by K H Lemoyne
Turen ambled down the street. His eyes shifted from house to house as he listened with his mind and his ears, alert for a movement or a shadow.
His gaze and intuition tracked through the dark to the curved porch arches of each bungalow, searching for a hostile presence. At two o’clock in the morning, there should be no activity. But Euclid Street was more in tune with the comings and goings of the drug traffic from the fringes of Nogales to be asleep with the pace of the rest of the city.
From behind two twenty-year-old Toyotas, he canvassed the homes and stepped off the street to lean against a gnarled mesquite tree. The limbs gave no cover, but he only needed camouflage, not a place to burrow for protection.
The anger and frustration of the last several weeks spiraled in a tight knot. He was ready for a confrontation.
He had followed Mia’s pattern throughout New York City for two weeks. With the exception of two of her trails, she’d done well covering her tracks. Those two paths Turen wiped clean, her traces now gone from the city. He’d left none behind, and she’d left no path to follow farther.
His pride in her did nothing to diminish the threat.
The Internet provided Mia’s portfolio of work: her articles, her publications, her joint ventures in publishing and research. Those findings and her brief partnership with one J.T. Mason had brought him here. Her past intersected with his second goal to find out more about Isa’s death and the cop she’d turned to for help in contacting Xavier.
Greasing palms and following leads to get more information on Marco Valencia had unearthed some strange connections. Not the least of which was the scrutiny Marco and Isa’s death had garnered from Mason, crime reporter and writer. The man and the author had been the focus of a series of interviews by Mia several years ago.
Turen didn’t believe in coincidence. Mia had found a way to poke into Isa’s death, and he’d erase her presence on this path as well. However, the more he searched, the more intricate the details wove.
Marco Valencia turned out to be somewhat of an enigma. A promising high school athlete and student, Marco had lost an older brother to gang violence—death in a desert shootout between drug dealers over boundary disputes. Marco’s history had been hard to probe. Turen wasn’t proud of his unauthorized fold into the Tucson police building and search through the department files, but he owed Isa closure.
Valencia’s enrollment and graduation from the police academy preceded a marked absence in the police ranks. He’d dropped so low from the radar that his resurfacing under the auspices of the local gangs hadn’t elicited notice from law enforcement. He wasn’t recognizable to the seasoned force, and his arrest file reflected he’d received no special treatment.
Without the human constraints of locked doors and badge access, Turen searched both the police data files and those of the local ATF. The resultant find: Marco Valencia had quietly re-established himself in a new profession as an agent in deep cover.
“You lost or something, brother?” The rough, aged voice came from the porch on the other side of his tree.
“I know where I am.” Turen glanced away from the man and across the street to the house belonging to Manuel Esperanzo, Marco’s gang brother.
“This isn’t a good neighborhood for you, man.” The man appeared bent and old. Turen guessed he suffered more from hardship than age.
“Good to know. You might want to go inside.”
The man shook his head and wandered off as if he’d done his penance for the day and God couldn’t blame him if Turen was an idiot.
The rumble of an engine preceded a low-rider pulling up to park in front of Esperanzo’s house. A heavy man in a dark wife-beater and jeans pushed out of the driver’s side. His shaved head reflected no light from the dim street lamp due to the tattoos blending in a Rorschach blot over his skull.
Manny Esperanzo walked around to the passenger side, yanked open the door, and dragged a young woman from the car by her wrist. He shoved her up the broken concrete walkway until her stumbling aggravated him enough to grab her arm and pull her behind him.
Turen pushed away from the tree and headed toward the house as the screen door slammed behind Manny and the whimpering girl.
Turen couldn’t fix Isa’s death.
He couldn’t help the young agent probably bowled over by Isa’s beauty and persuasive techniques. She’d been sweet and innocent, though she’d developed flirtation to an art form. No human male in his right mind would have turned Isa away.
Marco would have appealed to Isa: young, strong, subversive, and a highly trained operative. Isa would have appealed to Marco for all the obvious reasons. Quite the match.
With Marco dead and information leaked about his undercover affiliation, Manny was left holding the proverbial bag with his gang and suppliers. Loyalties were fickle, and guilt by association was a way of life in illegal businesses if the ATF records were any indication. Unfortunately, Manny’s record reflected he operated according to a specific hierarchy principle. Instill fear in those below you and always pick on people weaker than yourself.
Turen pulled open the screen door without knocking. He couldn’t save Marco, but he could do something for Marco’s kid sister, who Manny had just dragged into his house to auction off as a slave. The kid was missing only an hour from her college dorm room. Manny’s stink, which allowed Turen to isolate this residence, had been all over the stairwells and back exit from the dorm lobby.
Manny’s misconception in thinking this act would elevate him back to a respectable level with his peers was shortsighted. Turen glanced around the dim room. His presence hadn’t immediately registered on the small group of men in the dirty bungalow.
“Who the fuck are you?” A scrawny male behind Manny had finally taken notice.
Turen shook his head and held out his hands. “I’m just here for the girl.”
Manny gave a big smile, flashing a mouthful of gold grills. Several of his cohorts followed along with the laugh, but two men shifted around behind Turen.
“She’s mine.” Manny tugged at the girl’s arm and pushed her to the floor at his feet. “You can’t just walk into my house disrespecting me. People disappear for doing that, man.” Manny sat and pointedly wrapped the meaty fingers of his right hand around his gun.
“She is coming with me. Now.” Turen stretched a hand to the girl, his palm out and his gaze turned away from the split lip, the bruised cheek, and the rip in the college sophomore’s sleeveless tee.
The girl’s eyes widened, her pupils tiny despite the low light in the room. Manny’s fingers dug into her shoulder, and she winced, the pressure pinning her to her spot.
“What’s it to you? You a cop or something?”
“I’m a friend of Marco’s. I’m taking his sister home.”
A total of three sidled behind Turen, the remaining two on either side of Manny, drawing weapons from the back of their waistbands. “You’re too funny, man.”
“I’m not asking, Manuel.” Turen spit the man’s name like dirt from his mouth.
“Or what? You don’t seem to understand who’s in charge here, asshole. This bitch belongs to me. I can do her here in front of you or give her to all my men and then maybe even make a profit off her. And you can’t do jack shit about it.”
He took the hard hit to his kidney from the man who stood behind him, but Turen didn’t go down or break Manny’s stare. He pulled back the hand he’d held out to the girl and cupped it close to his body.
As the next blow came and a gun rose to his head, a brilliant ball of flame burst from his palm. Swirling in yellow and orange, it surged and whipped around him.
The quick backlashes of fire seared through the men behind him and arced to the ceiling, then divided into three cords of fire. Each cord streaked across the room to curl around Manny and his cohorts before they could react.
Their mouths opened to scream with pain and their bodies jerked as they tried to flee, but the fire held them trapped and rooted to the floo
r. Their eyes widened with a combination of terror and the sudden realization their lives were about to end.
The smokeless fire expanded to the windows’ dingy drapes. Segments of stucco collapsed from the ceiling and walls in large plaster snowflakes.
Turen moved in front of the girl. Her face paled and her body shook as she shrank from his hand, then she lost her battle with fear. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she collapsed.
After reaching through the fire for the weapon in Manny’s hand, Turen tucked the gun at the back of his own waistband. Then he scooped up the girl in his arms and folded with her to her parents’ home.
The twinkle of lights through the window from the city below illuminated the dark cool of the room. He settled Marco’s sister safely on her own bed and curled her fingers around Marco’s picture from her nightstand.
He didn’t leave a note. Marco’s parents would comfort and protect her as best they could. He’d left anonymous information for Marco’s partners at the ATF with details of Manny’s recent activities, including his attempt to kidnap and sell the sister. Marco’s employers were warriors; they would protect their own. They wouldn’t have been fast enough tonight to save Marco’s sister, but no further harm would come to the Valencia family.
It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could do.
Turen folded to a spot up the mountain. He sat and gazed out over the city of soft lights and glanced up to the millions of stars that blanketed the night sky, seemingly just out of reach. The bowl of Tucson appeared peaceful from this vantage point.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and listened with his mind and his heart.
Mia?
***
Ansgar dangled the beer bottle from his fingers, rested his head against the back of Briet’s couch, and stared out the window at the golden shine of the full moon on the glassy sea.
“Too many things about this aren’t right.”
“Agreed, though I’m relieved Turen is free of Xavier.” Briet sat at her desk across the room, comparing images on her computer. “Why do you think Salvatore pushed for more men to hunt down this woman? Could she really be a threat?”
“Her attack on Grimm was fluid. Smooth.” Ansgar narrowed his eyes in recollection, mindlessly twirling the bottle by the neck as he frowned at a nonexistent spot out to sea. “He’s none the worse for wear. She was either lucky in her miss or more skilled than she appeared.”
“He doesn’t speak more than a dozen words. How would any of you know if he was really okay?”
“You sure he isn’t your brother?” Ansgar raised a brow and gave a sharp laugh. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about Grimm?”
She came and sat on the sofa arm to give him a hug. “I would be even more worried about you.”
Ansgar rolled his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I was kind of over the top when she did it. There was almost no way she wouldn’t do serious harm.” He frowned, trying to get a clear replay of the image. “He seems to find the whole thing funny. It’s what he’s not saying.” He waved the bottle again. “She hardly looked the type either. She’s tinier than you.”
“What exactly would that type look like? I could take a man out.” Briet raised a brow and scowled at him. “You make it sound as if Grimm’s hiding something.”
Ansgar grunted and shrugged. “Of all of us, Xavier chose him. Hell, he raised Grimm after Grimm’s older brother, Drogan, left him at the Sanctum. He should be the last one on Xavier’s hit list. Why not just let her start in on Turen?”
Briet stood and walked to the window and stared out, her back to Ansgar. “Xavier was one of the oldest, wasn’t he, like Grimm’s brother?”
“Yeah, Drogan was a bit older. We figured he was too close to the age of maturity to escape the virus.”
“It’s convenient that Xavier responded to her demand for attendance, much less gave this woman the sword to ultimately enable Turen’s escape.”
He scoffed. “She took a swipe at Xavier too, before the hybrids went nuts. She would have taken out Turen if he hadn’t moved faster than she did.”
“Quite the woman.” Briet took the empty bottle from Ansgar and pitched it into the trash. “She took on three of our most trained warriors. I trained with all of you before the edict to lock down the women; a novice, much less a human, could lay none of you low. To attempt such a thing, she’s either incredibly reckless and lucky, or very driven and skilled.” She squatted beside Ansgar. “Do you feel duped?”
“You envision a plot everywhere. For her to succeed in your scenario, Xavier would have to be involved. That’s sure as hell not true.” With a frown, he stared at her. “Turen’s healing now, but I saw the scars from the beatings he took at Xavier’s compound. The bullet wound was from weeks ago, and I don’t think it’s going to heal. Even Turen would have to have trouble considering redemption for Xavier after his imprisonment.”
Briet cringed and shook her head. “Now Turen’s hunting this woman and what happens when he finds her?”
“There’s disagreement. Salvatore wanted her eliminated.”
“A human female? Since when do we exterminate humans? It’s not as if she showed up at the Sanctum or as if she went after Grimm on her own. She didn’t even do anything to Turen.”
Ansgar turned away. “Only Salvatore. Turen, Grimm, Tsu, Leonis, all opted for the restraint and locating her for questioning.”
“Grimm again? Do you think Turen will find her?”
“He has no choice.”
“Indeed, if he doesn’t find her, Salvatore escalates and calls for her head. If he does find her, how does he protect her?”
“Why the hell would he do that?” Ansgar caught Briet’s smug expression.
“For the reason percolating in your mind, brother dear. She arranged Turen’s escape.”
He scratched at the day’s worth of growth on his chin and briefly considered the outrageous idea. “No. She wouldn’t have had a chance to connect with him. He’s never spent much time away from the Sanctum, with the exception of his captivity. I doubt she did time there. Xavier didn’t acknowledge her.” A picture formed in his mind of the petite, slender, shorthaired brunette. “She was kind of fragile for exposure to prison. She would never have survived Turen’s wounds.”
Briet tilted her head. “He’s hardly a monk. Maybe he met her earlier. You’ve all had opportunities to make liaisons outside of Sanctum.” She raised a finger in consideration. “To help him and risk death implies a strong relationship. If she did plan it for him, he would certainly know her. Then there’s Grimm and the image sent of Isabella in the email.”
“What?”
Briet raised an eyebrow. “The image was a cutout of her mark. Assuming the woman has the original autopsy photos, her focus on the mark proclaims knowledge of us and maybe more?”
Eyes squeezed shut, Ansgar let out a harsh breath. She was doing it again, putting together pieces he would rather ignore, determined to pull him into another scheme. Unfortunately, she was usually right. “Just spill it, Briet.”
“The mark isn’t just power, it designates mates. Perhaps Isa’s death wasn’t random. If it involved a mate, that would be enough to light Xavier’s interest. Meaning the woman in the park knows a hell of a lot more than some stupid female bent on revenge. If so, she was there to save Turen. Maybe Grimm suspects the same.”
Ansgar shook his head and cringed. “Turen isn’t the type of man to have a human woman on the sly, especially one with knowledge of our people. He’s loyal to the point of being painfully predictable. Grimm sure as hell wouldn’t betray us either.”
Briet nodded. “They’re both honorable men. It would follow they have good reasons for their actions, reasons that can’t bear the scrutiny of Salvatore’s judgment. It’s good you never showed him the emails. Though Turen has to know Salvatore will figure this out eventually.”
“It’s a real stretch, Pip, and you give Salvatore too much credit for knowing what’s going on. He hasn’t figured ou
t about you yet.”
Briet leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. “Where does your reluctance to consider this come from? Is it because she’s human? You didn’t used to feel so begrudging toward mankind.”
“I didn’t used to feel like we sacrifice everything so they can exist at the top of the food chain.” Ansgar sighed and leaned his head back on the couch. “This is way too complicated. There are more secrets to remember and muddle through than truths.”
“Maybe the end is coming.”
“The end of days? That’s a bit theatrical for you.”
“I was thinking more a revelation of secrets.”
“I hope so.”
“Let’s hope it works out in our favor,” Briet said as she handed him a cold beer.
CHAPTER 16
The fire crackled, blanketing the carpet and the coffee table in front of Mia in a golden glow.
A single clock on the mantel ticked a steady rhythm as the shadows at the corners of the room pulsed to the loud drumming of her heart. She’d become so accustomed to the sounds of the metronomes and the clocks throughout the house that with all of them stopped, the silence unnerved her.
She closed her eyes and waited. The vulnerability of not seeing Turen the moment he appeared added a raw edge to her nerves, but she was a coward. Any second he would be here. She could feel it in her bones with a quicksilver anticipation and the chill of dread.
He would come to collect his blood samples. More realistically, he’d enact justice for her actions in the park. Or he’d appear for one last alternative she barely had enough faith to hope for.
Minutes flew now in contrast to the drag of the past six weeks since the battle. She had used every minute. Sifting through the memories of her travels, she had analyzed the details, and created her own hypothesis for what and how Turen’s current had swept her along with him.
Laying low and hiding from the Guardians in her home after establishing an exhaustive layer of false trails, she had erected her fortress of sound. The absence of Guardian bloodhounds didn’t give her the comfort she’d hoped.
