Page 42 of Hoofin’ It

“Shellfish?”

“Sometimes.”

“Lobster?”

“Too expensive.”

“Shrimp?”

“They’re like mini lobster tails with extra legs. Also too expensive.”

Daryl glanced up from his clipboard. “Would you classify yourself as a scavenger?”

“Excuse me?”

“An opportunistic eater. In short, you buy the cheapest foods with no actual preference about what you eat as long as you eat.”

I would remember the question later for use on my parents if they insisted on leaving half-cooked pancakes on their kitchen ceiling. If that didn’t put an end to it, nothing would. “No.”

“Please try not to take offense, Mr. Gibson. It’s a valid question relating to your situation.”

“The answer is still no.”

“So if I were to go to your house, I wouldn’t find cupboards full of instant noodles, pasta, and cans of tuna fish?”

Both my eyebrows took a hike towards my hairline. “At least you didn’t ask if my diet consists mostly of donuts.”

“So is that a yes or a no?”

“No.”

“So what would I find in your cupboards?”

“Some dust keeping my limited spice collection company. I don’t keep a lot of extras on hand. I prefer to buy for a few days and freeze my leftovers.”

“So you’re thrifty but prefer higher quality foods?”

“I guess? If I want fast food, I either order in or go get something.”

“Take lunches to work?”

“Often. That’s a bit cheaper than going out every day. I usually just grab something from the freezer and let it thaw for the first half of my shift. Why?”

“Diet can give us a lot of insights on your personality, temperament, and general approach to life. How do you feel about bringing people to your home? Do you enjoy visiting others for parties? Do you rate yourself as an extrovert or an introvert?”

“I don’t have company over often, no. Not a lot of people around here want to get too close to someone who has been exposed to lycanthropy. It doesn’t bother me, so I suppose I’m an introvert.”

“And your relationship with your family?”

“Pretty close,” I admitted.

Daryl made a few thoughtful noises and jotted down some notes. He began a rapid-fire questioning session about every aspect of my life, including my depressingly dull dating life, my work with the police, and friendships. An hour later, I felt like I’d undergone an interrogation without knowing what crime I was suspected of committing. A knock at the door ended the session, and I exchanged Daryl for a pair of grumpy FBI agents determined to get their fair cut of my time.

They would be easier to handle, as all they wanted was a detailed accounting of every minute from my arrival in New York to my evening in the nightclub with Marian. I dodged some of the details, mostly because they were almost as uncomfortable discussing my intimacy with their fellow agent as I was.

I got the feeling they both wouldn’t have minded being in my shoes for the evening, which only added to my discomfort. Three hours later, the CDC evicted the two FBI agents, who confessed they had everything they needed. Their dismissal indicated they found it unlikely anyone else from the FBI would contact me about the situation.

At most, I was an accidental participant, and as long as I steered clear of the area, my involvement with Marian and the sex trafficking operations was officially over.