by Elle Thorne
Illusion
SHIFTERS FOREVER WORLDS
Elle Thorne
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Copyright © 2020 by Elle Thorne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Illusion
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Afterword
The Shifters Forever Worlds
Thank You So Much!
About Elle
Elle’s Newsletter
Illusion
Meri’s a forensic pathologist with a spectacular arrangement with Notre Dame University—practically unlimited access to funds and a paid position to perform her dream research.
The price she has to pay for this arrangement? Notre Dame occasionally loans out her highly specialized skills. Other than pose an occasional disruption to her research schedule, this arrangement works well. She’s got no problem with sinking herself into her work, especially now that philandering Josh Monroe is out of the picture.
Deathbending bear shifter Dunnigan Youngblood’s got a hell of a problem. He’s got to sneak out of a morgue before someone decides to cut into him. Too late.
Chapter One
“Meredith?”
Meredith Morales—Associate Director of Forensic Sciences at Notre Dame—looked up from her computer screen. She was young for the position, but it came with a price. Meredith—Meri to most of her friends, but not to her boss, who was the one on the other side of the monitor, calling her name—put on a smile, though she wasn’t appreciative of the interruption. This was sacred research time. But, as a fairly renowned forensic pathologist in her field, she’d made a deal with the devil. And today, the devil—Doctor Felton Broussard—was calling her name.
“Doctor Broussard?” She took note of the pencil marks on his chest where he’d missed his pocket protector, the black rims on his thick glasses, and the receding hairline, but mostly, she noted the harassed expression on his face. She’d seen that expression before, and she knew it meant someone important had called, requesting her services. “What can I do for you, Doctor Broussard?”
He cleared his throat with a raspy hack. Another harbinger of bad news. “Your services have been requested.”
The very words she feared she’d hear. She kept the smile plastered on her face but wondered if her eyes reflected her irritation. Maybe this would be an easy request. One that would allow her to get back to her work quickly, but like she already figured, the man’s expression did not bode well.
The deal with the devil she’d made? Yeah, she’d made it willingly, but…damn. So here it was. The deal. A fancy title, Associate Director of Forensic Sciences at Notre Dame, ooh la! A steady paycheck. Unlimited access—practically—to research at Notre Dame. Unlimited funds—also, practically—to pay for that research. The tradeoff? She could be outsourced to any government—or private entity with enough cash to satisfy Notre Dame’s coffers. The projects almost always involved cutting into people because—hello!—forensic pathologist. It most often involved dead people, though Meri had assisted with an occasional project involving live specimens…erm, people. Not specimens, she reminded herself.
So now, again, it was time to pay the piper. She bit back a grumble because, let’s be real, it was not as though she was called upon more than a couple of times per year.
“Who am I working for this time?”
Confoundment crossed his face. “That’s just it. This came down from one of the Board of Fellows—Agnes Gaston.”
She sat back in her chair. The Board of Fellows. This was a new one on her. Usually it was the Department of Defense or a specific four-star general at the Pentagon or the Center of Disease Control. But for something to come directly from the Board of Fellows? That didn’t—hadn’t ever—happened. That she knew of, anyway.
“So, this is for the Board of Fellows.”
He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “All I know is one of them conveyed the request. I don’t know who is behind it or anything more than that. And it’s a top priority. You’re to pack for five days. That’s what they said.”
“Where am I going?”
His blue eyes, with the filminess of one who’d reached a certain elderly age, locked gazes with hers. “I have no idea. Can you leave your research for a few days? Will the samples you’re working on deteriorate?”
Clearly, Doctor Broussard knew about the finer points of cytopathology, and though he never pressured Meri for details about her work prematurely, she was appreciative to have a boss who got it. She clicked to save the program then shut down the computer. “It will be okay. I’ll leave some directions with the lab.”
“Fair enough. I’ll tell Agnes Gaston you’ll be ready to go in…?” He waited for her.
“An hour.” Enough time to run to her apartment and pack a couple things, water her plants—thank goodness she had no pets, who could with this kind of demand on her time?—and be ready to go. Which reminded her… “Where should I go when I’m packed?”
“She said they’ll pick you up at your place. I’ll give them the address.”
“Alright. An hour, then.”
Chapter Two
“Holy crap.” Meri whistled beneath her breath as she stepped out of her apartment building off Notre Dame Avenue. A limo perched on the sidewalk, definitely waiting for someone. And when she opened the building door to step into a pleasant, sunny late afternoon, the door to the limo opened. Not a coincidence, was it? This was her ride?
The man who’d exited the limo was in uniform. No, not a chauffeur’s uniform. A military one. Tan. Army? She studied rank and ribbons. Didn’t seem like any Army uniform she was familiar with—not that she was an expert on military uniforms. Not by a long stretch. She wasn’t one of the uniform groupie girls. Definitely not one to flock to any man in a uniform. Give her a guy that filled out a pair of Levi’s and a tee any day of the week. Preferably with just enough stubble to leave her face raw after a good make-out sesh.
Now, why the hell was she thinking about that? Two weeks post-Josh and here she was dreaming about making out. So much for swearing off men for a while.
“Ms. Morales?” Uniform said.
Doctor Morales, but she wasn’t going to correct him. Though it had taken her a hell of a long time to earn that title. That aside, clearly, the limo was here for her. Well, damn. “That’s me. Meredith, please.”
“
Right.” He stepped forward. “I’ll take your bag.” The trunk popped open. Which meant the driver hadn’t come out—didn’t the driver usually come out for taking the bags and getting the doors? Weird, already. Plus, the fact it opened when Uniform said he’d take the bag, without even talking to the driver. He placed her bag in an immaculate, empty trunk then held the door for her.
Meri climbed in and took a spot in the seat facing forward. Uniform folded his tall frame into the limo in the seat in front of her and shut the door.
No communication was shared with the driver, but the vehicle crawled away from the building.
Meri checked out the inside of the limo, pretty standard, not that she’d ever been in one, but she’d seen plenty in movies and on TV. She glanced toward the windows. A strange sensation—not panic, but maybe panic’s distant cousin—sank in.
She turned to Uniform. “Seriously? What kind of ride is this?”
From the outside, before she’d gotten in, the vehicle had appeared to be your average black limousine with dark-tinted windows. But from the inside, she couldn’t see out. And the glass partition between the driver and the passenger was the same opaque shade. She couldn’t see the driver.
“Ms. Morales. The nature of this project is—”
“What is your name?”
“Wheeler, ma’am.”
“Just Wheeler?” She glanced at the name tag. It did indeed read Wheeler. Could just anyone buy a uniform? And a tag? And commendations, ribbons, whatever those things on his chest were? Why was she suddenly suffering from a paranoid-conspiracy-theorist attack? You know why, an inner voice said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She refocused herself, coming back to the situation at hand, and breathed out slowly. “Why can’t I see out these windows?”
“You don’t have security clearance for the location we’re going to.”
“W-what?” Meri sank back into the plush interior. “Where are we going?” No sooner had she voiced the words than she realized the futility of asking the question. Of course, they—he—wouldn’t tell her. Not when they’d gone to such lengths to hide their route. “Scratch that.”
Wheeler gave a sharp chin-down, one-time head snap downward. One hell of a nod.
“What can you tell me?”
“That we’ll be there in a few hours. I’ll need your cell phone, please.”
“What the hell? Why would you need my cell?”
“You could check GPS coordinates, see where we are on a map app. That sort of thing. Be tracked.”
Shit. Exactly what she’d been planning to do—check the GPS—under the guise of sending a text. She smoothed her hand over the soft leather seat, stalling, thinking. Would Broussard have sent her into danger? Not knowingly, that she believed firmly. Should she be concerned? Well, aside from the control-freak tendencies of her personality, probably not, she supposed. It wasn’t as though the Board of Fellows would send her to anything— Whoa! Back the fuck up. Was I really about to say that an organization wasn’t going to do something shady or undercover? She knew better. Knew damned better.
But still, she knew Broussard. She knew the university. They wouldn’t involve her in something… She shivered. Of course, they wouldn’t.
“Your phone, please, ma’am.”
She fished around in her purse. “I need to call…to let someone know I’m out of town.”
He smirked. “You have no siblings. You haven’t spoken to your father in years. Your mother has passed and…” He scratched his clean-shaven chin, as though thinking. “You’ve recently broken up with your boyfriend.”
Meri grabbed on to the woodgrain console next to her leg and squeezed it then turned her head to peer out the window. The not-window, because she couldn’t see through it. “It seems you’ve done your homework.”
“We have to do background checks on everyone before they enter the facility.”
“What facility is that?” No harm in trying to catch him off-guard.
He regarded her coolly. “The one I’m taking you to.” He held out his hand. “The phone, Ms. Morales.”
“That’s Doctor Morales.” She weighed the options. She was in prison or in a country where citizens didn’t have rights. This was a free country. She could turn this down, couldn’t she? She thought of Notre Dame. Her work there. The studies and hours spent on cytology. She was doing groundbreaking work. She’d have her name on a patent, possibly receive a Lasker Award. Maybe one day a Nobel Prize.
And all she had to do were these projects every so often. An occasional post-mortem of soldiers after an incident in the Middle East. A biometric analysis of the victims involved an explosion. Occasional casework for the Federal DNA database. Come on, she could do these little assignments. Just because this one was a bit different than the others in terms of security, that didn’t mean anything, did it?
She thought of her lab. Imagined the lives she could save if she was successful. Not to mention the prestige. In your face, Josh Monroe. In your face. Cheating bastard. Living her dream would be the best revenge. And she couldn’t have that dream without the funding and the lab and the time to pursue it.
She handed the phone over and watched as Wheeler took her phone apart. He pulled the SIM card then put the tiny card in a metal box and her phone in a different metal box. Then he put both of them in a larger box with a combination lock on it.
“Jeez. Was this really necessary?”
“I have my instructions.”
Chapter Three
Wheeler had offered her a drink from a thermos. Hot chai. Her favorite, her weakness. Before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep.
At some point in time, much later, Meri sensed they’d arrived somewhere. She could hear the road noise. And she could sense the speed. Both had changed. They’d gotten off a freeway, for starters. The roadway they were on was bumpy. Probably unpaved, if she had to guess. And they’d slowed down. She had no clue how much time had lapsed. Hours, yes, of that she was sure. But how many? She wished she had a phone now. Or a watch.
She looked around the limo.
What the hell?
She wasn’t in a limo anymore. What kind of vehicle was this? A large Jeep? A Hummer perhaps? How did that happen? She tried to calm her breathing. To get her pulse to not race. There’d been something in that chai. Damn him. Damn them.
I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. I’m not freaking out. Who was she kidding? Of course, she was. On the inside. She wasn’t so much scared as she was out of sorts about not knowing. Yep, she was a self-avowed control freak. Meri noticed she was tapping the plastic. And worse, she noticed he’d noticed.
At least the windows in this vehicle weren’t blacked out. She could see the night sky. The stars. All the stars. No city lights, no civilization, nothing like that. Where were they?
Wheeler watched her, still expressionless. Would it kill the man to be comforting? “Not far, Doctor Morales.”
Wow. Condescending much?
She nodded. Hopefully, he was some lackey delivery guy who was taking her to the place and she’d never have to interact with him again.
Sure enough, not much later, the vehicle stopped. The sound of a door—like a garage door but bigger, louder—came through.
She thought she heard voices, too. Nonchalantly, she leaned closer to the window, hoping to catch some information. The mechanized sound of a door being closed—Risen? Pushed?—stopped. Still dark outside. The vehicle started moving again.
She glanced at Wheeler. “We there?”
A clipped nod. That seemed to be his thing. “Just a few and we’ll be able to stretch our legs.”
And pee. She’d been holding it for too long. If she got a bladder infection, she was billing them. Whoever them was.
Sure enough, moments later, they’d stopped, and the doors were being opened. A man in a dark suit—federal agent of some sort, she’d bet—stepped forward, offering his hand for her to shake. Dark suit. Dark hair. Olive skin. Muscles benea
th the suit. “Doctor Morales. So thankful you made it. I’m sure you’d like to use the facilities.”
“Thank you. Yes. Mister…?”
“Agent. Dorian Grisham.” He released her hand and turned around. “Follow me, please.” He started at brisk pace, toward the right.
Meri followed him, studying their surroundings, thankful Wheeler was still standing by the limo. A large area, the ceiling of which was a corrugated metal half-circle. A Quonset hut. How she knew that name was another matter, altogether. Credit—or blame—her father for that bit of knowledge.
The area wasn’t actually what she’d call a building. More like a passage. A very long, concrete-paved passage, the corrugated gray metal above and on all sides, with nary a window in sight. Naked bulbs hung suspended from long stretches of wire, dangling way above head. It was surreal. And it lent to her conspiracy theory, reminding her of an underground silo where military shit happened. Secret military shit. Like the Roswell, New Mexico business she didn’t know much about.
But nah, she knew she wasn’t in New Mexico. They hadn’t traveled far enough. Had they? Then again, she’d been in a drugged sleep and moved from one vehicle to another. Could they have put her on a plane or a helicopter? Was NORAD a possibility? She knew the location was somewhere near Colorado Springs or maybe Denver. Damn, Josh would love to hear she’d been taken to NORAD. Wait. There was no Josh. Fuck Josh. Yeah, fuck him. But still, this couldn’t be NORAD, could it? They hadn’t gone far enough for that. Had they?
