*
Calum‘s rage had died; now only coldness remained. Determination. A sick feeling down deep. It was far easier to kill when the blood was hot. He walked into the section containing the jail cells. Two cells. One occupied. "Swane."
Swane stood. As he looked at Calum, his eyes widened, and he took a step back. "Fuck, man, I only did what he told me to. No need to get all upset. Just promise to let me go, and I‘ll tell you everything you want to know."
Alec locked the station door behind him. He walked over to Calum, standing close enough that their shoulders rubbed. No heat here either, only cold as the cahir said quietly, "Tell us where Vidal is."
*
Wells had pulled off to the side of the tiny dirt road. Good thing she‘d stayed back, Vic thought, as she pulled over quickly. Branches scratched the paint as she inched into the deep brush to hide the patrol car. She got the engine shut off a second before he got out of his car.
A short way ahead, lights glowed from the windows of a one-story building in the middle of nowhere. Vidal had obviously wanted an isolated location where no neighbors could hear penned up shifters. The nearest place was at least several acres away, and the tiny dirt road was private.
Yeah, the city boy had done a fine job of ensuring privacy.
Wells worked his way toward the house slowly, barely visible even to her cat‘s eyes.
After unscrewing the overhead light, she waited. He could scope out the situation first. If Vidal had guards, Wells might as well do her work for her.
She could only hope that this half-assed plan of hers would work. Damn the shifters and their reciprocity crap, but the need to pay back what she owed drove her hard. She‘d definitely bought into their morals, hadn‘t she? Her chest ached as she remembered Jamie‘s solemn face.
“The balance is fair.” Or how Calum had forced Thorson and Baty...
She shook her head furiously. No time for regrets, for grief. She‘d led Vidal and Wells to the Daonain; now she had to remove that danger. Leave emotions behind. This mission is a go.
The car stayed dark as she slid out. From her regular gear and the equipment in the trunk, she assembled a bag of necessities.
She stripped quickly, shivering in the rapidly chilling night air. Only patchy clouds covered the quarter moon in the east. More light than she liked. With a sigh, she tossed her clothes into the back seat and laid the keys behind the front tire.
Okay then. She closed her eyes, opened the mental cat-door, and flung herself through. She wasn‘t a one-toe-in-the-lake sort of girl after all. The eerie tingling covered her skin as if she‘d stepped into an electrified puddle. She felt her connection with the Mother for a second, and her heart squeezed at the realization that Her love was unchanged. Then her whiskers quivered at the scent of deer in the night air. Rabbit. Shrew in the grass—very close.
No, no, mission first. She grasped the backpack in her mouth and shook it to get the feel of weight. Thank God Alec had once made her carry a kill—a small deer—so she knew how much she could handle. Kitties were damned strong.
She loped through the woods, made a lovely leap over a stream, and realized a chain link fence enclosed the property. She studied it for a minute. No additional electrical wiring. Piece of cake. She took a leaping run and bounded up and over, landing lightly on the other side. As she trotted away, she glanced back at the fence, shining faintly in the moonlight, and let her tail twitch slightly. Damn, I"m good.
The rear of the building had little cover. A couple of small trees, a few lilacs in one corner.
In the shadow of the bushes, she paused. Two distinct human scents; one idiot at the near corner of the house chewed tobacco. She heard him spit. The other was quieter, a dark shadow leaning against the house.
After shifting to human, she opened her leather satchel and changed into stretchy black clothing. Quick cammo on any exposed skin, K-Bar strapped at her calf, Glock, reloads and other toys in a belt around her waist. The police nightstick she hefted a few times to get the balance and kept in her hand.
A glance at the sky. One nice thick cloud neared the moon. When the yard darkened, she moved, circling, coming up behind Mr. Dipping Tobacco. Hand over his mouth and a thump with the baton. He went limp, and she lowered him silently to the ground. Some precut strands of dark rope from her belt secured him quickly, and she finished with duct tape over his mouth and a quick pat on his butt.
The next was just as easy. It was almost insulting. She checked for guards in the front, but Wells had already taken them out. Four total… You"re a nervous guy, Tony Vidal.
Would she find Swane here too? She could only hope.
The back door was locked, and someone moved inside the room. No entry there. However, the bathroom window wasn‘t secured. She slid it open. The opening was too small for a guy, but hell, her boobs and butt would squish. She landed on the floor in the bathroom almost soundlessly. Her nose wrinkled. Jesus, one of the guards must have had beans for supper.
She cracked the bathroom door slightly open. Wells sat in an armchair, head in his hands.
The posture, so different from his erect one, gave her a pang. Ignore it. The chair faced the front door; his back was to her. Couldn‘t get much easier than that.
She coshed him. And ignored the tears that seeped from her eyes as she tied him securely.
She started to duct-tape his mouth and stopped. He was congested; he‘d suffocate if he couldn‘t get air through his nose. Hell.
She ripped the tape back off. If he woke up before she finished, she could always whack him again…assuming she had the heart. She did a quick search, relieving him of his pistol and the tiny computer in his pocket. The pistol went in her bag.
The room had a sitting area to watch television and the other half was a token office. A box of files lay on the floor. A laptop sat on the desk surrounded by papers. She dumped Wells‘
belongings beside it.
In a back bedroom, a tied-up Vidal moaned and groaned, only half-conscious. Thanks, Wells. A chill ran up her spine. This was too easy—something was bound to go wrong.
When Vidal opened his eyes, she considered killing him then, but she might need more information. She dragged him to the living room and stashed him out of the way in the corner behind the desk.
All the rest of the rooms were empty.
Before starting a fire in the big stone fireplace, she removed her pack. Flames and ammunition—so not a good thing. Then she went to work. Folders and pictures. Vidal had accumulated information about her—a pleasure to burn. The blaze grew as she tossed in paper after paper, and when it was roaring well, she started on the DVDs and CDs. She didn‘t bother to look, just dumped it in. Hell, most of it was porn.
Black smoke and God, what a stench. She threw in Wells‘ micro-computer.
"It won‘t take long to collect more information."
Vic spun. Wells stared at her, eyes clearing rapidly. She must have pulled her blow. Stupid, Sergeant. "I know. But it will slow you down a little."
"You intend to eliminate me?" He struggled to sit up from where he‘d slumped.
"I rarely tie up people I‘m planning to kill."
"If you‘re hoping for me to change my mind, you are in error."
Right. Even as the words sliced her open, she had to smile. He‘d been unconscious, probably had a splitting headache, hands and feet were tied, and he still had the same arrogance as if he sat in his own office. Damn, but she loved him.
The thought brought her hand to a stop in midair over the flames; the scorch made her jump.
Loved Wells? Well, duh. She really did. Calum and Alec had managed to open the way to her heart, and now she could see all the ways love appeared. Damn them anyway. She grabbed a camcorder and threw the whole thing into the fireplace, sending up a flurry of sparks. And simply stood there, watching it burn.
"What are you going to do now?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"Don‘t know." Don"t care.
; "As I left, it sounded as if the werelions were unhappy with you for some reason."
She glanced at him as she slammed the laptop down on the desk, splitting open the bottom.
"They heard what you said—cat ears—and reacted, oh, pretty much as you‘d expect."
"Excellent."
Damn him. Even knowing it would hurt, she prodded at him like she‘d picked at scabs as a kid. "Never seen you get so upset. Always thought you were so uber-cool."
Color surged into his face although his expression didn‘t change.
She pulled out the hard drive and the motherboard. Threw them on the fire. "Did you feel betrayed by your favorite agent?"
He gazed at the far wall, a muscle twitching in his cheek.
While checking over the house, she‘d found no info storage other than this room.
Information gone.
One bad guy left. She should deal with Vidal without a witness. Time to go back to sleep, boss.
She picked up the weighted nightstick and hesitated. Wells had been her recruiter, her handler and more.... He‘d trained her, been there for her when she needed him—although he‘d pretended it was duty. He‘d brought her junk food in hospitals with an expression of distaste, flown her back to the states against her wishes…just to make sure she was all right. Truly covert even in never showing that he cared.
It wasn‘t his fault Lachlan had turned her into a furball. In some ways, she had betrayed her boss. He was owed.
Damn the shifters and their fucking reciprocity law. Releasing a pained sigh, she knelt in front of Wells. With her K-Bar, she sliced through his bonds. So much for the easy part.
He didn‘t move, just lifted his eyebrows inquisitively.
"The kid you saw on tape—the one who bit me? Before he died in my arms, I made him two promises," she said softly. "I promised to inform his grandfather what had happened to him. I also gave my word not to tell anyone about the shifters. I did my damndest to discover whether they were a threat to humans or the U.S. If so, I‘d have told you, broken promise or not."
His eyes narrowed slightly. He was listening at least.
"I...I couldn‘t figure out how to uphold my obligations and still not betray the kid. I didn‘t…" She felt her lips quiver and firmed them immediately. "I never meant to hurt you.
You‘re—" After a breath, she managed, "You‘re more like a father to me than mine ever was."
His gaze lowered as he massaged his wrists.
Hell, she‘d tried. She rubbed her face dry and started to rise. Maybe someday he‘d get past—
"I loved a woman once."
She froze, and then slowly knelt again.
"I‘d just started in the CIA and was appallingly naïve. We lived together. I planned to marry her."
Unable to speak, Vic waited.
"I discovered… She was breaking into my briefcase every night. Selling information to the highest bidder. I confronted her, and she tried to kill me."
"Fuck."
His eyes were red, but the tiniest curve of a smile appeared on his lips. "Succinctly put."
"So you figured I‘d betrayed you too." She shook her head, warmth melting some of the ice surrounding her heart. "Gee thanks, sir."
On each side of the front door, the windows shattered inwards with a crash. Two mountain lions landed, blurred, and shifted into human form.
Alec. Calum.
Alec‘s breath caught as he stood upright. Vicki rose, her big brown eyes wide with shock.
The urge to take her into his arms and bury his face in her hair infuriated him. How pitiful could he get? Especially since he‘d watched her and her spy boss chatting away a minute ago. His mouth twisted bitterly. "Ms. Waverly. Now, why am I not surprised to see you here?"
Her flinch was as satisfying as it was painful.
After an impassive look around, Calum left to search the house. And probably to get away from Vicki.
Alec glanced at the corner where a tied-up man lay on the carpet. "That‘s Vidal?"
Vicki nodded, mouth pressed firmly into a line. Alec had traced his finger over those lips…
He winced away from the memory.
As he wandered around the room, he kept a wary eye on Vicki and the other man he wanted to kill. "Now what would a boss of spies be called?"
"The handler," the bastard said in a mild, somewhat snooty voice. Medium-height, lean like someone who naturally burns more than they eat, his expression seemed almost indifferent, but those clear blue eyes saw everything.
Over the smell of burned rubber, Alec caught the scent of distress from him—but no fear sweat. Too dumb to know his danger? Doubtful.
Calum came back in. "Nothing. What‘s in here?"
"Desk is empty. There‘s DVD and CD holders with no contents. Even the computer is gutted," Alec said. He knelt in front of the fireplace and stirred the contents with the poker.
Flakey ashes from paper, melted plastic stubs, a shriveled green plastic board, and a metal box—
probably from the computer also. He nodded at Calum, the beginnings of hope rising inside him.
Calum‘s eyes narrowed. He turned to Vicki, and power trickled through his voice. "Victoria, where is the information Vidal collected?"
She stiffened and shook her head…but answered, "I burned it."
"What happened to the information you were supposed to get your boss?" Calum asked mildly, although Alec could see the tension in his frame.
A flash of anger lit her face. "You jump to conclusions too fucking quickly. I‘d already turned him down."
Calum walked over to the handler. "Had she?"
The bastard didn‘t agree or disagree. It was like looking at a statue.
They were all across the room, talking. In the corner, out of sight behind the desk, Vidal shredded the last rope with the glass from the shattered windows. His hands had slickened with his own blood, but he was free.
The creatures could attack quickly; he knew that. Their talk covered the sound of his crawling and then he had it—the pistol under one of the chairs, right where the fucking agent had knocked it out of his grip. Still behind the desk, he straightened. "Don‘t move, assholes. Hands in the air."
They jerked around, faces turning hard when they saw the pistol. As they raised their hands, he studied his haul. One man, naked, kneeling by the fire, then the bitch Morgan a couple of feet away. The cold-faced CIA agent who‘d managed to take out his guards. Another unclothed stranger stood on the far side of the chair.
The government man spoke, his voice quiet. "Vidal, I suggest—"
"Shut up!" Vidal lined the pistol up with the agent‘s forehead, feeling his hand begin to shake. Fucking disease. But he had the cure, now didn‘t he? He smiled at the two unclothed men.
"Swane described you. You‘re the cop and the daddy."
The dark one gazed back, pupils completely black, and growled.
A chill ran up Vidal‘s spine at the murderous anger radiating from him…from them both.
He shifted his weight and ignored the creeping of fear.
"What happened to Swane?" Vidal asked, then shook his head. Didn‘t really matter. If the werecats were here, the bastard must have got himself caught—and spilled his guts.
He needed to get the hell out of here before more CIA or creatures showed up. He had only one cage though. It could hold two animals—but he wanted to keep the woman.
Vidal aimed the gun at the one by the fireplace. "I don‘t need you." He pulled the trigger.
Calum saw the man point the pistol at Alec. No! He shifted and sprang as the pistol snapped.
He heard the gut-wrenching sound of a bullet hitting flesh and knew despair. On his knees, Alec couldn‘t have moved fast enough to dodge.
He hit Vidal from the side, knocking him down. The human tried to scramble away, but fury raging, Calum bit through his spine. With barely a shudder, the human died.
Lachlan was avenged. And Alec.
Calum shifted to human and tur
ned, unsure if he could bear the sight of his brawd‘s lifeless body. But—
Alec was alive. Alive! It was Victoria, in panther form, who lay on the floor, incongruously still in her black clothing. The stretch top had a hole in it, and blood already pooled on the floor.
Kneeling, Alec ran a hand down her fur. "Damn, Vicki," he said hoarsely, "trawsfur back so I can get a bandage on that."
A blur, and she returned to human. She merely grimaced at her shoulder, but when she saw her handler‘s shock at her transformation, her face crumpled for a second.
His heart hammering, Calum went into the bathroom and grabbed a clean towel. He tossed it to Alec. "I thought he‘d killed you, brawd," he managed to say.
"Me too. Vixen took—" Jaws set hard, Alec ripped the cloth into a make-shift dressing for Victoria‘s shoulder.
"It‘s a time-honored tradition—take a bullet for your buddy. You know I like my traditions."
She shrugged and winced.
"How bad does it hurt?" Alec asked in a tight voice.
"Pain is weakness leaving the body," she said lightly.
"You were a Marine? I should have known." He put pressure on the hole, scowled at her back. "It went through. Change into cat form soon—that‘ll help."
Calum squeezed Alec‘s shoulder just to feel his warm skin, know he was alive. Then he touched Victoria‘s cheek. "Thank you."
She nodded, her lips curved up in a wry grin. "Next time, consider using the door. Glass and tied-up men don‘t mix well."
"We will keep that in mind."
"Is Vidal dead?" she asked, her voice disconcertingly level, obviously familiar with violent death.
He should have considered the implications of that before. With an effort, Calum shoved his feelings to one side and reached for clarity. The jolt of seeing Victoria had been followed by too many others, and he could not afford to lose control...or his judgment. "He‘s dead. As is Swane.
Irma will be safe, and Lachlan can rest easy in his grave."
Hour of the Lion Page 34
