by C. L. Bevill
Idly, he picked up the Kindle and flicked the switch on the bottom. He went to the menu and scanned over the list of books there. Emma liked to read everything. There was Agatha Christie, Bill Clinton, and Stieg Larsson. Currently, she was reading Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World.
Sitting on the bed, he put the Kindle back where he found it. It would be exactly where she would need it to be when she returned. He added the three knives to the nightstand. All three blades had been cleaned and polished.
The first time Wheeler had met her, spoke to her, he’d left a business card on the ground. Then he’d strategically retreated. A few minutes later he was watching surreptitiously and downwind from a nearby roof. Emma had picked the card up as though it might bite her. She’d fled with it, following the same scent trail he’d tracked to find her. Returning to her little hovel of an apartment, she’d bolted inside; it was a single room in a building full of boisterous occupants.
Donovan found Wheeler an hour later, still looking at the single window that was Emma’s room. He’d melted in from the shadows and paused to make certain he was welcome to speak. “Do you want to know her name?” he’d asked Wheeler.
“It doesn’t matter,” Wheeler said.
Donovan made a noise. “You can’t just call her ‘girl,’ and expect her to be happy about it.”
Wheeler grimaced. “She’s so young.”
Donovan looked at the window. “Not really. Do you want to know her background?”
Wheeler shrugged without looking away from the window. Her shadow moved across the shade. “Speak.”
“Emma Lucia is her name,” Donovan said carefully. “She’s twenty. She was kidnapped in Belize when she was fourteen. Eight weeks later she walked out of the jungle onto a beach, starving, half-naked, bruised and bloody. She said she escaped her kidnapper. Details were sparse because of her minor status.”
“What about her family, her human family?” Wheeler said precisely.
“They had her with them until she was about fifteen. Then she was reported missing by her mother about a year after the kidnapping. The report states that the family waited months before reporting her disappearance.” Donovan shrugged although Wheeler didn’t see it. “I spoke to the investigating officer. He seemed to think that the family didn’t care if she was gone or not. He suggested that that happens when there’s a ‘problem’ child. They haven’t even bothered looking for her lately.”
“But Emma,” Wheeler let the name slide across his tongue, he liked it, he liked it a lot, “was never a ‘problem’ child.”
Donovan clicked his tongue in a disparaging fashion. “Straight ‘A’ student. On an early track for college. Even at fourteen she had some interest in scholarships. Then she was kidnapped and everything changed. No pun intended.”
“Did you speak to her family?” Wheeler’s voice was cold. Humans didn’t always deal well with turned weres. Clearly, Emma’s family hadn’t and no one had been there for Emma to talk with. It was a miracle that she hadn’t lost her mind.
“I spoke with her sister,” Donovan said. “Her name is Lia. She’s nineteen. She wanted to know if we had found Emma’s body. She seems to think that her sister was murdered years ago.”
“What did you tell her?”
“Standard line of crap. Some interest in cold cases. There was a possible sighting of her sister in Los Angeles but nothing was confirmed. I said that it was probably just a mistake.” Donovan looked up at the lit window. “Is she coming with us?”
Wheeler inhaled deeply. He could smell burnt onions and body odor. There was the tang of recently laid asphalt. But he could also smell Emma. The unique scent made every part of his body go tense with longing. “She will be.” The unsaid part was, One way or another.
Donovan suddenly looked at Wheeler. “Uh, really? Her? Really?”
“Don’t be a shithead,” Wheeler snarled.
“Oh, jeez, you’ve got it bad, buddy boy,” Donovan chortled. “For a little, bitty thing like her.” He shook his head. “She’s got a steel backbone, Christopher. But she doesn’t trust us. Can’t blame her. Give her a chance. If you simply grab her, she might think you’re no better than...” He trailed off and let his Alpha and his old friend digest the unwelcome words. Then he asked, “You spoke to her?”
Wheeler nodded.
“You gave her what, your business card?”
Wheeler nodded again.
“Good. Let her think about it.”
Wheeler’s broad chest expanded and then relaxed. “Someone’s watching her. Two were teams. Wherever she goes, whatever she does. From now until I lose my patience.”
And Donovan was correct. Emma packed up her meager possessions three days later and took a bus to Denver. Wheeler watched her get off the bus himself. He thought she sensed him but he was well hidden.
Then she found the YWCA and a room. She took the local bus as far out of town as she could. She got off at the last stop and vanished into the woods. Wheeler found her clothing hidden a half mile into the Pike National Forest. With a smile he’d stripped and made the transformation himself. The lion hunted the ocelot without any intention of catching her at that particular moment. He kept downwind of her position and he stalked her relentlessly to see what she was doing.
Emma scouted out the Cat Clan’s compound for three weeks. Occasionally another were would cross her scent but she had learned enough to keep away from regular game trails. And surprisingly other weres discounted the ocelot’s scent as something harmless.
She found a job in another restaurant which Wheeler keenly disliked. But more interestingly she started taking self-defense courses at the ‘Y.’
Wheeler couldn’t watch her all the time, but he had weres who could. She finally called him up on the fourth week and said without preliminary acknowledgement, “I don’t like them watching me.”
To play dumb or not to play dumb, Wheeler thought. “There are dangerous people in the city,” he said carefully. “I’m concerned about your safety. Colfax isn’t the best street.”
“I’ve heard,” Emma said back and he loved the fire in her voice.
“You could come for lunch,” Wheeler said cautiously. “There are weres who would like to meet you.”
“Haven’t they learned enough by watching me?”
“Someone’s been a little careless,” he smiled at the phone. “You weren’t supposed to know they were there.”
“I didn’t see them,” Emma said. “I scented them. Both at the compound you live at and in the city. It seems an unlikely coincidence.”
Am I supposed to know that you’ve been to the compound or not? Wheeler was hard-pressed to decide. “Come to lunch. We’ll have something you like. We’ve got a great chef. She makes the best brownies known to the world.”
“You’ve got a personal cook?”
“Two actually. The Clan makes some good money. All members benefit after the initial year of probation.” Wheeler shrugged. “It’s like a cooperative, except I’m in charge.”
“I’ve read some of your financial reports,” Emma said.
Wheeler smiled broadly. This was better and better. “How did you happen to do that?”
“Public records,” Emma said back with a little note of triumph. “I was checking facts.”
“You were checking to see if I had lied,” he said, not bothered in the least.
“That’s right.”
“The New Mexico Clan prefers its females in the kitchen and pregnant,” he said idly. “We don’t. You’re as active as you want to be. We find work for you until you find the niche you like. You share equally in the proceeds. And of course, you’ll be around all the best weres.”
That was the point that Wheeler made a mistake.
“So why would you want me?” she asked with that loathsome insecurity in her voice. Then she hung up.
Crap, Wheeler thought. His thoughts zipped into the present and he took her pillow in his hands. He didn’t need to put it close
to his face to catch the aroma that had never been far from his mind for the last five years.
•
Emma watched Scott line up his aim. He fully expected her to dodge. She stood very still as he suddenly frowned at her. Whitfield Dyson made an impatient noise behind his employee.
Scott pulled the trigger and the dart hit her shoulder. The sharp end pierced her flesh through the t-shirt. She reached up with her hand and brushed it off as if she were shooing a mosquito away. The caregiver gave her an intent look and went to reload the special weapon. Unmoving, Emma waited as if she had all day and nothing better to do.
The bird were made a distressed noise. It sort of sounded like a wounded fowl. The haunted echo even made Whitfield start in his thousand dollar shoes.
The employee put the weapon up to the cage and poked the end through, centering on Emma’s petite form. She smiled coldly at him and Scott flinched.
When he blinked she moved. Emma was fast. She knew that she wasn’t as fast as Wheeler, but she could move out when she was so motivated. Abruptly, she was next to the wire wall, not six inches away from the caregiver. Smoothly, she wrapped her hand around the end of the dart gun. It was similar to a hand gun and about the same size, unlike the rifle type models that Martinez’s group of humans had previously used on her.
Scott made a startled noise. He was in his thirties and had washed out blue eyes. His brown hair was slicked back over a high forehead. He was tall enough for the work and had the broad shoulders of a man who liked working out. Taller and seemingly stronger, he didn’t think that Emma would present much of a challenge. Stupidly, he didn’t let go of the weapon and stubbornly yanked on it.
Emma continued her chilly smile. She adjusted her grip and jerked. Scott failed to see the problem immediately and didn’t let go of the gun. Consequently half of his arm was summarily wrenched inside the cage and she let go of the gun to firmly grasp his abraded wrist. The silver wire didn’t burn his flesh but the small size of the mesh scraped over his skin, flaying it away as she hauled his limb inside. She held onto his arm, aware that Whitfield was yelling behind him, trying to get the attention of an unseen security force. With her other hand she reached through the wire, ignoring the instantaneous hiss of silver against her body. She grasped Scott’s collar and sharply pulled his head against the wires. His head lolled back and Emma cursed because he was still conscious, so she did it again and then a third time.
Whitfield was scrambling for the door. He rushed outside and the door slammed behind him. A lock from the outside secured it with a loud snap.
Ignoring the pain of scorching skin, Emma searched his coveralls for his keys. Marielle was shrieking beside her, “Hurry! Hurry!” The wolf shifter was close to her cage door and her gaze intent on Emma’s actions.
“How long before security gets here?” Emma shouted.
“A minute!” the wolf shifter said. “His keys are in the right hip pocket.”
With a muted curse, Emma dug harder. It was difficult to hold the slumping man while she searched. Finally, Emma found the keys and let Scott drop to the floor. A moment later, she had her arm twisted around, despite the silver wire blistering her flesh, and the key was inserted into the heavy lock. The click that the lock made as she opened it was like a church bell on a Sunday.
All of the female weres were anxiously staring at her. Emma yanked her arm back and kicked the cage door open. She kicked the dart pistol away from Scott and rolled him inside the cage. Then she locked him in. Emma took a few seconds to think about strategy. She could feel a little of the drug from the dart shooting through her system. Between the surge of adrenaline and the pain of the silver burns, she was rational enough to think logically. The drug would be burned away by the shifter gene because it was a smaller dose than what had incapacitated her before.
They were locked in a large room full of cages. The cameras were watching them. They could see and hear what was happening. Emma ignored the yelling weres and systematically destroyed the cameras and the sound systems that were attached. She used her were strength to bend an aluminum chair into a pretzel shape that would force shut the only door in or out. Her eyes examined the walls and found them to be cement block. No one would be punching holes in them anytime soon. When she was done, she looked around her at the expectant weres. “Are there any other security measures I’ve missed?”
“Let us out,” the wolf shifter said.
And Emma did. As soon as the last were was freed, there was an expressive silence. Finally, the bird were said, “There’s a ventilation system. The shafts are large enough for a bird or a small cat.”
“And the rest of us?” the wolf shifter asked.
“Would you rather I locked you back into your cages?” Emma asked her coldly. “You can pretend that you had nothing to do with any of this. The cameras saw only what I did.” She shook her arm. Blisters were forming from the silver. She would have cursed again but cursing wouldn’t help heal silver burns. They never healed as fast as other wounds. Changing forms would help but she couldn’t do that yet.
“Except me,” the wolf shifter said. “I told you where the keys were located.”
“A wolf might be able to get into the ventilation system,” the bird were said. She covered one of the cages with a blanket and leaped on top. A moment later the screen was jerked from the wall. The opening wasn’t large. It was perhaps two feet by a foot and a half. The darkness inside stretched away into oblivion.
“I can’t fit in there,” the wolf shifter said with obvious regret.
Emma dropped the keys on the floor. “Does that little shit I locked up have a cell phone?”
The wolf glanced meaningfully at Scott. “Yeah, he does.”
“Get it,” Emma said.
“My name is Ula,” the wolf said. “And I’m not your bitch.”
“You want help?” Emma said as she looked at the bird were perched on the top of the cage staring inside the ventilation system. “Get the phone. See if we can call out.” She looked at the rest of the weres. She knew there were cougars, a jaguar, and some others she wasn’t certain about. None of them looked very happy. Some appeared as though they had been here for weeks. She couldn’t help the thought that coursed through her head, How many of them have been bred? But it couldn’t be helped at that moment. She said, “Keep the people out. They’ll figure out about the phone very quickly. As soon as they realize we’re stalling, they’ll either blow the door or cut their losses.”
“What about him?” one were snarled. Her brown eyes were spitting fire at Scott as Ula picked up the keys and opened the door. “We can use him as a hostage.”
“They don’t care about him,” Emma said firmly. “They don’t care what we do to him. He’s expendable. And so are we if we don’t outthink them.”
Ula kicked Scott in the head and then searched his pockets. She found a Blackberry in one pocket and made a triumphant noise. She handed the phone to another were while she locked the cage door behind her. The were with the phone groaned, “God, no signal.”
“I think we’re underground,” another were said. “I’ve heard some of the humans speaking about it.”
“It smells like underground,” another one said. “It smells like a cave.”
“We don’t have time for discussion,” Emma said. “Anyone who’s small enough can go out the ventilation shafts. I can take the phone and look for a spot to make a call.” She took the phone from the were and looked at it. “It’s got GPS in it.”
“Where are we?” Marielle asked. Then she growled, “Call the New York Clan. They’ll come for us. They took four of us. They’ll come and tear the humans to shreds.”
Emma took a minute with the phone. Several weres were piling things in front of the single door. The rest appeared shell-shocked. The map location on the Blackberry was clear. “The location’s last recorded hit was in Wyoming, near the Shoshone National Forest.”
“No wonder there’s no signal,” a were said plainti
vely. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“There’s a way,” Emma said. “Keep them out. If they talk to you, tell them you want a phone to call someone. Make it sound like you didn’t find Scott’s phone. Keep him quiet if he wakes up. Use the dart gun on him if you have to. Make him tell you where we’re at, if he’ll talk to you. Stall. There’s water here.” She indicated the sinks in the back. There was food as well. They’d been feeding the weres MREs. There was a box of them in the back. “There’s everything you need to hold out.”
“What about the males?” Marielle asked, her cougar eyes flaring with yellow potency.
“If I can call for help, then someone will come for us,” Emma said slowly. “If they believe that we don’t have a way out, they won’t want to hurt you. You’re a meal ticket but only if you’re uninjured and whole. If they believe that you’re trapped, they’ll work with you for a while. They’ll lie to you. Don’t. Open. The. Door.”
“Come on, cat,” the bird were said. “Change and get that phone and by the way, my name is Xandra.” Xandra stripped off her shirt and sweats. Emma followed suit. While they did that, Marielle programmed the New York Clan’s telephone number into the Blackberry.
Worried expressions followed their actions. Bones shifted and creaked. Fur spread. The bird were began to shrink and white feathers appeared. Emma blinked and Xandra became a very large kind of dove. It cooed keenly at her. She almost wanted to giggle but she was otherwise occupied.
Ula waited until Emma was a fully formed ocelot before she carefully put the phone into her mouth. “Don’t bite too hard, kitty,” she said with a wry smile. “Never thought I’d be depending on a cat and a bird to save my ass.”
Emma growled around the phone. If she’d had a choice she would have rather taken the Boker Speedlock but it wasn’t really a choice at all. She nudged the knife with her paw at Ula and Ula picked it up with a little shake of her head. “How did they miss that?”
