by C. D. Hersh
“Doesn’t sound promising.”
“He wouldn’t make it easy to find him. The Hebrides are one of the most remote areas of Scotland. Remote and sparsely populated.”
“Wouldn’t that make it easier to know your neighbors?”
“Something tells me Eli McCraigen’s neighbors won’t be giving out his address. It wouldn’t be much of a hideout if they did.”
Hugh Jr. started squirming, turning his face away from the spoon his mother shoved toward his mouth.
“Dinner’s over,” Mike said. “Why don’t you let him run around for a bit? I’ll watch him while you eat.”
LJ lowered the baby to the carpet and his chubby legs and hands motored the length of the plane. Mike followed him, keeping him out of trouble.
“How old is he?”
“Nine months. We’d hoped for more time before Falhman found us.”
He heard the hitch in her voice, and he turned away as the tears threatened to start. He looked for a place to hide. People needed space when dealing with pain. Not someone watching their misery. He snatched the baby and strode to the plane’s galley.
He understood her pain too well. The memories of his lost war buddies punched him in the gut. He hadn’t been able to save them. In fact, Hugh had saved him. After all his mess-ups, what made Hugh think he could save his family?
In the face of LJ’s sorrow, and the task Hugh had given him, Mike’s armor slipped, exposing a piece of himself he’d managed to keep hidden. His failure—failures—had ripped him apart. Everyone told him he’d done everything he could, but he’d vowed to never again be the hero. Mercenary—paid to do a job—had become the balm to soothe his losses. Now Hugh had thrust him into the role of savior. A role he’d never been able to fulfill without someone dying. He slammed his palm on the galley counter causing the baby to jump. His lower lip trembled. Mike hustled the tike to his mother.
The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “We’re getting ready to land. Please put on your seatbelts.”
After strapping herself in, LJ hugged Hugh Jr. to her chest. The fear on her face jolted Mike to his core.
“It will be okay,” he promised, as he fastened his seatbelt. But his gut told him otherwise. Shifters were scattered across the globe. He hoped they would beat them to Eli’s place.
A luxury, four-wheel SUV sat next to the turquoise-roofed Benbecula airport, ready and waiting for them. After giving instructions to the pilot, Mike loaded LJ and the baby into the vehicle.
The dawn sun broke through the clouds covering the horizon, casting long shadows on the tarmac, then disappeared into the gray sky. A quick scan of the airport revealed no loiters. He hoped, for the moment, they were safe.
As he brought up the coordinates in his cell phone GPS, the piercing squawk of a bird sounded overhead. Mike glanced out the front windshield. A large, dark bird circled the steel sky overhead, riding the air currents. He examined the tarmac and surrounding area once more.
Empty. Eerily empty.
Reaching between the seats, he dug his revolver from his duffel and shoved it into the waistband of his pants.
LJ’s eyes widened when she saw the gun.
“Just a precaution,” he said. “Everything is going well.” He handed her his cell. “Navigate for me.”
She shifted the baby to her right side and took the phone. “I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all we can do.” He cranked the engine on and headed for the road.
Shortly after they left the airport headed for South Uist, they crossed a causeway lined on both sides with boulders. Back on land, as they drove out of town, the road narrowed into a lane and a half. Passing places appeared periodically on the road’s edge, the bulged-out road barely big enough to hold a vehicle. Houses dotted the landscape, surrounded by fields of low, green grass. Squat, wire fences penned in white sheep, grazing contentedly. Along the edge of the road, bushes leaned into the pavement, the tips of the branches sporting white blossoms.
“It’s beautiful here,” LJ said.
“And remote. The perfect place to hide.”
The road angled toward the sea, headed en route for Loch Baghasdail. In a few more miles, they crossed a second causeway. Just past the end of the causeway, a series of small lakes, the deepest blue Mike had ever seen, dotted the countryside on the right. The road moved inland and the landscaped changed. Fewer houses appeared along the roadside. Bleached, white boulders jutted from the ground like cemetery markers. The flat, slightly curvy road became straight, with low, rolling rises. Gray mountains, their tops ringed in matching gray haze, lay against the horizon on the left.
About a mile past a road sign to Tobha Beag, LJ cried, “Stop! We should have turned back there. We’re past the ninety-degree angle to the GPS marking.”
Mike wheeled around and headed back the road.
“Here,” LJ said, pointing to the right. “Down that dirt trail.”
Mike steered off the road. “Hang on to Junior. It’s going to get bumpy.”
They jounced across the landscape, following the dirt road in the general direction the GPS pointed. Patches of green grass and yellow wildflowers dotted the otherwise brown, rocky ground. The mostly treeless landscape provided Mike a clear view for miles. He checked the rearview mirror. No one followed. Overhead, the cry of seagulls filled the air. He peered out the side window. A single large, dark bird soared among a flock of white seagulls.
He followed the dirt road to the end.
“Where to now?” LJ asked.
“Forward.” Mike pointed at a trail of bent grasses. “Someone has been through here recently. Judging from the lack of habitation, I’d bet this is the way to Eli’s place.”
They followed the faint trail across uninhabited land, until they were within sight of a small hill. Mike headed for it, following the path.
“GPS shows there’s a small lake just ahead,” LJ said.
Mike slowed, searching for the lake edge. The ground started sloping downward.
“The GPS marker is over the hill, right behind the lake,” LJ said.
Mike searched the surrounding area for another trail but found none. “This path is fake. Probably meant to lead the unsuspecting into a watery grave.” He wheeled to the right, away from the water, following the small stream that ran toward the lake. “There’s probably a bridge or land crossing nearby.”
A few hundred feet upstream he found a wooden bridge, with no safety rails, hidden by a small copse of low bushes that scattered onto the ground away from the creek in a natural pattern. Rocky ground led up to the crossing. Perfect for hiding tire tracks.
Those in the know would look for the bushes. Those who didn’t would follow their GPS and the fake trail right into the lake. Genius.
Skirting around the bushes blocking the bridge, he steered over the narrow boards and angled to the left up the rise to the other side.
On the back side of the knoll, at the end of a gravel drive, sat a two-story stone house, much larger than the stone buildings they had passed on the road, and, without a doubt, older than most of them. The whitened outcroppings of several foundations lay a few hundred yards on either side of the house. Beyond the building, he could see a smaller stone structure with garage doors. Past that building sat what looked like a helicopter pad.
“Is that it?” LJ asked.
“Only one way to find out.” He drove the short distance to the house and cut off the engine. LJ handed him his cell phone, and he dropped it in his pocket. “Stay here,” he commanded. “I’ll see what kind of welcome we’re getting.”
Except for a large bird circling overhead, the area appeared deserted. As he exited the car, the bird made one more circle then reversed directions, his wings flapping furiously as he straight-lined toward the direction they’d co
me from.
As Mike neared the house, a redhead opened the door and leveled a weapon at him.
“Yer on private property,” she yelled. “Get off now and I won’t shoot yer sorry hide.”
He held his hands up, palms facing her, and continued to approach. “I’m looking for Eli McCraigen. Hugh Allen sent me.” He motioned to the vehicle. “I’ve got Hugh’s wife and son with me.”
A black-haired woman with a child balanced on her hip came into view. The redhead tried, unsuccessfully, to shove the pair inside.
“LJ?” said the black-haired woman. “Where’s Hugh?”
“Dead,” Mike replied. “Rogue shifters killed him. Or rather he blew himself and them up. Same difference if you ask me.”
The dark-haired woman motioned him forward. “I’m Alexi Temple,” she said. “And you are?”
“Mike Corritore, a friend of Hugh’s.”
“LJ?” Alexi called.
LJ stepped out of the car. Alexi handed the child to the redhead and ran to LJ.
The redhead continued to eye Mike suspiciously.
“You can lower the weapon,” he said. “We’re legit.”
She waved her gun toward the car. “She is, but I’m not sure about ye.”
“I’m going to help LJ with her things. Don’t shoot me in the back. Okay?”
The woman said something in Gaelic Mike thought was an expletive, but she lowered the gun. He got LJ’s bag and his weapon-filled duffel from the car. The redhead didn’t seem friendly, and he wasn’t taking chances.
Inside, under the caring touch of Alexi, LJ had another meltdown. A plump, rosy-cheeked woman came in and hustled the two boys upstairs before LJ’s weeping set Hugh Jr. howling. Mike tried to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. He’d delivered his parcel, but until he knew they were safe, he couldn’t leave.
“You two alone?” he asked the redhead.
She pinned him with a glare sharp enough to chisel stone. “What’s it to ye?”
“I promised to deliver LJ and Hugh Jr. to safety. If you and Alexi are the only ones here, it doesn’t seem safe to me.”
“There’s Donaline.”
“Who?”
“The nanny.”
A nanny made him think they were really safe. “Four women and two children? Where are the men?”
“Out. But they’ll be home soon.” She eyed him, her left hand stroking the guns she’d thrust in the front of her waistband. “Then there’s my babies.”
Her voice, low and threatening, gave him pause. Maybe he’d underestimated her.
“Just the same, I think I’ll wait for Rhys and Eli to return.”
“They won’t be back for a couple of days,” Alexi said as she guided LJ to the table. “But you’re welcome to stay. We have plenty of room.”
The nanny, the redhead had identified as Donaline, came in and set a teakettle on the stove. “The wee laddies are napping. The newest one ’twas sae tired a single verse o’ “Danny Boy” shut his eyes.”
Mike’s gaze cut from one woman to the other. An overweight, aging nanny, a weeping widow, two thirty-something women, and two small children. The only one who seemed capable of taking care of herself was the redhead boring a hole in him with her emerald eyes.
He sighed. “Guess you’ll have a house guest.”
“Ye don’t have to sound so thrilled,” the redhead said.
“Mary Kate,” Alexi reprimanded. “Mr. Corritore, if you have somewhere else you need to be, please don’t feel you need to stay.”
“I did leave a job in Cleveland,” he said. “Another woman in danger.” Another favor for Hugh. A paying job.
“Then by all means, you should go. I’m a former cop. Mary Kate can split a hair on a wart hog with her throwing knife, and Donaline has the strength of a bear. We’ll be fine until Rhys and Eli return. But before you go, please have some tea and tell us in detail what happened.”
He glanced at LJ’s blotchy, red face. She had more information than he did, and he wasn’t about to make her relive Hugh’s death. She needed time and space to heal. “I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I’m more interested in how he found us and who he might be leading here,” Mary Kate said with a scowl.
“Hugh gave me the coordinates for the property. GPS can find most anything if you know where you’re going. The better question might be why Hugh had the coordinates to a shape shifter hideout. And, there wasn’t a single car on the road behind me.” Mike spat out the words defensively. He wanted Mary Kate to trust him. Although he certainly didn’t trust her.
Alexi’s eyebrows winged toward her hairline. “You know who we are?”
“What you are,” Mike said. “At least what Hugh said you are.”
Donaline slapped her hands on her generous hips. “It dinna sound like ye approve.” The words growled from her.
“I prefer my world black and white. Shape shifters aren’t. Besides, they’re responsible for the death of my friend Hugh. Enough said.”
“We’re not like the ones who hurt Hugh,” Alexi said softly. “We’re in a battle with them. Don’t judge what you don’t know, Mr. Corritore.”
Mary Kate shot him another fierce glare. So fierce he had to resist the urge to squirm under her Amazon scowl. She was one tough woman. He admired hard-assed women.
He stood and lifted his duffel onto his shoulder. “Thanks for the hospitality, but I’ve overstayed my welcome.” Nodding to Alexi, he said, “Take good care of her.”
“We will. Thank you for bringing her to us.”
LJ rose and hugged him. “Thanks, Mike. You’ve been a great friend to Hugh and me.” Then she kissed him on the cheek.
Mike made his escape before she went even more mushy on him. He’d delivered her to Eli McCraigen’s without incident. His debt was paid.
Chapter 9
Mike tossed his duffel into the back seat and started the vehicle, his conscience niggling at him. In spite of Alexi’s reassurance the three women could take care of themselves, leaving them seemed wrong. But he had a job to do. One not based on altruistic motives. One which, in the scheme of his world’s curse, was definitely safer.
He rolled down the window and let the sea air blow into the vehicle. A salty, damp smell rose on the breeze, as if rain approached. He’d read rains formed quickly in the Hebrides. On the horizon ahead of him he could see a storm front coming in off the water.
A mile after he entered the main road, he spotted a pack of about ten wolves running in the opposite direction. In the sky, in front of the pack, flew two large birds. Mike did a double-take.
Wolves on the Hebrides islands? The research he did on the way to Scotland didn’t mention wolves as part of the wildlife. He pulled to the side of the road and watched the animals in his mirror. The birds appeared to be leading the pack.
He wheeled around and followed. In the same spot where he’d turned off-road, the birds cawed loudly in the sky and banked to the left. The animals veered and loped across the rocky ground. The wolves were following the birds.
He remembered the eerie mood of the empty airport and the bird he’d seen in the air as they traveled to Eli’s. Damn! They weren’t wolves. They were shape shifters, and they were headed straight for McCraigen’s hideout.
Knots twisted in his gut. Every instinct urged him to follow the pack. But Alexi had assured him the three women could take care of themselves. His brain reminded him of what happened every time he barged into dangerous situations without being fully prepared. People died.
He wasted precious minutes while his logical self argued with his instinctual self.
They die when I help. They may die if I don’t help. Altruism always backfires on me. So call it a job.
His gut won. He floored t
he gas pedal and roared after the shifters. As he neared the lake they had passed earlier, the fog ahead of the front thickened. Mike flipped on the fog lights and slowed, pounding the steering wheel in frustration. Would the shifters’ sight be enhanced? Could they see where they were going? He sure as hell couldn’t. If they plunged into the water they could swim across. The SUV would sink as fast as a boulder. He wouldn’t be much good to the women dead. He slowed to a crawl, searching for the beaten path he’d driven earlier.
As the ground sloped downward, he shoved the vehicle into park and got out, certain he was near the stream that fed the lake. Even at close range, the SUV resembled a misty lump in the fog. He searched the ground for tire tracks, counting his steps to the right and the left of the vehicle to keep from getting disoriented. Twenty steps to the left he found what he hunted. Returning to the vehicle, he cut the wheels to the left and inched over the ground, following the tracks. As he reached the bridge, the fog lifted enough so he could see more than a few inches in front of the hood.
When he reached the crest of the hill gunshots sounded, followed by howling. The pack had reached the house. Mike barreled down the slope and screeched to a stop. He grabbed his ammo bandolier, shotgun, and talwar sword and slipped them over his shoulder. As he reached the front door, he unsheathed his sword.
Chaos reigned inside the house. A giant grizzly bear tossed a wolf across the room with ease. A gray blur bounded toward the bear and Mike followed, slashing the wolf with his razor-sharp sword. The animal fell into two parts. The bear reeled around, paws raised to strike, but stopped when it spotted him.
“Duck, Mike!” screamed a woman’s voice.
