InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 7: Avouchment ❯ Suspicions ( Chapter 5 )

~Chapter 5~

~~Suspicions~~

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Griffin scowled at the loose stack of papers in his hand as he shuffled through the house toward the front door. There were a few spots where he'd need to reference the original journal since the scan was hard to decipher, but for the most part, he was pretty sure that he'd gotten the gist of the passage in question. He'd have to ask Isabelle if there was any way she could get her hands on the original documents . . .

 

`Are you sure you aren't just grasping for a reason to have her come over?'

 

`Shuddup.'

 

`Admit it, Griffin . . . she's not so bad to have around.'

 

That didn't dignify a response, in Griffin's opinion. Ignoring the annoying youkai voice, he let the papers fall to his side as he reached for the door handle and cautiously opened it.

 

“Morning, big guy. Did you miss me?”

 

Griffin snorted loudly but let go of the door before turning on his heel to head back into the living room. “About as much as I miss fleas,” he grumbled.

 

Her laughter rang out in the quiet house, and she closed the door behind herself. “I see you're in a good mood, as usual,” she quipped. “Here . . . I brought doughnuts.”

 

Wrinkling his nose at the offered sweets, Griffin kept moving until he reached his desk, plopping heavily into the chair and setting about to ignore the intrusive woman—or die trying . . .

 

“Are you telling me you don't like doughnuts?” Isabelle demanded. He could hear the rustle as she fumbled with the thin cardboard box.

 

He could smell the obscene amount of sugar emanating through his house and made a face as he reached for the bowl of lightly roasted nuts on his desk. “Yes, I am,” he mumbled before popping a handful into his mouth.

 

“You're kidding!” Isabelle went on, her tone rife with unrestrained incredulity. “Who doesn't like doughnuts? It's unnatural!”

 

Heaving a sigh, he tossed his pen down on the desk and craned his neck to peer over his shoulder at the woman who had perched herself on the arm of the sofa. Ignoring the irritation that she couldn't ever seem to remember where her ass belonged in conjunction with his furniture, Griffin snorted and turned back toward the documents he'd dropped on the desk. “Haven't you ever heard the phrase, `to each his own'?”

 

“Sure, I've heard it, but we're talking about doughnuts,” Isabelle pointed out, as though it were the most rational argument in the world.

 

“Did you come over here just to harass me?” Griffin demanded, “because if you did—”

 

Isabelle heaved a sigh, fluttering her hand dismissively. “Not at all, Dr. Griffin. I—”

 

The sharp scrape of the desk chair against the hardwood floor interrupted Isabelle as Griffin shot to his feet and whipped around to glower at the irritating woman. “Dr. Marin,” he growled from between clenched teeth. “Nothing else; just Dr. Marin.”

 

The infuriating female laughed, pinpoints of light dancing in her eyes. “Touché, Dr. Marin,” she agreed amiably enough. “Anyway, I brought these over.”

 

Griffin narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched her rummage through the old leather satchel she'd brought in with her. “What's that?”

 

She shot him a quizzical glance then shrugged, producing three fat notebooks and a thin black book. “What do you mean, what's this? It's the research . . .”

 

Griffin scowled but took the volumes she held out to him. “The research,” he echoed with a shake of his head as he carefully opened the book. As he'd figured, it was the journal. “Thought you said that they had this stuff locked away.”

 

“They did,” she replied, setting the empty satchel on the floor beside the sofa before turning her attention back to the doughnuts once more. “I asked Grandpa if I could have it, and he said it was fine.”

 

Griffin's head shot up, and he snapped the journal closed, his eyes flaring wide. Nibbling on a doughnut as she idly leafed through the notebook where he'd been writing translation notes, she was completely absorbed. Griffin uttered a terse grunt and dropped the research onto the desk with a heavy thump. “Did you tell them I was helping you?” he demanded, trying to keep his tone as neutral as he could manage.

 

She didn't look up from her careful perusal of the documents. “Mm, I don't remember . . . maybe . . .”

 

His hand shout out, wrapping around her forearm as he spun her around to face him. Expression a barely controlled mask of irritation, Griffin glowered at Isabelle and narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean, `maybe'?”

 

A slightly panicked look filtered over Isabelle's face only to disappear as quickly as it had surfaced. Tugging her arm to regain her freedom to no avail, she swallowed hard and blinked in surprise. “Griffin? That hurts . . .”

 

He gritted his teeth together and loosened his hold but didn't let go. “Did you tell anyone that I was helping you?” he questioned once more.

 

She considered his demand and slowly shook her head, her frown resurfacing though it seemed more thoughtful than anything else. “No . . . I don't think I mentioned you specifically, no . . .”

 

“You're sure?”

 

Isabelle blinked and regarded him thoroughly. With a shrug, she shook her head once more and sighed. “I'm sure . . . why? I mean, it doesn't really matter, does it?”

 

Satisfied with her answer, Griffin abruptly let go of her and flopped down in the chair once more. “I don't want anyone to know I'm helping you,” he grumbled. “Just leave it at that, will you?”

 

“Okay,” she agreed at length. “Is there a reason for all the secrecy?”

 

Her tone was casual—too casual, and Griffin's back stiffened, his hand poised just above the ink pen he'd dropped on the desk in his haste to get answers out of Isabelle. “Nope,” he stated, picking up the pen and concentrating all his attention on the papers in front of him. “I'd just rather that no one know that I'm being forced to put up with you. That's all.”

 

Isabelle giggled suddenly, waving her hand in a wholly dismissive gesture as she sidled up behind him, peering at the translation notes over his shoulder. Her hair brushed against his cheek—he could smell the slight floral scent of her shampoo—and Griffin grimaced, shoving her hair aside and leaning away as he shrugged his shoulder in a vain effort to stave her off. “Back up, will you?”

 

She ignored him. Somehow, he knew she would. “Who's this Eaton Fellowes?” she countered instead.

 

Heaving a heavy sigh since he figured it'd be wasted effort to try to shake the infuriating woman off, Griffin rubbed his forehead and cleared his throat. “Don't know, exactly. Just says that he was trying to buy out the research midway through. Sounds kinda pushy, if you ask me . . . maybe he's related to you.”

 

Isabelle only offered a noncommittal `hmm' at Griffin's assessment. Eyes scanning the translation page he held in his other hand, she didn't seem to be listening to him in the least.

 

“Is Dr. Avis mentioned in here?”

 

“Dr. Avis?” Griffin echoed, turning his face just enough to scowl at Isabelle out of the corner of his eye.
“Yeah, but nothing really big. Why?”

 

“That makes sense, I guess,” she allowed without taking her eyes off the transcript. “He was helping with the research in some capacity, though I don't really think he was ever really told what, exactly, they were researching . . .”

 

“How's that possible?”

 

Isabelle shrugged, gently pulling the pages out of Griffin's slack fingers and pacing the length of the living room floor as she perused the translation. “Possible? Why wouldn't it be? They simply didn't tell him what their ultimate goal was . . . It's standard practice amongst researchers, especially if what they're looking into could be considered highly profitable or even a little on the dangerous side . . . Information is given on a need to know basis, and if you're just a lab assistant, then it's likely that you're only told what you need to know to do your work.”

 

Griffin grunted and stood up again, lumbering off toward the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea.

 

He supposed that was possible. He'd seen stranger things in his life not to believe that maybe this lab rat, Dr. Avis really didn't know exactly what they were researching. From what he'd gathered from the journal thus far, it seemed as though the main reason that the brothers had given this doctor a job was because he was a good friend of one of the brother's wife. Now if he could just figure out what, exactly, the research was, maybe it'd start to make more sense to him . . .

 

“`Fellowes is very persistent. I don't think he'll give up trying to buy us out. It's starting to make Ken a little jumpy, and I wonder if he isn't becoming rather paranoid . . .'” Isabelle read aloud as she followed him into the kitchen. “Paranoia . . .” She trailed off with a sigh, leaning back against the cupboard as she watched Griffin slowly, carefully measure out the dried leaves before pouring hot water into the earthenware mug. “So whatever they were researching had to be really big.”

 

“Sounds like it,” he agreed without looking at her. Life was simpler if he avoided eye contact with that particular female, after all. “Why all the interest in this Dr. Avis? Sounds like he was pretty much small potatoes, if you ask me.”

 

Isabelle sighed and tapped the bottom edges of the papers on the counter. “My cousin, Jillian's in Australia visiting him now. He knew her parents—at least her mother—well. They grew up together, she said. Can't say I blame her for wanting answers. She never really knew her biological parents, but I wonder what her mate's thinking, taking off with her like that, and to visit the man who had her kidnapped just to get that damn bio-chip . . .”

 

Griffin shot Isabelle a quick look. She was running her finger down the page, and he had to wonder if she weren't simply talking aloud to herself. “Wait . . . this Dr. Avis is the one who had her kidnapped?” he blurted, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

 

Isabelle nodded, her answer rather vague since she hadn't taken her eyes off the translation. “Hmm, yes. I was rather surprised that he wasn't killed on the spot, but then, maybe not. Grandpa just . . . well, he said that he didn't believe Dr. Avis was capable of killing anyone, and he didn't really hurt her, after all, even if he wasn't exactly on the up-and-up.”

 

“Your grandfather let the man go?”

 

Isabelle blinked and looked up at long last, though he had a sneaking suspicion that she was about to laugh at him. His frown deepened. “Not really, no. He had him excommunicated. Dr. Avis was sent to Australia, and if he tries to leave the Australian tai-youkai's jurisdiction, he'll be hunted. Even so, I think Grandpa did it for Jillian. She wanted to know about her biological parents, and he's the only one that knew them.”

 

“How does he know that this doctor-guy isn't dangerous?”

 

“It wasn't just Grandpa's opinion. Everyone else agreed, too. Anyway, if everyone was killed for making a mistake, the world would be a pretty sorry place, don't you think?”

 

Griffin snorted and got into the cupboard for the small crock of clover honey before responding to that. “Some mistakes are bigger than others,” he pointed out, “and you're making it sound like the guy didn't do anything worse than jaywalking.”

 

“It's not that,” she argued. “It was mostly for Jillian. Even then, if Dr. Avis really was dangerous, Grandpa never would have been so lenient with him, and he did tell Jilli that she's not allowed to visit with him without her mate, so it's all good.”

 

That earned Isabelle another pronounced snort. “And her mate is able to protect her?”

 

Isabelle laughed. “Gavin? Heavens, yes! He's almost as big as my cousin, Bastian, and that's saying a mouthful. His father is one of Grandpa's main hunters, and Gavin's trained with the best of them—well, aside from my other grandfather . . . Is that a good enough pedigree?”

 

“Yeah, well . . .”

 

Her laughter trailed after him as he took up his mug and shuffled out of the kitchen. She obviously thought that he was being suspicious for no good reason, but something just didn't sound right. No, he didn't doubt at all that Cain Zelig had his reasons for letting Dr. Avis off with little worse than what amounted to a slap on the wrist, and he didn't doubt that the tai-youkai was probably right about the man's character. Still, if he'd kidnapped Cain Zelig's daughter . . .

 

The trill of her cell phone cut through the unsettling sound of her laughter, and Griffin shook his head. As often as she'd been in his home of late, he figured he ought to be a little more used to her than he was. It never ceased to amaze him, just how often she fielded phone calls. Maybe she should look into getting her phone grafted to the side of her head . . . Setting the mug aside, Griffin reached into the worn satchel for the journal. Pausing a moment to run his fingers over the worn black leather cover of the volume, he frowned.

 

A lot of things didn't make sense, to be honest. If Dr. Avis didn't know what sort of research they were doing, why was he so desperate to get a hold of it, in the first place? Why risk his life by tangling with the North American tai-youkai if he didn't have to? That alone smacked of stupidity. Hell, the guy could have approached Jillian and told her that he was an old family friend, and that probably would have gotten him further than kidnapping her did. He didn't doubt Zelig's reasoning, no, but then maybe he had a tendency to be a lot more suspicious than most.

 

No, there really had to be more to it. If he could just figure out exactly what they were researching, maybe things would make a little more sense . . .

 

“—Wouldn't worry too much, Jilli. I'm sure that there's a good reason for it, after all,” Isabelle said as she breezed back into the living room, still talking into the cell phone.

 

Griffin pinned her with a pointed look that she conveniently ignored. The woman had no viable manners; no saving graces, whatsoever.

 

`None, Griffin?' his youkai drawled.

 

Griffin snorted inwardly. `None.'

 

`Oh, I don't know about that . . . Her . . . `assets' look pretty good from here . . .'

 

`. . . Shut up.' Clearing his throat as he tried his hardest not to look at Isabelle, Griffin brushed off his youkai's inane babbling. “What was that all about?”

 

“What? The phone call? That was Jilli . . . she's been a little worried. It seems that the good doctor hasn't been home the last few times she and Gavin went over there to talk to him.”

 

“Just stepped out or something?”

 

“Something like that,” Isabelle agreed. “Anyway, I'm sure it's nothing serious . . . just bad timing, probably.”

 

Griffin grunted in reply, turning his attention back to the journal and entirely dismissing Isabelle.

 

“Well, I hate to run off, but I have to get to work,” Isabelle said as she snapped the phone closed and dropped it into her purse.

 

Griffin shot her a cursory glance and grunted. “Best news I've had all day,” he mumbled.

 

Isabelle heaved a sigh then giggled. “You know, you could at least pretend that you're going to miss me.”

 

“It'd be a lie,” he stated flatly.

 

“Now, now. No need to be nasty . . . How about you just say you'll miss me, even if you won't?”

 

“Oh. Please. Don't go. I might cry if you do,” he stated in the baldest tone he could muster.

 

Isabelle giggled—an entirely pleasant sound that grated on his nerves just the same. “Well, if you insist . . .”

 

“Give you an inch, and you try to take a mile,” he grumbled. “Get out of here, will you?”

 

The echo of her laughter warmed the atmosphere inside the house long after she'd gone, and Griffin sighed, shaking his head and trying to ignore the unsettling feeling that she could very easily insinuate herself into his life if he weren't careful. He'd known it years ago, the day she's breezed through the doors into the lecture hall where he taught Introduction to Ancient Linguistics at the University of Maine. She's sat at the back of the hall, her brilliant golden eyes glued on his face the entire session, and oddly enough, he hadn't once sensed the absolute horror that he normally perceived at least once whenever he met someone new. No, she'd sat there listening as though the subject was of sovereign interest, and it hadn't taken long for her to become the brightest spot in his otherwise colorless existence. She thought nothing of challenging him in class and outside of the classroom, as well, and at first it had been purely academic. As intelligent and quick-witted as she was beautiful, it hadn't taken Griffin long to learn that the woman was more dangerous than any man he'd ever met. When the sexual innuendo had started, though, he'd put a stop to it quickly enough, refusing to encourage something that didn't have a chance in hell of ever being more than just a game to a girl like her, and he'd done well to hide his feelings, hadn't he? The self-discipline he'd learned so long ago had become his one salvation against her formidable, if not subtle, attacks. If she ever found out exactly how badly she could get to him . . .

 

And that was something that just couldn't happen; not in his lifetime . . .

 

 

~xXxXxXxXxXx~

 

 

Isabelle rolled her head back and rubbed her neck with a weary hand, pausing long enough to rub her eyes then check her watch before dropping the clipboard into the slot on the counter with a heavy sigh. It was only nine o'clock. `Another three hours to go . . .'

 

“You look like hell, Dr. Izayoi.”

 

Narrowing her eyes, Isabelle shifted what she hoped was a fulminating glower on her coworker. “Haven't you ever heard that saying? `If you can't find something nice to say' . . .”

 

Jordan Winters laughed as he looked over the next clipboard in line and grimaced. “Sure, I've heard that,” he quipped, “but you've often said that you don't stand on empty flattery, right?”

 

“Hmm . . .”

 

He peered over her shoulder at the clipboard she'd grabbed. “Sore throat? I'll trade you . . .”

 

Leaning to the side to look at Jordan's next patient's sheet, Isabelle couldn't help but laugh. “Constipation? No, thanks . . . I think I'll stick with the sore throat, thanks.”

 

“You're so heartless,” Jordan pouted, running his slim fingers through his thick chestnut hair.

 

“Well, you are the one who is constantly trying to score points with me,” she reminded him.

 

He made a face then grinned unrepentantly. “True enough . . . is it working?”

 

Isabelle rolled her eyes then laughed as she turned around to locate the patient with the sore throat. “No, it's not,” she informed him, “but feel free to keep trying.”

 

“You're hell on a guy's ego, Isabelle.”

 

She smiled. “I try.”

 

“Sir, if you have an emergency, you need to fill out one of these sheets and sit in the waiting room . . .”

 

“It's not that kind of emergency. Just tell me where I can find—There you are!”

 

Isabelle turned at the sound of the all-too-familiar voice and blinked in surprise. If she hadn't heard him for herself, she never would have believed that Griffin would ever sound quite so . . . panicked? “Griffin?” she called, striding away from Jordan without taking her eyes off the bear-youkai who looked as though he was seriously considering committing some mayhem . . .

 

“You have to come with me,” he stated without preamble, grabbing her arm and hustling her toward the doors.

 

“Hold on! My shift's not over yet! I can't just—”

 

The look he shot her silenced her completely. Scowling dangerously at her, his eyes glowing with an odd sort of light, he looked like he might just toss her over his shoulder and drag her out of there if she didn't comply, and without thinking about it, she took a step back in retreat. “What's going on?”

 

He was struggling to keep his cool, she could tell . . . that or he was considering just how much trouble he'd get into if he slapped his hand over her mouth and made like a cave man . . . “I don't have time to explain yet. Just come on, all right?”

 

“I knew you'd miss me,” she quipped, resorting to a childhood habit of making jokes to calm her own nerves. Something about his demeanor unsettled her; frightened her. She wasn't scared of Griffin, per se, but there was something odd in his urgency.

 

“Damn it, Isabelle—”

 

“No, seriously, I can't just leave. I don't get off work till midnight . . . can't it wait until then?”

 

“No,” he growled, his already foreboding expression growing blacker by the second.

 

“What is this about?”

 

He sighed. “Fine . . . give me your keys.”

 

“My keys?”

 

He held out his hand, bouncing his palm up and down for added effect. “Yes, your keys. Just give them to me.”

 

She rolled her eyes and smiled at last. “If you wanted to borrow my car, all you had to do was ask.”

 

“That, too. I need your house keys though.”

 

“My house keys?”

 

Another sigh, this one far more frustrated than the prior one, had Isabelle patting her pockets for her keys. “Here,” she said, handing them over.

 

“You get off at midnight, right?”

 

She nodded. “Yes . . .”

 

He nodded, clutching the keys so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I'll pick you up.”

 

“So you're not going to be waiting naked in my bed?”

 

That earned her another scathing glower. “Don't come outside until you see your car.”

 

“All right; all right; I got it . . . You know, Griffin, you could tell me why you're acting so strangely.”

 

He was already heading for the door. “I'll tell you later,” he grumbled without breaking his stride.

 

Isabelle watched him go, rubbing her forearms as a sudden chill raced up her spine. She wasn't certain why, but she had a feeling that whatever was bothering Griffin was serious—very serious.

 

But . . . what . . .?

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromIsabelle:

So he didmiss me! I knewit!

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Avouchment): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~