On the surface, it was a peaceful, happy suburban scene. The air was warm and sultry. The scent of fresh-baked cookies filled the air, and a chorus of grasshoppers creaked in the woods behind their house.
“I’m glad he fired you. Chantelle told me how nasty those girls were to you,” said Chester Zywicki, Chantelle’s father, shaking his head. “I don’t know why you put up with it. The offer to work for me is still there. Any time.”
Taylor couldn’t tell him why she’d stayed with the firm for so long. She and Chantelle had agreed to keep it a secret. Her parents knew nothing about the fact that the product samples Taylor stole were the reason Chantelle’s fatal blood disease was in remission. They thought it had been a miracle, that the doctors had been wrong and Chantelle was cured.
“Eat some more,” Carol added. She shoved a tray of her gooey homemade chocolate chip cookies towards Taylor. “You’re wasting away to skin and bone.”
Taylor grabbed another cookie. “That’s why I love you, Carol,” she said. “Because you’re near-sighted.”
“Oh, pshaw. Men don’t like a skinny girl,” Carol said reprovingly. “They want a little meat on those bones.”
“I’m skinny, Mom,” Chantelle protested around a mouthful of cookie.
“And maybe if you ate some more of what I cook for you, you’d fill out a bit so you could catch a man and give me some grandchildren.”
“I can’t help it if it’s impossible for me to gain weight.” Chantelle took another cookie.
Carol and Taylor exchanged glances.
“We hate her, don’t we?” Taylor said.
“We certainly do.” Carol nodded, giving her daughter a look of mock exasperation.
“Oh, Chantelle, before I forget, do you have that lipstick for me?” Taylor asked.
“Of course. It’s in my room. We’ll be right back, Mom.”
They hurried into the house. Chantelle’s room still had the same four-poster bed she’d had since she was a teenager – with a roll-out bed underneath, where Taylor had spent more time than she had in her own bedroom. First she’d hidden from her father’s drunken rages, then she’d sought refuge from the stream of men her mother had brought home night after night after her father had left.
There was a corkboard on the wall with pictures of the two of them on vacation in Hawaii. A leopard-print lamp that Taylor had bought Chantelle for her twenty-first birthday sat on the nightstand; Chantelle was a nut for leopard print. Memories were everywhere.
Taylor dug in her purse and pulled out the box that contained the precious capsule. She’d taken the job at the marketing company for one reason only – because it was located next to the factory where the Bronson company’s products were packaged and distributed. As a little girl, her father used to take her to the factory, where he’d worked as a janitor before his drinking got bad. That was before the Bronsons had bought it a few years ago – but they hadn’t changed the layout. She knew exactly how to sneak into the room where the most expensive products were kept, and she went there every few months to grab a Platinum pill for Chantelle. Her eyes filled with tears. “This is it,” she said as she handed the box to Chantelle.
“If you cry, I’ll slap you,” Chantelle said. “We both knew this would only last for so long. You bought me more time than I had.” She took a deep breath and looked down at the samples in her hand. “Come on – if you fall apart, I’ll fall apart.”
Taylor took a deep breath. “Okay, I’m fine,” she said.
“I see that look on your face,” Chantelle said. “Whatever it is you’re planning on doing, don’t.”
“Sure.” Taylor avoided her gaze as she said it. There were things she could do. Would do. She could break into the factory and steal a bunch of the product, enough to last Chantelle for months…maybe years. If she got caught, she would just say she was selling it on the black market, so Chantelle wouldn’t be implicated. There was nothing Chantelle could do to stop her.
“You’re lying.” Chantelle’s hands were on her hips as she narrowed her eyes and glared at Taylor.
“Gotta go get some more cookies.” Taylor hurried out of the room.
Chantelle followed her. “I mean it,” she said in a low, urgent voice.
“So do I. Your mother’s cookies are more addictive than crack.” And Taylor was out on the front porch before Chantelle could stop her.
For old times’ sake, Taylor spent the night at Chantelle’s house, sleeping on the pull-out bed. How many more nights like this would they have?
Her heart was heavy in her chest when she headed home the next morning. She parked her car on the curb and headed up the front steps, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on her.
As she passed the thick hedges that hemmed in her lawn, there was a flurry of movement, and Joel stepped in front of her before she had time to react.
When she’d first met Joel, she’d thought he was handsome in a football-jock-past-his-prime way, with a big, square jaw and broad shoulders and just a little bit of a gut starting to lap over his belt. Right now, he didn’t look handsome at all; the dull rage in his eyes made him look downright ugly. And he was blocking Taylor’s escape, standing in the gap between the hedges.
“Where were you last night? You never came home,” he said.
“Staying at a friend’s house, not that it’s any of your business. We are not dating, and I told you to leave me alone.”
He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming with menace. “A guy friend?”
She shook her head in exasperation. “Female. Now leave.”
“You haven’t answered any of my calls,” he said.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Joel, that’s because the last time I saw you, you slammed me against a wall.”
She slid her hand towards her purse for her mace, but he grabbed her arm.
She kept her tone steady. “See, this is the reason I stopped taking your calls. Because you are a physically abusive control freak, and I have no patience for that. Now let go, before I claw your face off.”
“Women like a man who takes charge.” Joel’s eyes gleamed with a crazy light.
“Where did you get that from? Dating Tips for Neanderthals? Right now, you are not taking charge, you’re being creepy and horrifying and you make me sick.” She tried to pull her arm out of his grip, but he would let go.
“You should treat me with a little more respect. I’m your boyfriend.” It was like he wasn’t listening to a word she said. He moved closer to her, and she took a step back.
“Seriously, get your hands off me. I’m going to scream.”
“Nobody’s close enough to hear you.” It was true, unfortunately. “You should move in with me. I’m going to help you pack.” His hands clamped down on her arm, painfully tight, and he dragged her up the steps and through the front door.
He marched her inside, and to her total shock, she saw that her house was completely empty. The furniture was gone. The paintings and decorations on the walls. The floors were so clean that they gleamed.
Oh God. She didn’t have renter’s insurance because she was trying to save money. She’d just lost everything. She was trapped in her house with a crazy ex, and everything she owned was gone. Could the day get any worse?
He glared at her. “What is this? You’ trying to pull a fast one on me? You’ moving somewhere else so I can’t find you? No freakin’ way. You’re moving in with me, damn it!”
“Are you insane? I can’t stand the sight of you!” she snarled, yanking her arm away. He held tight. “I’m going to file a police report and get you arrested. Why the hell do you think I would move in with you?”
He smirked at her. “My dad fired you. You don’t have a job. You can’t pay your rent, so you have to live with me.”
Damn it. Joel worked at the Bronson factory= of course he’d heard about her being fired.
“Where did you put all your stuff?” he yelled, glaring at her. Then he gave her a nasty grin. “Doesn’t matter. I
’ve got plenty of furniture. And if you want any new clothes, I guess you’ll just have to be nice to me. Come along, now.” He started pulling her towards the door.
Okay, this had gone far enough. Time to bust out the moves she’d learned in self-defense class.
She took a step closer to Joel and brought her foot up, then stomped down so hard on his instep that he screamed in pain. She followed that with a knee to the balls, and when he doubled over, she grabbed his arm, bent it back, and marched him out the door. She slammed the door shut, grabbed her phone, and dialed 9-1-1.
“I’m calling the police!” she yelled at Joel, who staggered off her front steps, swearing, and hurried away in a hunched-over position, cupping his crotch.
As she sat there waiting for the police, another man stepped through the gap in the hedges and hurried down the pathway. He was tall, very handsome, and broad-shouldered, and for some reason he reminded her of Cliff. The face didn’t look the same, but he had the same build and moved the same way – with a feral, confident grace.
She pulled the door open.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
The man looked at Taylor, his gaze instantly locking on to her arm, where she was rubbing the bruises that Joel had left.
“I’m Truman. Cliff sent me. Are you okay?”
“I don’t know how to answer that question.” She looked around her empty apartment in despair. “I’m fine. I’m just waiting for the police to get here – I need to report a burglary. A very, very thorough burglary. Dang, they even took the cruddy curtains – my landlord is going to have a hissy. And also my ex-boyfriend’s a crazy stalker.”
“It might be better if you didn’t talk to the police,” Truman said. “We do have a few people on the police department, but you know the rules. It’s better not to attract attention. Talk to Cliff before you do anything like that. Also, Cliff has all your belongings. He had them moved to his house this morning, since you’re going to be living with him.” He glanced at his watch. “You’re supposed to be there at noon. He sent me to pick you up.”
Taylor was so astonished and furious at that, she didn’t even know what to say.
She felt as if she were Alice after falling down the rabbit hole. People were saying and doing things that made no sense. They were speaking English, but what they said was ridiculous.
“I’m waiting for the police,” she said stubbornly. “And no. I’m not going to move in with Cliff.”
“Oookay.” Truman looked at her as if she were the crazy one. “I thought you were supposed to be his… Never mind. You’re going to have to discuss that with Cliff.”
A police car pulled up out front, and Truman glanced at it with annoyance. Taylor had the sudden impression that if the cops hadn’t arrived just then, Truman might not have taken no for an answer. Or was she being paranoid after what had just happened with Joel?
Truman reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of paper.
“This is a map to Cliff’s house. It’s in Hidden Hills. Obviously, don’t share this map with anyone. I wouldn’t normally have to tell one of us that, but you don’t seem to have learned all the rules. We need to talk more about that when you arrive. Just get rid of the police – tell them that you made a mistake– and then come to our property. If your ex is bothering you, it’s Cliff’s responsibility now.”
And with that, he headed out the back door at the same time the police rapped on the front door. As if he didn’t want to be there when they arrived.
Taylor let the officer in and filled out a complaint against Joel. She didn’t mention the burglary; instead she told the officer she was just getting ready to move.
The officer suggested that wherever she moved to, she should get an alarm system and pepper spray.
After he left, she typed a text message to Chantelle with a picture of the map on it. “This is where Cliff’s house is. I have to go talk to him about something. I know that’s vague; I’ll explain later.”
Her finger hovered over the send button, and she wondered again if she was overreacting. Did she really need to tell Chantelle where she was going?
No, something really was off. Something was weird. Cliff was a very public figure, a billionaire, and she didn’t think he was some kind of crazy serial killer, but something was rotten in the state of Denmark. She pressed the send button and headed out.
It was about a three-hour drive to get to Hidden Hills, which was northeast of Bismarck. She had tried to research it online, using her phone, since her laptop was gone along with all her other possessions. There was no listing for it. Maybe it was more of a private estate rather than a town, she thought to herself as she drove.
The tree line got thicker and thicker as she approached, following the directions she’d been given. The forest was so dense she felt as if she were driving through some primeval land that civilization had forgotten.
Finally she came to a pair of massive iron gates, which swung open as her car approached. She could see the red eyes of security cameras winking at her, and she had no doubt that there was plenty of hidden security as well. Now the trees closed over the top of the road, like a canopy. There were thick vines stretching from treetop to treetop, and it was like driving through a green tunnel.
The gates close behind her with a loud clang.
A short while later, the canopy opened up into a small town. There were businesses on either side of the road, and globed street lamps with baskets of fresh flowers hanging from them. There were benches on the sidewalk. There were people strolling down the sidewalks, men and women and children. It all looked normal, but her senses were on high alert.
Suddenly, before she could stop, a little boy shot out from behind a bench and ran in front of her car. To her horror, she felt the thud as her car hit the child.
She slammed on the brakes with a shriek, turned the car off, and hurried out.
Oddly enough, there was no child there. A large wolf club was sprawled on the ground, panting, looking stunned and shaking its head. She didn’t see any blood. She’d been going pretty slowly, maybe fifteen miles an hour, but still…
She looked under the car. The boy was nowhere to be seen. The little boy had vanished, and in his place was a wolf.
Chapter Six
Maybe whatever was making her have dizzy spells was affecting her mind somehow. But she’d worry about that later; she needed to get help for the wolf cub.
She ran inside the nearest building – the Brew-Ha-Ha coffee shop. It had curtains made of burlap and a heavenly smell of ground beans, and most of the booths and round wooden tables were full. She pushed her way past several people in line at the counter.
“Oh my God, I hit a puppy,” she cried out, tears spilling onto her cheeks. “A wolf cub. It’s lying in the road. It’s still breathing; it’s sitting up. Can someone please help?”
A woman who’d been sitting at the table with several children looked around frantically. “Robbie?” she said. She leaped to her feet and yelled, “Watch them!” at the waitress, gesturing to her children. Then she shot out the door.
Was Robbie the wolf cub’s name?
When she got back to her car, she saw that the woman was kneeling next to a little boy in a striped shirt and denim shorts. It was the boy Taylor had thought she’d hit before she stopped and got out of the car. She was sure of it.
Taylor looked closely at him. He was standing up, rubbing his hip and crying. But to her enormous relief, he didn’t seem too badly hurt. The woman was tearfully yelling at him. “You know better than to run into the street!”
Boy. Wolf cub. Boy.
Cliff’s strange amber eyes. The weird things he’d said to her at the office. The weirder things Truman had said when he’d come to her house.
A strange suspicion was starting to buzz in Taylor’s brain. It was so ridiculous that she didn’t even dare let the thought fully form in her head, or give it a name. It would sort of make sense of all the bizarre things that
had happened in the past couple of days, but it was also impossible and crazy.
Because there was no such thing as werewolves.
And she could not possibly have been lured to a small town that looked like Mayberry R.F.D. but was peopled by werewolves.
She waited until everyone moved away from the car, with the woman carrying Robbie in her arms, heading for the sidewalk.
Then she quickly walked towards her car, shoulders stiff with tension.
“Hold on a minute!” a man’s voice yelled. She didn’t look back, and she didn’t answer. Panic choked her.
She could leap into her car and drive off, but how far would she get? She had a feeling that those iron gates wouldn’t open for her.
“Taylor,” a stern voice said behind her.
She froze at the sound of Cliff’s voice and slowly turned around.
Cliff stood there, wearing a light blue polo shirt and jeans. It was a change from the beautifully tailored suits he wore for business, but one thing was the same. Wearing a well-cut Armani and with a silk tie cinched tight at his throat, Cliff still looked powerful. Primal. And nor did his casual clothes do anything to hide his strength and the predatory way he moved. Taylor felt a rush of arousal shooting through her veins. It was like a whole-body blush, leaving her feeling hot and breathless and tingling with awareness.
Truman came trotting up, elbowing his way through the crowd that had gathered, and before Taylor could say a word, he climbed into the driver’s seat of Taylor’s car. Taylor was too stunned to argue.
The little boy wiggled out of his mother’s arms.
“Robbie!” she yelled angrily, but he ignored her and ran over to Cliff. “Uncle Cliff, Uncle Cliff, I got hit by a car and then I turned and it’s not even a full moon. I think I can do it again. Want to see?”
“Don’t,” Cliff said in an urgent voice. He glanced over at Taylor. It was obvious this was something he didn’t want her to see.
But it was too late. The boy closed his eyes, and gray fur rippled over his skin like a carpet. His ears turned pointy and the bones in his face shifted, and he groaned with effort. Then the fur sank back into his skin, his ears rounded and his face smoothed out.
The Billion-were Needs A Mate (The Alpha Billion-weres Book 1) Page 4
