“The house and the barn were destroyed,” he corrected me as we searched the reserved guest spots for our car.
“Same difference.” Or was it? “Do you remember the receipt for the construction of those storm shelters? Each of the five shelters on the property would have cost him around one hundred grand to build.” A half million dollars buried underground. “It’s excessive even by Tornado Alley standards.”
“Underground holding cells?” Shaw jabbed the key fob, and our car chirped.
“We need to find out if the storm shelters were discovered and, if they were, whether they were searched. With a bill that high there must be blueprints floating around somewhere. At this point, I’d settle for a map showing their general vicinity on the property.” I borrowed his pen. “I’ll ask Mable when she calls.”
“You do that.” He started up and backed onto the street.
I looked up from my note-making. “What’s with that tone?”
“I’m dropping you off at the hotel.” He stomped on the gas. “You follow this lead.”
The pen rolled out of my hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m going to disable the perimeter spells.” At my puzzled glance, he added, “I have something better, but it takes time to arm them. The new hexes will track the Richardsons if they cross a warded threshold.”
“Impressive. An incubus with a knack for spellwork.” Most used their lures to get what they wanted. “I had no idea you were so handy.”
“I slept my way through a coven once,” he said in a detached voice. “I kept my eyes open and walked away three grimoires richer than when I got there.”
If he was waiting for condemnation from me, we would be here for a while. I wasn’t much for throwing stones, and all the panes had already been shattered in my glass house.
“Stop bragging.” I rescued my pen from between the seats and began doodling in my notebook until his white-knuckled grip on the wheel eased. “I have work to do.”
“I’ll try to make it fast.” He sounded hesitant, as if he didn’t trust he had gotten off the hook so easily. “The sooner we leave the better.”
“Leave?” I twisted to face him. “We’re driving back to Wink?”
“No.” His lips hitched into a half grin. “We’re flying into Midland then driving to Odessa.”
An hour. We could be on the ground in an hour. Two tops. “What if the conclave finds out?”
“Oh, they will.” He winked. “I plan on them reimbursing our tickets.”
“Shaw.” My teeth worried that same thumbnail. “I’m still on probation for the next six months.”
“I can’t make the decision for you. It’s your job if they don’t buy into the asking-for-forgiveness-instead-of-permission bit.”
I thought about that room, those fae and the humans who had profited from their misery.
“I have a confession to make. I’ve never flown before.” The potential for fiery death had my stomach executing a double barrel roll. “We should probably grab Dramamine on the way to the airport.”
Yeah. Because motion sickness was the worst of my problems.
Chapter Twelve
After staggering off the plane, I made a beeline for the ladies’ room while Shaw strode to the rental car desk to snag us a new set of wheels. We finished at the same time and met at the exit door.
“Here.” He passed me an ice-cold bottle with a peach on the label. “This was all they had.”
With a hand held in front of my mouth, blocking my breath, I accepted. “Much appreciated.”
The first sip was god-awful. I hated peaches. I know, I know, take away my Southern belle card. At least swishing the water around my mouth got rid of the bile taste clogging the back of my throat.
While I was doing the good old rinse-and-spit routine, Shaw jingled a set of keys in his hand.
What can I say? He was a subtle kind of guy.
“Feel better?” A pack of gum rested on his open palm.
“Yeah.” I took two hits of wintergreen and started feeling human again. Half human anyway.
He tossed the chunky keys then plucked them from the air. “Then let’s get a move on.”
Vibrations in my jeans pocket almost set off another round of dry heaving. “Hmph?”
“Thierry?” Mable’s gentle voice was a balm to my raw nerves. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” I took another swig of vile peach water. “Just an upset stomach.”
“Oh.” She perked. “In that case, take some of the pink stuff, dear. It should do the trick.”
I dredged up half a smile. “I’ll do that.”
Papers rustled in the background on her end. “Give me a minute. There. All right. I have the information you requested.” Her exhale blasted the receiver. “I hope I’m not too late to be useful.”
“You’re fine. It’s not like we could use our—” phones on the airplane, “—never mind.”
She clicked her tongue. “Knowing Shaw, it’s probably best I don’t ask.”
“I— Yeah.” I didn’t want to start lying to her. Shaw was a big boy. He could fess up when the time came.
“As for the information you requested...” she hummed while the familiar click-clacking noise of fingers on a keyboard filled the line, “...the Richardsons were last seen en route to their ranch by a marshal heading into town for lunch. He passed their car, recognized the subjects and called in the sighting. That’s all I have there.”
Considering our lack of contact point, I had to ask, “What happened to him?”
“That call is the last recorded contact we have on file for him.”
A pang echoed through my chest. “What about the others?”
More clicking as her keyboard sang. “It looks like his call was the last documented contact from the ranch.”
I blinked. “Before the second team arrived, you mean.”
“No.” She hesitated. “The second team hasn’t responded in the last forty-five minutes.”
“It’s an hour drive to Odessa from Wink.” I checked my phone. “It’s been two hours.”
“I know.” Her voice lowered until I strained to hear her. “The magistrates have been informed.”
Air hissed from between my teeth. Not good. Not good at all.
Mable recovered faster than I did. “Is Shaw with you?”
“Yes.” I raised my voice so he would hear. “Shaw’s here.”
He turned at the sound of his name, brow furrowed as his gaze zeroed in on my phone.
“Save me a call and tell him the Richardsons’ ranch hasn’t turned a profit in the last five years. I can’t find any records of sales made since then. However, the ranch has continued to participate as a buyer in several quarterly auctions.” She hummed. “The ranch is three thousand acres with...it looks like...five hundred head at the ranch’s peak ten years ago. Based on the records we confiscated from the Richardsons’ accountant, almost six hundred feeder cattle were purchased in the last five years.”
“Too bad there’s no way to know how many cattle were there at the time of the fire.” I added, “Without counting skulls I mean.”
“Oh, but there is.” Mable tittered. “A recent vet bill shows vaccinations for three hundred head.”
“Well damn. Richardson wrote off eight hundred cattle, not counting what his own stock produced.”
“Do I assume from your tone that’s good news?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I snapped my fingers. “Any luck finding blueprints for the storm shelters?”
“No.” Her enthusiasm waned. “There are records of the costs and a breakdown of materials, but if blueprints existed, I figure they were either kept in the office at the ranch, or they were destroyed.”
“You’re probably right.” Though I could guess, I still asked, “What was on the material list?”
“Steel,” she said, “and lots of it.”
Another sip of water made me wince. “I figured.” Iron was the main ingredient in steel.
“Oh. An email from you just popped up in my inbox. Should I open it?”
“Well that took forever. It’s picture heavy. I sent it before leaving Dallas. I guess it took a while for the...um...” Crap. I sucked at lying. I had to work on my poker face—poker voice? “The important thing is you got the message.”
“You left Dallas?” Concern shot her voice up an octave. “Without telling me? Marshals are going missing. You don’t change locations without calling here first.”
“I, well...”
“Put Shaw on the phone,” she snapped. “Now.”
With a scowl aimed at me with laser precision, he accepted the phone when I offered it to him.
I’ll give him this much. He accepted his dressing-down like a man. A man whose eye twitch said he was counting backward from one hundred and that Mable wasn’t the one making him grind his teeth.
Me and my big mouth.
Clamping a strong hand on my shoulder, he kept me from beating a hasty retreat and calling my cell a loss. Squirming got me exactly nowhere. Slight paling of his eyes shocked me into stillness. It was one thing for me to blab our location to Mable. It was another for Shaw to incubus-out in public.
“Yes, ma’am.” Shaw grated out the words. “I’ll take good care of her.”
I tried looking contrite. “Well?”
He tossed my phone at me. “Mable threatened to lose my paychecks for life if I let you get hurt. Again.”
“Aww.” I pocketed the cell. “That’s sweet.”
He fisted the front of my shirt and dragged me up against him. “That mouth of yours.”
I wet my lips. “Yes?”
His eyes crushed shut as their color faded to white. “It’s going to get you in trouble one day.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But that day is not today.”
His growl barely registered within my hearing.
“Here.” I stepped beside him and looped my arm around his waist. “Let’s get you to the car.”
Tucking me closer against his side, he leaned into me. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“No.” Bruises healed too fast to fret over them.
His grunt sounded unconvinced. “You sent Mable everything?”
“All our notes, pictures and pertinent file information. She just confirmed receipt.”
“Good.” After a few test blinks, he opened copper eyes. “Still no word from the ground?”
“None.” I stared up at him. “This whole thing stinks to high heaven.”
“Yeah, it does. Someone has to go to that ranch and find out what the hell is going on out there.” He twisted until he faced me. “This situation goes beyond anything you were trained to face. I can’t ask you to square off against these people.” His surly expression gentled. “I want you to consider sitting this one out.”
I laughed. Hard. Until my eyes watered.
He didn’t so much as crack a smile.
“You aren’t serious.” I waited for him to tell me I was hearing him wrong. “We’re partners.”
“Whatever the Richardsons have out at that ranch is taking down seasoned marshals.”
“You don’t think I’m good enough.” Coming from him...that hurt.
“We’ve lost a quarter of the marshals out of our office.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “According to Mable, I’m the highest-ranking marshal in the vicinity. That makes me interim divisional commander, and I’m not blindly ordering more of our people to their deaths.” His jaw flexed. “The Southeastern Conclave is on standby, and I’ve asked Mable to prep another team. But they won’t be dispatched until I’ve gotten a look around. I need to give the others an idea of what we’re up against so they can prepare.” He hesitated, trying to temper his next words. “That’s why I can’t ask you to go. It’s a solo mission.”
I read between the lines. “A suicide mission you mean.”
“Thierry.” He kept using that placating tone. “I don’t plan on going anywhere.”
“Good.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, then pasted on the syrupy-sweet smile I usually reserved for con jobs on Mom. “Then you won’t mind me not going anywhere with you.”
“Stubborn.” Eyes flickering to white, he lowered his head, parted his lips.
“You’re going to try to kiss me with that mouth? After what you just said?” I jabbed the unlock icon on the key fob dangling from his fingers then shoved him back. “Dream on, Shaw.”
While he grumbled, I got in the car. By the time I got the nervous flickers in my palm under control, Shaw slid behind the wheel with a grunt. I strapped in and pulled up the GPS.
Ready or not, here we come.
Chapter Thirteen
Chewed-up bits of asphalt crunched under our tires as Shaw guided the rental car off the uneven shoulder of the road. A slim green mile marker staked out the ground ten feet from the front bumper.
“Proceed for one point two miles,” a computerized voice urged.
I killed the navigation prompt and leaned back against the headrest.
Silence filled the car to bursting.
“There’s still time to change your mind.” Shaw’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
I told him the truth. “I’ve changed it at least six times since we left the airport.”
His white-knuckled grip relaxed a fraction. “And?”
“I can’t let you go alone.”
A slow nod left his head hanging as though he expected a guillotine blade to fall.
Reaching behind my seat, I retrieved our satchels from the floorboard. I dropped his onto his lap, turning away while I did a cursory check through mine to hide my trembling fingers from his sight.
Once I forced my tremors under control, I shoved open the door and stepped out of the car. “Let’s do this.”
His response was to join me on the sandy strip near the highway, underneath the glaring sun. Laughter tickled the back of my throat when he locked the rental behind us, like he was making the statement we would be back and that he didn’t want to be liable if someone stole it. Optimism. I liked that.
“I’m texting Mable our location now.” Calling her would have been too hard. I might have said something stupid, like goodbye. Texting kept me calm, kept those fears expanding my chest bottled.
Another nod, this one as distracted as the first. He slung his bag across his body and started walking.
“Here we go,” I murmured.
There was no traffic, no sound except for our footsteps, the shift of sand and the occasional grind of asphalt or concrete or litter underfoot. A tickle of unease had me stifling nervous giggles. I was not a giggler. But the lack of cars, lights, sirens—anything—sent creepy sensations crawling down my nape.
“That must have been the first checkpoint.” He jerked his chin toward an unmarked car covered with an odd sheen. It looked like someone had taken a handful of Crisco shortening and smeared it over the hood. The tires on the right side looked flat. No. They were still inflated, but buried in sand. The whole car tilted to that side. Doors stood open. Soft country music drifted to my ears. The engine was running.
I took a step toward the car. “Should we...?”
Shaw’s hand clamped over my upper arm. “Leave it.”
Dusty air filled my lungs as I scented the area. “No blood. That goo—it’s definitely fae.”
“No marshal goes down without a fight.” He grimaced. “Whatever got to him, it got there fast.”
After surveying the area, I noted the nearest structure, the only one untouched by the fire, was a pump house.
“Stay put.” Shaw flicked his wrist, unleashing his claws as he released me. “Watch my back.”
For once I didn’t argue. Muscles tense and palms damp, I waited as he searched the small building.
“Clear,” he called. “Let’s go.”
Nodding, I drifted toward him, shoring up my nerves. I liked to run my mouth and play at being a badass, but the bottom line was both our asses
were on the line out here. I was young. I was inexperienced. I didn’t know it all, and if I thought too hard about it, my fear would take control.
Pangs radiated through my chest, like my vital organs wanted to bust out of their cage and hotfoot it back to the car. A hand over my thundering heart made me wince. I rubbed the spot like it would make a difference.
This was real. We were here. Evidence suggested the other marshals were dead or taken. That left Shaw and me to stop whatever horror the Richardsons had harnessed and taught to pop marshals into its mouth like M&M’s. By the time we reached the driveway, spots danced on the edges of my vision and breathing was like trying to gulp air with my lungs full of water. I was ready to tuck tail and run, and the fear pissed me off.
I had done bad things. I would do worse one day I was sure. But I had done good too, and this was my fight. I had trained for this. It was my job to make the Richardsons pay for the lives they had taken. Fae or human didn’t matter. Seeing justice done—that was important. Come hell or high water, I was doing this.
“Here we are.” Shaw stopped where the road dipped and turned from blacktop to dust.
Straight as an arrow, the dirt road shot toward where the Richardsons’ house once stood. Acres of green pasture rolled as far as the eye could see in either direction. Ahead, the charred bones of the once-lavish house glared at those who dared to visit, to see it reduced to such bitter leavings. Beyond that, the blackened skeleton of the main barn stood watch over smoldering stalls on a burnt patch of grass.
With a growl, Shaw stalked toward the nearest gatepost. “This should have been the second checkpoint.”
Spent shell casings littered the ground. A rifle stuck to the post he examined, covered by opaque slime. He swiped a finger through the thickest bit, hissing a string of swears as he wiped off the goo.
“What’s wrong?” Unidentified fae ooze could mean any number of things.
“It stings.” He rubbed his finger through the dirt. “Reminds me of a mild acid burn.”
“Any idea what it could be?”
He straightened and dusted his hands. “No clue.”
“Those checkpoints...” I jerked my chin toward the last one. “Were they maintained by the backup units?”
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