Callan: Outback Shifters #2

by Chant, Zoe

  Callan shook his head. It didn’t matter. Fresh air is good air.

  Callan had seen the disappointment in Trent’s face even as he’d congratulated Callan on being assigned this mission – he’d probably mostly wanted it because there was a pretty girl involved, who may or may not be in need of rescuing; in other words, the kind of thing Trent would have loved. But Trent was too happy-go-lucky to let it get him down for long, and his good luck wishes were sincere.

  Euan, on the other hand, had barely said a word to him – just grunted something before turning and leaving the room before Robb had even had a chance to dismiss them. But that was Euan – Callan had to believe that there was some reason why Robb and the other higher ups were keeping him around, even if it wasn’t clear to him at all what that reason might have been.

  Hector, of course, had sent him an email, in usual Hector style: Good luck, be careful of Hargreaves. You know what they’re capable of. Don’t do anything stupid. PS. Myrtle and Ruby say hi.

  Callan had almost been tempted to send him back a joking note saying Just because you’re not babysitting Ruby doesn’t mean you need to babysit me, but in the end he’d just written Cheers mate, and left it at that. That was why, he was guessing, he’d been chosen for this mission in the first place: cool head, calm actions.

  He wasn’t one to act out of temper or irritation. He wasn’t a reckless risktaker like Trent, or liable to get carried away in a moment of anger, like Hector. What Euan was like was anyone’s guess, but Callan supposed he probably behaved as much like a lone wolf out in the field as he did in the office, and Callan couldn’t imagine him being a very calming presence for a young woman who might be feeling scared and alone.

  Or someone who could convince her we’re on her side, Callan thought, as he roared down the open road. Which I hope we are.

  He knew the make, model and color of her car, as well as her number plate. There weren’t a lot of places Ella Woodson could go, in the direction she was apparently heading – she wasn’t heading south to Melbourne or northeast to Sydney, where she might have been more difficult to find. She seemed to be taking a straight shot to the wilderness to the northwest, to the mountain ranges and alpine forests where civilization was sparse and she’d be isolated and well out of range of help, if she needed it. Nothing in her background suggested she was trained for wilderness survival.

  If she was in trouble, why didn’t she go to the police?

  Robb had just shrugged when Callan had asked him.

  She had the chance to – they were everywhere when her lab was broken into and smashed up. Maybe she had some reason to think she couldn’t. That’s what it’s your job to try to find out, Callan.

  When confronted with a break-in, most people don’t make a mad dash into some of the least hospitable country around, Callan thought, frowning. But then, most people’s dads aren’t mad, evil scientists either, I guess.

  Don’t treat this like a joke. His diprotodon – calm, steady and dependable – swung its head up, a flash of anger in its eyes. This is serious.

  I know, Callan told it, pushing down the urge to sigh. God forbid he should have a moment of levity in his life. He appreciated his diprotodon, of course. Its instincts had saved his life on several occasions, and without its powers of empathy he might have missed several clues that had led him to important breaks in the cases he’d worked on.

  But sometimes – and just sometimes – it could be a real killjoy pain in the arse.

  We’ll find her, all right? If she’s in danger, we’ll find her, and make sure she’s safe. I know it won’t be easy, but no matter where she’s gone, we’ll – uh – we’ll –

  Callan slammed on the brakes of his bike, the smell of burning rubber filling the air around him.

  Wait. Wait. Back up just a sec.

  Frowning, Callan glanced back over his shoulder at the small service station he’d just ridden past, and the car parked by one of the petrol pumps.

  No. No way. That would have to be just too easy. Wouldn’t it?

  Turning the motorbike around, he rode slowly back the way he’d come. The service station was a small one – a typical country town servo, tiny, dust-streaked and with only two petrol pumps. The attached shop was more like a shed, with signs in the window advertising hot meat pies and ice slushie drinks. It was the kind of place Callan had grown up around – the only nearby shop where he could spend his pocket money on disgusting snack foods like Golden Roughs and Chicken Twisties, before he’d decided he was going to start saving it up to move to the city once he turned nineteen.

  This place looked pretty much identical to the one he’d known when he was a kid.

  What the servo he’d grown up around didn’t have, though, was an obviously third-hand dark red Toyota Corolla with a peeling paintjob and – he glanced at it once again to make sure – the exact number plate he’d been sent out here to look for.

  Uh. Right. Okay.

  Still not quite sure whether to believe his eyes, Callan rolled his bike up to the second petrol pump and cut the engine, swinging his leg over the side as he dismounted. He glanced at the stationary car as he took his helmet off, running his fingers lightly through his sweaty hair.

  Okay, well, that’s Ella Woodson’s car. So where’s Ella?

  Callan frowned, glancing around. He still couldn’t quite believe it – if the four years he’d spent doing fieldwork before he’d been seconded to Logistics had taught him anything, it was that nothing was that easy. If something looked like it’d just been dropped conveniently in your lap, the chances were it was a trap.

  And this looks exactly like a trap.

  Uneasiness shot through Callan’s chest. His diprotodon was on high alert, head lowered, shoulders hunched. Its senses spread out all around them, seeking out danger, searching for any clue of what might be lurking around this seemingly innocent service station –

  – And found nothing.

  Huh.

  Callan frowned.

  This doesn’t mean we should let our guard down, his diprotodon growled. To begin with, where is Ella Woodson? Did they take her, and leave her car? Is she in danger? Are we too late?

  First things first, Callan told it firmly, as he hung his helmet on the motorbike’s handlebars.

  And what is first? his diprotodon asked.

  We check she’s not inside paying for her petrol.

  Callan could feel the diprotodon glowering a little as if looking for a way to pick fault with him; but in the end, it apparently couldn’t come up with a reason why it thought that idea sucked, and instead retreated into sulky silence.

  Thank God, Callan thought, feeling disloyal a moment later – but sometimes, he really did just need a break. Being a shifter meant coming to terms with your dual nature, and never letting the animal overwhelm the human – unless there was a situation where being more animal than human would be an advantage. But even then, you needed to have a strong will to take your mind and body back from the animal once the danger had passed.

  Shifters who couldn’t control their animal sides were in danger of losing the human part of their nature: either they’d be stuck in their animal forms forever, or they had to bury their animal sides and never shift, in case they couldn’t control themselves.

  Callan was lucky in that his diprotodon was a relatively stable, calm creature, but he knew Hector often had trouble keeping his griffin in check. Callan couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have something even more wild living within you, like a dragon. Or a Tasmanian devil.

  He pushed open the door to the shop, a bell jingling with the movement. Stepping from the dusty air outside to the lukewarm, barely air-conditioned atmosphere inside, Callan glanced around. Shelves of snacks ran through the middle of the store, while a fridge stocked with milk and bottled drinks lined the back wall. The shop clerk – a bored-looking teenager – didn’t even glance up when Callan entered.

  Despite appearances though, Callan could sense the shop wasn’t
empty.

  There. By the fridge. Someone’s there.

  Walking past the shelves of snacks, Callan glanced around the corner – and saw her.

  Brown hair. Short build. Glasses balanced on top of her head.

  The woman had her back to him as she examined the contents of the fridge, but Callan knew instantly who he was looking at.

  It’s her. Ella Woodson. We’ve found her.

  His diprotodon didn’t seem any less certain than he was.

  All right. So now all he had to do was convince her to come with him, for her own protection.

  If she’s scared, best not to startle her, Callan thought as he approached. Just be direct. Introduce yourself, and tell her you’re here to help.

  “Excuse me,” he said, keeping his tone light. “Would you happen to be Ella Woodson?”

  BAM.

  Callan never saw it coming.

  One moment he was just starting to lean over slightly – the next, a two-liter plastic bottle of full cream dairy milk had slammed into the side of his face.

  Callan wasn’t human, but even so, the force of the blow stunned him for a moment. Not to mention that the lid of the bottle popped off as it hit him, sending milk surging through the air, over the packets of snacks, and all down the front of his shirt.

  What the – what the he–

  Callan shook his head, sending droplets of milk spraying across the shop. He raised his hand just in time to deflect the now half-empty bottle of milk as it came flying toward him, and it fell to the linoleum floor, milk blubbing out in a spreading puddle.

  “Stay away from me!”

  The woman sounded terrified, and Callan, wiping the milk from his face, realized it could only be Ella.

  Well, so much for not startling her.

  “I’m warning you, stay back!”

  Callan, still blinking dairy product out of his eyes, raised his hands in a way he hoped showed he was trying to be non-threatening, taking one step forward.

  “Okay! Ella, calm down. Look, I’m staying put. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you –”

  He was cut off as a Violet Crumble hit him right between the eyes, which seemed like a pretty low blow to Callan – using delicious chocolate honeycomb confectionery as a projectile just wasn’t fair. And besides, he still had milk in his eyes.

  “I said stay back!”

  Okay, okay, completely still. Unless I want a tube of Pringles to the groin, I guess.

  Now that he could see a little better through the milky haze, Callan saw that Ella had grabbed the metal tongs from the meat pie warmer and was holding them out in front of her like a pointed dagger.

  Callan had to admit that if he’d been human, he definitely would’ve been intimidated – the ends of those tongs could get really hot.

  Staying utterly still, doing his best to look completely non-threatening, Callan raised his eyes to Ella’s face.

  Whoa.

  Ella had looked quite pretty in her photo – she’d looked lonely, of course, and there’d been a sadness to her eyes that had made Callan want to help her, but he’d also noticed she was pretty cute, with her big brown eyes and faded freckles.

  In person, though, she was an absolute knockout.

  Her dark eyes had a luster that hadn’t come through in the photo, and her brown hair was so dark it was almost black, and it was falling out of its ponytail in a way that framed her heart-shaped face perfectly, as well as giving her a kind of wild look that Callan personally found incredibly hot. Her full, pink lips were parted slightly, and she stared at him defiantly, clearly ready to counter any move he made.

  She was scared, of course. But she was obviously not about to let herself be taken without a fight, even if the weapons she had to fight with mainly consisted of service station snacks.

  She’s spirited, his diprotodon noted appreciatively. A woman who can take care of herself. Beautiful and brave.

  Not the time for this, Callan reminded himself, as he resisted the urge to let his eyes roam further down her body. She’s scared. We’re here to help her, not ogle her.

  “Who the hell are you?” Ella’s voice shook as she asked the question, edging slightly away from him. “How do you know my name?”

  Callan raised his hands slightly higher before answering, hoping she’d see it as a sign that he wasn’t about to try anything. He could hear a slight accent in her voice – American, west coast – that might have been undetectable to anyone without shifter hearing. Or maybe it simply became more pronounced when she was under stress.

  “I –” Callan started to say, but that was as far as he got.

  “What the fuck?!”

  Ella jumped at the sound of the voice behind her, but her eyes left Callan’s face only momentarily.

  Oh, right, the clerk, Callan thought. Callan had forgotten about him. He looked past Ella and at the teenaged store clerk, who was surveying the giant puddle of milk and the chocolate Ella had thrown, an expression of growing horror spreading across his face.

  “What the hell are you guys doing?”

  The poor kid couldn’t have been older than seventeen – and Callan couldn’t blame him for being pretty pissed off about the current situation.

  “Sorry,” Callan called. “Uh – I’ll help you clean up, if you like –”

  He briefly registered the surprise that flickered across Ella’s face, before the clerk cut in again.

  “No way – fuck that! My dad’s gonna kill me if he sees this. I’m calling the cops.”

  Callan shook his head, feeling frustration rising within him. Human cops would only complicate the situation. The poor teenager was already back behind his counter, though, raising his phone to his ear.

  It wasn’t usually his first course of action, but Callan knew he had to do something to both stop the kid from calling the police, and – hopefully – reassure Ella.

  “There’s no need for that,” Callan called to him, still making sure he wasn’t making any move toward Ella. “I’m a cop.”

  “You’re a cop?”

  Ella and the clerk said it together, their tones of voice equally skeptical.

  Callan supposed that was fair, in a way – obviously, he didn’t run around in a uniform, and he’d been on the road for hours. He probably looked like any other not-so-fresh rider stopping for some petrol on his way to God knew where.

  “Yeah,” he said, nodding, and hoping that his sincerity was coming through in his voice. It was tough to remember sometimes that not everyone had an empathetic diprotodon living inside them, and couldn’t automatically tell when someone was lying.

  Not that I’m technically telling the truth, either, Callan thought. He was in law enforcement, but cop was stretching it a bit.

  Ella was staring at him, eyes narrowed. “A cop? Have you guys been looking for me?”

  Callan nodded – it wasn’t untrue. “We’ve been worried about you since you disappeared this morning.”

  “How did you know I left?” Ella demanded. “I didn’t say anything to anyone –”

  “A neighbor called. They were worried about you,” Callan said. Again, it wasn’t untrue. But he didn’t think it would make Ella feel any safer to tell her he knew about her father just at this exact second.

  But we should tell her the truth – the whole truth – as soon as we can.

  Within him, his diprotodon was being weirdly insistent on this point. Something was agitating it – which didn’t happen very often.

  “If you’re a cop, you can call my dad and tell him what happened. You’re gonna pay for the milk, right?” The shop clerk was talking again, reminding Callan he wasn’t the only one with problems on his hands.

  He was, definitely, going to pay for the milk. But right now, he had to get Ella to trust him.

  “I’m only here to help you,” Callan said, looking into her wide brown eyes. “I know what happened to your lab – to your home. I know you’re scared. But please trust me when I say I can protect you, if
that’s what you need.”

  That much, at least, Callan hoped was true. Certainly, the Agency could make sure Ella was safe, if Hargreaves was for some reason coming after her. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  Ella hesitated. She was still holding the tongs high, but they’d been out of the pie warmer for a while now, so at least they’d act less like a branding iron if she hit him with them.

  “Are – are you the one who’s been following me, then?” she asked, her voice uncertain. “I thought I’d lost you, but –”

  Callan frowned. “Following you?”

  Alarm bells started ringing in his head. Technically, he’d been following Ella’s known route, but this was the first time he’d seen either her or her car.

  “Did you see someone following you?” he asked, trying to keep his voice low and calm.

  Ella blinked. “I – there was a car behind me, for ages,” she said. “I turned, it turned. All the way out of Canberra. I thought I’d managed to throw them off when I took a sudden exit off the highway, and they didn’t make the turnoff in time.”

  Well, that definitely wasn’t me, Callan thought.

  “You were right to be cautious,” he said. “And I’m glad you’re safe. But right now, we need to get you back to Canberra –”

  “That’s impossible,” Ella said, shaking her head. “I can’t go back right now. So thanks for your concern, but as you can see, I’m fine.”

  There was a shake in her voice that belied her words.

  “Ella, if someone’s following you, then I can look after you,” Callan said cautiously. “You don’t need to be scared.”

  Something else is going on here. There’s another reason why she doesn’t want to go back.

  The diprotodon could sense it. It wasn’t only fear of a stalker that was making Ella so against the idea of returning to the city.

  “There’s something I have to do,” Ella said. Callan could hear the reluctant tone in her voice – almost as if she wasn’t even sure why she was telling him this. “I can’t just – I mean, all my life, I’ve always –” She cut herself off, biting her lip, before her eyes filled with new resolve. “I’m not going back.”