Shadow Moon Page 5

  “You think you’ll win the Games this year?” I asked to change the subject before the lapping waves of murky thoughts pulled me under.

  Rosalie met my gaze, a smug smile dancing in the corner of her lips. “I sure hope so. With the stellar record you’ve set up, I sure wouldn’t want the streak of female winners to stop now.”

  Back at work the next day, I felt even worse than I had before my match with Rosalie. I didn’t have to just spy on my coworkers, but Alec. My best fucking friend.

  I groaned and focused on the brackets glaring at me from the computer screen. Half of them were still empty. I glanced down at the handwritten notes and printouts scattered across my desk, trying to make sense of it all, then stuffed the appropriate names into their allotted time slots.

  Sometimes, I really wanted to snarl at my boss for not shelling out some cash for an automated system.

  The coaches could pencil in their hours, and everyone else would be able to book the free periods online, effectively cutting my workload by two-thirds, if not more.

  But Schultz, for all his business skills, was an old-fashioned motherfucker. That, or he just liked having his employees sigh all the time.

  I looked over the info on the screen again. It wasn’t only the court reservations I had to consider, making sure nothing was double-booked.

  With the Games coming up and the competitors starting to trickle in, all of our facilities tended to be used to the max. And, of course, they weren’t particularly enthusiastic about sharing, even though there was enough room for them all out on the tracks or in the pool. I’d already had to reach out to some of the regulars to call off their bookings as it was.

  I grunted. It was kind of wondrous how everybody seemed to forget where we all came from.

  The small clubs hosting local matches. Up to five players crammed in pitiful imitations of locker rooms. No room to warm up unless you were brave enough to go running up and down the side of the road in the freezing cold.

  Until a player reached pro level, the highest there was, the circumstances were far from accommodating.

  While I could understand the desire to take advantage of the luxuries the top athletes got, the snippiness surrounding their demands always rubbed me the wrong way. But that was reality. And unless I wanted my boss and probably a whole long line of pros to throw a fit, I needed to whip up this schedule to the best of my abilities.

  After two torturously long hours, I finally did.

  Bleary eyed and with a headache throbbing in my temples, I wandered down the hallway. Functioning on autopilot, I returned a couple of greetings, then quickly slipped into the small kitchenette we had on the floor to brew myself a cup of real coffee.

  The gods knew I needed one with what the day still had in store.

  I pulled a mug that read Hard-ass Coach from the overhead cabinet while I waited for the water to simmer, then filled it to the brim with the fragrant elixir of life. The aroma flooded my nostrils, making me forget, if only for a moment, about the world pulsing around me.

  Unfortunately, the quiet was just a temporary illusion, the world reminding me it was still very much there when the peace shattered with a crash.

  “Lotte.” The voice crept up from behind at the same time I felt a gentle brush of fingers against the small of my back.

  I yelped, coffee sloshing over the edge and trickling down my hands, scalding my knuckles.

  “Motherfucker,” I hissed. I placed the mug on the counter, only now picking up my visitor’s scent. “You scared the crap out of me, Alec.”

  The heat against my back intensified.

  “Something wrong?”

  I twisted away from his touch and moved over to the sink to wash the coffee off my skin.

  “I think I’m just wiped out,” I admitted, deciding in the spur of the moment that half-truths were the safest way to go. The tactic hadn’t failed me until now, at least. “And I swear if I have to pull another schedule out of my ass anytime soon, I’ll hand in my resignation.”

  Alec leaned against the counter, an easy smile spreading across his handsome face. “You could have called for backup.”

  “Right. Because that turned out so well the last time.” I snorted and crossed my arms. “I think I’d rather brave the brackets alone, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, come on, we only bickered for what, three hours?” He stepped closer, and it took every ounce of self-control not to shy away from his touch.

  Rosalie’s words kept ringing in my head, doubts gnawing at my insides until I was fairly certain I sported internal bleeding.

  For a second there, the need to scream at him to tell me the truth nearly won. But if he was somehow caught up in this Nill mess, my honesty would get me nowhere except on the receiving end of Isa’s wrath. Not something I wanted to face right now.

  Or ever.

  I rubbed my thumb and middle finger against my aching temples and snatched up the remaining coffee in my free hand. “I need to pick up something to eat and go through the schedule one more time to make sure I didn’t fuck anything up. I’ll see you out on the court later, yeah?”

  Alec looked at me as if he saw right through my bullshit, but, mercifully, he didn’t comment.

  Kudos to small breaks in life.

  I asked the waitress down at the bar on the ground floor to refill my mug while I picked out a sandwich with the potential to double as comfort food. Mozzarella, prosciutto, tomatoes, and just a sprinkling of olives sounded about right for the task.

  With the sandwich wrapped and coffee steaming, I drudgingly made my way back through the maze of corridors lining the eastern side of the compound. I knew I hadn’t made any mistakes with the schedule, but there was something I needed to check out. Now if only I had the faintest idea how to even start…

  Some god or another must have been listening in, because an opportunity presented itself before my headache could turn into a full-blown migraine.

  The door to the infirmary stood ajar on my left, the place seemingly abandoned for the moment. Holding on to my meal, I sampled the air, pushing past the coffee and prosciutto until all I felt were the currents coming through the door. Empty.

  Rather uselessly, since my senses were already on high alert, I glanced down the hallway to confirm I was alone. And out of reach of the security cameras monitoring the entrance to this particular wing of the compound.

  Although I hated it, this was the best chance I was going to get.

  I crept inside, placed my sandwich and mug on the desk by the door, then took a deep breath as I took in the myriad of cabinets. I let loose a sigh. It was as good a place as any to store illegal drugs. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the slightest clue what they looked or smelled like.

  Somehow I doubted ICRA could help me with that even if I pressed dear Agent Vogt for more info, so I decided on going about the task by eliminating the drugs I did know.

  The first cupboard was a dud, with nothing but rehydration powders and food supplements stashed inside—all smelling precisely as they should. The second was chock-full of painkillers intended for humans in our employ since it took a massive amount of them to have even the faintest effect on supernatural bodies. And the third, kept under lock…

  Well, that was where it got complicated.

  I just didn’t know if the rancid smell was supposed to be there or not. These meds weren’t the run-of-the-mill, over-the-counter items I was familiar with.

  A groan slipped from my lips, followed by a silent curse.

  How the fuck was I supposed to find traces of something I only knew by name? It wasn’t like I could say it out loud and the drugs would come running like a bunch of obedient pups.

  Just as I wanted to give up, a filing cabinet caught my attention. I narrowed my eyes. Maybe I didn’t need to stumble upon the actual product to glean anything useful.

  I knew from experience the club kept detailed medical records on every one of the players. If something had been administered here, it w
ould be noted. At least a vague mention of a visit, if the details of the treatment weren’t something legal enough to scribble down. It was standard procedure, and failing to disclose treating someone resulted in a hefty fine from the authorities.

  If I were dealing, that was exactly the kind of attention I’d try to avoid.

  I crouched by the cabinet, momentarily hating that I wasn’t a Black were like Greta. Being able to shift only a part of my body would have come in handy given there was a damned lock on the thing. But I still had my strength, if not my claws.

  It wasn’t the most elegant solution, but I focused on jostling the drawer just hard enough for the lock to loosen. Hopefully, the nurse would be able to write it off as nothing more than worn out equipment.

  Hopefully.

  I skimmed past the folders, finding the one with Schiller written out on top. Curious, I placed it atop the cabinet and thumbed through the pages. But before I even got anywhere near the most recent date, awareness prickled at the back of my neck, followed by an eerie realization.

  I wasn’t alone in the room any longer.

  7

  I could have played off my being here on my headache. If I were still rummaging through pills. The files, on the other hand…

  In the span of a millisecond, the long years of training every werewolf child went through kicked in. Right along with my instincts. All of it washed through me until the lone tennis coach was gone and what remained was nothing but a predator. Born and bred.

  I might try to avoid violence in daily life, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t capable of it.

  A snarl rumbled in my throat, and I lashed out with my foot, putting the full force of my preternatural strength into the kick. The sole of my sneaker connected with a muscular torso, hard enough for the impact to reverberate up my leg.

  The lurker let out a labored groan, but I felt him shift towards me, not away.

  Growling, I adjusted my stance, then struck out with a roundhouse kick.

  Adrenaline surged through my veins as I heard him crash against the wall, breaking gods knew what in the process. The reek of antiseptic spread through the space, and the room around me blurred before my eyes in a vicious reminder to breathe.

  I risked keeping my back to him while I caught my balance, hoping to the gods that crash had at least momentarily put him out of commission.

  Silently cursing for allowing myself to become so rusty, I regained my composure, fragments of what I had to do falling together into a seamless whole. Every tendon in my body was tense, ready to propel me through the air and finish the job. But another groan, another spill of a voice that finally registered, was enough to sound several alarms, leashing the killer.

  I twisted around, but the punch that would have followed flaked away into nothingness when my gaze fell on the crumpled form tucked among the remnants of a cabinet.

  Alec.

  Oh, shit. I rushed to his side, noting the cuts that bloomed on his skin where the sharp edges of broken bottles had sliced into it, as well as the nasty bruise spreading across the side of his face.

  Aside from that, at least, there weren’t any graver injuries. Not ones I could see, anyway.

  “Twice in a row, eh?” His tone was light, although the underlying strain made it perfectly clear he’d hit the wall with a fair amount of force.

  Because I threw him there.

  “What?” I blabbed, pushing the rancid memory aside.

  He traced the outlines of the bruise with his fingers, wincing when they touched skin.

  “That’s twice that I startled you, Lotte.” He stopped his painful probing. “Mind telling me what’s wrong?”

  I grimaced, then offered him my hand and helped ease him back on his feet. After giving him a moment to catch his breath—all the while hoping he hadn’t cracked any ribs—I led him over to the nurse’s station.

  Carefully, I propped him on the chair, a vial of rubbing alcohol already in one hand, cotton pads in the other. Alec’s gaze was on me when I turned to face him, the blue of his eyes scorching my skin, and I—I just felt rotten. Completely, utterly rotten.

  “Alec…” I took a shaky inhale, then let the air out slowly, wishing it would take my guilt with it. “What were you doing at Christian’s the night before he died?”

  The question came out as nothing more than a whisper, but even as I said it, I couldn’t bring myself to lift my eyes from the wounds. Silence hung between us for a moment, and I poured some rubbing alcohol on a cotton pad, then pressed it to the first of the lacerations.

  If the contact stung, Alec didn’t show it. He simply sat there, staring at me as I worked.

  I cleaned another wound, and another, watching as his werewolf healing abilities kicked in, gradually knitting the flesh together and closing the cuts.

  “Lotte,” Alec said softly when I reached his shoulder, “you think I had something to do with Christian’s death?”

  I did meet his gaze then. And regretted it instantly.

  It wasn’t hurt, exactly, that I saw. More surprise—and worry. For me.

  A grunt wormed its way free before I could reel it back in.

  “Look, Rosalie told me you were at his house that night and…” I sighed forcefully, knowing there was no way to dance around this. “He didn’t die of natural causes, Alec.”

  “How do you—” He narrowed his eyes. “The interview at the station. They told you something, didn’t they?”

  I screwed the cap back on the bottle and placed it on the nurse’s desk, then threw away the bloodied pads. “Why didn’t you tell me you went to see him?”

  “Honestly? It didn’t seem important. You seemed worked up and—” He shook his head, shoulders drooping slightly. “I went there to congratulate him personally. On being part of the official line-up for the Games.”

  “You registered him?”

  Alec nodded. “I know we decided on waiting until the last day, but I didn’t think you would mind. Especially with Rihard…”

  Of course. Of course he’d signed him up.

  Christian had been a safe bet. His game was steady, his mind in the right place. He was a logical choice for the first slot. And if Alec had registered him that night, his name wouldn’t have shown up yet on the papers I’d handled later. It made perfect sense—and had me feeling like the biggest asshole.

  I let out a long groan and perched my butt on the edge of the desk. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

  “You had every right.” He reached over, covering my hand with his. “What did the police say?”

  The question was nothing but honest curiosity, and still I tensed. Shit, I really needed to loosen up. Although how I could do that in light of everything was beyond me.

  Alec rubbed his thumb across my skin, lips pulled in an apologetic line. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just…”

  That an ICRA agent threatened my sister’s career?

  That the glint in her eye told me I would regret the day I ever said a word about this case?

  I frowned. Isa wanted me to help catch the people behind Nill and refused to hear that alone, I just wasn’t cut out for the job.

  Screw her.

  I should never have questioned Alec, and if he somehow was involved, then I’d volunteer for her to lock me up since I clearly wasn’t fit for this world with such bad judgment. I went over to lock the door and met Alec’s gaze.

  “What I’m about to say cannot leave this room…”

  By the time I told him all about the new addition in doping and my spectacular role in this case as a bullied spy, Alec looked ashen. Actually, he looked more than a little green around the edges.

  “He would never take anything. Christian wasn’t…”

  “I know,” I cut in, the low burn of anger making a comeback. “But somebody must have pressured him. Or maybe he simply didn’t know what it was. You remember that case, right, the LifeLife one?”

  �
��You mean the company that was selling performance-enhancing drugs masked as food supplements to boost their sales?”

  Apparently, the company didn’t believe in fabricating results on paper. But they had no qualms lying about the ingredients to achieve them.

  I huffed mentally.

  As if a granola bar could really affect how fast you run.

  “The one and only,” I said with a bitter smile.

  Alec raked his free hand through his hair, the other still lingering atop mine. “Well, shit. I can check in with his parents, if you want, see if there was any change to his diet.”

  “Please. And thanks.” I climbed off the desk and placed a kiss on his lips. “For not ripping my throat out.”

  The grin he flashed me was blinding. “I’ll do you one better. I’ll put together a list of all the people at the Zentrum who’ve been in contact with Christian over the past couple of weeks. At least that way you’ll have someplace to start.”

  This time, when I kissed him, I was glad the infirmary door was shut and locked.

  My headache had alleviated by the time I went out on the court. I asked Tristan, one of Alec’s players to spar with me for the free hour I had before Rihard’s session. The seventeen-year-old was more than happy to oblige since he was angling for one of the last remaining free spots for the Munich Games, and after all the running around he’d made me do, I was kind of inclined to speak to Alec on his behalf.

  He’d certainly upped his game since the last time we sparred, and although he wasn’t grand slam winning material just yet, in a couple of years, he most definitely would be. Maybe a nice, international kick in the arse was just what he needed to take the leap onto the next level.

  After we shook hands with a promise to repeat the exercise in the near future, I caught a quick shower, then padded up to the kitchenette, seriously craving a banana-and-pineapple smoothie. The faint buzzing of the compound employees filtered through the thin walls, but the sound wasn’t unpleasant. I leaned back, enjoyed my drink, and for a moment, let myself fall back into the rhythm of an ordinary day.