by Em Ashcroft
He’d told the men to come to the kitchen when they could. The lodge was too close and closed up for the night. Once he’d cleared the sparks and seen the Goldclaw fire engine standing on the gravel in front of the ranch house, some of his tension had eased, but not all of it. At least they wouldn’t lose the whole row of cabins, and with any luck, the men would put out the fire in time to leave some evidence behind.
Mason entered, flanked by two ranch hands. Jeb pushed him down into a chair and took his stance behind it. The suave, unflappable Mason was blackened by smoke, marking him in patches, and his hair was standing on end, that part of it that hadn’t been singed away.
What was he doing here, and why, if he’d set the fire, was he set on rescuing—
Rachel. He wanted Rachel for himself. CJ knew that much. He sensed it, but would Mason go that far to get her? The answer came almost immediately. Yes, he would. He was ruthless in his business dealings, cutting to the chase in every deal he made. Why not for a woman he wanted? The problem was CJ knew very little about Mason McCall, only what he’d learned from the internet. His reputation was hard but fair, and he played as hard as he worked, a succession of different women on his arm at public events.
Hard to imagine, looking at the disreputable ruffian sitting in his kitchen.
CJ found the big pot that his cook used for tea in wintertime. It was on a high shelf but clean, so he threw in as many teabags as he thought he should then added one for luck before he poured in the boiling water. Then he saw to the coffee. He was on more secure ground with coffee.
As the men trudged into the kitchen and sat around the table, Sam brought Rachel in. CJ had hoped he could manage to get her to rest, but he should have known better. That robe glided over her curves, revealing far too much for CJ’s liking, but he made no comment as Sam carefully seated her at the head of the table before sitting next to her. CJ brought the teapot to the table then added the coffee jug, a carton of milk, and the pack of sugar, with a bunch of spoons. Then he brought a collection of mismatched mugs. No time for niceties now. The men helped themselves after Sam poured tea for Rachel.
He kept a wary eye on his breed partner. Sam was an easygoing type, the good ol’ cowboy personified. Until he was riled, and he was sure riled this time. CJ sensed his temper, barely banked down but ready to explode. He would kill Mason McCall if CJ didn’t step in because no fucking way was Sam going down for killing a bastard like this guy. Murder was murder, whether committed by a human or a shape-shifter.
He made sure McCall was sitting on the other side of the table to Sam. Not that the solid piece of oak would cause much of an impediment, but it might slow him down some.
Before CJ could start the ball rolling, Odell, the fire chief, strode in with his deputy behind him.
“I’ll leave a man to make sure there’s nothing left, no sparks, but the fire’s out.”
He took off his helmet and dumped it on the floor by the pegs before peeling out of his bulky jacket. His deputy did the same. CJ nodded to the pots in the middle of the table.
“Coffee, tea? Or I can grab a few beers if you like.”
“Coffee,” Odell said. “Thanks.”
When they were furnished with their mugs of steaming liquid, Odell gave them his report. “Your cabin is toast, I’m afraid, and the one next to it, but the others should be okay. They might need a cleanup.”
CJ was relieved. The whole kit and caboodle might have gone up in smoke. Cleaning up was no problem, if a bit of a ball ache. They’d already done the cabins. Now they’d have to clean them and get the electrics recertified, as well as rebuilding the two others.
Odell scratched his head. He was wearing his hair so short the next stage would be to shave it, but if he spent all day with his head stuffed into a helmet, CJ might well do the same. Anybody less likely to be the breedmate of fashionista Renata was hard to imagine, but they adored each other. There was no accounting for the way loved worked.
“Thing is, guys, I think that fire was deliberate.”
“What makes you say that?” CJ spared Sam a glance. His blue eyes were burning. His temper had just gone up a notch.
“I smelled it. Some kind of accelerant, I think.” His gaze rested on McCall. “Remember the one in town? That was different, and it had different signatures. Besides, we found the bastard who set that one. But I smelled something then, and I wasn’t wrong. Different smell, same result. We’ll have to get it checked out. I’ve designated it a crime scene, so nobody is to touch it until Chris has come and taken a look.” Chris, the police chief was Odell’s breed partner. “We’ll have to get the experts in.”
“Will this delay reopening?” CJ asked.
“It could.” Odell shrugged. “I’ll get it done as fast as I can. If we find the culprit, we can certainly speed things up.”
“How do we prove it?”
“I know who did it,” McCall said suddenly, his deep, foreign tones scoring through the conversation.
“So do we,” said Sam, glaring at him.
McCall shook his head. “Not me.” He folded his arms. “There’s something you don’t know about me.”
“He’s Grid,” Rachel said sharply. “He asked me if I thought it was right to consort with shape-shifters, or words to that effect. Twice.”
McCall groaned. “Shit, I didn’t mean like that. Look.”
He was wearing a short-sleeved tee, now singed and blackened. He stretched out his arm. Goosebumps appeared on the bare flesh, and then, before their eyes, feathers popped through. Golden brown, with pure gold tips, they covered his arm, which changed shape, growing down. Then they retracted, and his wing became an arm again.
McCall looked around the silent room. “Scottish eagle,” he said. “The clan is McCall. We never came out when other shape-shifters did. That was my father’s choice, which I’ll respect until he’s gone. Then I plan to take the clan public.”
“Fuck.” Sam slumped back in his chair, the legs scraping on the floor with the impact of his body. “A shape-shifter?” He leaned forward again. “So that’s what brought you here, instead of you staying at the hotel?”
Mason nodded. “I felt the tension. It snapped in the air and I got here as fast as I could.”
“You could also be Grid. It’s been known.”
McCall’s upper lip lifted in a sneer. “Not likely. Not when the Grid killed my mother.”
Everyone gasped, almost in unison.
CJ was the first to speak. “The fuck you say.”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m in the States. I traced the killer to America and volunteered to run Style. I’m the company troubleshooter anyway, but that wasn’t my reason for taking the job.”
CJ believed him. He skimmed the man’s mind and found nothing but sincerity there. In the end, sometimes a man had to go on instinct, and everything was screaming at him that McCall was a straight arrow. “Is your case linked to this one?” Before, McCall must have shielded his mind effectively enough to conceal several important facts. Some shape-shifters, and humans too, learned how to shield their minds from scanning.
Reluctantly, Mason shook his head. “I can’t find a link. I’m still looking for my mother’s murderer. When I came down here, I suspected somebody. If I can find one member of the Grid and take him alive, then I can find out more. It’s early days.”
“Sorry about that,” Sam said, and CJ breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had accepted him, too.
McCall shrugged. “That’s not our problem right now. Except, if we catch this guy—”
“When,” CJ put in.
“When we catch him, I want half an hour in a room with him—alone.”
“I don’t think—” Odell began.
“You got it,” CJ said. Whatever it took, he would make it happen. If the saboteur had hurt Rachel, CJ would have wanted more than a half-hour. “Just leave him alive at the end.”
McCall nodded grimly. “I might want to question him again.” He paused. Someone handed him a mu
g of tea, and he took a grateful swig. He put the empty mug down. “Thanks. It’s Kevin.”
“The photographer’s assistant?” Rachel gasped.
CJ and Sam exchanged a glance.
“We should have known,” Sam said. “He stayed in the cabin that night, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would he do it?”
The fire chief shrugged. “That’s not my job, though I’d like to know the answer, too.”
Odell rubbed his face, leaving more sooty streaks behind. “So he had time to seed the place.” At their puzzled looks, he explained. “Put the accelerants down.”
“Do you have to be an expert to know how to do it?” asked Jeb.
“Not now that we have the internet,” Odell replied with a grimace. “Anybody can look it up.”
“I bet he used the stuff he has access to every day. I’ll ask Gary,” Mason said. He glanced around the table. “I don’t know about you guys, but I’m going hunting before the bastard goes to ground.”
Everybody scraped their chairs back and got to their feet. Sam and CJ had the same thought and looked at each other before playing a rapid, mental game of paper, rock, scissors. CJ sat down again. He’d won, which meant he got to look after their future breedmate. Leaving her in the house on her own would be utterly stupid, so somebody needed to stay with her, and neither man wanted to trust her with anyone else. Mason glanced at her and nodded to CJ.
Besides, if Sam discovered Kevin first, he’d tear him limb from limb, and CJ was ready to swear self-defense. Anger had simmered in him until it overflowed. No way on this earth would that boy get away with what he’d done...
“He came from Scotland with me,” Mason said to Sam as he led them outside. “I thought I was giving him a chance. He doesn’t know I’m an eagle shape-shifter, not many people do, but he’s about to find out. I’m taking to the skies. If I see him, I’ll let you know.”
* * * *
“Shifters, you’re with me,” Sam said to his men.
The shifters, three of them, stripped. Sam shucked his clothes, transforming as he went. He didn’t want to waste time. By the time he was naked, he’d gone full tiger. Does anybody have a scent? The aromas around the cabin would be destroyed.
As he spoke, CJ came outside the house, holding a T-shirt in his fingers. “We lent him some clothes. This was in the laundry basket. The jeans have been washed.”
Socks would have been better, Jeb said, huffing a tiger laugh.
The four tigers gathered around, getting the scent. While they didn’t have the gifts of a tracker dog, they did fine with a distinctive scent. If Kevin had a car nearby, they’d know. He must have something because the hotel was ten miles away. Sam headed for the road. If he didn’t have an all-terrain vehicle, he’d have to go the long way around, which gave them a head start.
Calling the hotel now, CJ said into Sam’s mind. Letting them know. If he goes back there, they’ll detain him.
Sam hoped they didn’t. He wanted a quiet word with the guy first.
With a whoosh of wings, Mason flung himself into the air, soaring up, great beats taking him as far as the lowest current. He used them to gain height until he was hovering above them. Sam loped toward the road. Kevin hadn’t parked on the gravel outside the house. They would have heard him. That left the road, a mile away. For a tiger shifter, it took five minutes. It would have taken Kevin fifteen, ten if he jogged. That guy wasn’t a four-minute-mile man. He looked skinny and out of condition.
Sure enough, Sam saw tracks. Tire tracks. Around the tracks he got a whiff of Kevin’s smell. This was his car, he said. No need to thin out for the search. Let’s go as a pack.
The tigers agreed and followed Sam as he raced in pursuit of the car. This road went to only one place, the hotel, and it added five miles to the journey. So Sam went cross-country, leading his pack, which had become seven. Odell had joined them.
Tigers could go for miles, but they were shape-shifters with added strength and power. They raced away, plowing across the fields, up the hills and through woodland, across more fields, startling the bovine occupants. Odell sent out a call to any shape-shifters within telepathic distance. By the time they reached the hotel, a dozen tigers raced through the countryside. Jag, one of the members of the syndicate, and the white tiger, Dion, joined them, their partners taking care of their women. Others from the syndicate or the hotel silently loped toward them. Tigers usually hunted solo, but not this time.
Kevin had no chance.
Sikander met them outside. He was in human form. Although he raised his brows at the pack of tigers, he showed no surprise at how many people had turned up to help. “He’s gone. Just as you called, he left for the airport. He got back to the hotel, changed, packed, and took a car. We didn’t realize he’d stolen one of our staff cars until we investigated.”
Good and bad luck because if they went cross country again, they had a good chance of reaching the airport before Kevin. After listening to details of the car, a red Honda, Sam wasted no time.
“He’s going to the international terminal,” Sikander told them. “I’ll call ahead and try to get him stopped at the gate, though there’s no guarantee he’ll take that plane. If he has any sense, he’ll buy a ticket for a different flight once he gets there.”
Shit.
Odell communicated briefly with them. I’ll go to Goldclaw and tell Chris to get a warrant. We need to tell the airport to stop him. No promises at this hour, but I’ll do everything I can. And so will Chris.
I know, Sam said. Thanks. His fury had transmuted to cold, hard anger, like an iron bar made from melted metal, more lethal than his red-hot mood because nothing now would separate him from his quarry.
I’ll get him, Mason said from the sky. He’d tracked them the whole way, occasionally soaring away to search ahead then returning.
Go ahead, Sam told him. See if you can find the car.
Mason soared off. Sam led them in the direction of the airport. The road ran in a loop from the ranch, through the town of Goldclaw, and toward the airport, twenty miles distant. Sam would not stop, but some of the tigers were flagging. They could walk for miles, but Sam set a punishing pace.
Nine stayed together, and Sam asked the other three to undertake other tasks. They didn’t have to go through the town to get to the airport, which saved them a few miles. They ran steadily in silence for several miles while Sam plotted his revenge.
Then the eagle appeared overhead, unmistakable with the feathered ends of his wings stark against the sky. Dawn would break soon, in less than an hour. The silhouette dipped, and Mason spoke to them. A mile away. Follow me.
He flew off, keeping them under him as he went. Sam followed the lead, his heart beating as if it would burst out of his chest.
Then they saw the car.
Mason went into action, swooping down, daringly flying in front of the windscreen, his wings a hairsbreadth from the glass. The driver slammed on the brakes and swerved, narrowly missing a vehicle coming the other way. A mile farther and he’d have reached the freeway. They would find it much harder to force him to stop there and not cause an accident.
As the car slowed, Sam raced across the road. Kevin would know they had caught up with him. Predictably, Kevin turned the wheel, heading straight for Sam. Taking his own time, he gathered his strength and leaped out of the way.
Kevin hit the side of the road, and his wheels went into the ditch. He revved the engine, but to no avail.
Sam shifted to human and raced to the driver side, wrenching open the door. Kevin stared up at him, wide-eyed. Partially shifting, Sam used a claw to slice through the seatbelt before he dragged Kevin from the car by his neck. He lifted him up to his height, so they were eye to eye. “You are under arrest, you bastard. You’ll fry for what you’ve done.” He paused. “Or maybe I’ll kill you first.”
Mason landed, shape-shifting at the same time. Unashamed of his naked state, he waited until Kevin recognized him.
The youth’s eyes widened, and then he screwed up his mouth and spat. “You filthy shifter. I worked for you. I wish I’d killed you.”
“Problem is, laddie, you’re the one who’s going to die,” said Mason.
He drew a finger down the boy’s bare forearm. With a shimmer, the hand turned into talons, gouging a slash an inch deep. Blood poured from the wound, and Kevin squealed like a baby.
“Better get that bound up,” Sam said with false solicitousness. “It’ll sting a bit.”
As though Kevin was tainted, Sam dropped the man. Kevin landed heavily, going down on one ankle.
The others had caught up. Some shape-shifted, and others remained tiger.
Kevin turned onto his back, as if surrendering, but he held something in his hand. The little shit had a gun.
Before Sam could move out of the way, a shot rang out, and the whole of one side of his body exploded in pain, radiating from his shoulder.
“That’s one down,” Kevin said in satisfaction as Sam fell to the road.
Chapter Twelve
A car drew up outside the ranch house, and a man got out. Crying out, Rachel flung herself out of the door and into his arms. Sam embraced her one-handed because his other arm was in a sling. She was in tears, covering his face with kisses.
“You foolish man, how could you do this? Didn’t you think of us here waiting? What were you thinking?”
“That I was mad not to have killed the little shit when he first came to the ranch,” Sam said. “He’s in jail now, and he won’t get out again.”
“Did Mason get his hour?” she asked, smoothing her hand over his injured shoulder.
“Oh yeah. Before the cops arrived. We took care of that. He got what he needed—information that leads him one step closer. It’s not the definitive information he wanted, but it’s close. He got some names—and a few places he can start looking. He’s calling back here before he leaves.” He hugged Rachel close. “You’re not going with him.”
