by KH LeMoyne
But his beast didn’t operate in hindsight and self-doubt, and for once he let those instincts drive his actions. The kids were safe. Maggie could consider herself a burgeoning shifter.
Then there was Dani. He owed some powerful being in the universe for sending her his way. No matter how long she remained in his life, she’d brought back an emotion he’d long ago discarded—hope.
Following on that thought, he activated his phone.
“Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Barduc?” Dani’s slow laugh sent blood rushing to parts of Chisholm’s groin that wouldn’t find relief for hours.
“I’ll take a rain check for later, Ms. Leggett.” He bent forward, sliding a glance toward Charlie and his ball as he lowered his voice. “I just wanted to make sure you—keep safe.”
“Why would I be at risk?” Her tone changed, the professional persona taking charge.
He cringed at her alertness and focus. They’d avoided discussing work and legalities, but danger precluded niceties. He couldn’t allow her connection with his family to make her a target. However, he’d learned to avoid handling issues for Dani. That would rain hurt down on his head faster than any other mistake he could make.
“You’ve had contact with us. Anyone with half a brain can see how Maggie feels about you, how the boys trust you—and that you’re important to me. If these people ever track us to this small town, you need to watch your back as well.”
“I’m a police officer. Nothing is going to happen to me.”
He wanted to say more to her, but the image of her tight-lipped expression held him back. “The Feds made it clear anyone we cared about could be used as leverage.”
“Didn’t stop you from kissing me or having—”
“Making love to you, no,” he snapped back, tired of safe conversation. With a wince, he ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t stop myself where you’re concerned. But at least I know you’re safe when you’re with me.”
“Don’t even go there.”
“Just promise me you’ll treat yourself as a potential target.”
He itched with impatience at her silence, but if her annoyance jeopardized the few days they had left, then so be it. Her safety was more important.
“I understand, Chisholm.” Soft and caring, her tone shifted back to the woman he loved, almost unhinging him. Then she chuckled. “I always have my weapon, so remember that.”
With an exhale of relief, he sat up. “Got it. Keep the detective satisfied, or there will be hell to pay.”
“Now we’re on the same page. See you later.”
“I’ll be waiting.” He disconnected and stared at the phone. Somehow, he didn’t feel better.
“Dad.”
He turned around. “Maggie. Where are Cabot and Sam?” She’d taken the bus today and gotten off at the elementary school to walk home with her brothers. Not an option he liked, but she’d argued the need for a little distance. The school was only half a mile across the back fields, and no one could stalk a shifter through an open field. Even without shifting ability, his kids were fast.
She dropped beside him and leaned against his shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “Did you forget? Sam’s got soccer practice today. It’s Mrs. Rasmund’s day for carpooling. Cab’s inside reading.”
Right, soccer. And the league would probably go ahead with practice, despite the snowstorm the full gray clouds overhead promised. His lion was irritable enough with cold. He could detect snow hundreds of miles away. What bothered him more was he’d forgotten about the practice. Usually, he was on top of everyone’s schedule, but the latest turmoil interfered with his organization skills.
“And your homework?”
“Done.” She flashed him a too-eager smile. “Actually, this is fall break.” She shoved him again with her shoulder. “Remember?”
Damn, he was going brain-dead.
“Is Dani coming over for dinner and—”
The familiar annoying buzz cut her off, and Chisholm glared at his phone. A local number registered, one he couldn’t quite place.
“Dad.” Sam’s voice rushed through the line. “Mrs. Rasmund’s van had a flat and she—”
Chills assaulted ever muscle in his body. “Where are you?”
“It’s okay, Dad. We’re about—she says we’re about two miles from the field. Mr. Rasmund is on a business—”
“Stay there, all of you stay in the car. I’ll be right there.” He slammed the phone into his pocket, leaving the connection open, and in three long strides had Charlie in his grip. He thrust his youngest child into Maggie’s arms, who was right on his heels, and ushered her toward the back door. “Find Cabot. Lock the doors. Stay together. Don’t come out for anyone but me, Dani, or Deacon’s team.”
“Right, Dad.”
Bless her. Face pinched and obviously terrified, Maggie didn’t hold him up arguing but clutched her brother, ran into the house, and slammed the dead bolt.
Skype access took no time at all. Dani relaxed, prepared to enjoy her teaching world for a change. After today’s lecture, she’d be done until right before Thanksgiving.
As the chat room came into focus with the faces of all of her students, she delivered the update on several current authors notorious for keeping journals and requested they pick one to read. She’d added the new choices as spice to pull in the students like Alex, who felt no connection with historical figures. She was unsurprised when he lingered as the last one left in the chat room. His smile took her off guard. With his bright blue cloud strong and vibrant, Alex Trenton was a rather pleasant-looking young man. He’d even managed to combat his nervous twitching.
“Hey, Professor Leggett. Thanks for the feedback on my first two journals.”
“It wasn’t faint praise, Alex. You did a nice job incorporating life in those lyrics. I found them very moving.” To be honest, she’d been shocked with the professional quality of his weekly assignment. Not only did the melody and lyrics blend smoothly, but they delivered a balanced stream of colors that built and tumbled through the progression of the songs—a lingering sign of Alex’s healthy outlook. That meant more to her than all the words her students could submit.
“Based on your feedback, I took them to a local hangout near here for Open Mic night.” He didn’t just smile, but beamed.
“Went well, I gather.”
“Free beer and a date.”
Evidently, it didn’t get any better than that. “How about your other classes?”
A quick frown marred his features and he shrugged. “History and Sociology are letting me make up the missed work the same way you are, but I think with the break at the end of the semester, I’ll finish. Biology—I’ll be lucky to pass. But you were right about a tutor. I still hate the class, but I’ll live through it.”
“That’s the key. Survive to live another day.” She’d latched on to the phrase from Chisholm. And if anyone qualified for that statement, a man a hundred and fifty some odd years old certainly did.
“I took your other advice, too. About the professional help.” He tipped his head, the twitches returning, but mild in comparison to their last discussion. The colors around him remained a steady blue.
“You’re under no obligation to tell me this.”
“Yeah, I get that. But I wanted you to know.” He lifted his head. “I was really close to dropping out. Now, I kind of feel like I have options—and a little control.”
“I’m glad. You’d be surprised how many people experience the same thing.”
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he just laughed. “It’s okay, I won’t tell.”
She leaned closer to the camera on her laptop. “Tell if it will help someone else. I’m looking forward to your next song.”
“I’m tight with that, Professor. Later.”
Later. With a chuckle, she signed out of the room. Alex’s situation wasn’t that simple. She hadn’t saved him. He’d need constant, steady help. But he�
�d mustered the courage to help himself. For a few moments, she felt incredible. Being there for someone before they got desperate enough to rule out all their options beat having to quietly coax children out the back window of their home while the sheriff’s men stormed the front doors to handle a domestic abuse call. Not that she didn’t accept crisis management as a needed skill. However, those situations wore her down more than bolstered her, and neglected her abilities.
She realized teaching wasn’t a fair comparison to her full-time job. Still, it was nice to help much earlier in the cycle, since her skills were limited to a certain age group. With the exception of the shifters.
They presented a whole new avenue to explore. She didn’t know how to interpret their colors and sounds yet. And while she might never get the chance, their anomalies puzzled and intrigued her. At least that was the reason she chose for her interest in everything shifter. With only two more days with Chisholm, the opportunity would end too soon to suit her. As the shifter who fascinated her to distraction, she didn’t want to analyze the large looming hole in her life.
She glanced at the clock. A few hours remained to run errands before showing up at Chisholm’s. Then her phone buzzed.
“Detective Leggett, this is Tom Barron with the Brunswick security division. We talked last week about some suspected hacking in the Washburn office.”
“Yes, I remember. I should be honest with you, I’ve been told to close my case.”
Tom was quiet for a second. “We’ve been told the same thing. I suspect a covert unit picked up the case—happens sometimes. Since I’d already done some of the legwork and uncovered several accesses, I felt I owed you a call to at least confirm your suspicions.”
Stepping out on a limb was a tough call, and Dani appreciated Barron’s style. He hadn’t really delivered information, but his call was enough for her to discuss the development with Chisholm. Perhaps his people had covert resources as well. “I understand and appreciate the follow-up.”
“Always pleased to be of service, Detective.”
“I owe you one, Barron.”
“Just doing my job, but I’m good for lunch anytime you’re in town.”
“Will do.” And at this rate, she’d be back in Brunswick sometime next week. The thought weighed heavily.
Once on the road, she called Chisholm’s house and waited through eight rings. Frowning, she tried again. Maggie and the boys should be home. Still no answer.
As the first flakes melted on her windshield, she tried Chisholm’s cell phone but got no response. Frustrated, she decided to skip the errands and head toward his house. Weather raging havoc with the cell towers was one thing, but she couldn’t shake a sense of nagging disquiet. She rationalized Chisholm could take care of his kids. He’d been doing it for years. That no one answered the phone didn’t spell a crisis.
On the other hand, she cared for them, and something felt off.
She tried again, as an incoming call registered.
“Dani.” The tiny whisper was barely audible through the Bluetooth speaker.
“Maggie, speak up.”
“I can’t. They’re upstairs. I heard them kick in the back door.”
The blood rushed from Dani’s head as she pushed her foot on the accelerator. “Where’s your father?”
“The mom taking Sam to soccer practice had a flat tire, so Dad left to get him. I can’t get through to his cell phone.”
“You’re home, right?” Dani’s heart stopped. “I’ll send the closest squad car to you.”
“No. No police. The last time, they took us, and the Feds wanted to separate us from Dad. Please—don’t hang up.” Maggie stopped. “We’re in the basement.” The girl’s terror bled through the airwaves, the icy, brittle tenor of her voice saturated in panic.
“I’m on my way.” For the first time in her career, Dani channeled a victim’s emotion. Distance and professionalism didn’t work for her when it came to Chisholm’s kids. But one thing she was good at was compartmentalization. Every hard-learned rule flashed through her mind as she considered options. Not having her official cruiser and police comm limited her technology options. That left her needing other backup. “Wharton? Trim?”
“Dad said they’re on their way back to town.”
“Can you shove something in front of the door?”
“Can’t. It’s at the top of the stairs.”
A crash followed by a garbled noise too difficult to parse crackled across the connection.
“No!” Maggie’s scream drowned beneath the impact of flesh on flesh, a sound too familiar to Dani’s ears as the connection went dead.
Already pushing eighty-five miles an hour on the narrow back road, Dani fumbled her cell with one hand and tried to dial the precinct. No bars lit on the phone. Damn it. She gripped the phone to keep from tossing it against the side of the car. Releasing anger wouldn’t help anything, but it sure would feel good.
The snow had thickened, gray skies darkening with nightfall. She halted behind a snow fence and doused her headlights, noting taillights from two unknown vehicles in Chisholm’s driveway. As they pulled from the driveway, she craned her neck looking for the children but saw nothing. Not even the taillights from the first vehicle reflected through the windows of the second—hell, no one in North Dakota needed tinted windows. She caught a glimpse of small flashes in the rear windshield, a signal booster of some kind for covert or specialized personnel, no doubt.
Fighting back her own panic, she reviewed the details. Both SUVs were black, older, with souped-up communications and tinted windows. That left her with two scenarios: Chisholm’s WITSEC contacts or the mob-assassin squad. And Chisholm would have mentioned WITSEC presence during his call. Given that he hadn’t, she stood alone against the second deadly option.
From her location, she watched the headlights receding, and inched her vehicle forward. She paused only long enough at the end of Chisholm’s driveway to confirm a wide circle of scuffle marks in the new snow, then jumped back into her car and picked up her pace. A few miles down the road, she caught up with them.
Allowing more distance between her and the SUVs, she followed the barely detectable tracks on the snow-covered asphalt. She knew this part of the country, and they didn’t. One point in her favor. And, thanks to her father, this wasn’t her first hunt.
She glanced at the signal on her phone. Still nothing. Odd, given that she’d passed through a small burg, followed by a veterinary clinic, and a small hospital—the location usually received service during storms. A helicopter was lifting off as she passed. With the thickening snow, that would be the last one for several hours.
A plan formulated in her thoughts. Not a great one, since she didn’t have many options. But she could count on several things. Trim and Wharton were on their way. Deacon wanted the family. The shifters would come and find them.
And Chisholm was coming.
There was no doubt in her mind after he realized Sam’s call was a decoy, he’d be a quarter ton of angry dad tracking his kids. People were going to die tonight. Her job was to ensure it wasn’t the kids.
So she could count on backup. Just not when they’d arrive.
Another couple of miles down the road, the SUV turned. Dani turned off her lights and pulled to a halt in the drive. She didn’t know this specific property, but with parkland, farmland, and lakes nearby, there were no neighbors within earshot.
The good news: when she left her car here, Chisholm would see it and know to follow.
After grabbing her personal gear from the backseat, she emptied the ammunition from her smallest revolver, wrestled on her boots, tucked extra ammunition in one boot, and stuffed her weapon in her waistband. Next, she shed her top and donned the new slim-fit bulletproof vest the department had been so keen on distributing, before redressing.
Thank you for that foresight, Chief.
Finally, sliding her chain with her police badge over her neck, she made sure it was in clear, shining view.
>
Come and get me, assholes.
With a forceful slam of the car door, she committed to her strategy—she’d be the man on the inside. She’d let them catch her. From within, she’d assess the numbers, put herself between the children and their captors, and provide distraction. Well, that and offer a good strong scent for the shifters to follow.
While it went against all her training to deliver herself as a hostage, she needed to optimize the abilities of her backup. Guns were a liability in this case. The killers would have too many, and with her weapon, the odds grew worse for the kids. Captured and disarmed, she could play a less threatening role and put the killers off their guard.
It meant she had to trust the shifters to arrive in time. Chisholm wanted her to believe in their abilities. She had a firm conviction his future clan couldn’t be far behind. For all the effort they’d expended, letting the lion’s children get killed would be a major failure. The Deacon Black Chisholm believed in wouldn’t let that happen.
This was the ultimate test of faith. Their test and hers.
If worse came to worst, she had plenty of skills beyond using her weapon. All she had to do was keep everyone alive until backup came. With a lucky break, she’d get the kids away and home before bedtime.
She focused down the lane, estimating how long it had taken the headlights to disappear. Probably half a mile long?
Trudging through the dusting of snow, she tried to project a casual air.
At the turn in the lane, cold steel suddenly pressed against her temple, and she realized she’d miscalculated the distance by about a quarter mile. “Hands in the air, and don’t even breathe, doll.”
Dani raised her hands and endured the probing along her sides. For all the extra detail he spent on her ass and breasts, she figured he’d miss the gun.
Then he found it. Why couldn’t he be stupid? Not good odds for her.
She liked the odds even less as he pushed her toward the ratty barn and she counted the three SUVs lined up outside.
9
Chisholm’s truck fishtailed as he turned onto the main thoroughfare. He hated the cold. But if Sam was safe, he’d promise to live the rest of his life in the arctic circle. Thank God Deacon’s territory didn’t actually go that far north.
