Chapter 6
Wade
“Okay, what’s the story?” I asked, striding out onto the rooftop deck of our building.
This was the one space big enough to hold everyone comfortably, though only about half the tenants were up here tonight, dressed in light jackets and sweaters against the spring chill.
Technically, we weren’t supposed to be on the roof, but the lock at the top of the stairwell had broken and never been repaired.
I’d replaced it with a latch that didn’t need a key from the inside. Oops.
“Wade! You’re back.” Mrs. French hurried toward me, with Mr. Turner behind her. “And you brought your friend.”
“This is Dustin,” I told her. “He’s good at problem-solving, and I hear we have a problem.
” I’d hated leaving Shawn so soon, after having just found him again.
But that black hole in my soul was healed, knowing he was alive and happy.
A problem with my building was important too, a threat that made my wolf growl, deep inside. At least I still had Dustin with me.
When we’d arrived, I hadn’t been sure if Dustin would simply drop me off and leave.
He didn’t owe me any help. He’d gotten me and Shawn back together, so his job was done.
Instead, he’d parked and asked to use my bathroom.
Then, when I suggested he might be useful with whatever was going on, he’d nodded and followed me up the stairs, feeling natural now at my back.
“A problem.” Mr. Turner gestured dramatically at Mr. Kawashima. “Wait till you hear this!”
Mr. Kawashima looked a little bashful, running a hand over his tidy, steel-gray hair. When we all focused on him, he said to me, “You know that highway widening project that’s coming?”
“Yes. They’re building a whole new set of lanes on the west side of the highway.”
“They were. Now, my daughter works in the mayor’s office, and she says they had a private meeting where they planned to put the local extension on the east side instead. Right through here. Taking out this whole block and a bunch more, flat as a pancake.”
A babble rose from the gathered residents.
I said, “That doesn’t make any sense. The lots along the west are mostly derelict buildings or already demolished.
That was the whole point. Cheap properties and not a lot of active businesses and residents to relocate.
” We’d all followed the story carefully when plans first emerged.
“All these buildings here on the east are occupied.” In crappy shape and owned by slumlords, sure, but home to far more people.
Mr. Kawashima wrung his hands. “My daughter said there were two building owners there, and they were talking about a big payout. How they were going to value the properties the city would have to pay for. She didn’t have any details, but she said they all seemed really pleased about it.”
Dustin asked, “Do we have anything official, or we’re working off this rumor?”
Mr. Kawashima frowned at him. “It’s not just a rumor. I believe her.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Dustin said. “If the change of plan’s not yet official, we have more leverage, more chance to act. Once they put something to an official vote, it takes another vote to undo it.”
“We should bring in a reporter,” Mrs. French suggested. “One of those investigative ones, like the Watergate people. They’d get to the bottom of this.”
“Do you know someone?” I asked. I’d never underestimate Mrs. French’s influence.
“Sadly, no, but I bet I can find someone who does.”
“It’s not a bad idea to involve the media.
” Dustin’s tone seemed a bit distant. “Though time may be of the essence. Speaking of which.” He raised his voice.
“It would be great if you folks could be careful who you talk to about this. If there really is something fishy going on, the last thing we want to do is warn them we know, and let them get the jump on us.”
“Maybe we should publicly shame them,” Mrs. French suggested. “What do you think Dusty?”
Dustin threw her a stern frown, and I wondered if he’d correct his name, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile.
Mr. Turner said, “We could do picket signs. March on city hall!”
Dustin held up his hand. “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves. If they make the switch official then yes, picket immediately. Right now, the idea of an investigative reporter is better. Investigate and stay silent, until we know more.”
“Dustin’s a private investigator,” I told Mrs. French. “So he knows a lot about shady deals.” At Dustin’s raised eyebrow, I quickly added, “About how to put a stop to them.”
“One very important thing,” he said, “is to keep your investigation a secret. Imagine if the Watergate reporters had leaked information before they had all the evidence. Nixon would’ve destroyed everything and called them liars.”
Mrs. French tilted her head, her eyes bright as a robin’s. “Well. All right, people. You heard Wade’s friend. Mum’s the word. No leaks.”
Mr. Turner said, “I don’t like it. I think we should alert the people in the other buildings, at least.”
“Give me a week,” Dustin told him. “Let me verify what’s going on and see if we have any evidence of shady deals. Just a week.”
“Well, all right.” Mr. Turner narrowed his eyes at me. “If you trust this man, Wade. You’ve never steered us wrong.”
“I do.” Shock at hearing myself say those words echoed inside me.
Dustin was the man I’d hated with every fiber of my being for seven long years.
The wolf whose throat I dreamed of ripping out when I couldn’t sleep at night.
Yet, there was no hesitation in me now. I trusted Dustin with my friends and neighbors, and my brother.
And myself? I was still holding back on that one, but why?
Mrs. French focused her full attention on Dustin. “What can we do?”
“Talk to people you know in the other buildings on the block. Discreetly. Ask if they’re seeing any recent changes to their leases, shorter term or whatever, and ask about their landlord.
Who is he and what kind of guy is he? I’ll stop by the public records office and look, but sometimes the guy the residents are dealing with is not the person on record.
The more info we have on who all the players are, the better. ”
“We can do that.” Mrs. French gestured at the other residents to gather them in and extracted a notepad and pen from her purse. “Let’s make a list, so we’re not all over there acting suspicious. Who has a friend on this block or the next one?”
While she was organizing them, Dustin guided Mr. Kawashima aside to get his daughter’s contact info, after assuring the old man that her name would never be revealed. Mr. Kawashima seemed to believe in Dustin, too, by the way his tense posture relaxed, faced with Dustin’s quiet competence.
I wonder what else Dustin might be competent at. His presence roused a buzz of anticipation under my skin that was hard to ignore.
I could pretend it was my wolf, thrilled at the idea of almost-pack.
There was some real truth there, especially after the run in fur in Canada where my wolf had felt settled in a way I’d desperately missed.
If anything could make me move out to the boonies, it was the idea that Shawn, Dustin, and I could cobble together a wolf pack that felt so right, all the time.
I wasn’t sure who’d be Alpha between Dustin and me, and didn’t really want to bind myself with oaths again, but even the lone wolf version we’d had for a few hours had fed my soul.
All through the drive home, when I’d instinctively relaxed in the seat next to Dustin, when I’d slept without worry and woken reaching out to him, I’d pretended that was about my wolf wanting a pack.
I’d been lying to myself.
“That was a refuge I set up for you.” How had Dustin, all those years ago, seen something in me I’d barely admitted to myself for years afterward? Had being gay himself made the difference?
Did I dare ask him? I watched him talking to Mr. Kawashima, his head bent low, attending to the small man’s words, and kept my feet anchored in place.
I was still well aware of my surroundings, so I didn’t startle when Laura patted my arm. “Thanks for taking care of us, Wade. I have faith.” She slipped away through the stairwell door.
Other neighbors stopped to assure me of their belief in my abilities, and to express their worries about finding a new place they could afford, as they headed back down the stairs.
I tried to reassure them, and reminded them to play it cool, while anger at Harvey Rosswurn kindled inside me.
He’d never been a good landlord. A lot of minor repairs had come out of my pocket, because left to him, they would never have happened.
The major ones I couldn’t afford took weeks or months to nag him into arranging.
Until now, we’d done all right with his hands-off approach, though, and in exchange, he got almost all his rents on time.
If he was going to screw these good people over in some scheme for dirty money, I was going to rip his head off.
“You’re growling,” Dustin murmured at my shoulder. “Make nice with the people.”
I gritted my teeth, but he was right. I forced a smile.
Mrs. French was the last to leave. She waved her notepad under my nose. “Got a list of contacts. We’ll find out who the landlords are for the next two blocks. We’ll trust you and your Dustin to make good use of the information.”
Your Dustin. Was that like “your Alpha” or “your Second,” just a mark of pack? I pretended it was.
“Let me make sure this space is secured,” I told Dustin when we were alone.
“Then we can talk more.” I did a quick survey of the rooftop, collected a coffee mug Vicky had left on the parapet— even if I hadn’t smelled her perfume on it, I’d have known whose it was— and ushered Dustin inside, making sure to flip the latch behind us.