The Supernatural Bounty Hunter Files Collector's Set: Books 1-10: Urban Fantasy Shifter Series

by Craig Halloran

  Smoke’s apartment—or rather, their apartment—was fully furnished but seemed empty. The warmth was gone. The sheets were damp and cold, no longer warmed by their bodies lying together. She covered her shoulders with the blanket. Her bare feet hit the cold floor. Picking up her phone, she checked the time. 3:08 a.m.

  “Morning glory.”

  Sleep hadn’t come easy the past couple of weeks since she’d last seen Smoke. There hadn’t been a word from Kane or Allison, either. Everything had gone silent, but her head was ringing. She shuffled into the bathroom and turned on the light, squinting against its glare. Head down, she turned the sink spigots on and rinsed off her face. Drying her face off, she checked the mirror. There were puffy rings under her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d looked or felt so bad. She placed her hand over her womb.

  “I thought I was supposed to get a glow with a bundle in my belly.”

  Sid turned off the bathroom light, tossed the blanket on the bed, made her way over to the kitchenette, and filled the empty coffee pot with water. She tossed out the old filter full of coffee grounds and filled a new one with freshly roasted ground beans from a bag. Seconds later, the coffee was brewing. She pulled up a barstool and watched the pot begin to fill. The entire time, she was thinking about John. John and the baby. Her heart ached.

  She’d spoken with Mal Carlson about her pregnancy a few days after they lost Smoke at the clone factory. She was supposed to get some bloodwork done. Mal seemed confident that he would be able to determine if the baby was Smoke’s or not. The test would be easy, the answer simple, but she was avoiding it. In her heart, she felt the baby was hers and Smoke’s. The child would be their son or daughter. But what if she was wrong? That was the hard part. According to Kane and the shifters, if she carried Kane’s baby, she would die before labor. Her fist clenched in and out. Her teeth started to grind.

  Please, God, let this baby be mine and Smoke’s.

  The coffee pot was full. The fresh aroma filled the room. The smell was strong to her heightened senses. Smells and scents were now almost alarming from time to time. It had taken her weeks to get used to the smell of coffee, and there were some things she couldn’t tolerate. Perfumes were a slap in the face. Bacon—which she and Smoke had often lived on—now repulsed her. As for potatoes, in any shape or form, she had a hankering for those most of the time.

  She fetched a ceramic mug out of the kitchen sink and filled it to the brim. Taking a sip, she turned her attention to the newspapers lying on the kitchenette island. The Washington Post was on top of the pile. The main headline on the front page of section one was “Shake Up under the Dome!” The picture was Senator Augustus Wilhelm being taken into an ambulance in a straightjacket. According to the article, he’d flipped out at a bill-signing session and attacked several of his cohorts. But he had escaped the hospital, and as of now, his whereabouts were unknown.

  Sid huffed. The man in the picture wasn’t Wilhelm but a shifter. She’d found Wilhelm alive in the clone factory. The Bureau had the real Wilhelm now. At least, she thought so. Staring at the picture of Wilhelm’s clone, she thought, I’m not sure if bringing him back would be a good thing or not.

  Other people were back in the fold. Agent Rebecca Lang had been a clone, and now the real one was back. Sid’s old boss Ted Howard was alive and well. Mal’s wife, Asia, had also been saved. Sid hadn’t stuck around to see how things sorted out. All she wanted to do was find Smoke. And when she did, would she even know it was him?

  From underneath the copy of the Post, Sid pulled out a copy of Nightfall D.C. The monthly newsletter was more of a tabloid than a real news source, but the front-page headline was also catchy. WASHINGTON GOES BATTY! There was a laundry list—with pictures—of dozens of federal, state, and local officials who had suddenly died from “unknown circumstances” or “gone missing.” Sid didn’t recognize hardly any of the names, but she knew enough of them to know that they were clones. Maybe shifters. How deeply the Drake had penetrated the ranks of leadership left a pit in Sid’s stomach.

  There were several bizarre stories about what happened to some of the people before they died. Many of them attacked others. A couple streaked naked in the streets. One woman, a county clerk, was found chasing after deer on a golf course. A federal legal attorney had torpedoed his car through a dry cleaners in a strip mall. Not a single one of these stories had been picked up by the local news channels, so anyone would question whether there was any truth to what Nightfall D.C. reported at all. Sid knew better. The scary thing was that Nightfall D.C. didn’t know the half of it.

  She’d drunk her coffee about halfway down when she felt a little kick. “Oh my, good morning.” Her fingers spread out over her belly. “It’s good to know I’m not all alone. Maybe someone is getting hungry. How about some fried potatoes?”

  With a smile on her face, Sid lit the gas on the stove and set the pan down.

  The glare of headlights illuminated the curtains covering the kitchen sink window. Tire rubber ground over the old blacktop. Brakes creaked to a stop.

  Sid grabbed her Glock from the kitchen counter. She didn’t hear any car doors open or close. The car’s engine kept running.

  Her heart jumped at the sound of hard knocking at her door.

  CHAPTER 2

  Smoke sat on an old metal prison cot that creaked with his every move. The room he was in was a square twenty by twenty with a concrete floor. The only difference between it and a huge jail cell was the way the concrete walls were painted, by a skilled hand. It looked like he was inside his garage apartment. His computer and desk were on one wall, the kitchenette on another. There was the back wall with the French doors leading to the rear, and the front door. The details were spot on, from the hinges on the old cabinets to the music CDs stacked up by the computer to the pillows on his sofa. Aside from the stuffy hot air and the steel bars for a front door, everything was down to the letter.

  Scratching the scruff on his swollen jaw, he stood up with a groan. The old springs in the cot groaned along with him. He made military corners on the mattress with the green military blanket. There wasn’t much need for a blanket, hot as it was. All it did was catch his sweat. Without having seen the day or night, his best guess was that he’d been imprisoned for ten days. They’d been long ones, but that wasn’t the worst of it. He’d been drugged.

  He paced the room. His stomach rumbled. They’d given him food, but he wasn’t eating. He was only drinking the water, as little as he could. It had a taint to it. Fighting the hunger and the weakening in his limbs, he did a few calisthenics and some push-ups. He finished up in a layer of sweat that coated the drab grey prison jumper he wore. Taking a seat Indian style, he closed his eyes. The distinct click of hard heels on tiled floor caught his ear, reminding him of the day he first met Sid. He turned his head toward the door. Sweet perfume widened his nostrils. On the outside of the cell door, Allison’s body filled his eyes.

  “Hello, John,” Allison said with playful eyes. She was as mouthwatering as a woman could be. Her alluring features were enhanced by a presence that was even more carnal and vibrant. She commanded a power and sexuality he’d never seen before. “You look like you could use some company. And some food.”

  She stepped back. A peacoat guard unlocked the door with a heavy key. He pushed it open and stepped aside. Allison entered with a metal-covered dish on a tray with a bottled water. She bent over, revealing the plunging neckline of her black blouse, as the guard closed the door behind her. She wore a thigh-high skirt and black designer boots that came up to her knees. The seams in her skirt stretched at the hips when she sat down on the cot.

  Smoke’s mouth watered. He could smell the hot food beneath the steaming metal. His stomach growled.

  “My, you must be very hungry,” Allison said, applying a layer of lipstick. “You need to eat, brother.”

  “I prefer to eat out.”

  “Oh come now, John, everything you could possibly want right now i
s here. A delicious meal. A willing woman.” She bounced the springs on the bed a little. “Let’s make some noise.”

  “That’s not going to happen.” He gave her a quick glance before averting his eyes. “Ever.”

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Smokey. I’ve always gotten everything I wanted when I put my mind to it.” She patted the cot. “Come. Sit down. I won’t bite you, unless, of course, you’d like that.”

  He turned his back and faced the wall that looked like the bedroom of his apartment. His blood was churning with hunger and desire. I’ve got to hand it to her, she knows how to put the hooks in you. Be strong. Think of Sid, and your baby.

  “Smokey, just sit, please. I won’t lay a finger on you.”

  “It’s not your fingers I’m worried about.”

  “Ah, there’s that dash of humor that women so admire. I like that.” She patted the bed again. “Either you can sit down or I can stand up. There isn’t anywhere for you to run, Smokey. I’ll catch you, even in these high heels.”

  Smoke didn’t move.

  “I tell you what, Smokey.” She picked the tray up and set it on her lap. “I’ll harness myself with this delightful platter of food so that I cannot make any sudden moves. Besides, you’re certainly going to want to hear what I have to say about my dear sister.”

  “What about her?”

  “Sit, sit.”

  Smoke took a seat at the other end of the cot with his back to her, as far away as he could get. “Out with it then, Allison.”

  “First things first.” She lifted the lid off the plate of food, revealing steaming prime rib and sautéed vegetables. Every item was cooked to perfection. Allison cut through the steak with the side of the fork. The meat was pink and juicy. “I bet you’ve never seen steak so tender, have you?”

  “We cut meat with a saw where I’m from. A steak is not a steak without some chew to it.”

  “You’re a silly man.” She held a forkful of meat just under his nose. “Eat. Enjoy while you still have a taste for such things.”

  Smoke turned his nose. As badly as he needed his strength, he needed his wits about him more. He doubted the food was poisoned, but he wouldn’t be surprised one bit if it was drugged. Whatever the Drake planned to do with him hadn’t started yet, but he could sense the fight was coming. If it wasn’t, they wouldn’t have sent Allison in. “I’ll pass.”

  Allison ate the steak. “That’s too bad. You’re missing out on much-needed protein. I’m trying to help you.”

  “It looks to me like you’re just helping yourself.”

  “As I’ve said, whatever I desire, I will have.” She leaned over and nudged him shoulder to shoulder. “You’ll see.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sister, but you can’t always get what you want. That’s never going to change in this world, no matter how hard you try.”

  “It’s working out so far.” She sawed through some asparagus and ate. “Mmm, so good. You know what would make this meal even better? Wine. I wanted to bring a bottle, but Kane wouldn’t allow it. He said you wouldn’t accept it, and he didn’t want to waste it. As if one bottle of centuries-old vino matters. I have to admit, I find myself surprised by the shifters’ attachment to material things. Of course, who am I to talk?” She flaunted the lavish jewelry that decorated her wrists and fingers. “My vices haven’t fled me, either.”

  Smoke faced her.

  Her hungry eyes locked on his.

  “You haven’t changed, have you?”

  She leaned toward him. “You can’t tell?” Her voice was a purr. “Good, that’s how I like it.”

  Smoke imagined her turning into an exotic cat-lady of sorts, like Tigra from the comic books. Or Batwoman. Now that would be a show. Shame on me. Sorry, Sid. “Even if you did make the mistake of going down that road, I won’t do it. I’m not going to become an abomination.”

  “Most of us have been there, Smokey. I know I certainly had my doubts, but when I tasted the power, there weren’t any regrets.” She cut into her steak and bit into the meat. Red juice dripped down the corner of her mouth. She licked it away.

  Smoke’s Adam’s apple rolled.

  “Give in to your hunger, Smokey. Don’t deny what you’ll need to survive. Sidney didn’t.”

  Smoke eased away.

  Allison set the tray of half-eaten food down. In her miniskirt, she flipped her legs over the cot from one side to the other. Sitting side by side with him now, she said, “Kane’s told me everything. I have to admit, my sister is a much naughtier girl than I imagined. She didn’t deprive herself of the pleasures Kane offered, nor should you deny yourself what I offer. Believe me, Smokey”—she toyed with his ear—“I’ll be worth it.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Sid peeked through the curtains. Outside was a sedan that she didn’t recognize. The heavy knocking came again. Not liking the sound of the thumping, she set down her Glock and picked up the shotgun that was propped up beside the front door. She pumped the handle and said, “Hear that? If you whack my door one more time, I’m going to turn that hand of yours into applesauce. Now, who is it?”

  On the other side of the door someone said to another, “Will you cut that out? I told you not to spook her. Hey! Hey, Sid! It’s me, Russ Davenport. You know, the journalist.”

  “Hello, Russ. What’s going on with this late-night call? It’s four a.m.”

  “I’m an early riser and figured you and Smoke probably were too. Uh, sorry. But seriously, can we talk? You know I wouldn’t come here unless I had to.”

  “I didn’t realize you knew where we lived. It strikes me kinda funny, Russ. Care to explain that?”

  “Er, Google Earth? Come on, you know we’re on the same team. Right?”

  With the gun barrel pointed at chest level, she opened the door. A big black man wearing denim practically filled the frame. His head was shaved. He had a mean look and an ugly scar under his chin. His eyes widened as much as his smile when he got a full look at her. He said in a deep voice, “Good morning, ma’am.”

  “Russ, what are you doing with this guy?”

  “He found me, said he had some good information. He does.”

  “Give me a second.” She closed the door. Until that guy’s eyes popped, she had forgotten she was in her skimpy summer sleepwear. She found a pair of jeans and slipped them on under one of Smoke’s large T-shirts. Putting her hair in a ponytail, she opened the door again. “Come in, but don’t make yourself at home.” She watched the big man wander inside. His eyes searched all over the room. “Cort Calhoun, I was wondering when you’d show up again.”

  “I leave that impression on a lot of people. I like it.” Finishing his lookover, he said, “Quaint.”

  Russ poured himself a cup of coffee. The heavyset reporter wore a beige raincoat that enhanced his shabby appearance. He drank and said, “Good coffee.”

  “What did I say about not getting too comfortable?” She took the coffee away from Russ. Calhoun started to sit down on a barstool, but she pulled it away. “I’m serious. What do you want?”

  Cort Calhoun hadn’t been around in a while. The fallen FBI agent had been following Smoke and Sid at one time like a bloodhound, but he’d dropped out of sight. His reemergence had an uncanny feel to it. “I don’t even know why I let you in here.”

  “Ladies can’t resist my Southern charm. So where’s Smoke?”

  “He’s out, you know, doing his thing?” She poured Russ’s coffee into the sink.

  “Hey!” Russ said. “Boy, I expected a little more courtesy.” He picked up the copy of Nightfall D.C. “Being a world-famous journalist and all.”

  “Get real.”

  “I was real, back when I started.” Russ opened the paper, hiding his face, and gave it a snap. “I had awards, accolades, popularity, women. I was top flight. Then I got a feel for what was really happening and how no one wanted to report—”

  Sid snatched the paper away from him. “I don’t care. Just tell me what you want.”
/>   “We’d like to share it with Smoke too.”

  Sid’s hands got a little clammy. The way both men weren’t looking at her wasn’t right. She was being vetted. “Listen, boys. Put your cards on the table or get out.”

  Russ gave Calhoun a nod. “Go ahead.”

  Calhoun reached inside the pocket of his denim jacket, revealing a large six-shooter strapped to his hip. He pulled out a packet and tossed it on the table.

  Eyes on Calhoun, she said, “That’s a big piece of hardware you’re carrying. Shot any polar bears with it?”

  “Ah, you like my Ruger Alaskan, huh? Big man. Big gun. I haven’t shot any polar bears, but I’ve shot worse things, thanks to you and your partner—or husband, rather.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve seen ’em,” Calhoun said. “And they’ve seen me. I about died the last time. Then I came across this clown’s paper and everything came together. I started following you and Smoke a little more, but I kept my distance. I watched, waited, and learned.” He tipped his chin at the packet on the table. “Look.”

  Sid picked up the photograph packet. Leaning back against the bar so she could keep an eye on her visitors, she opened it up. Inside were photos of a black SUV. The windows were down on one side. Her fingers tingled when she saw Smoke and her sister, Allison, getting out of the car at an airfield. “When did you take these?”

  Calhoun held his fingers up and made rain, saying, “The same night you brought that building down. I tailed you until you hit that road off the main drag, but I stayed on the main drag. I saw that same car go in and come out. On a hunch, I followed. Sure enough, I wind up at a small airfield and out comes that gorgeous lady and Smoke. The creepy fella came out too. Looked like Ric Flair on super steroids.” He picked up one of the pictures Sid had set on the table. It was a picture of Kane. “That’s one mean, ugly dude.”