Bad Blood Leopard (Bad Blood Shifters Book 3)

by Anastasia Wilde

  And now he was dead. Across the room, Sloan sat in Lissa’s desk chair, handcuffed to the desk, two SWAT team members covering him with their weapons. His shoulders were bowed, head down, but he looked up when Caitlyn came in.

  The bleak despair in his eyes tore her heart open. Once again, he’d lost someone that mattered to him. Once again, he hadn’t been able to save them.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then closed his eyes. His lips moved, and she saw the words he didn’t speak.

  You shouldn’t have come.

  Of course she came. She loved him. But she said nothing. The more Jared knew she cared about him, the worse for him it would be.

  Jared led her over to the body. The smell of blood was thick in her nostrils, and she almost gagged. “See this man?” Jared said, as if they were looking at a museum exhibit. “He was stabbed in the back, four times. He didn’t even have a chance to defend himself.”

  No. “Sloan didn’t do that,” Caitlyn said.

  Sloan raised his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, like she’d said something he hadn’t expected.

  Jared’s voice was calm and reasonable, as if he were explaining a math problem to a slow child, but she caught a hint of amusement in his eyes.

  “But he was the only other one in here,” he said. “You must know that. You were outside the whole time, watching. Weren’t you?”

  Horror filled Caitlyn. Jared had figured out some way to kill this man and frame Sloan. And at the same time, he’d managed to both lure her back in, and make her the star witness for the prosecution.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said.

  “Oh, yes you do.”

  He turned to the SWAT lieutenant, who’d come in behind him. “Take that piece of garbage to the safe house and lock him down.” He jerked his chin toward Sloan, not even bothering to look at him. “I have a room prepared.” Then he turned to Caitlyn. “This one is coming with me. Secure her in my vehicle.”

  Caitlyn squirmed in his grasp, but it was like trying to escape a metal vise. “You can’t arrest me,” she said. “I haven’t done anything.”

  He looked at her steadily, a small smile touching his lips. “Well, there’s aiding and abetting a fugitive. And accessory to murder.”

  Caitlyn gasped. Sloan’s head came up sharply, and he spoke for the first time. “She had nothing to do with any of this.”

  Jared gave a fractional lift of his chin, and one of the guards slammed Sloan across the face with the butt of his rifle. His head jerked and blood streamed from his nose, but he made no sound.

  Caitlyn’s owl screeched inside her. Jared was going to pay for that if it was the last thing she did.

  “But you’re not under arrest,” Jared continued, as if nothing had happened. “This is for your own safety. We can’t have you running loose in the mental condition you’re in. You might get hurt.”

  And with that ominous statement, he let a SWAT team member escort her out.

  As she reached the door, she looked back at Sloan. He was watching her, but he refused to meet her eyes. Then her escort pushed her out the door, and he was lost to her.

  The danger had finally come to find him. And this time, she hadn’t saved him.

  Chapter 23

  Caitlyn numbly allowed herself to be marched out to Jared’s car. The operative who escorted her had pushed up his visor, but he, too, wouldn’t meet her eyes.

  Because he was ashamed? Or because she was disgraced? Tainted by her association with Sloan; tainted with mental illness?

  She began to realize just how far Jared’s reach extended, and how little credibility she had.

  The man put his hand on her head as she ducked into the car. She knew it was to protect her from hurting herself, but it felt like one more gesture of subjugation. He handcuffed her to an overhead rail, and shut the door in silence.

  Through the tinted windows, she got a vague glimpse of Sloan being taken to one of the dark vans, flanked by four soldiers, guns at the ready. They were rough with him, even though he wasn’t fighting.

  Caitlyn couldn’t even imagine what he must be feeling. She longed with everything she had to run after him, to touch him, however briefly, and let him know he wasn’t alone.

  Her heart was always with him.

  A sob caught in her throat. What if this was it? What if she never saw him again?

  She swallowed back her feelings. No. This couldn’t be it. She wouldn’t let it. Jared could do what he wanted, but she would fight, and she would never give up until she was back with Sloan, or she was dead.

  And if that happened, they’d be together in the spirit world. That’s how it worked with true mates. And he was hers. She knew that now.

  Jared returned to the car and his driver opened the door for him. He slid in next to her, smelling of chilly spring air and ruffled feathers and betrayal. Caitlyn said nothing, just turned her head away from him and looked out the window.

  As the driver got in and started the engine, she saw the SWAT teams dispersing, Sloan’s van pulling away. The teams moved in to process the scene.

  Caitlyn was a prisoner once more, the silence enveloping her as they drove away.

  Sloan sat in a makeshift interrogation room, chained to a metal table. That bastard Donnelly had furnished this place to make it look like this was a sanctioned investigation, but he knew better.

  It was a fucking setup.

  He’d bet money this wasn’t even an on-the-books operations location.

  He’d already been through one round of interrogation, with a hard-faced lieutenant and a couple of minions. Every time he’d given them an answer they didn’t like, one of the minions hit him in the face.

  “Why did you go to the shop tonight?” the interrogator had started.

  Sloan had no reason not to answer that, even though he knew they didn’t really care what he said. “I’d arranged a meeting with an old army buddy.”

  “Why at night, in secret?”

  “Why not?” That earned him his first broken nose.

  “Why did you kill him?”

  “I didn’t.” The minion hit him again, and the skin over his cheekbone split open.

  “You turned off the alarm system. That includes the security cameras.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “So you could kill him.”

  “So we wouldn’t be recorded,” Sloan said. “I’m regretting that decision now, of course, though it seemed like a good idea at the time. If I’d left the cameras on, then we wouldn’t be having this conversation, because you’d know I didn’t kill him.”

  That time it was the other cheek.

  The lieutenant countered, “We had surveillance on the place the entire time. You were the only one who went in or out, from 10 p.m. onwards, except for the victim. He’s dead. You’re not. Can you explain that?”

  “No.”

  They’d kept it up for almost an hour. After a while, Sloan stopped answering. It didn’t matter what he said. Any idiot could see Korchak’s death was part of the setup, poor bastard. Had to be.

  Even if Caitlyn had betrayed him to the spooks tonight—and he knew she hadn’t, no matter what Donnelly wanted him to think—there wouldn’t have been enough time for them to mobilize an operation this size.

  They were ready. They’d used his friend against him, then snuffed out his life like they were squashing a beetle. And they’d set Sloan up to take the fall.

  Now they’d decided to give him some quality alone time—long enough for Sloan to really think about how hungry he was, how thirsty, and how much his fucking face hurt.

  Mostly, though, he thought about Caitlyn. How loyal and brave she was. The way she made him laugh, and the way she could melt his heart with a touch.

  He relived every moment they’d spent together. How soft and sweet she was, with that steely determination underneath.

  Why had she come tonight? He’d tried so damn hard to leave her out of it. She didn’t deserve to
be a part of this. Did she have another vision? He would have smiled if his face was working right. She was always trying to save him.

  Too bad it was a losing battle.

  He heard footsteps, and the door opened. This time it was Jared Fucking Donnelly himself, with the minions.

  He was about to find out what they really wanted.

  Donnelly had them unlock Sloan and move the table away. Wouldn’t want that to get in the way of their torture technique.

  “We’re wasting everyone’s time, here, Devlin,” he said. “Or McCall, or whatever name you’re going by now.”

  Sloan didn’t answer.

  “You don’t have to confess to this brutal murder. All you need to do is tell me one simple piece of information.”

  Sloan waited.

  “Tell me what I need to know, and this little kerfluffle will go away.”

  Sloan growled. Kerfluffle? His friend was dead, and this asshole was calling it a kerfluffle.

  Kill him, his cat said. Rip his face off with our claws.

  Good plan. He was taking that under advisement.

  Donnelly went on in that smooth, smarmy voice of his, as if everything he said was the most reasonable fucking thing on the planet. “Just tell me where the artifact is. Once we recover it, in exchange for your cooperation, we’ll limit the charges to desertion. I’m sure, during your court-martial, you can convince the review panel that your obvious mental defects affected your judgement.”

  Can we kill him now? his cat asked.

  Not yet.

  Donnelly continued, “You’ll also be happy to know that I didn’t allow Caitlyn’s little… escapade… to affect the status of our mating contract. She suffers so from these hallucinations, but don’t worry.” He smiled, but his eyes were icy cold. “When she’s my mate, I’ll make sure she’s not able to run off and put herself in harm’s way.”

  Now we should kill him, Sloan said. His cat snarled.

  Donnelly’s smile grew thin. “Where is the artifact?” he said, his voice soft and deadly.

  “What artifact?”

  The minion hauled off and hit him.

  Donnelly narrowed his eyes. “You know exactly ‘what artifact,’” he hissed. “The artifact Kayisha had in Afghanistan. She gave it to you. What did you did with it? Did you hide it? Sell it? Tell me!”

  Sloan shook his head. He really had no idea what happened to the artifact.

  “Kayisha was dead when I got to her,” he said. “She didn’t give me anything. I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

  Donnelly gazed at him with a mixture of anger and anticipation. “Then let’s see if we can help you remember.”

  Sloan closed his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter 24

  Down the hall, Caitlyn was seated in a cushioned desk chair, with a sandwich and a bottle of water. It would have been almost comfortable, if she hadn’t been under guard and if her right hand wasn’t handcuffed to the tubular steel leg of the heavy work table.

  And if the monitor in front of her wasn’t showing Sloan being beaten to a bloody pulp.

  She’d only taken two bites of her sandwich before they started in on him, and now she was too nauseated to eat.

  Even with his shifter healing, he had to be in so much pain. She could almost feel the blows in her own body.

  But she couldn’t look away. If he had to endure this, so would she. She would go through it with him, and maybe, somehow, he would feel her presence.

  He would know he wasn’t alone.

  So she made herself watch, flinching each time a blow landed. And she thought about ways to kill Jared for doing this to Sloan. One death for each letter of the alphabet—that would be satisfying.

  Talons, she thought now, already getting near the end of her list. Underwater asphyxiation. Vivisection…

  When the questions finally stopped, Sloan was in too much of a daze to realize it. Concussed, he thought vaguely. Hope they didn’t damage me faster than I can heal…

  But it didn’t matter. They would keep at him until he told them what they wanted to know. And since he still had no idea what the fuck they were talking about, they’d keep at him until he was dead.

  Or at least, until he wished he was.

  He wondered what Jared had done with Caitlyn. The thought of that sick fucker keeping her locked up, slowly convincing her she was worthless and crazy, maybe even forcing her to have sex with him… it made him want to kill Donnelly even more than he already did.

  But there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save Charlie or Korchak or Kayisha. He was the one who was worthless.

  They took off his restraints and dragged him down the hall to a room with an iron cot and a bare mattress. It was a prison made for a shifter: thick bars on the windows; concrete reinforced walls; floor and ceiling with embedded gratings for the ventilation system. No escape that way.

  There was nothing else in the room but a camping toilet with a lid. Alexander Fucking Grant’s cells had been palatial compared to this. At least they had bathrooms.

  Although it was nice having a cell to himself, where he could bleed in peace.

  Or, it was until the thunder started.

  Fuck it all to hell.

  Those gratings didn’t just conceal ventilation ducts. They held speakers.

  The thunder rolled through the room, rising to repeated crescendos and then retreating. Now and then a huge unexpected crack-boom shook the walls. Sloan huddled on the bed, knees tucked to his chest and head on his knees, as if there was some way he could shut it out, as if it wasn’t shaking the room, reverberating in his bones.

  He held it together as long as he could, until the lightning started.

  They’d rigged the room so the overhead lights flashed like lightning strikes, full dark split by eye-blinding brightness that left afterimages behind his eyelids.

  He leaped at the fixtures, growling and trying to rake them with his nonexistent claws, but they were behind reinforced plexiglass. He broke two fingers before landing on the floor in a heap.

  He buried his face in his arms, covered his ears, but nothing helped. Nothing would make it stop. He crawled over to a grate on the floor and clawed at it, trying kill the speakers, trying to make his leopard come out and help him. But his cat was cowering in terror, and all he did was tear up his fingernails so more blood ran down his hands.

  The noise wouldn’t stop. They’d never let it stop, the fuckers. They knew everything about him. All his shame, all his darkness.

  Fuck them all.

  Thunder boomed. Lightning flashed. His cat yowled, and ran. Down into the depths of his soul where all his secrets hid.

  And he was back in Afghanistan.

  The sky is clear blue, just one hawk circling. There’s a rumble and a distant ‘boom.’

  Not thunder. Mortar fire.

  They’re attacking the village.

  This can’t be happening. Charlie said the attackers were miles away, coming from the west.

  But they’re attacking now, from the east. Kayisha is in danger.

  He’s running… running… the ground around him is pounded by mortar shells. He digs deep inside, calling to his snow leopard, but his cat is hiding away, terrified by the noise and chaos, by the knowledge that they’ll never get there in time.

  He can’t Change. He’s running slower now, legs burning. Change! Change!

  “This isn’t how it was.”

  The voice was angry, but it was wrong. This is how it always is. He runs and runs, hoping maybe this time he can save her, if only he can be fast enough, strong enough, smart enough.

  But his steps grow ever slower, like he’s running through molasses. He peers through the smoke, and he sees Kayisha standing by a hut made of mud and stone.

  And then she shadow looms up behind her, and he can’t see who’s behind it.

  “No! That’s not the way it was.”

  Sloan was startle
d back to reality. He was in his bare concrete room, thunder booming from the speakers—and Kayisha was standing in front of him.

  She was translucent, wavering. He could see the opposite wall through her body.

  Thunder boomed again, and the lights flashed, temporarily blinding him.

  “Kayisha?”

  “It was supposed to be for you,” she said. “You were the one who was supposed to be there.” Was he hallucinating? He couldn’t ever remember hearing her speak before.

  “You weren’t listening,” she said, as if she could hear his thoughts. “You never listen. You never want to see.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  She reached out to him. “Listen,” she said. “Watch. Remember.”

  She grasped his hand, and he was back in the desert once more, in the heat and noise and terror. Running. Running for the cottage. Praying that he would get there in time. Not because of the mortar fire, he realized. But because they’d been betrayed.

  He could see Kayisha standing by the cottage. And behind her…

  Behind her was a man in army fatigues. He was going to save her. It would be okay. It was someone he trusted. Charlie.

  And then Charlie reached around in front of Kayisha, raised his Ka-Bar and sliced Kayisha’s neck open in one swift movement. Sloan froze. “No!”

  The realization slammed into his gut, as raw and painful as it had been the first time.

  Charlie. The man he’d idolized, the man he’d mourned. How could he have forgotten this?

  Because it hurt so much. Because he didn’t want to believe it.

  He saw Charlie reach into Kayisha’s skirt pocket and come out with a leather bag.

  Don’t be too long, she’d said. I must give you the artifact for safekeeping. You are the only one I can trust with it.

  But he wasn’t there when she needed him. And Charlie had killed her for it.

  With a feral yowl, Sloan leaped at the man who’d betrayed them.

  He hit the wall hard and slid to the floor, landing in a heap. He was back in his room, thunder still pounding in his ears.