Page 68 of Bad Medicine

Finally, he looked at me, thedistant fog in his eyes dispersing. “Yeah?”

“We’re going to need to splitup. There’s too much shit going on, and I want you on daywalker duty while I’mlooking for the kid and the shapeshifter.”

He frowned. “I’m not leavingyou, Kait.”

“Just for a few hours. I’mgoing to talk to Keith Sims. You and Zach can hunt the vampires. Call Max. Seeif—”

“I’m fine,” he said. “And I’mnot leaving you.”

“Oh hell, Joe.”

He grinned, and honestly, hedid look better, despite the haunting sadness deep in his stare. “You’re notthe boss of me,” he said.

“Technically, I am,” I pointedout.

But he only shrugged andgrinned harder.

“If you ever want to talk aboutit—”

“I know. Pull into adrive-thru, will you? We need to eat.”

“You sound like me.” Or how Iused to sound, before the alpha’s goons had kicked the appetite out of me. Butit was improving, and though hunger didn’t roar through me and make me thinkabout taking a bite out of the dashboard, it was there. I was hungry enough.Food was energy.

Still, Joe out-ate me, wolfingdown his food while I ate mine as I drove. Twenty minutes later, Rick called meback.

“He’ll see you,” he told me. “Hewants to find his grandson as much as we do.”

I opened my door. “I’m outsidehis house now. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Dammit, Kait. What if he’drefused to talk to you?”

“You probably don’t want me toanswer that question,” I told him, getting out of the car. “Don’t worry,Detective. Joe is with me. He’ll keep me honest.”

“I just want him to keep yousafe,” he said, and then he was gone.

ChapterThirty-Two

“Leave the machete, Joe,” Isaid. “It’ll freak him out.” I slipped on a long, thin coat to hide most of myown weapons, but Joe didn’t have a coat.

He did leave it, but reluctantly.He had blades stashed in half a dozen places on his body, plus a gun. He’d beall right.

The Sims lived on a quietstreet, and the houses were relatively close together. “How the hell,” Imuttered, as we walked, “could the neighbors not hear a kid screaming andcrying and call to report it?”

“She’d have ways of keeping himquiet,” he said, his voice blank. “And people like to believe that someone elsewill call the cops.”

I could only shake my head.

Keith Sims opened the doorbefore I had a chance to knock. He’d been watching for us. He was a nervous, thinman with quick, darting eyes and a habit of licking his chapped lips. He wasaround sixty, with his dark gray hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Hewore gray jeans and a white sweatshirt, and his teeth were slightly stainedfrom nicotine. The entire house smelled like a couple of heavy cigarettesmokers lived there, and with my sensitive wolf’s nose, I was not happy.

He led us into the living room,then stood poised in the middle of the floor, looking like he might take offrunning at any moment. “You want coffee or anything?”

“No, thanks,” I told him.“We’re good. If I could just ask you a couple of questions?”

“Yeah,” he said, finallyperching on the edge of a chair. “I told the other cops everything.”

“Sure,” I said. “Sure. Butsometimes there are things I just need to hear and see for myself.” I lookedaround the cluttered living room. “Would you have a photo of little Henry?”

“I gave them one already.”