter, sitting in the aisle seat next to him. They’d missed the worst of the morning commute and the bus wasn’t terribly crowded.

As long as it gets us where we need to go, Vector replied.

The werewolf’s eyes moved over the crowd. Lachlan imagined him cataloging the other passengers with his ridiculous memory and supernatural senses. Did he categorize people by their appearances or their smell? he wondered.

It was an interesting line of thought, but hardly enough to distract him from their destination. Or why their morning had been interrupted.

What had Alan gotten himself mixed up in to wind up dead in the middle of the week?

They’d had to cancel their last couple get togethers so it had been a week or two since the last time he spoke to his friend face-to-face, but he couldn’t think of anything Alan had mentioned that might have resulted in his—

Was it just bad luck on his friend’s part? Wrong place, wrong time? Had it been a mugging gone wrong? Not an impossible explanation. Seattle had its fair share of gang and drug problems, which resulted in certain hotbeds of crime. That was to be expected with any major metropolis. But it was nothing compared to the crime you found in Los Angeles or New York, and Alan wasn’t an idiot. He knew where not to get caught late at night by himself.

Here, you forgot this, Vector said, handing him his cellphone.

Thanks. Lachlan thumbed the device on and checked his calls and text history, but there was nothing before the attempts from the ME’s office.

You were close, weren’t you?

He was my best friend, Lachlan replied. We’d been through a lot. There were a few rough years for me, after that last case, and Alan carried my ass home more than once.

I’m sorry, the wolf repeated. And he really did sound sorry. Not like all those careless throwaway apologies people bandied about without any real feeling. But sincerely a little heartbroken—both for himself, but also for the perceived distress the situation was causing Lachlan himself.

Their shoulders brushed together as the bus lurched up and down the steep Seattle slopes. Lachlan wasn’t about to engage in any overt displays of public affection, but still, he reached between their bodies and squeezed Vector’s fingers between his own. One quick, tight moment of human contact to acknowledge the words and manner with which they had been offered to him.

Thanks. And thank you for this. Calling your cousin.

He felt Vector shrug.

It’s nothing.

They were stuck waiting for a connecting bus for the better part of half an hour, but they made it to the station before noon. And if Vector was frustrated or put out by the inconvenience of traveling by public transportation, he didn’t show it. He remained strong and silently stoic beside Lachlan, occasionally glancing at his phone without actually typing anything.

Lachlan wondered how glad Patrick Clanahan would actually be to see them, but he didn’t care as long as it got him answers about Alan’s death.

The South Seattle Police Precinct displayed architecture typical of the area: three floors high, blank square windows that stretched from the bottom of the floor to the top without any adornment, and the exterior constructed entirely from red brick. It was a relic of a time when South Seattle and its neighborhoods were dominated by a more industrial crowd. Seventy years ago, these brick warehouses and low rises had been home to manufacturing businesses that stretched from Marginal Way to Beacon to Rainier Avenue.

In the distance, he could occasionally catch the low drone of planes taking off or landing at Boeing field.

They walked to the police station and Vector led the way inside, up two flights of stairs to the top floor and stopped at two desks near the center of the action, neither occupied at the present. One had books spread across its surface and the remains of a sandwich sitting in its brown paper wrapper. The opposite desk was neat and tidy, papers organized in the In/Out tray, pens and pencils sorted into matching cups, and the computer painstakingly free of dust.

Is this…? Lachlan glanced over his shoulder when the doors to the bullpen swung open behind them and two sweating figures stalked towards them. One was a man, tall and broader in the shoulders than Vector, with a dark look on his face. He was accompanied by a woman, average height, with darkly tanned skin and her long dark hair pulled back in a braid that draped across her shoulder. Next to him, Vector perked up and held his hand out to the man.

Hello, Pat.

Detective Patrick Clanahan grunted and gave his cousin’s hand a perfunctory shake. You didn’t say you were going to come down here.

I thought it was implied. This is my—ex-partner, uh, Lachlan Graham. He’s the emergency contact of your victim. I was hoping you could fill us in on what’s going on. The ME’s office was light on details.

Clanahan shot a quick look at Lachlan. They had met once before, years ago, right after Vector took his reassignment with the FBI. It hadn’t been one of the better moments of Lachlan’s life, but he was still a little surprised when the other wolf’s eyes slid right through him, no shred of recognition flickering across his face.

"I don’t know, Vector. Things are a little