Cat Scratch Fever; Blue-Collar Werewolves V by Buffi BeCraft

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labs in the below levels, both with a lot of silver in the design.
He shuffled the prints, peering closer at detailed drawings of
holding areas, cages , and notes about the security
system…which all happened to be where the majority of the
supernatural energy was registering. He closed his eyes, briefly
focused on a bright spot of energy below, not as far as the lower
levels…in the lobby.
    More uneasiness slithered along his spine as
he rolled the blueprints back up. His subconscious finally spit out
what was bothering him. Blueprints. Silver . Palestine.
The gate guard. Werewolves.
    Fuck! The connection slid into place.
It was a big leap of intuition, far-fetched maybe, but Matthew was
openly looking for another job when the vampires outed everyone.
Then, suddenly he got a promotion and a decent raise? He had a bad
feeling about how his brother-in-law fell into this mix. God,
Matthew felt used.
    He turned and darted for the elevator. He
punched the elevator button three times before yanking out his cell
phone. Scrolling down through the received numbers, he found the
listing he’d lifted from the phone book a while back.
    “Hello?’ A child’s voice answered only to be
replaced by a grown man’s.
    “Yeah. I need Brandon Weis’ number.” Matthew
only prayed that he didn’t get hung up on.
    “Who is this?” The man on the other end
sounded suspicious.
    “Uh.” The damn elevator door seemed to be
going through every floor. To hell with it. Matthew ran for the
stairs. “My name is Matthew. Do you have the number?”
    “Hey, Bradley! Some guy named Matt is
wanting Brandon’s number. Should I give it? Sounds like a weirdo.
Lotta heavy breathing.” He’d never let anyone call him Matt a day
in his life. He hit the door at a dead run. Please God let his
brother-in-law be okay.
    “No.” The other voice yelled back.
    Now what, Brainiac? Jesus! He could
not catch a break here. “Fine.” Matthew grunted, pounding down the
fifth flight of stairs. One more flight left. “Can you call him — ”
Matthew rounded the corner and came feet to feet with a body
stretched across the landing. “Uhhh!” sliding down, he threw his
hands out for balance and landed on top.
    It was Hambly. A very dead Hambly. Worse,
he’d just touched the body. Trying to overcome the squeamish
impulse to wipe his hands and yelp, he scrambled away. He had no
idea where his cell phone had gone. Probably, long gone down the
steps in tiny pieces. The blueprints were wedged in Hambly’s
armpit.
    The landing door opened, admitting a
well-dressed BioPet executive. “Mr. Ridley. So good of you to drop
by.” Matthew paused, like a mouse trapped in a snake’s hypnotic
spell. Two goons with military buzz cuts slid in behind him. Huge
no-necked muscle-bound goons. They stared at him, anticipation
lighting their eyes. One of them actually cracked his knuckles and
snarled. Great, he was about to be killed by wrestler
wanna-bees.
    “Mr. Kemlec.” Matthew looked at Hambly then
at the CEO of BioPet, Faust Kemlec. The executive didn’t give the
body an eyelash flicker. Well then, it was good to know who
offed Hambly. Matthew swallowed. He had only one short run of
steps down to the ground floor exit.
    “Don’t try it Mr. Ridley. This will be so
much easier if you surrender.” A goon stepped to the side with a
weird hand gun. It looked a hell of a lot like the XLM Big Game
Tranq—Matthew recognized it from the product roll out last month.
The specs said that the XLM darts could take down an elephant in
less than two minutes. Kemlec smiled. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t dream of
using another business’s product when we have plenty of our own to
spare. I’m sure you saw the XLM’s introduction seminar; attendance was mandatory. Just imagine it designed for creatures with a
supernatural metabolism.”
    He tsked as Matthew edged toward the next
step. He had a mental image of the goon shooting him in the back.
Then he would fall face first down the