Baited (The Chronicles of the Hunter Book 2)

by Jackie Ivie

  That wasn’t quite accurate.

  He needed to add in his failed jump.

  Their stunts had a huge on-line following. Complete with rabid fans. He’d trade-marked his emblem. Had it tattooed on his back. Some of his fans sported the same ink. They hounded his site, hungry for the next near-death experience. Everything was exactly as he wanted. He’d spent months building that hunger. The last thing he’d do was fail to feed it.

  So.

  He had to think. Plan. He had twenty-four hours before the next scheduled broadcast. They’d have to go with the bike stunt. He could do one called ‘watch-tower’. Adam was an expert at wheelies, but the ‘watch tower’ was taking it a step farther. He’d need to take the bike into a wheelie past the normal balance point, into a move called a “12 o’clock”, and then stand on the windshield. He’d need to get the bullet bike prepped. Pick some asphalt with good lighting and few obstacles. Set things up. Hope like hell the 9-1-1- call hadn’t gone through. Chuck was their tech-man. They needed him at the warehouse checking out all the camera gear, not wasting time explaining an aborted emergency call.

  The rest of the team could start on details.

  The workout had created a measure of warmth. This impromptu morning jog was adding to it. Good thing. Adam actually got his fingers to work as he snagged his phone from his back pocket again. He didn’t even break stride.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “All we’ve got available for you is the Proctor Suite.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.”

  That wasn’t odd although it looked it. The parking lot outside hadn’t one vehicle in it. There hadn’t been anyone milling about. No sign or sound of a crowd. There was a long line waiting to be checked in, however. Jezebel had joined the back of it without comment. Watched. Listened. Observed. Several more persons had entered behind her and now stood in line. All of them waiting. Her presence here was unexplainable. She had another option. She could fly back out. Be back at the island this evening. Leave the sunny state of California.

  And Adam Ballantine.

  Jezebel frowned slightly. Shifted to her other leg. Folded her arms. She should leave. She had a private jet at her beck and call, along with V.I.P. status at LAX Airport. Staying was incomprehensible. But leaving here seemed to have the same issue. She didn’t delve into why too deeply. Not now. Not until she was alone.

  Because something had happened out there.

  Something...unbelievable.

  Just thinking of what had occurred sparked a sensation of warmth through her veins again. Her breath ticked up. Her heart rate matched. This physiological response was uncalled for. Unbidden. And completely unfathomable. Adam Ballantine wasn’t that remarkable. He was just a man. Good-looking, but the world was full of handsome men. He was also sexy as all get-out, but she’d run across that before, too. There was something else about him. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It was almost scary. And that made everything have a lot of color all of a sudden. She didn’t know what it was, but she was intrigued. And that’s why she waited in a barely moving line. For what had been hours. To check into a hotel called The Pit.

  The hotel was named that for a reason. It was nestled in a bland, treeless valley outside of Los Angeles. Far enough outside it qualified as desert. There wasn’t a well-marked road to the place. No signage. The hotel was mostly underground. It didn’t have any windows. Lighting was dim to non-existent. There wasn’t a pool deck or sauna. No exercise room. It wasn’t a tourist destination. Rarely did anyone check out.

  And it only employed one desk clerk.

  The clerk wasn’t in the flush of youth, either. The guy’s hair and beard were gray, he had a permanent stoop. There was a tinge of gray to his skin, as well. He would have looked right at home in an old black-and-white Western movie. As a prospector. With a burro and pack. And a coating of dust.

  “My last name is Proctor,” the kid continued from the front of the line.

  “I know,” the clerk replied. “That’s why you’re getting the Proctor Suite, James. It’s a family thing. Here’s your key. Don’t lose it. And watch the construction. We’re repainting the place.”

  “You are? Good thing. I mean, this place really needs it. What colors are you using, if I might ask?”

  “Dusk gray, light sage, touch-of pink, barely-there sky-blue, and of course, our favorite color: off-white.”

  “Wow. That sounds...um. Yeah. Isn’t that a bit...bland?”

  The desk clerk ignored the question without one change to his voice or expression. “Your suite is on the eighth floor, young man. Staircase is down the hall.”

  “This place has eight stories? Wow. It doesn’t look that tall.”

  “I didn’t say the stairs went up. Want to move on now, James? There are other guests behind you still to check in.”

  James reached for a travel-stained backpack that had been at his feet. It was in a shade of tan that looked incongruously dark in comparison. Then again, everything looked dull through sunglasses. Even inside, Jezebel wore dark lenses. They all did.

  “Is there an elevator?” James asked.

  Some of those in the queue snorted. One lady giggled. Jezzie looked down for a moment. Newbies always had the same aura of confusion. It could be amusing but she’d lost interest centuries ago.

  “Nope.”

  “What kind of hotel doesn’t have an elevator?”

  “Come on, James! Move on, already! You’re holding up the line.”

  The third man back said it. Everything went deathly silent. The desk clerk leaned to one side and pushed his spectacles up his nose as he leaned forward to address the interloper.

  “Are you...complaining, William?”

  A distinct rumbling sound began emanating from beneath their feet. As if someone had just turned on a large engine. Jezzie took a side-step toward the wall. Out of line of fire. Just in case.

  “Uh. No. Just commenting.”

  The rumbling subsided slightly though it didn’t cease.

  “You’d be advised to just keep it that way,” the desk clerk replied.

  “Yes, sir,” William replied.

  The rumbling went to a barely-there humming sound at his response. Jezzie moved back into her spot in line.

  “Where am I? Like...exactly?”

  James asked it with a wariness he hadn’t exhibited before. Sounded like he’d lost a bit of his jauntiness, as well. Poor kid. That was just the beginning. Several of those in line cleared their throats. Jezzie adjusted her sunglasses. The desk clerk sighed.

  “I think you’ll figure it out, young man. Don’t delay now. Get to your room.”

  “I just want to know what’s going on. Okay? Last thing I remember is stopping that homeless man’s beating. I just thought we were rolling the guy. And it got so bloody, and—!”

  “There will be a telephone in your room,” the desk clerk interrupted him. His voice hadn’t a hint of emotion.

  “Who cares about a phone?”

  “You will. Shortly. The directions for operating it will be on your desk.”

  “You’re not going to answer me, are you?”

  “It is not my place. You will be given instructions. Follow them.”

  “I don’t need instructions to operate a phone.”

  “It is a rotary dial. Now...is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “You’re joking, right?”

  “I don’t know how to joke, James.”

  Somebody snorted. The desk clerk looked down the line again. The rumbling intensified beneath their feet again and then just stayed at a certain level, as if a car engine had reached enough revolutions it needed to be shifted to second gear. The floor had a distinct tremor to it, too. If anything had value anymore, Jezzie would have reacted. The others didn’t have the sense to hide emotions. Or they hadn’t existed as long as she had. More than one guest had a look of fright. It was impossible to tell what expression James had due to his dark glasses, but t
he kid looked scared, too. Jezebel almost pitied him.

  “If I can continue without interruption?” the desk clerk asked the line.

  Nobody answered. Long moments ticked away somewhere in the world. The engine sound finally subsided to a dull throb. The floor stopped trembling.

  “Oh. One more thing, James. When your phone rings, be sure to answer it.”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  The kid adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, sent a glance along the row of people waiting to check-in, and then he strode off. His footsteps were barely noticeable at first, and then the sound disappeared entirely. The line moved forward. By the time the gap got to Jezzie, the space was mere inches. She regarded it for a moment before sliding forward.

  “Ah. Chad. I see you were an accountant. Welcome to California. I understand you were recently in Miami. How was it there?”

  “Hot. Sweaty. Way too sunny.”

  “Ah. Well. That will not be a problem here.”

  Jezebel’s interest perked slightly at the man’s name and city of origin. She’d just come from Miami. One of the associates there had been named Kane. He’d just handled an assignment. A man named Chad had been involved...but no. It couldn’t be the same fellow. That was unlikely. A coincidence. The world wasn’t that small. She was just debating the odds of such a possibility when the cell phone in her front pocket vibrated with the slightest whisper of sound.

  The desk clerk stopped speaking. Everyone in front turned back to look. She could feel the same level of interest from behind her.

  “Miss Jezebel?” the clerk spoke.

  “Yes?”

  The phone vibrated again. It was clicking against one of her keys.

  “Please take your call outside. You may rejoin the line when you have finished.”

  “But, of course.”

  Jezzie slid the phone from her pocket as she walked past what was turning into a lengthy line. It didn’t matter, actually. Not just due to the fact that time had ceased to have any meaning. She didn’t care how many people were checking into The Pit. She wasn’t getting back in line. She was going back to the garage. Getting into her rental. Leaving the top up - which was probably illegal in California on certain days – and driving into the sunset.

  Jezzie smiled.

  It would be sunset only because the airport was to the west.

  But then – she continued her line of thought – she was going to forget a man named Adam Ballantine. That’s what she planned. And this call was perfect timing. The decision was being made for her.

  Her caller was GeHenna. This time around GeHenna sounded like a sultry lounge singer. She didn’t wait for Jezebel’s greeting.

  Bad sign.

  “Sorry about the short notice. Are you still in California?”

  “Yes?”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t want or need another assignment, please. Not yet.”

  “I speak of Adam Ballantine.”

  “Completed. Oh-eight-hundred this morning.”

  “You’ll allow a failure?”

  “Failure?” Jezebel yanked the phone away involuntarily and looked at the screen in disbelief for a moment before putting it back to her ear. “I didn’t fail. I never fail. He was alive and kicking when I last saw him. Looked fine.”

  Jezzie smiled again, only this one was a barely-there motion. She hadn’t been entirely accurate. Adam Ballantine had looked a lot better than fine. The word wasn’t remotely large enough. The guy was a gorgeous male. Well-built...pretty much everywhere. Impossible to disregard either observation since his clothing had been plastered to him. After he’d crawled from the bay. Reached her. Knelt at her feet. And then stared up at her with incredibly soulful dark eyes...

  The tingle of reaction went through her this time at the recollection. Jezebel swallowed audibly. Straightened her spine. Waited several moments.

  “Well. He’s about to be un-fine,” GeHenna finally answered.

  “Can’t you give him to somebody else? I don’t play with boys.”

  “The assignment was to save his life.”

  “And I did.”

  “Just saw an email. The man is on a motorcycle, about to perform some stunt. It will not go as planned. The steering dampener has been tampered with.”

  “The what?”

  “It’s a necessary component of his machine. Your Adam is about to experience something called a tank slapper when he lands.”

  “A what? Never mind. I don’t want to know. But let’s get one thing straight, all right?”

  “What’s that?”

  “He’s not ‘my’ Adam. Please don’t call him that.”

  GeHenna didn’t laugh often. This was definitely a chuckle. “You have a few minutes, my dear. I wouldn’t waste them.”

  And the line went dead.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  This was it.

  The moment of perfect clarity. The laws of physics no longer ruled. Things slowed to a near standstill. The span of time between each heartbeat became incalculable. Breath no longer mattered because it didn’t seem necessary. The all-out rush had yet to arrive.

  There was just this moment in the world, the one between success and disaster. Triumph and failure. Life and death.

  This was the moment Adam lived for.

  Traffic in his lane was already factored out. The traffic light from Balboa onto Point Lobos Avenue held vehicles back for thirty seconds. Only Ryan and the new guy, Ken, accompanied him. Both men were riding bikes behind Adam. Ryan, because he was a licensed paramedic as well as the steadiest hand with a camera, and Ken due to his proficiency with every piece of equipment they tried. Ken had a steady hand with an action camera, and he was demonic on a bike. One of these days, Adam was going to have to challenge him. He might even lose.

  And that really upped the rush factor.

  Adam kicked the bike into each gear automatically, exceeding the speed limit within moments. Conditions were excellent. No wind. Clean, dry road base. The sun was setting, sending a shadow-enhanced glow onto the road. There was no oncoming traffic, either. Three of his team blocked it. They’d dressed as construction workers. Chuck had the easiest job, as well as riskiest. He was on the front-line of being noticed, described, or - in a worst case scenario - arrested. It couldn’t be helped. The guy was the most nondescript of them. That’s why he got to stand in the road holding a STOP sign. His job was to block access to the Great Highway from around the turn. The last two team members, Clint and Gareth, pretended to dig on the road’s shoulder. Until Adam came in sight, anyway. Then they’d drop their shovels and make certain their cameras were on him. Adam wanted every micro-second of this filmed. No mistakes this time. No equipment failure.

  Chuck’s voice came through Adam’s ear piece. Another car had just come into sight. That meant they had two cars held up. But not a cop in sight.

  Yet.

  What they were doing was illegal. Most of his stunts were. This one, the “watchtower” wasn’t even new. Practitioners of it were all over the net. But they used low speeds. Nobody attempted it at highway speed. It was considered far too dangerous.

  But that was about to change.

  At 60 mph, Adam pulled his wheelie. A moment later he was crouched atop the saddle, one hand on the throttle, the other on the windshield. He wasn’t quite ready to step onto it. He needed to achieve a 12 o’clock position, and then he needed to keep it there long enough. That was going to be the tricky part. The bike would be almost vertical. Right at the edge of disaster. The bike rocked back. Adam nearly lost balance, almost flipping backward. His heart stopped. Adrenaline rush accompanied it. Adam leaned forward a hairsbreadth, bringing the bike back up just a fraction. He was at 12 o’clock. It felt good. And it was holding.

  The Cliff House came into view. The restaurant was right on the edge of the road curve. He had just enough road space to pull this off. He lifted his foot to the windshield.

  “We see you! Looking good! And...go!”

&
nbsp; Adam rose slightly, preparatory to bringing his other foot to the windshield, But right then, Jezebel materialized before him, her feet on the windshield. Exactly where he needed to stand. Surprise changed everything as she reached for him and grabbed his shoulders.

  “No!”

  Adam’s cry didn’t make any sound as the front wheel dropped. Something snapped. The wheel jumped sideways, smacking into the tank. The wrenching of steel and rubber was going to be momentous. Loud. His tank ruptured. Sparks shot from beneath it. Adam didn’t hear or see any of it. Because Jezebel had plucked him right off the bike, and before he knew it, he was standing with her on the bluff well above the wreckage.

  An explosion ripped through the air next.

  Had his bike just exploded, too?

  “Adam? Adam! What just...happened?”

  Chuck’s voice was a bare hint through Adam’s earpiece. And the words were interspersed with static.

  “Everybody...bail! We’ve got—!”

  Ryan’s words were incoherent, and then cut off by a high-pitched, ear-splitting squeal. Adam howled in reaction. His knees wavered but held. He could barely hear over the continual blast of noise. Everything was wrong. His motions clumsy. His fingers inept. He couldn’t get the helmet off for seconds that felt eternal. He finally got the clasp undone and wrenched the helmet off so he could yank the ear bud out. It dangled from his throat. He nearly flung the helmet to the ground. Somehow, he caught the motion. That sent hard polycarbonate plastic against his leg. Right below his knee. And that frickin’ hurt. Instant tears flooded his eyes, and that just made everything worse.

  “Problems?” Jezebel asked nonchalantly.

  The indifference in her response made him see red. It tinged everything through the blur of moisture. He swiped at his eyes with a vicious move and then blinked Jezebel into focus. She stood about a foot away from him. Her expression was a good match to her tone. Aloof. Completely unaffected. Totally uninterested. But he could be wrong. He couldn’t see her eyes. The last of the setting sun was reflecting off her dark lenses.