The Same Blood (The Lamb and the Lion: Wolves Among Us #2)

Chapter 1

“I want us to be a family.”

Phone to his ear, Jem was pushing open the door, fighting the wind and the snap of cold, and it took an extra moment for the words to register. “What?”

“A family, Jeremiah,” Brigitte said. He still didn’t think of her as Mom. “I want us to be a family.”

Night. You could see the brown haze of the inversion around the security lights, and higher, the bottom of a sky full of clouds. The cold froze the hairs inside his nose.

“Okay,” Jem said.

He started across the parking lot toward the Subaru, his work bag swinging from his shoulder, BoomTawk behind him: the cream-colored walls, the tinted glass, the big concrete balls meant to stop anybody from driving their car through the front doors.

Not that it hadn’t ever occurred to Jem.

Not that it didn’t make a shitload of sense.

“Gerald really wants to meet you,” Brigitte said. “He says you’re important to me, so you’re important to him. He wants to be part of your life too.”

Gerald was seventy years old. Gerald looked like one of those guys who liked to yell at kids to stay off his lawn. Gerald was in charge of the checkbook and the credit cards and the savings account.

“And Maeve and Milo have never met their big brother,” Brigitte said. “Do you know how much Milo looks up to you?”

Milo, who was maybe eight. Milo, who—as far as Jem knew—didn’t even know Jem existed.

Because Gerald hadn’t wanted the kids to know.

Gerald had thought it was all too soon, too rushed.

Because it hadn’t fit into Gerald’s perfect fucking life with a wife almost half his age and two charming step-kids.

But. On the other hand.

“Yeah,” he said to buy himself time. “And they’re important to you, so, you know.” He couldn’t quite finish the sentence.

It didn’t seem to matter, because Brigitte said brightly, “Exactly. We’re having a family dinner tomorrow. Please come. I want to meet your—” You could barely hear it when she choked on the next word. “—partner.”

“Tean,” Jem said.

“Yes, I want to meet him.”

He almost said it again. To make her say his name. But the urge was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and in its wake, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Tean’s name in her mouth.

For the next few steps, the only sounds were his sneakers on the frozen asphalt and the not-so-distant rush of highway traffic.

“So,” Brigitte said. “You’ll come?”

“I have to talk to Tean.”

“Jeremiah, please. Please?” And then in a burst of emotion: “It’s very important to me.”

If it’s so important, why are you calling at ten o’clock at night?

But he said, “It’s kind of last-minute.”

“Gerald only told me this morning he wanted you to come. I’ve been trying to call you all day!”

Gerald. Of course.

“Your phone is never on,” she said. “It’s like you blocked me.”

“I didn’t block you.”

“I’m not trying to be a bother.”

“You’re not bothering me.”

“It took us so long to find each other again.” Her voice grew smaller. A little girl’s voice. “I don’t want to lose that.”

Jem almost said something.

And then he heard the second pair of footsteps. The ones half a beat behind his own. Too quiet. Too close.

The parking lot was a big black mouth ahead of him, empty now that the shift was over, with only a handful of cars parked here and there.

Nothing close enough for Jem to use—a windshield that might offer a partial reflection; a side mirror for a stolen, backward glance; heck, he’d take a nice, big mommy SUV he could put between him and whoever was behind him.

Look back? Keep walking?

He kept walking, and he forced his voice to stay normal as he said, “You know they make me lock up my phone at work.”

“You don’t want to come. This is too much.”

“No, it’s not that.”

“I’m putting too much pressure on you.”

“You’re not putting too much pressure on me.”

“It’s okay, Jeremiah.” The little girl voice again. “I understand.”

Maybe whoever was following Jem was one of those crazy spree killers. Maybe he was just getting started. He liked to kill people in empty parking lots. Quick. A knife in the back.

God. If only.

“I need to talk to Tean,” Jem said. But he ruined it half a second later by adding, “I’m sure he’ll say yes.”

“Really?” Her voice was like silver again. “That’s wonderful. Oh, thank you.”

“Uh, thank you for inviting us.”

“Thank you, Jeremiah. Thank you.”

“It’s fine. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’m so happy. You made me so happy. Thank you.”

“I’ve got to go, Mom.” He didn’t mean to say it. He hated it when he did—how awkward it sounded. And he hated that he’d said it and hadn’t wanted to. “I’m about to start driving.”

“I’ll text you the details. Thank you, Jeremiah. It’s going to be wonderful.”

Rather than respond, Jem disconnected. He pocketed the phone.

And while his hand was in there, he took out the barrette he carried with him.

The one with the metal sharpened to a point.

Because carrying a knife could get you into deep shit with the police, but a barrette was just a barrette.

He wrapped his fingers around it, drew his hand out of his pocket, and kept the shiv pressed against his thigh.

The Subaru was near the back of the lot. Another thirty yards.

The footsteps behind him were almost an echo.

In one movement, Jem spun around, the bag on his shoulder sliding down his arm so he could grab it by the strap, the hand with the shiv coming up. Ten feet away, a man stopped.

Charge him? Run?

And then Jem lowered the bag. The bristle of adrenaline faded, although pinpricks still danced across his skin. He said, “Ammon? What the fuck?”

The detective—ex-detective—was dressed in a heavy coat, with a BYU hoodie and jeans visible underneath.

He held out empty hands. As the fight-or-flight energy faded, Jem began to take in more details.

Ammon’s blond hair looked thinner. He had bags under his eyes, and for the first time that Jem could recall, he wore a few days’ stubble.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. He sounded like someone who hadn’t talked in a long time. “I think someone is following Daniel.”