But she did recall why Aaron had initially focused on her. How her mother’s terminal illness and her lack of friends made her a prime candidate to be turned.
This missing girl was no different, right? For whatever reason, she had no biological parents, and she had only been around for a short time. Were they truly so callous that they would rip her from a new home already?
In a pathetic attempt to curb her whirling paranoia, Rachael threw herself into making dinner. She had to stay active somehow; if she sat down to do homework, she would only stare at her books and panic. Chicken parmesan was both simple and preoccupying, she decided. A side of pan-fried zucchini would be a good addition, too.
Still, each time she had a minute Rachael would dial the hotel again. By the third call she knew the receptionist was growing exasperated. Rachael didn’t lessen the frequency of the calls.
Once dinner was done and her father’s portion was in the refrigerator, Rachael picked up the phone to try again. A shrill ring nearly stopped her heart.
She hit the CALL button. “Hello?”
“Miss Rachael, the lady said you keep calling and calling and don’t leave messages!”
Nathan. Relief drenched her fevered head fast enough to calm her shaking. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to talk to Jackie.”
“Oh.”
Any other day she would have hurriedly assured the boy she liked him, too, but tonight she didn’t have the patience. “Please, can I talk to him?”
Nathan sighed into the receiver, the static loud enough to make her wince. “He an’ Aaron are doing stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?” Aware her voice was too biting, she tried again. “Please, Nathan, it’s really important I talk to Jackie.”
The line was quiet for so long that she almost thought he had abandoned the phone. Then Nathan dejectedly said, “Hang on.”
She began to gnaw on a thumbnail, worrying until she tasted blood. Rachael allowed the metallic taste to trickle over her tongue until the phone picked up again.
“My apologies, but your brother is preoccupied at the moment,” said Aaron.
Of course. Closing her eyes, Rachael exhaled before asking, “Is he okay?”
His tone betrayed the amused smile she could picture plastered to his face. “Were he in danger, I would tell you.”
“You didn’t tell me where he was for months.”
“As a precaution. He is home now. The situation is different.”
She understood how Holden could hate the man. Polite as his words were, Aaron was annoyingly smug at times. Rachael hugged herself with her free arm. “Sorry to bother you.”
“You are never a bother, Ms. Adair.”
“Just Rachael,” she reminded him.
Infuriatingly, he said, “How can I help you, Ms. Adair?”
Though a part of her expected him to lie, she dove forward. “Are you doing it again?”
His disquiet either spoke of guilt or confusion. “The phone is not bugged. You may speak freely.”
That sounded insane to her. Then again, Aaron had to be at least a little crazy to do what he did. She could picture him meticulously probing every nook, cranny, and phone line for strange wires and suspicious oddities. But she could see the other side as easily. Even if the phone was tapped, who would take the subject seriously? Did the FBI have a paranormal department for werewolves, ghosts, and closet monsters?
Unlikely.
“Did you turn someone else into a lycan?” she demanded.
This time he was genuinely startled. “I... no. Of course not.”
She had never heard him stammer before. It threw her off. Granted, there was much about him she didn’t know, but his words were always spoken as though he ran through them a hundred times before they ever left his lips.
“It’s just—there’s this kid, she went missing when you guys came back,” she blurted. “I mean, not the day you did—and I’m glad you did! I missed Jackie. But it happened so soon after and she’s just a kid and she was adopted and I thought maybe you took to her like you did with me and it made sense but I was really, really hoping you didn’t. I mean, if you did it would just cause problems, and I know we don’t want that. Right? It’s not like you haven’t been busy with Jackie and—”
Rachael halted. She was ranting, and nobody stopped her. Lately she had become so used to her friends, particularly Holden, stopping her once her train began to derail.
“Sorry,” she muttered.
“Finish your thought,” was Aaron’s cool response.
Her cheeks felt hot. “That... that was basically it. I thought you infected her.”
“I see.”
If he was angry, he had no right to be, she decided. The idea of him irate in turn aggravated her. After all he’d done, whether she was right or wrong, Aaron had the lowest ranking insofar as possessing the right to be upset with her.
When it was clear she had nothing else to say, Aaron spoke again. “We have not had the time to scout new recruits, much less infect one. Turning anybody right now would be poor in concept and execution. Your brother is faring well, but he still suffers from minor setbacks. Biting his tongue in his sleep. His joints still pop; his body has not fully adjusted to the change. Today he believed he was going to fade out, which is why he is currently meditating and cannot be disturbed.”
Stunned by the reveal, she protested, “I thought you brought him back because he was all better.”
“He is stable,” replied Aaron. “It has been many months since he faded—”
“What’s that?”
“For you, it is slang for being drunk, but in the case of lycans it refers to losing time periods,” he answered enduringly. “He has sorely missed you. As soon as I believed him to be established, I brought him home. This was never an ideal change, Ms. Adair. His infection was sudden and unexpected. Therefore, the methods have been modified a bit. I thought he might make his final stages of change a more rapid success if you were around more often.”
Not to mention, this is entirely his fault. She thought it, she even heard Holden’s bitter tone when the words came to life, yet she felt no ire. Aaron knew everything was his burden to bear. He had said so before leaving and whisking her brother off to the unknown. Everything he had done from taking care of Jackson to bringing him back testified to how much Aaron understood.
Her emotions were so rife with confusion that Rachael had to sit down. She sank into one of the dining room chairs, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. She didn’t trust Aaron, but she no longer had reason not to. He had kept his word.
But the whole situation still bothered her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Aaron didn’t seem perturbed. “I can see how you would come to the conclusion that you did.”
She shifted in the hard seat. It made sense to apologize. Somehow the words didn’t come a second time. “Say hi to Jackie for me?”
“I will have him call you tomorrow, as soon as you are home from school.”
Without saying goodbye, Rachael hung up.
There was no such thing as coincidence. Aaron cradled the receiver before striding back to the boys’ room. Jackson was as he’d left him, lying on the bed with his hands on his stomach and his breathing steady. His brow remained smooth, and he was deep into his meditation. Bored on the floor in his eyesore cartoon pajamas sat Nathan, his blond hair disheveled as he furiously but quietly pounded his thumbs against a handheld game.
No need to disturb them, he decided. Instead Aaron closed the door, a clear sign for them to stay put and leave him alone. The sun would set soon anyhow. Lycans, like wolves, were nocturnal, but to pass in the human realm they had to adjust their internal clocks.
Not all if his kin bothered. In fact, many packs were just lycans who took to swing shift hours. In the 1970s, when Holden had been more immersed in responsibility, Aaron had taken a brief respite to work such hours. Even then bartending made quite a bit of money. Just one of many (and
one of the few honest) ways he kept their funds fat and flowing.
He rummaged through his suitcase. At the bottom was a small, sleek laptop. Aaron plugged it into the wall and settled onto the rickety hotel bed while the software booted up.
He had been truthful when claiming he didn’t blame Rachael for assuming lycans were responsible for the missing girl. And while he hadn’t said so, he wasn’t irritated with her for the assumption—just alarmed.
The moment he was connected to the internet, Aaron narrowed a search down to news articles and police reports in Keeton. As soon as he looked at the missing girl’s photos, he felt a painfully familiar wrench at his heart. Children were his Achilles heel. His time training Jackson had been particularly difficult as they traveled. All over the world children seemed to need an out. But after the deadly fiasco with Beatrice he had vowed never to turn a kid again.
That made the urge so much stronger. The more he read about the missing girl, the worse that compulsion became. Ana Sofia Quintero, five years old, adopted by family shortly after her parents were killed in a car accident that had left her injured but alive. A brave soul, her aunt and uncle claimed. Unusually bright, though quiet. Her lack of talkative nature wouldn’t have made much difference for her here, though—she only spoke Spanish.
Her parents must have been beautiful. Though her captive eyes were small and close together, they were expressive and sweet, framed by several inches of shiny dark hair. Her high cheekbones promised unmatched beauty in the future—if, of course, she had a future.
Quickly, he left her tragic disappearance and perused other websites. No other child kidnappings in the area. Fortunate for the community. Unfortunate for her, as there was no pattern to follow. Otherwise the news was typical of any woodsy town. A couple hikers fell off a steep ledge and died a little less than a year ago, the major highway had three accidents in the past month, and a house near the high school had been broken in to.
In other words, nothing.
Tense, Aaron continued to scour, yet all he came back to was Ana’s photo. Again and again and again, that little girl haunted him.
Just like Beatrice.
Resisting the urge to slam the laptop shut, Aaron finally turned it off and set it on the nightstand. He didn’t climb under the covers until he heard both Nathan’s light breathing and Jackson’s even lighter snoring.
Closing his eyes was a mistake. The missing girl’s dark gaze glimmered, shifted to larger eyes, shifted to green, her black hair fading to dusty brown, until Beatrice’s horrified face and twisted neck stubbornly remained. But he just as stubbornly kept his eyes screwed shut. Sleep would not come easy either way. One girl had vanished into thin air, and his had died at his own hands.
Aaron began to sweat before the nightmares took him.
Chapter Seven
Meeting in Jackson and Nathan’s room was just another display of power for their alpha. Determined not to let it get to him, Holden put up with the familiar residual odor of wet dog and the less familiar yet overpowering smell of steel and motor oil. Part of him was amazed Aaron allowed the pup to sprawl over someone else’s furniture covered in engine filth—even if it was a business’s property.
Holden leaned against the pine desk provided, leafing through a stack of paper.
Jackson’s distrustful stare drilled into him. Well, fine, thought Holden. They could hate each other all they wanted, but it wouldn’t magically knock down Holden’s rank. Such a thing would have been a relief, truth be told, but for now the cards were what they were.
Shifting his weight, Holden began to sort pages and lay them face down behind him. “No cottages, manufactured houses, or bungalows,” he said. “They almost never have a basement or anything underground.”
Scoffing, Jackson said, “How am I supposed to know—?”
“You’ll learn.” Holden flipped through what was left of Jackson’s homework. “You didn’t pick any townhomes, at least.”
“I’m not an idiot.”
“Was trying to imply you weren’t,” muttered Holden. He picked out a few of the remaining listings and tossed the rest.
Jackson’s pose went from lax to alert. “What’s wrong with those?”
Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, Holden forced himself to count backwards from 20. How had such a sweet girl like Rachael end up with such an insufferable pain for a brother? Jackson’s penchant for arguing was not a trait he learned from their alpha.
“I figured you didn’t want to learn,” said Holden tightly, “since you’d rather pick fights.”
Shrugging, Jackson said, “Maybe you’re a crappy teacher.”
“More like you’re a crappy student.”
“Last I checked it’s the teacher’s job to make the student succeed, not the other way around.”
Holden couldn’t suppress the smirk that twisted his mouth. “Maybe now. You’re soft. You never would have lasted in the 19th century.”
“The fact you’re that old makes you chasing RayRay even creepier.”
“Once you meet a living lycan girl who is just as smart and not completely insane, introduce me to her.” As if there were any sane lycans to begin with.
In one smooth motion that normally would have been shocking for a young man his size, Jackson was on his feet and within an inch of Holden’s face. His lips curled into a snarl. “I’m telling you to stay away from my sister!”
The stench of oil was worse in such close proximity. Holden held his ground. He kept his stance against the table, his feet flat and firm, his spine straight. What he lacked in Jackson’s bulk he made up in height, experience, and wiry muscle. Softly, he replied, “No.”
Jackson leaned forward threateningly, closing the distance between them until their noses were nearly touching. Ballsy, Holden thought. Dark smudges decorated Jackson’s face like war paint. Holden resisted the urge to lean away.
“Aaron will make you stay away,” hissed Jackson.
“Aaron wants me to train you before anything else,” retorted Holden.
“Fine. Then once you’re done, you leave Rachael alone.”
“If she tells me to, I will.”
“I don’t care what she tells you!” The vein in Jackson’s forehead swelled. “You don’t bring any good to her life. Best case, she leaves with me. Worst case, she stays and you leave with us.”
Holden threw down the remaining ads. “The only reason I’m here is to train you to take my place,” he snapped. “Once you’re good, I’m gone. And if you think Rachael can follow you guys without anybody noticing she’s the only one of you bastards that age normally, you’re out of your damned mind. And stupider than any pup I’ve ever met.”
Throwing his arms up, Jackson shouted, “Who the hell are you kidding? You’re here to stay.”
Like hell he was. Rather than say so, Holden bit his tongue and waited.
Sure enough, Jackson couldn’t resist the urge to rant—just like his sister. “Pull all the bull you want, but Aaron talked you into it. Here to train me? Please. You’re here to make sure I’m barely adequate for the spot so you can leave—and go after Rachael. If you think for even a split second I’m going to let you do that, you’re the idiot. You’re not going after her, you’re not taking her, and even if she comes with us, you won’t be a part of it.”
“So am I staying or leaving?” asked Holden sardonically. “You can’t seem to make up your mind.”
“I don’t care,” said Jackson. “But my sister won’t be a part of whatever it is you do.”
“Right. I forgot she isn’t her own person. It’s so much easier if she just does what her brother says, because that’s obviously never blown up in your face. She’s real good at marching to your drum like a good toy soldier.”
Jackson’s first mistake was to take a swing that close to him. Immediate errors were always the downfall of a fight. Holden took the blow to his chest, using the desk to keep him from falling back, and then propel himself forward and barrel into the pup. J
ackson’s stance was not steady enough to keep him upright, and they both fell to the floor, missing the bedframe by a hairsbreadth.
Holden grabbed a fistful of Jackson’s greasy shirt. The pup shouted and swung at him again, but Holden caught him by his massive arm, halting the near hit just millimeters from his head. He shifted his weight to his right knee, using the left to deliver a low blow that knocked the wind from Jackson.
While the pup gasped for air, Holden released him and climbed back to his feet. Even if Jackson tried to continue the fight now, he was at a severe disadvantage.
Wisely, Jackson lay flat on his back. If looks could maim, his eyes would have flayed Holden asunder.
Holden spoke quietly. “There’s a stone-ender home with a modified full basement close to Douglas Park; good for hunting. That’s going to be your best bet. Aaron’s fond of neo-eclectic, but the ones you found are too large for what we need. They’re also too expensive. Conserving money is just as key as finding a secure home.” Especially with their alpha’s ridiculous penchant for luxury cars. “The Tudor revival is a good second-best, nice and open with good acreage, and the mobile home with the unfinished basement is third.”
Still wheezing a little, Jackson said, “English, please.”
Holden knelt down to retrieve the dropped papers, keeping just out of reach of the pup’s feet. He picked them up, found the appropriate ads, and set them on the bed.
“Next time he gives you a job you’ve never done before, question your duties until you actually know how to do it,” he said. “I wouldn’t have to be here if you could actually bother to speak up instead of blindly do what he says.”
Jackson’s derisive laugh echoed even after he shut the front door behind him. The stench of cloves and tobacco hit him before the laughter faded. Holden shoved his hands into his pockets and glowered at the row of parked cars before him.
Secrets in the Fade (Secrets of the Sequoia Book 2) Page 5
