by Sue Duff
“Used to?”
She looked out the driver’s window. Ian could barely make out her next words. “She died in a car accident. She was all I had.”
Her despair seeped into his core and threatened to extinguish it. Ian groped for words to respond, but fell mute as he recalled the final moments of her mother’s life. By the time he had traversed the steep slope and reached the injured woman, all he found was a faint pulse. A few seconds later, the beat of Claire Bevan’s heart fell silent. He didn’t let go of the dead woman’s hand until the girls’ shouts and the wail of sirens stirred him to react.
“That’s why you’ve come up here, to search for you father?” he said.
“I came up here because of my mother’s diary.” She jerked the steering wheel and abruptly pulled the car over to the road’s shoulder with gravel spitting at the undercarriage. The tires slipped before coming to a stop. Rayne threw the car in park and grabbed something from the backseat. She brandished a book at him. “Some guy lurking around on your property gave it to me. I didn’t have a chance to ask him where he got it, or why he had it.”
“When? What guy?” Ian had lost track of her that night when Mara and Tara took over to kick her and the paparazzi off the property. He grew concerned. The change in Rayne’s heartbeat gave her away. She wasn’t telling him everything.
She slumped down in her seat like a deflated balloon and her hand rested on the diary. “I saw her write in it dozens of times. She never shared it with me, said that she put things in it that she couldn’t keep inside her any longer. The things I’ve read. I don’t know what to think.”
What secrets did Claire Bevan carry to her grave? Ian wondered. “I’m sorry,” he said gently. “About your mother.”
The pain in her eyes nicked his core. It ignited. He turned his face away with deep, drawn-out breaths to suppress the afterburn.
Rayne pulled the car back onto the road. An awkward hush blanketed the cab as they wallowed in their own brewing thoughts the rest of the way.
When they arrived at the restaurant, Ian stepped ahead and held the door for her. The smile she gave him chipped away a piece of his protective shield. They located the others at the back of the room. Ian took note when Patrick pulled out the chair for her.
Patrick told his best and—Ian cringed—his worst jokes. Intrigued that Rayne lived on her own, Tara was the one to ask a slew of questions. To his relief, Mara behaved herself with occasional warning kicks from her sister. Ian’s shins suffered a few misplaced whacks from under the table.
By the time they ended up at the pool tables, Ian settled into a relaxed daze. He let Rayne and Patrick win, which pissed Mara off. Tara cheered everyone on from the sidelines.
Later that night, Patrick pulled the car into the motel parking lot and Tara jumped out ahead of Ian. She prodded him to escort Rayne up to her room. A knot twisted in his stomach and his feet rooted where he stood. By the time he found the courage, she had reached the staircase. Unwilling to appear too eager, he followed a few paces behind, then stood at the foot of the stairs and watched as she made her way upstairs.
He scrambled for something to say. “We’ll meet down here tomorrow, ten a.m.”
Rayne paused. “Tara invited me to join you for breakfast. Is that okay?”
“Oh, even better,” Ian blurted. He cleared his throat from behind a fist. “See you then.” He backed up but kept his attention on her, wondering if she’d turn and look in his direction. Ian bumped into a car. Horrified, he checked to see if she noticed.
A wide smile and glistening eyes peered down on him from the railing. “Night, Ian.” She disappeared into her room.
Ian’s shoulders drooped. When he turned in the direction of his room, the curtain to the girls’ room dropped. Patrick’s door clicked shut. Ian fumbled with his room key then barged inside and shut the door.
He grabbed a file they’d brought back from Dr. Orr’s office and sat on his bed reading about the scientist’s research, anything to take his mind off the parking lot blunder. It wasn’t working. His thoughts kept diverting back to Rayne and her expression when she said good night.
The paperwork lay in scattered piles all around and on top of him. Unable to concentrate, Ian dropped his head back and gave up, shutting his eyes on the day.
He felt his consciousness drift and became aware of cloudy images of the outside terrain. Looking at the world through another’s eyes, he thought he could make out the back of their motel and a lone, lit window.
Movement. Ian’s heartbeat revved as an image skirted off through tall grass and brush. In an instant, a wild, manic hunger consumed him.
The quarry proved agile. His host maneuvered through brush and obstacles, streaking around corners and rocks for what seemed like several minutes. His body was out of his control. Pursuit was everything.
Suddenly, his host pounced on the small animal. Ears came into view. The sought-after prey was a rabbit. Warm blood and fur filled his mouth and he was overcome with a savage hunger unfamiliar to him in the human world. A shattering of bone beneath his teeth woke him with a start.
Disoriented and panting, Ian gripped the covers on the bed to steady himself. His lungs burned from quick, shallow breaths. He threw his legs around the side of the bed. Papers scattered to the floor.
A craving for fresh air drove him outside. He leaned back against the building and pulled the crisp air deep into his chest, then rubbed his face to get circulation and slowly return to the here and now. Ian swiped his mouth on his arm and looked at it expecting something to be there. There wasn’t. The taste of blood filled his mouth, his throat, and no matter how much he tried to swallow or spit it away, it wouldn’t subside.
It took several seconds for the pounding in his chest to ease along with the taste. Ian turned but paused with his hand on the doorknob. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up straight. He spun around. Something or someone was out there, close, watching. He leaned his back against the door. Every muscle wound tight and remained at the alert. He peered into the dense forest across the street.
The endless black of night revealed nothing.
{40}
The moment they arrived at the auditorium, the girls and Ian fell into the routine of setting up the props and preparing for the show. Patrick muttered something about the backstage lighting and left to find the facility manager. He still hadn’t forgiven Andy for failing to return his text messages.
Rayne wandered about in the partially lit space and explored containers. Mara shadowed her like a mother dealing with a toddler, grabbing items out of her hands and slamming lids shut behind her.
“Ian, really, are you going to allow this?” Mara whined.
“Rayne, she’s right. We really can’t let you see too much of this.”
“I’m not trying to snoop,” Rayne said with a devilish grin that was growing on Ian. “I’m just naturally curious.”
“According to Patrick—” Tara said.
“—curiosity killed the cat.” Mara crossed her arms.
Ian gestured for Rayne to join him. She settled on a nearby crate.
“Why do you think someone would use magic to help people?” she said.
“And yet, another question.” He gave her a wink then went back to setting springs inside a box. He mulled it over. “It lends itself to mystery, the ability to be elusive. Magic can make one feel powerful, even indestructible.”
“Is that why the Good Samaritan uses it as a cover?”
He hesitated at her choice of words. “Magic will probably get your hero killed, if it hasn’t already.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because magic isn’t real,” he said, “any more than superheroes.”
“You’re wrong. Somewhere out there, there’s a hero without a dark side.” A relaxed smile graced her face. “Someone with a good heart, who wants nothing more than to help others.”
The compassion in her eyes grasped his heart. The heat from his searing
core warmed his spirit. He chose to think of it as love.
Rayne leaned closer. “Are you okay?”
He lifted his face and caught a whiff of apples and vanilla from her shampoo. His thoughts teetered. “I didn’t sleep last night.”
She sighed. “Ditto.”
The throbbing in Ian’s chest refused to subside. He focused on the prop in his hands.
“By the way, my tape recorder didn’t work during your interview.” She looked up as if to catch his reaction.
Ian set the prop down on the crate. “Imagine that,” he said and extended his hands toward her. A small bouquet of flowers appeared before her eyes. He slowly withdrew his hands and they floated in front of her.
With a mischievous twitch of her mouth, she accepted them then drew back in surprise. “These are real.” She tilted her head as if to smell. “I’m not sure I trust you.”
“The illusion isn’t about trust.” He bent down toward her, wanting more than anything to kiss that pouting mouth. “Just … believe,” he whispered. He leaned in and his pulse quickened when she didn’t pull away.
A loud clang rang out from the center of the stage. An iron wrench clattered before settling.
Ian looked up. A shadow moved across the wall beyond the catwalk. His eyes marked the spot.
“Who’s the klutz?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“Rayne, I left my water bottle in the car. Would you mind getting it for me?” He set his keys down on the crate in front of her.
“You’re getting rid of me. Setting a prop I can’t see?”
“You guessed it.” He gave her a crooked smile.
“Okay.” She grabbed the keys. “But I will be back.”
“Don’t hurry,” he said as lighthearted as he could. “We need a few uninterrupted minutes.”
The second the outer door shut behind her, Ian shyfted to the catwalk. Deserted from all directions, he studied the upper scaffolding, calculating possible exit points. The platform swayed. The girls approached with guns drawn.
“Anything?” Mara asked while catching her breath from their ladder climb.
He shook his head and gestured in the opposite direction. “If someone left that way, I would have seen him cut across from the stage below. It must have been something else. The drop is too far for someone to jump.”
Tara knelt down and touched the rigging. “You didn’t imagine it, Ian.” She touched an outlined impression of the wrench etched into the dust on the wooden planks. A scrape from a shoe had obliterated part of it.
“Someone was up here,” she said pointing out faint foot-prints. Mara peered over the edge.
Ian followed the steps. They abruptly stopped. “I think they shyfted from here.”
“The file said there weren’t any Sars at the facility,” Tara said.
Mara swiped her hand across the dust print. “Makes you wonder what else the Syndrion doesn’t know.”
{41}
That was close, Jaered’s thoughts screamed in his head. He collapsed against the wall in the control booth at the back of the auditorium. Her presence had caused him to unravel and, for the first time in years, he didn’t trust himself. He sank to the floor and cupped the back of his neck in his hands as if it would help keep his head on straight.
Unable to shake the scene of them together, about to touch—to kiss—diluted any hope for rational thought, and he focused on purging his mind of everything.
His phone vibrated in his pocket and it brought him back to the present. Eve wouldn’t hesitate to pull him out if she knew how reckless he’d been. Jaered worked to steady his turbulent pulse. The cell shivered impatiently against his thigh. He ignored it.
He wasn’t about to leave, not now.
{42}
An arctic blast hit Rayne when she stepped outside, and she thought twice about returning for her jacket, but the car sat not more than a few feet ahead. Better to have an excuse to return quickly, she reasoned and grinned in anticipation of catching them at some trade secret.
She peered through the passenger’s side window but didn’t see a water bottle. She unlocked the door and got inside, wondering if he had sent her on a goose chase. She felt around under the bucket seats. The sweep of her hand knocked the water bottle aside, and her fingers found a briefcase.
Ignore it, her conscience told her as she stared at the combination lock. She moved the last dial up one digit then pushed. It didn’t budge. She returned the dial to the original position and tried another and then another. On the fourth try, the latches flipped up with a click.
Rayne peered out every window to make sure she was alone. A folder contained several sheets of typed notes and graphs. A few words jumped out at her. The lighthearted mood that followed her out of the auditorium fizzled as she perused the contents.
Weir was a word that she’d seen in her mother’s diary. Rayne had researched it on the web at home, but the dictionary definition didn’t correspond to how her mother used it. She assumed that it may be a cult. The term Pur Weir riddled the notes in the file. Numbers were thrown about in graphs and statements. Hundreds of names with PW next to them were listed at the facility in various departments.
She stared ahead, deep in thought. Scientists and maintenance workers were the only people she’d seen since arriving. Uniformed guards manned the gates. The place struck her as a secure research facility.
She smoothed out a scroll and skimmed over the message. Ian’s name was mentioned. Rayne closed the briefcase and returned the combination to the original numbers. One thing was certain. Ian knew about the Weir. From what she could tell, he was here because of them. Who were they? What was their connection to her mother? To her father?
Her stomach knotted. Ian had lied to her.
“Damn you!” She stuffed the briefcase under the seat. It was time to set out on her own. She let herself out of the car and tossed Ian’s keys on the seat.
A cloth pulled down over her head, and a hand pressed against her mouth. A sweet odor—her thoughts spun out of control.
{43}
“Ian, we’re late,” Patrick shouted from the front of the auditorium.
“We’re kinda busy at the moment,” Mara said.
“No, he’s right. I need to get to the kennels. Dr. Orr and Allison are waiting.” Ian grabbed his jacket off the crate and met up with Patrick at the edge of the stage.
Patrick stuck his cell phone in his back pocket. “Ready?”
Mara and Tara stepped out along the catwalk. “Ian, please. This is a good reason not to go back,” Mara said.
“What is she talking about?” Patrick gave him a quizzical look. “Did I miss something?”
“I’ll explain on the way.” Ian jumped down from the stage. “This won’t take long. We’ll have plenty of time to check into this once I return. When Rayne shows up, find something she can help with. Keep her busy until I get back.”
“Do I look like a babysitter?” Mara said.
Tara slugged her sister in the arm. “Behave.”
“I don’t want her snooping around without me,” Ian said. “Now, more than ever.”
“Watch what you say. We don’t know who we can trust,” Mara said.
“I’ll drive.” Patrick held his hand out for Ian to toss him the keys.
“Rayne’s at the car.” Ian checked the wall clock. “We’re going to be late. We could shyft,” he said with a lopsided grin.
“Hell, no.” Patrick took off down the aisle and out the main doors without looking back. Ian counted to ten and then thought better of it. He added another ten. It was only fair.
Ian met Allison at the door to the kennels. “Sorry, something came up at the auditorium.”
“Just you today?” she asked.
“Patrick’s on his way. The girls are busy setting up for the performance.” He glanced around to make sure they were alone. “Allison, is it possible that one of the test subjects got out last night?”
“I don’t see how. The kennels hav
e triple security: one at the pen door, one at the lab doors, and again at the outer door. Any breach at those locations would have triggered the alarm at the security office. Dr. Orr and I would have been alerted immediately. Why?”
“I felt something as I drifted off to sleep last night.” Ian reached up and touched the tip of an icicle hanging from the eave. “Like I was chasing prey.”
Her face lifted, and she stepped toward the door. “Dr. Orr could contact Security and review the tapes.”
Mara’s warning slipped into Ian’s thoughts and he immediately regretted saying anything. He stopped her from opening the door and gave her a relaxed smile. “Let’s hold off with going to any trouble. Perhaps today’s trials will yield something.”
Shuffling steps signaled Patrick’s arrival. He collapsed against the side of the kennel and offered Allison a cursory wave while gulping air.
“You know better than to challenge me like that,” Ian said.
“I’d rather die than shyft again,” Patrick rasped.
Allison placed two fingers against his neck. “Catch your breath or you’ll be well on your way.”
Once Patrick recovered, she unlocked the door with her pass. Ian stepped inside and a muted buzz played in the background of his thoughts. He swore it was the same sensation he’d felt on the first visit. He paused and rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t a brewing headache but something else.
Orr met them at the inner door. “I was concerned you weren’t coming,” he said. “Please, let’s get started.”
The wolves appeared more docile than the day before. Dante and Amistoso slowly raised themselves up and stood at the kennel gates. Sombra stretched, lowering his front paws while lifting his rear. He yawned. He righted himself then stood still in the center of his kennel with his attention on Ian.
Ian unclasped the tether on Sombra’s collar. Orr stepped in, but Patrick placed a calming hand on his arm. Allison remained watchful as Ian allowed Sombra to establish dominance. The animal paced around him.
