Wolf In Waiting

I looked up slowly, frowning. “It sounds as though the writer is talking about…”

“Knowledge of our true nature,” Sebastian supplied. “And he—or she—seems to indicate a willingness to share that knowledge.”

“But that would be foolish. No human would believe what we are even if they were told. What point would there be in telling such a secret?”

Sebastian shrugged. “There are those who believe a secret worth keeping is also worth telling—or selling, as the case may be. At any rate, such a thing is simply unacceptable. Whether or not the truth would be believed is immaterial. It will not be allowed to reach that point.”

I murmured, “No, of course not.” I was examining the paper. “How did this happen to be found? Why wasn’t it mailed?”

A spark of appreciation glinted briefly in Sebastian’s eyes, and I felt like a schoolboy passing approval on my observational skills.

“It was in the trash bin of the fax room at the Montreal office,” Sebastian answered. “Apparently, the sender attempted to destroy it after faxing the message, but wasn’t entirely successful. He should have used the shredder.”

“Doesn’t the machine keep a log we could check?”

“Of course. But hundreds of faxes go out of that office every day, many of them to competitors. Without knowing exactly when this particular message was received, we have no way of tracing it.”

“Which one of our competitors, I wonder, has been the lucky recipient of our trade secrets?”

“An interesting question, actually. Two of our formulas went to two different companies, one we haven’t been able to definitively trace yet, and the other two went to Sanibel Cosmetics. That doesn’t preclude one company’s buying all the formulas and selling off those it doesn’t want. Interestingly enough, Sanibel’s corporate headquarters are in Montreal.”

I studied the half-torn paper again. It did not necessarily mean what it implied. It didn’t really even mean that the author of this letter was the same person who had been selling secrets to the outside. But it was certainly enough, with all the other circumstantial evidence at hand, to narrow the search to the Montreal office.

It was then that I realized there was something I had overlooked. I looked up at Sebastian.

“If it’s a human, if he’s somehow managed to get his hands on these secrets, and if he’s even by some incredible stretch of the imagination managed to piece together enough information to speculate on our true identity, how could he possibly have avoided detection? This human is surrounded by werewolves at least eight hours a day. Unless the Montreal office is completely staffed with incompetents, how has he avoided detection?”

Again, the faintest hint of approval in Sebastian’s eyes, even less than a pat on the schoolboy’s head.

He said, “Only a werewolf can hide from a werewolf—and then only with great difficulty. If these were the actions of an ordinary human, I should think someone would have heard or smelled or seen something long before now.”

“So you’re saying it is one of us, after all.” My tone was flat, devoid of emotion. But what I felt was a slow cold rage, a roiling contempt, a furious sense of shame and betrayal that one of our own could stoop so low. The traitor had to be rooted out, destroyed like a blight on a shrub before it did any more damage. He deserved no mercy.

“It does seem logical. Did you have another thought?” Sebastian asked.

I hesitated, hoping that my next words wouldn’t sound as badly motivated as they felt. I said, very carefully, “When did you last speak with Michael?”

The older man was a master at concealing his thoughts, and he betrayed neither surprise nor outrage. “Last week, I believe. He may no longer be my heir, but he is a dutiful son.” The words whose loyalty to the pack is unquestioned remained unspoken.

But I pursued the issue, “He’s doing well, then?”

“By some standards, I suppose. He’s working with humans, building houses for them.”

I managed a smile. “We’ll be awarding him major industrial contracts before the year is out.”

“Most likely,” agreed Sebastian without a flicker of humor.

“And his wife…”

“The human,” supplied Sebastian. Again, his distaste was carefully disguised.

“Yes. Agatha, isn’t it?”

“They seem to be very happy.”

“They probably have no secrets from each other.”

“Probably not.”

“You might want to check,” I concluded with care and deliberation, “whether either of them has been to Montreal lately.”

And Sebastian replied, with equal deliberation, “I think I’ll let you do that.”

I remained silent, not daring to speculate on what this might mean.

“There has never been a ruler who hasn’t faced at least one crisis that threatened the very survival of his people. I needn’t point out that this matter could do just that. I therefore suggest, for the sake of your regime and the future of all our kind, that you deal with this problem as quickly and efficiently as possible,” Sebastian said.

I stood slowly. I couldn’t entirely control the leap of excitement in my pulse and I was sure my elder heard it, but I didn’t care. “Are you putting me in charge of the situation, then?”

“You will have complete responsibility. I expect to be kept apprised of your plans, however, and to be kept current on developments.”

“Yes, of course.” Already my mind was racing, devising schemes, formulating battle plans. “But I shall have complete freedom in dealing with the matter?”

Sebastian made a small dismissive gesture with his hand. “I have other concerns,” he said gruffly. “I can’t be everywhere at once.”

And then I understood the full significance of what was happening. Sebastian, pressed by the troubles in New Orleans and having recently lost his right-hand man—Michael—had turned to me to handle this most delicate and dangerous problem within the company. That had to mean something, didn’t it? This was not just a token assignment, or a test. This was the kind of responsibility that would only be given to someone Sebastian trusted, in whom he had confidence to solve the problem.

Sebastian was relying on me. Perhaps that meant that, after all this time, the older man was coming to accept me as his heir.

I inclined my head. “I shan’t disappoint you, sir.”

Sebastian scowled. “For your sake, I should certainly hope not.”

I reached for my briefcase. “I’ll leave for Montreal in the morning. Is there anything in particular I should familiarize myself with before I arrive?”

“It’s all on your computer. If you have any questions, I’m sure Victoria will be able to answer them.”

Already a dread I could not quite define was creeping to my stomach. “Victoria?”

“Victoria St. Clare. She’s an account executive in the Montreal office. You’ll be working with her. Didn’t I mention it?”

St. Clare, I thought. I should have known.

I kept my face expressionless. “No, sir, you didn’t. In exactly what capacity will we be working together?”

The slight arch of Sebastian’s eyebrow was almost imperceptible. “In every capacity.”

“I understood you to say I would be in charge of this operation.”