He went upstairs to change and grab one of his surveillance kits (as he had learned to pack them up ahead of time – you never knew when your plans would be disrupted by the need to tail a client’s cheating husband), and found Dylan splayed out in the bed, already asleep, the box of cold pills left on the nightstand beside the alarm clock. For just a brief second, the moment he came in the door, he thought he saw Paris laying there, but it was just the sight of black hair against the pillow that made his mind take an unwelcome leap elsewhere. It probably didn’t help that it was the same faux suede tan blanket they always had either, something he associated more with Paris’s taste than his own.

It was time, wasn’t it? To pack it away, get something new, try and move forward. Of course, bedding was one thing. Was he going to pack away the framed picture of him in his “library”? The shirt of Par’s that he had hanging up in his closet and liked to smell every now and then, bury his face in the fabric and take a deep breath of the memory of him? No, he couldn’t do that. But you took these things one step at a time, right? Not that he’d ever put away the photos or stop wearing the wedding ring on a chain around his neck; there were some things you just couldn’t do.

On his way out, he made sure the blanket was pulled over him, and gave Dylan a kiss on the forehead. He was so out of it he never came close to waking up, but that was okay with Roan. He felt like he was in a weird head space at the moment and wasn’t sure he could talk about anything relating to himself or them. If there was actually a “them”, but considering they’d already slept together and he’d given him permission to stay here until he felt better, there probably was a “them”.

Oh man – he just remembered why he hated relationships. Oh well.

He packed the surveillance kit in a backpack and took the bike back out, driving over to Holden’s place on the off chance he was still there. As it turned out, he was, he just wasn’t answering his phone. He answered the door shirtless, dressed only in his collection of necklaces and a pair of blue boxer briefs. Holden leaned against the door, apparently unconcerned about his neighbors getting an eyeful of him, and said, “If you’re going to cuss me out, you can’t come in.”

“What if I’m just going to punch you?”

That made him smirk. “Now you want to get physical. Men.” He clicked his tongue and walked away, leaving his door open. Roan took that as an invitation and came in.

Holden paid no attention to him and walked back to his bedroom. Roan could have followed, but since he sensed a possible trap, he just stayed in the living room and shouted from there. “You need to call it off, Holden. I’m serious.”

“I’m sure you are, but I can’t. Kai’s on the clock right now, and I won’t be able to talk to him until we’re on the hour. And even then, he said he’d meet me on the boulevard after he’s showered and changed. And, knowing him, inhaled two Jumbo Jacks. That kid has the metabolism of a whippet.”

Roan huffed a breath through his nose and shook his head in disgust. He could have been lying about Kai being “on the clock” – an obvious euphemism for fucking a client – as Roan had no way to refute or confirm this, but Holden had a gloating tone in his voice that seemed to point sharply towards truth. Roan looked around Holden’s living room, noting his iPod dock and a few books, and then wandered to his kitchen to snoop. Hey, he was a detective – if you invited him in and left him alone, you had to expect him to pry. “Tell me about this kid. How young is he?”

“He’s twenty three, but he looks – and talks and dresses – seventeen. He’s quite popular for that very reason, especially amongst the older clientele.”

Now that was a disturbing detail he really didn’t need. “Can he take care of himself at all?”

“Do you mean fight? Well, his parents sent him to karate lessons when he was young in hopes of butching him up. It failed in several respects.”

“Ah.” Holden must have cleaned up fairly recently, or just hadn’t been home much, as his kitchen was quite neat. There was a single coffee mug in the sink, as well as a fork and a spoon, but that’s all. His cupboards were equally neat but sparse. His small collection of plates and bowls matched, but his glassware was mixed, and he had a small but inexplicable collection of novelty mugs. The foods he found were general staples – peanut butter, pasta, albacore tuna, soup, a loaf of whole grain bread – but here he had been told that good gay guys eschewed carbs. At least he wasn’t alone in liking carbs.

“But the kid’s tough. Don’t let him fool you. He’s probably stronger than most of us, at least in an emotional sense. I don’t know how he survived half the crap he’s been through in his life.” He could tell by the shift in volume that Holden was coming out of his bedroom, so he retreated to the living room, and was standing there when Holden came out wearing a pair of artfully distressed jeans, pulling a brown t-shirt on over his head. It advertised Spanky’s strip club, complete with a pole dancer in silhouette. Holden always liked to support his fellow sex workers, male or female.

“His parents treat him like shit?” Roan guessed.

Holden grimaced and shook his head. “I think he would have preferred being treated like shit. His dad raped him since he was five years old on.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah. And it was only discovered when he was nine and got really sick and ended up in the emergency room … with the clap. Of course they called the cops – what nine year old gets the clap? – and all sorts of hell resulted. His father was charged with molestation, his mother mortgaged their house to bail him out of jail, and as soon as he was, he took off, ran to Mexico. So Kai and his mother lost the house, and they ended up moving to Ohio to live with a sick Aunt. His mother fucking hated him – she blamed him for breaking up her marriage and ruining her life. She became an abusive alcoholic, and he has the cigarette burns to prove it. When he was fifteen, he dropped out of school and ran away, and he’s been on the street ever since.”

“Goddamn man – how can we ask him to do something like this? Hasn’t he had enough monsters in his life?”

“Look, I know, but in his Kai persona you’d never know he ever had anything bad happen to him. In fact, if you ask, he’ll say he had a typical, boring childhood.”

The way he said that made him pause. “The Kai persona? You’re not telling me he has multiple personality disorder, are you?”

“Not exactly. He’s sort of constructed the Kai persona for himself. His real name is Tom, but he doesn’t answer to it anymore; he’s legally changing his name to Kai Alvedo, but the judge has no idea he’s concocted an alternate life story to go with it. He seems to need to believe it’s true, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do, which is why getting him involved in this bothers me. The guy could get in a couple of good hits before we get to him, if he does pick him up. Kai could get hurt.”

“If it’s anything, physical pain doesn’t mean much to him anymore. I brought it up, but he just shrugged. He says he’s had far worse in his life.”

Roan shook his head and winced, glancing out the window, where he found a smoky grey cat staring back at him through the pane. Since he didn’t smell a cat in this apartment, he figured it must be a neighbor’s cat, or maybe a stray he was feeding. Holden was the type to adopt all kinds of strays. Was that why he was so eager to let Roan into his life? “I really don’t like this.”

“I know. But the kid really wants to do it, and I don’t see talking him out of it. Besides, it might actually do him some good to see someone actually arrested for hurting people. His dad got away clean, and his mother was never charged with anything.”

“Lovely.” One of the first disillusioning things you learned as a cop was that justice wasn’t always done; in fact, sometimes it was almost impossible. It wasn’t just the need for evidence – you needed a hell of a lot more things to align to get a solid conviction. That it happened as many times as it did was a minor miracle. Or a rigging of the system, but that was another disillusioning story entirely. “Look, I have to meet Fiona at the office, but I want you to try and seriously talk him out of it. I know you probably can if you put your heart into it.”

Holden gave him the sly smirk that almost passed for charming. “Are you flattering me, Roan?”

He scowled at him, a look that should have backed him off, but of course it didn’t. Part of Holden’s sexual allure was his complete confidence in himself; he clearly thought he could do anything, and that made everyone else believe it too. Roan may have had the evil look down, but meeting Holden’s brazen confidence it was the immovable object hitting the irresistible force. A Mexican standoff of ‘tudes. “Cut the bullshit. They don’t call you Fox because you’re pretty. Call me and let me know when you’ve gotten a hold of Kai.”

As he was leaving, Holden called out, “You think I’m pretty?”

Roan flipped him the middle finger over his shoulder, and the last thing he heard before he closed the door was Holden laughing. The guy was nothing but trouble, knew it, and reveled in it. Perhaps that was the only way he could be sure of his own power.

Although he showed up a bit early, Fiona was waiting for him in the lot of the office park, sitting behind the wheel of her car, a pumpkin orange ancient Fiat that looked like she’d once sideswiped something on the right hand side. He never would have guessed a dominatrix drove this car, but what did he think she drove? A paddy wagon?

Her red hair was held back in a more casual ponytail, and she wore dark green cargo pants and a lipstick red fleece pullover, a black bag slung over her shoulder. She looked around at the other businesses, from “Gorp master” Braunbeck’s chiropractic office to the lawyers down the way, the dentist who’d just moved in last winter to the all female CPA firm Randi worked for, and said, “Wow. I never imagined there was a private detective’s office around here.”

“I know. We’re supposed to have offices in shady areas where Peter Lorre look-alikes lurk in shadowed doorways. But do you know how much those places ask for rent? It’s criminal.”

“But you got the sarcastic, wise cracking thing down pat, huh?”

“Oh yeah, that’s free.”

He opened the office and led the way inside, trying hard to pretend the smattering of dust was just a feature. He established that she could start the coffee maker and was capable of both taking a phone message and filling out a form, and offered her the job. “So do I get to carry a gun or what?” she wondered. From the way she grinned, she was probably being funny.

“Well, if you can find a way to keep your bullwhip in your purse, you can carry that.”

“Who says I don’t already?”

Fair point.

He was showing her the office computer system and she was criticizing it, telling him about a much better operating system that went in one of his ears and straight out the other, when the door opened and a vaguely familiar man came in. He was relatively tall and wore expensive tailored black slacks and a soft blue button down shirt that had a faint glimmer to it, like the threads were taken straight from the silkworms thoraxes. On top of this he wore a long Burberry coat that seemed a little heavy for the weather, and sleek black sunglasses that hid his eyes and almost matched the sleek black of his dyed hair. He leaned on a fancy mahogany cane, and Roan thought there was something familiar about him, even though he didn’t know anyone with a cane. “You know it’s rude to ignore phone calls,” he said, and the voice gave him away as Eli.

Really? Roan was surprised, but didn’t let it show on his face. He knew he hadn’t seen Eli in person for a long time, but what the fuck had happened to him? “I gave you my answer. I’m not interested, and nothing you can say will change my mind.”

Eli sighed wearily. “Give me three minutes in private. That’s all I ask.”

He was really leaning on his cane – it wasn’t some bizarre affectation. Just that fact alone piqued his curiosity, which was a pain. And would probably be the death of him. Curiosity killed the cat, right? “Fine. But make it fast.”

As Eli limped his way towards them, he saw the look Fiona was giving him, followed up by a hearty elbow nudge, just in case he missed it. “Fiona, this is Eli Winters. Eli, this is my new assistant, Fiona Sutton.”

“My name isn’t Eli Winters anymore,” Eli replied testily.

“I am never calling you Elijah Prophet. Accept, adapt, and move on already.”

“Elijah Prophet?” Fiona repeated. “That crazy cat cult guy?” The second that left her mouth, her eyes widened in horror, and she quickly added, “Oh shit, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“I thought that summed it up nicely,” Roan assured her. Eli gave him a dirty look behind his shades, his thin lips turning down into a reverse crescent shape and bringing out heretofore unseen lines in his face.

As soon as he shut the door of his office, he asked Eli, “I guess you’ve figured out the blessing is a curse?” He looked gaunt, the clothes draped on him in a way that hid most of his thinness, but not enough. Roan figured he was limping from joint pain; if this was during his cycle, it might not go away until he transformed.

“You’re terribly cynical, aren’t you? It must suck to be you.”

“Not really.” He went to his desk and slid his backpack off and put it on the floor, waiting for Eli to lower himself into the client’s seat. As soon as he levered himself down, Roan sat behind his desk. “Now, say what you’re going to say. I’ll hum quietly to myself.”

“I’m not going to ask you to speak for your people anymore. If you don’t want to, fine, be that way. Let the government round them up and ship them away.”

“That’s not happening and you know it. So why are you here?”

He took off his sunglass and folded them neatly before tucking them into the pocket of his coat. His eyes looked tired, and fine lines had gathered there, along with circles that were so dark they looked like bruises. Eli still had the rich Eurotrash air about him, but now he also had a dissolute aura as well. Being a leopard was starting to disagree with him more and more, but what did he expect when he got infected at such a late age? The older you were, the harder it was on your body. “I want to hire you for a job, Roan. I have reason to believe that my brother has been conspiring with our family lawyer, Aaron Stockport, for a very long time, bilking me out of part of my parents’ inheritance. Can you find out for me?”

More and more surprises from Eli today. “Umm, yes, I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Good.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a thumb sized flash drive in an electric blue case. “I’ve copied every single financial document on record, from my parents’ initial investments to the family trust as it stands now. You’ll also find tax documents submitted by my brother and Stockport, and a master list of passwords to various financial accounts. I trust you will give this back to me when you’re done?”

If he was telling the truth – and why wouldn’t he? – he was handing him the financial keys to the Winters’ kingdom. That wasn’t small by any means. “Of course. Eli, why the hell are you trusting me with this?”

Eli pulled out a folded check and put it on the desk beside the flash drive. Roan caught a glimpse of a five and three zeroes. “Because I know you hate my guts, Roan, but you’ve proven yourself to be an honest man. And nowadays, those are almost impossible to find.”

Coming from anyone else, he’d have dismissed it as blowing sunshine up his skirt, but he knew that Eli hated him too. He was desperate for an ally who wouldn’t steal his money. What a sad day when a man had to turn to an enemy to help him out. “Do you believe this … let’s call it embezzlement, for lack of a better term, is recent?”

“No. I think they’ve been at it for a while, but recently they’ve increased it, which is how I finally noticed it. Stock downturn my ass.”

If Eli wasn’t being paranoid, it would make sense. After all, the Winters’ brothers had a major falling out after Eli decided to become the ultimate kitty cult leader. Shit like that could cause hissy fits, especially in a “respectable” family.

They discussed a few details, and Roan had the horrible realization that he felt kind of bad for Eli. Why? He did this to himself – he got himself infected, knowing that even if he survived the initial transformation, he was in for a world of hardship. He’d die young and in pain; there was no way around that. So what if he thought it was divine somehow, a way of connecting with god? He wanted it, and he was facilitating the infection of other people, especially kids, who didn’t really know better. Fuck him! He deserved worse.

They worked out the details, and it took about a minute for Eli to stand up. He was definitely favoring his left leg, and Roan almost asked what his problem was, but decided not to. He just didn’t look good. “How much time do you have left?”

He must have known what he was talking about, but he remained emotionless as he slipped his sunglasses back on. “I don’t know. But I’d appreciate you taking care of this ASAP.”

As he left, Roan was struck by the fact that he was going to outlive a lot of people. That was both good and bad.

He plugged the flash drive into his computer, and was surprised at the sheer amount of documents on it. It was a bigger drive than he initially thought. His eyes started to blur as he scanned the records, and he knew he’d have to get Randi to sift through these records and pick out the relevant parts. It was too big for a favor, he’d have to hire her as a “consultant” and pay her an hourly rate, but Eli would pay for that, and Randi would be thrilled to do it as soon as he told her these were the Winters family files. In fact, he might have to take the flash drive back by force. Still, numbers were not his friend, and Randi actually enjoyed them, for whatever reason. Sometimes having insane friends paid off in spades.

He went out to tell Fiona how to set up a client file, and she was acing it and making him feel like a dumbass when his cell phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket and wasn’t surprised to find it was Holden. “Tell me you have good news.”

Holden scoffed, a noise that was swallowed by cell phone static. “Anything but. Kai called me from the boulevard – his gig ended early, so he decided to get a head start.”

Roan’s stomach knotted so violently he winced. “What the fuck ..? He can’t do it without us anyways!”

“I know, I said that, and he said he was just “staking out his space”. I’m on my way there now. Join us when you can.”

Holden hung up before he could respond, or the cell phone dropped out – either way, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure if he should blame Holden more for this mess or himself. Certainly Kai shouldered a lot of it, but he wouldn’t have been involved in this if he hadn’t talked to Holden.