Redeemed

by Becca Jameson

  She hadn’t been born a hermit and she was stir-crazy. But not enough to risk going outside.

  Dr. Parman said it was temporary and natural for her to suffer a certain level of agoraphobia after what she’d been through. As long as she didn’t remain trapped in this state of mind forever, it was an acceptable part of her progress.

  Chapter Ten

  Evan took a seat at the long conference table. He was the only person on his side of the table, directly across from the five men who made up the elders of the North American Council. He rubbed his hands on his khaki pants, the nicest clothing he had with him on this trip.

  He’d spoken to various shifters who worked in this head branch office, but none of the five men sitting across from him now. In fact, he’d never met any of them before. At least not that he could recall. Perhaps as a child, but not in his adult years.

  Evan hadn’t been to The Gathering for many years. His parents, Roland and Veronica, had retired and moved to Florida four years ago. They’d hated the Midwest weather. He’d been an only child and hadn’t attended The Gathering even when his parents were still living in St. Louis. School always seemed to have gotten in the way, or so he claimed. He’d been secretly uninterested in finding a mate at the time—and after all, that was one of the main reasons The Gathering occurred.

  The council members all attended every year, but young shifters paid them no attention. The only thing the children were interested in was reacquainting with friends they saw once a year.

  As the kids grew older, their only concern was flirting with the opposite sex in hopes of finding a match. It was ridiculous since very few wolves actually knew who their mates were before adulthood. Even the ones who crossed paths on occasion before turning eighteen rarely were aware of the plans Fate had for them. Most of the time mates didn’t find each other until their twenties. It was part of Her design.

  The man in the center spoke first. He was the oldest, at least seventy. His name was Ralph Jerard. Evan had looked up every member of The Council and studied their profiles before he headed to Seattle. Mr. Jerard wore glasses low on his nose when looking down at the file of papers in front of him. His hair was gray and his skin wrinkled with age, but he was not frail. He was still stocky and fit, not uncommon for wolf shifters. “We understand you’ve been working on the Damon Parkfield case.”

  “Yes, sir, I have. Is that a problem?” If the elders had dragged him here from Indiana to reprimand him for something he had no intention of changing, he was going to be pissed.

  “No. On the contrary, we’re hoping to combine our efforts since you seem intent on finding this rogue shifter and bringing him to justice.” The elder leaned forward on his elbows and set his glasses on the table. “That is your intent, correct?” He narrowed his gaze.

  Evan knew what this game was. Mr. Jerard wanted to ensure Evan didn’t have an ulterior motive, such as murder. “Of course, sir.” He didn’t break eye contact.

  “You’re a private investigator, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’re the same PI who located Ms. Rice several months ago and returned her to her family?”

  “That’s correct. Her brother hired me when he suspected foul play. It took almost a year to track them down. If I’d had any idea at the time how serious the crime was, I never would have walked away that day after rescuing Ashley from the apartment they were living in.”

  “And where is Ashley Rice now?” Mr. Jerard asked.

  “At her parent’s home. She suffers from PTSD. She doesn’t leave the house often.”

  “I see. And where do you believe Damon Parkfield is now?”

  “I tracked him to a small town in Indiana last week, but he disappeared before I got there, as usual. It’s very frustrating how fast he catches on to me. Either he has incredible luck and happens to move around at a pace one step ahead of mine, or someone is alerting him to my arrival.” Evan shivered at the verbalization of that thought.

  “Is that possible?”

  “No.” Evan shook his head. “Because no one knows I’m working on this case. Not a soul.” He paused. “With the exception of you, of course. He usually rents a run-down furnished apartment and flees quickly. I don’t know what tips him off or if he just likes to move around often. He doesn’t strike me as being someone who could accomplish all this on his own. Someone must be funding him. He never holds a job very long and hasn’t worked anywhere that would pay the rent for ages.”

  “Do you believe he’s traveling alone?” Mr. Jerard asked.

  “I do. Every time I enter his latest location I rummage around looking for clues. I have seen no evidence he has anyone with him at this time. So, if you’re asking me if I think he has another woman with him, the answer is no.” Evan had meticulously gone through the man’s trash at every location. He’d seen nothing to indicate Damon had taken another woman.

  “Well, that’s good.”

  “Unless of course you take a long look at the list of parents who have very little or similar contact with their young daughters as Ashley Rice’s family did—and I’m sure you all have done that. In which case you have no choice to but assume this problem extends way beyond Damon Parkfield and could in fact be a conspiracy of huge proportions.”

  “We wondered if that had occurred to you.” Mr. Jerard looked back and forth at the other men with him. He lifted his papers and tapped them on the table to straighten the stack.

  “Gentleman, you can stop ignoring the elephant in the room. I’m painfully aware there is undoubtedly a black market of some sort distributing a new drug concoction whose purpose is to keep its victim docile and controllable. The question is why? Who is making the drugs? And how widespread is the distribution?” Evan saw no reason to skirt this issue another moment. If these men had called him to Seattle to meet with them—all five of them—then they had an agenda and he intended to get to the bottom of it as soon as possible.

  The man to the left of Mr. Jerard leaned to the side to whisper something in the older man’s ear.

  Evan had excellent hearing, but then so did every other shifter in the room. It made whispering at a lower decibel necessary for them all. He couldn’t make out a single word.

  Evan glanced at the other men at the table. The elderly man to the right of Mr. Jerard was Melvin Cunningham. His narrowed gaze made Evan nervous. Mr. Cunningham leaned back in his chair and tapped his cheek with two fingers, never removing his gaze from Evan. The two men flanking the group on both ends were Earl Johnson and Lucas Sheffield. Both were middle aged.

  Finally, the taller, skinnier man on the left, who Evan knew was Steven Wightman, cleared his throat and sat straight. “Who has been paying you for your work so far, sir?”

  “No one.” That was the truth. Evan hadn’t received a dime for his efforts. The only way he’d stayed afloat financially was by expanding his company and hiring others to work for him. Somehow he’d managed to stay in the black. But he knew he couldn’t keep it up much longer. It was expensive traveling all around the country chasing his tail.

  “Why?” Mr. Wightman asked.

  “Sir?”

  “What reason do you have to follow a convict from state to state for no financial gain?” Mr. Wightman held Evan’s gaze.

  In fact, Evan could feel all eyes piercing him. Though the other three men hadn’t said a word during this meeting, they were paying close attention. There was no reason to lie. He’d eventually be found out anyway. “Ms. Rice is my mate.”

  No one flinched. He hadn’t shocked them.

  Mr. Jerard spoke again. “And you believe you can remain impartial in this case with the victim as your mate?”

  Evan shook his head. “I never said I was impartial. I intend to find Damon Parkfield and bring him to justice. If you’re asking me if I’m planning to shoot the man in the skull and ask questions later, the answer is no. I want him alive as much as you do. It’s the only way to get information from him about who his supplier is and
catch the real bad guy.

  “Until Mr. Parkfield is apprehended, Ashley Rice’s life is on hold. She’s frozen with fear. Yes, she’s my mate. However, you need to know she has not allowed me to claim her. No action has been taken to make her mine. In fact, I’ve only met with her on two short occasions since her rescue, both of those recent. She’s in no position to be claimed. Nor does she have any interest.”

  “And you believe if you can find Damon Parkfield and get him off the streets, Ms. Rice will accept you?” Mr. Wightman asked.

  Evan shook his head. “Not at all. There are no guarantees she will ever be able to move on with her life. However, it’s a step in the right direction, and it gives me something useful to do rather than sit around pining and waiting.”

  “Fair enough.” Mr. Wightman leaned in to whisper something in Mr. Jerard’s ear again. When he sat back, he continued. “Would you give us a moment to confer?”

  “Of course.” Evan stood abruptly, almost tipping his chair over backward. He straightened his shirt and turned to leave the room. As soon as the door snicked shut behind him, he took a seat on the plush chair in the hall.

  A few people wandered past while he waited. None of them spoke, but they all nodded cordially and smiled. They must have thought he was in serious trouble to be waiting outside what was obviously the regular chambers of The Head Council’s main group of elders.

  After several minutes, the door opened next to him and one of the younger elders who had flanked the right side of the group, Lucas Sheffield, leaned his head out. “Please. Come back in.”

  Evan reentered the room and resumed his seat across from The Council when the younger man motioned toward the chair.

  Once they were all seated again, Mr. Jerard spoke. “While the five of us admit we have some serious concerns with regard to your relationship with Ashley Rice, we are impressed with the work you’ve done and find you to be truthful and forward with your admissions. We believe it’s in the best interest of The Council, yourself, and Ms. Rice for us to retain your services toward the goal of apprehending Mr. Parkfield and bringing him in for questioning.

  “Would you be agreeable to joining our payroll toward that end?” Mr. Jerard asked the question, but Evan didn’t get the sense it was really a question. It was more of a demand. The elders could be very persuasive if push came to shove and this issue necessitated extreme measures.

  “I would be honored, sir.” Evan nodded. He’d been completely in the dark about The Council’s reasons for calling him in. Anything had been possible from reprimanding him for sticking his nose into the case to coercing him to give up all the information he had acquired thus far. Until Mr. Jerard had insinuated their interest in hiring him, that possibility hadn’t been on his radar.

  This arrangement would solve a lot of problems, the most important of which was Evan’s financial situation.

  “Good. We need you to sign a confidentiality agreement and then we’ll hand over everything we have on this case. Please use the utmost discretion when dealing with any issue concerning the apprehension of Mr. Parkfield and the confiscation of any drug paraphernalia. We don’t want to cause widespread paranoia, nor do we want anyone outside of this room to be informed about any aspect of this case. Is that agreeable to you?” Mr. Jerard asked. His eyes never moved from Evan’s as he spoke. The man didn’t appear to blink.

  “Of course, sir. You have my word.” But why so secretive that the other twenty individuals who worked at The Head Council weren’t privy to any information? Wouldn’t it have been beneficial to everyone if more hands, eyes, and ears were on deck?

  And then it dawned on Evan. He raised his eyebrows and glanced at every man behind the long conference table. “You think it’s someone inside.”

  Mr. Wightman tipped his head toward the table as he answered. “We don’t know that for certain, Mr. Harmon. But, yes. It’s a suspicion. We don’t want to take any chances.”

  “Can you start immediately?” Mr. Jerard asked without elaborating.

  “Yes. But I’d like a day to return to St. Louis if you don’t mind.”

  The elders collectively stood as Mr. Jerard addressed the request. “We’re okay with that as long as it doesn’t interfere with the case in any way. We cannot emphasize enough the need to not jeopardize the research we have collected so far.”

  He stepped around the table as he continued. “I’m sure you have a mountain of your own information regarding this investigation. That’s the main reason we want to hire you. It was only recently that we discovered the probable depth of this criminal activity. We’d like that to remain between the six of us, and seeing as you aren’t a man to be stopped in your own exploration of the case, we might as well bring you in to join the team.

  “It’s our hope that by combining our research with yours, you will have a stronger case and be armed with the ability to track Mr. Parkfield with all haste.”

  “I will do my best, sir.” Evan extended his hand as Mr. Jerard did. His shake was firm. The man’s piercing gray eyes were menacing, almost threatening as he portrayed the seriousness of this matter with a single glance.

  “Mr. Wightman will escort you to human resources to sign some forms. You may return to St. Louis today. We’ve already purchased you a ticket on the next flight.” Mr. Jerard reached into his inner suit pocket and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Evan as he continued. “There is a retainer check inside as well. Take today to look in on your loved ones and we will arrange for our research to arrive at your house tomorrow. We expect it will take you several days, or even a week to go through everything and combine our work with your own. Take whatever time you need before you travel again.

  “We only ask that you remain in contact with us daily by phone or email and keep us abreast of the situation.”

  Evan nodded. Somehow in the last half hour the seriousness of this case rose to a new height. He intended to get to the bottom of it if it was the last thing he did. He owed that much to Ashley and to any other woman out there who might be involved in a similar predicament.

  A chill went down Evan’s spine as he followed Mr. Wightman down the hall. How many women? He pictured girls barely out of their teens, girls like Ashley, abused and held against their will. Drugged into submission by wolf shifters who insisted they were their mates.

  Why? What was the motive?

  Evan had no idea, but he intended to find out.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ashley set her paintbrush down and stared at the canvas in front of her. What was she painting? She’d meant to do a snowy day after staring out the window and talking to her brother, but whatever she’d created on that blank canvas was anything but snow. She hadn’t even used any white. It looked chaotic. And it represented what she imagined the inside of her brain looked like today.

  Every day was a stressful day since the confrontation with Evan, but she usually kept her feelings at bay by ignoring them. After Josh left, she’d been bombarded with thoughts she’d have preferred not to entertain.

  Her muscles ached from the stiff brush strokes. Even her neck and her back rebelled when she tried to pop her head from side to side.

  Giving up, she headed upstairs.

  During the day, her mother usually left her alone. She’d taken to hiding in the basement studying or painting and she’d made it clear she hated being disturbed. She knew she was hiding from far more than her parents and life. She was hiding from herself. And she was hiding from the reality she’d chosen not to accept.

  “Hey, honey. Did you get a painting finished today?”

  Ashley smirked. “You could say that. Though I doubt it’s going to sell at a famous gallery and set me for life.” She reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

  Her mother smiled as she looked up from where she chopped vegetables at the kitchen island. “I love all your work.”

  “That’s great, Mom.” Ashley shook her head and leaned against the island, trying not to sound too sarcasti
c. It wasn’t her mother’s fault. Nothing was. Though she knew her parents felt intense guilt for not doing more to prevent the four years of torture she’d undergone.

  “Did anyone call?” Now why did I have to go and ask that? She never questioned her mother on such things. She didn’t want to hear the answers.

  Her mother lifted her gaze and set her knife down. “Yes.” She paused. “He calls every day, Ash.”

  Really? She hadn’t realized that. Her heart started racing and she stood upright. “You never mentioned that,” she mumbled.

  “You made it pretty clear you didn’t want to hear about it.”

  That was true. But every day? “What does he say?”

  “He asks how you’re doing and if we need anything. He’s the nicest man I’ve ever met to be honest, after your father, of course.” Her mother smiled.

  “Does he ask to speak to me?”

  “No.”

  Ashley’s chest deflated at that one word, though she had no idea why.

  Suddenly she felt antsy. She needed to move. Her entire body came alive as she pictured Evan calling her mother every day to see if Ashley was okay.

  She turned on her heel and fled the room, nearly jogging to her bedroom. When she entered, she shut the door behind her and locked it. She paced the floor, unable to move fast enough or far enough in the cramped space.

  What she needed was to run off some steam in wolf form. She stopped at the window and grabbed the frame with both hands, squeezing until her knuckles hurt. The snow fell harder now than it had earlier. It drifted at a steady pace toward the ground, blanketing the world in white. Not a blade of grass or a stray leaf remained visible.

  It would feel so good beneath her feet. But she wasn’t ready. Just imagining opening the window made her heart skip a beat. No. She couldn’t do it. And besides, a run of a hundred miles wouldn’t erase her thoughts of Evan.