by Lauren Esker
Genuinely confused, she stared at him with her sad dark eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about. You're brave. You go and fight bad guys for a living. Me ... I work in an office."
"You also clawed your way back, one fingernail at a time, from the edge of something that almost destroyed you." He touched her cheek gently, swiped away a tear gathering at the edge of her eye. "You crossed an ocean to start a whole new life on a new continent. You have an incredibly stressful job that most people won't do—that most people can't do, so you can help kids like those four back at your sister's place. Kids like I used to be. Nicole, you're the bravest person I ever met."
She sighed and leaned into him. His gentle kiss on her tear-flavored lips turned into another, and when they finally came up for air, she was smiling despite the tears still glimmering at the corners of her eyes.
"I don't think I deserve the praise, Avery."
"Then I'll have to keep saying it 'til you believe me."
Nicole snorted and kissed his nose. "Come on, let's get back to Erin and Tim's and see what kind of a mess the urchins have made of the place."
"Mmmm." He put the car in gear and pulled out, not without a glance around to see if they were being followed. It didn't look like it. "You know, as much as I'd love to rescue your sister and brother-in-law from the chaos we've reduced their lives to, we don't have to go back right away."
Nicole laughed softly. At some point while they were necking, her hand had come to rest on his thigh, and stayed there. "And what are you thinking?"
"Well, for starters, if I'm going to spend another night at your sister's place, which seems like a good idea if the kids are there, I need to swing by my apartment and pick up a few things. A change of clothes, for one. And there's no reason why we have to rush off immediately, if we found a few other things to do around the place."
"Necessary chores?" she asked, squeezing his thigh.
"Absolutely."
Nicole smiled, allowing herself to be drawn into his playful mood. "I think I could be persuaded, with a suitable application of—"
She never had a chance to finish.
A black SUV shot out of an alley across from the EGL business plaza and slammed into the engine block of Avery's car with a terrific crunching of metal.
The small Prius slewed around a full hundred and eight degrees. Nicole screamed and Avery was flung back in his seat by the deploying air bag as he fought to control the car. The tires lurched up onto the sidewalk and they stopped dead as they hit something; he couldn't see what.
Another vehicle skidded around the first one, boxing them in. Still reeling in shock, Avery looked quickly over at Nicole. She appeared to be unharmed, just as stunned as he was.
"Do you have your phone?" he demanded, trying to claw through seat belt and air bag to get to his service weapon.
"It's in my purse in the back," she gasped, and twisted around to reach for it.
A tremendous crack shattered the glass of the window by Avery's head. He got his gun out just as the muzzle of another weapon was thrust through the gap in the window—a tranquilizer gun like the one they'd been using behind the Hodgson place. The first dart went wide as he ducked, skittering off the steering console.
Nicole shrieked as the window on her side shattered as well. Adrenaline and fury broke over Avery like a tidal wave. He'd never dreamed they'd be this bold, not in broad daylight and in public. Never thought he might have put Nicole in this much danger by bringing her here. It was supposed to be casual recon, in a group, with Cho taking on the bulk of the exploration. And now his backup was gone, and it was just him and Nicole, and he'd been stupid, stupid, stupid.
"I'm a federal agent!" he shouted, grasping the muzzle of the dart gun and pushing it aside with his free hand while trying to get his sidearm up under it. "You're under arrest, you fuckers!"
"Avery," Nicole gasped breathlessly. He risked a glance out of the corner of his eye to see her slumping in her seat, a bright-colored dart protruding from her neck.
A sharp pain stung the back of his hand. Shit, shit, shit! Despite years of training not to shoot recklessly, he fired anyway, but missed completely. Already he could feel cold numbness spreading through him, an awful out-of-control sensation.
Phone ... But it was in his hip pocket, trapped between his body and the seat. He tried to fumble for it, with the one hand that wasn't already deadweight.
Gloved hands reached through the shattered window on Nicole's side, unlocking the doors. The phone fell from Avery's numb fingers and skittered somewhere under his feet. He twisted toward Nicole as his body went limp, and fell facedown against her neck.
Trapped in the insensate husk his body had become, he could still feel the patter of her pulse against his cheek. It was the only comfort he had—that, and her smell (mate-smell, his instincts said), now with a bitter taint of the drug that had poisoned her.
"Are they out?" someone asked.
Sounds were fading, too. The answer was an indistinct mumble, somewhere farther away.
The smells were human. Not shifters. Vaguely familiar. At least one of them, he'd smelled before. From the Hodgsons'? He didn't know. He couldn't think.
"I think he's still awake," the nearest voice said. "Shoot him again."
Avery shuddered, and lost his grip on consciousness at last.
Chapter Sixteen
Nicole's head was splitting.
She stirred slowly, rolling over. She was cold, her mouth tasted awful, and every part of her ached. When she turned her head, her neck gave a sharp twinge, the pain racing up and down her spine.
Twisting her head to the side, she saw ... stripes?
She squinted, letting her eyes adjust to the brightness. She was lying half on and half off some kind of pad or futon, her torso sprawling on a cool concrete floor. Otherwise things seemed to be hazy and white, and striped with shadows.
Stripes ...
Bars.
She was in a jail cell.
Panic rushed through her, and she sat up so suddenly that the pain in her head spiked into a sudden, awful migraine spear. When that subsided, leaving only a dull throbbing behind, she blinked away the tears of nausea and agony enough to look around.
It actually wasn't a jail cell, she realized uneasily. It was more of a cage. She had about three square meters of concrete floor space, much of it taken up by a large pad which now made her think of the kind of floor covering a person might put in a dog's boarding kennel. A large steel water dish, bolted to the bars, enhanced that impression. The only other amenity in the cage was a lidless stainless steel toilet, like the kind in a prison cell of the sort she'd initially mistaken this for.
She was also naked. No wonder she was cold.
Her cage was one of several in a row. Only the one nearest to her was occupied. "Avery," she breathed, and crawled to the bars. He was sprawled on a pad like her own, naked and immobile, with his arm twisted under him in a way that looked uncomfortable. She said his name again, and reached through the bars, but couldn't quite touch him. All she could do was watch anxiously until she saw his ribs rise and fall with a shallow breath.
He's alive. Thank God.
She patted herself down. Aside from lingering stiffness in her neck, she seemed to be okay. She didn't think she'd been hurt or ... or bothered while she was sleeping.
Outside the cages, the room was sterile-looking and painted white. A long countertop or workbench ran along the wall facing the cages, with a pair of wide sinks that made her vaguely nervous, because they implied something would be happening in this place that made sinks necessary. Harsh fluorescent lights provided no shade or anywhere to hide. Nicole reasoned that there were probably cameras, and eventually she located one, up in the corner of the ceiling where the light's glare provided camouflage. It was, of course, pointing at the cages.
"Avery," she called softly.
He still slept. For a little while, Nicole sat with her arms around her knees and watched him sleep. The
scars were lividly obvious in the harsh light—the ones around his leg and hip, the much older ones on his back—but she found nothing ugly about them. They were part of him. Survivor's scars. The only ugliness was what he'd had to go through to get them.
Nicole got up and paced the cage. Erin and Tim would miss them. And, if they were being held at the EGL complex, Avery's co-workers knew exactly where they were. All they had to do was hold on for a little while—
The click of the door opening made her jump and spin around.
Two people had come in, a man and a woman. The man was in his twenties, with a neck almost as wide as his head, and had "thug" written all over him, backed up by the odd-looking gun in his hand. The woman was older, probably late forties or early fifties, her graying hair drawn back in a ponytail that seemed somehow too young for her age and severe demeanor. She carried a small plastic case.
"Miss Yates," the woman said. She laid the case down on the countertop and came to stand in front of Nicole's cell. Her arms were crossed, making her look like a disappointed schoolteacher.
Nicole struggled against the urge to cover herself up. Instead she let her arms hang at her sides and tried to appear relaxed. "You know my name," she said. "It seems rude not to tell me yours."
The woman hesitated, then shrugged. "Dr. Janice Evans. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have a few questions for you."
"Questions for me?" Nicole burst out. "Lady, I have not even begun asking questions to you. For starters—" She stabbed a finger at Avery's cage. "Is he all right? I'm awake, but he's not."
"He's fine," Dr. Evans said. "He was awake a bit earlier, got very agitated, and was settled down for his own protection. The first question I need to ask you is an important one. Are you a werewolf?"
"What? No."
Dr. Evans frowned. "Don't lie to me. If you answer truthfully, it will make things go much more smoothly."
"I am telling the truth. I'm not a werewolf."
Nicole peered closely at both Evans, who looked slightly disappointed, and the man with the gun. Her initial impression was confirmed: they were not shifters themselves. But, she thought, they know that we are.
"Well ... that necessitates a change in plans," Dr. Evans said. "Assuming you're telling the truth, of course. Hancock, watch her."
She turned away, took down a large glass beaker from a high shelf, and began filling it at the sink. Over her shoulder, she said, "You are Nicole Yates, aren't you?"
Nicole thought about denying it, but they had her wallet in their possession; she doubted a denial would be believed. "Yes," she said.
"Date of birth?"
"I'm sure you know that already, don't you?" Nicole said. "You have my—Gah!"
Evans had whirled around in a lightning-fast movement and flung the beaker of water over her. It was ice cold. Nicole stood shocked and dripping. Water ran off her hair and dripped into her eyes; it trickled down her fingers and pooled on the floor. Some of it had splashed onto the pad, dampening it.
"Hmm. Maybe you are telling the truth."
Nicole shook water off her hands and, somewhat shakily, pushed her hair back from her face. Being in her line of work, she'd had violence directed at her a few times—threats, shouting, even people spitting at her. It wasn't common, but it happened enough that she felt as if she should be used to it by now. Or, at least, it should have lost some of its sting, the way it made her legs weak and the pit of her stomach plunge. But it never did.
"Lady, you are off your rocker," she said, trying to steady her voice.
"We'll see," Evans said.
She dried her hands on a paper towel and took a syringe from the case. Nicole watched with mounting nervousness as she drew a clear liquid into it from a small vial. "What are you doing?"
"Just making sure Loverboy doesn't sleep through all the festivities," Evans said. She crouched by Avery's cage, staying well out of Nicole's reach, and grasped his leg through the bars. She took up a pinch of skin and injected the syringe's contents.
"You'd better not hurt him," Nicole snapped, leaning through the bars as much as she was capable of. Right now, she'd give anything to have a small, slender shifted form, a fox or falcon or cat. If she were a gecko like Cho, she could whisk right through the bars ...
Avery jerked and gasped. He pushed himself up on his elbows, coughing.
"Welcome back, Mr. Hollen," Evans said. She straightened and took a quick step away from the cage.
Avery rolled over, squinting against the light. Nicole could sympathize, if he felt anything like she had after she woke up. "It's Agent Hollen," he rasped. "Agent Hollen of the SCB."
"We know," Evans said. "What is the SCB, exactly? I've never heard of it, and your website was unenlightening."
"I hope you got a virus," Avery muttered. He made it to his hands and his good knee. "Nicole?"
"Here," she said, crouching by the bars and reaching a hand through. Avery rose to his knees and took her hand, his expression infinitely grateful.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, pulling him closer. He hesitated very briefly, resisting the pressure, and it was only after he'd given in and allowed her to pull him in to press against her through the bars that she realized why: because they were prisoners, and she'd just given their captors a terrible, powerful means to hurt them with.
She wasn't used to thinking like that.
"Now you're definitely a werewolf," Evans said.
Avery looked up, and his expression went consciously blank. "What makes you say that?"
"As if you don't recognize me. I certainly recognize you. Except you were a wolf at the time."
"Nope," Avery said. "I have no idea who you are."
"That's how it's going to be, is it? You don't remember me firing a dart gun at you, don't remember chasing me, don't remember trying to tear my throat out, until Alan saved me?"
A sudden spark of surprise flashed across Avery's purposefully blank expression. "Alan?"
Evans scowled. "Maybe we won't talk about Alan just now. I think we're going to have quite a lot of other things to talk about, and right now I'm going to give you some time to consider those things." She jerked her head at her neckless henchman and turned toward the door.
"Hey!" Nicole shouted after her. "You can't keep us here! We have rights! I'm an Australian citizen, you know! I'm going to call my embassy! You're about to cause a diplomatic incident!"
Neither Evans nor Neckless reacted. The door closed behind them.
Nicole sighed and slumped against the bars. The room wasn't cold, but being damp and naked was enough to raise goosebumps on her skin. "They can't do this, can they?" she asked Avery.
"Well, of course they can't do it legally. Somehow I don't think they're terribly concerned about that." He squeezed her hands through the bars. His fingers were trembling slightly. "How are you?"
"I'm all right. Just a headache, is all. How are you?" He was pale, she noted, and she didn't think the shivering was merely from cold.
"I'll be okay." He glanced at the bars. "I ... don't like being locked up. Do you mind if I sit closer to you? It helps, a little."
"Please," she said. "Please do."
They shuffled around until they were as close as they could get with the cage in the way: pressed against each other, his arm through the bars around her shoulders, her hand twined in his. The steel bars were cold at first, but warmed slowly against her skin.
"Is that the woman who was at the Hodgsons', the one who shot darts at you?"
"Yes," Avery said. "Unfortunately. I am so, so sorry for getting you into this."
"I wish you would stop saying things like that." She pressed her temple against hers. "You didn't get me into anything. Everything I've done, I did of my own free will."
Avery pulled his head back. "You're wet! Are you—they didn't—You said you were all right. They haven't done anything to you, have they?"
"She threw a pitcher of water on me." Nicole wasn't sure why it st
ill bothered her so much. As an attack, it had been a harmless one. But there had just been something so dehumanizing about it. I can do whatever I want to you, no matter how degrading, Evans had implied with that simple act, and there's nothing you can do about it. "I think she was trying to get me to shift."
Avery gave her hand a quick squeeze. "I think it's best to assume we're being recorded. So let's be careful what we say, all right?"
"Yeah, there's a camera up there." Nicole pointed to it. "But they already know, Avery. You heard what she said to you. Even if they're listening, what's the point in pretending?"
"What have you told her so far?" Avery asked. "Did they ask you anything while I was out?"
"She just asked if I was a werewolf. Right before she threw the water on me."
"What'd you tell her?"
"That I wasn't, of course. I didn't go ahead and—"
Avery gave their linked hands a sharp squeeze. It was a subtle movement, but she stopped talking, startled.
"Well, you had to be either werewolf or human," he said. "One or the other. She guessed wrong, that's all."
Nicole started to open her mouth and then stopped as she caught onto what he was trying to tell her. Oh. They don't know about other shifters. They think wolves are the only thing we shift into.
Which meant, in all likelihood, these people had no idea about Cho and Mayhew poking around earlier, or that they might come back.
She grinned at Avery, who offered her a quick smile back.
"If they are listening to us, though, how are we ever going to make escape plans?" she asked softly. "How sensitive could the microphones be? Do you think they can hear this?"
"I think we're going to have to assume anything we say could be overheard." He leaned close to her ear and murmured, so quietly she could barely hear him over the low hum of the lights and the ventilation system, "Even this. Although my guess would be they probably can't. But it's too risky to count on it. You don't happen to know Morse code, sign language, military hand signals, anything like that?"
Nicole shook her head.
