The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles)

by C. D. Hersh

  “He’s not very smart,” Falhman said, his voice full of disappointment. He needed intelligent children to carry on his legacy.

  “He’ll learn,” Nanny said. “At nine months they’re just learning things. Show him how it’s done, sir. Help him figure it out.”

  Falhman retrieved the cube. When he had the boy’s attention, he placed the cube in the square hole. It dropped through the board onto the comforter. The child peered into the hole and babbled something unintelligible.

  “He’s looking for it,” Falhman exclaimed, happy the child’s curiosity had been piqued.

  The baby leaned sideways, then toppled to the ground and reached under the board and retrieved the cube. After scrambling awkwardly to his knees, he dropped the cube in the proper hole and repeated the process.

  Falhman beamed. “Smart kid, huh?”

  Falhman’s grandson crawled over to where he sat, grabbed the round ball, and shoved it into the proper hole on the first try. Then he grabbed the polygon ball and pushed it through the correct opening as well.

  Falhman frowned. Was it a fluke?

  “You have very smart boys,” Nanny said. “Both of them.” An awkward pause ensued before Nanny spoke. “Sir, when you brought the boys here you didn’t tell me their names.”

  “I wasn’t certain they would be staying, so I didn’t bother.” He studied the two children. They were close enough in age, and looks, they could be twins. Except for their eye color. One had his silver eyes, the other had eyes the color of Rhys’ eyes.

  Falhman laid his hand on his silver-eyed son, who, by his reckoning, was the younger by a month or two. “Son number one is Drystan. After the Knight of the Round Table. A trickster, shape-shifting master of deception who was able to outwit the legendary King Arthur. As my number two, his actions will bring riot and tumult.” Then he laid his hand on his grandson’s head. “Son number two is Chance.” Because Falhman had no idea what his grandson would be able to do with the blood of all three ancient lines running in his veins. Even at the tender age of nine months, he appeared to be besting his cousin. Falhman’s tutelage would amend that. No offspring of his would be outdone, even by a cousin carrying all three bloodlines.

  Neither tot reacted when he announced their new aliases. “They don’t seem to respond to those names,” Nanny said.

  Falhman scowled at her.

  “But they will, once they get used to hearing them,” she added hastily, fear flaring in her blinking red and green aura.

  He rose, tired of playing with the children and explaining things to the low-life mimic nursemaid. “I’m having guests tonight. Please keep the boys in the nursery and quiet.”

  Nanny gathered the children. “As you wish, sir. I’ll see they have supper in there as well.”

  As he left, Falhman dialed Fiona. Time for another face to face with the woman . . . and to reassure her he’d taken care of all the problems from her engagement party.

  Things were going well. Just a few more carefully orchestrated moves on his part, and he’d have her so knotted with gratefulness he could get her to do anything he asked.

  Fiona’s cell rang as she opened the door to let her brother and his entourage into her home. A blocked call. Probably Falhman. His were the only blocked calls she got on her cell. She let the message go to voicemail. She’d tell him her phone was dead, or it was drying out in a bowl of rice. Anything to avoid facing him today.

  Waving her hand toward the staircase, she said, “Take any room on the second floor you want, except the last one on the right. That’s my room.”

  Eli glanced at the stairs and rubbed his knees. “Have ye anything on the first floor? I’m an auld man and me knees canna make such a long trek.”

  A quick glance between Alexi and Rhys told her Eli’s line was a ruse, but she gave in anyway and pointed him toward the rear of the house. “There’s a maid’s room to the left of the kitchen. It’s not fancy.”

  “I dinna need fancy. Just serviceable.” He headed in the direction she’d indicated. “As soon as yer settled, we’ll have a meeting.” He stopped and peered over his shoulder at Fiona. “You, too. Dinna be slipping oot o’ here, and making me chase ye. I get a bit oot o’ sorts doing that sort o’ thing this early in the mairning.”

  He couldn’t climb stairs but he could chase her? “You’ll have to make it quick. I’m a working girl, you know.” Fiona glanced at her watch. She was already late.

  “Call in sick,” Rhys ordered. “We’ve got things to plan, and you need to be here.” His tone told her he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Her cell rang. She checked the caller ID and punched on the phone.

  “Morning, beautiful,” Kyle said. “Has the family arrived?”

  “Yes,” she said, moving toward the kitchen. “Hang on a minute, please.” She jammed the phone between her shoulder and her ear while she poured a cup of coffee. Then she headed out to the lakeshore where she wouldn’t be heard. After settling herself on the teak bench at the edge of the pier she resumed the conversation. “What did you want?”

  “Remember the congressmen who attended the party last night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Mike asked me about them. I talked to Mother this morning, and she said she didn’t invite them. Apparently, they crashed the party. Not that she cared. What with her obsession with politics.”

  The shifters crashed their engagement party? “If your mother didn’t invite them, then how did they find out about the party?”

  “Maybe the socialite columnist Heda Gurley told them.”

  Which really meant Falhman told them. Why would Falhman want shifter congressmen at her party?

  “Anyway, I thought Mike would be interested, since he asked about them. Are you free this afternoon? Mother wants to meet with us about the caterer and hall.”

  Another call rang. “Hold on a minute.” She checked the number. Blocked number. Again. Must be important if Falhman was redialing this fast. She spiked her fingers through her hair and yanked the strands. Great. Falhman, Rhys, and Mother Morrison all tugging at her. What else could go wrong this morning?

  As if on cue, Mike appeared at her elbow. “Can we talk?” he asked.

  “I have to go,” she told Kyle. “I’ll call you with an answer.” She punched off the cell, jammed it in her pocket, then cradled the coffee mug in her hands. “If it’s something about the meeting can it wait?”

  “No. I wanted to clear the air about what happened with us. Give you my apology. If I’d have known you were involved with Kyle, I would have never—”

  “It’s not your fault, Mike. I’m a grown woman, and I’m responsible for what I do.”

  “I also wanted to let you know I’m not going to say anything to Kyle.”

  So not what she wanted to hear. She gazed at him, trapping his eyes with hers. What she wanted to hear was a jealous confession of love. A rant which would force her to tell him the truth—that the whole thing with Kyle was a sham and she loved him, not Kyle. But Mike didn’t rant. He didn’t confess his feelings, and she had no other option than to hide hers.

  “Thank you,” she finally said, when she’d released him from her gaze.

  “As soon as this thing with the Mafia shooting is settled and we’ve found the children, I’ll be leaving. If you’d prefer, I can recommend another security service.”

  “Do you have to go? I trust you and George.”

  “It’s up to George if he wants to stay. He’s my subcontractor.”

  “Will you ask him for me?”

  “Okay.” He moved to leave, but she stopped him.

  “About the shifter stuff . . . I feel as if it’s my fault.”

  “Hugh would have contacted me even if I hadn’t been working for you.”

  “But without m
y resources you couldn’t have reached Hugh in time to save LJ. Falhman would only have LJ’s son—if he’s the kidnapper.”

  “Trust me, he is.”

  “Rhys’ son would not have been snatched with Hugh Jr.”

  “True. But you’d still be mixed up with shifters, and I wouldn’t have a clue about what was happening.” He stared at her for a long moment. “Were you ever going to tell me what you are? Are you going to tell Kyle? Or are you going to live your life in deceit?”

  He said the words what and deceit with such distaste she knew even if they had remained lovers she couldn’t have revealed her secret. “Some things are better hidden, Mike.”

  The expression on his face said it all. He did not want to be with a shifter. He could not live with someone who was a liar. He would never again be with her.

  The only bright spot in the revelation was he wouldn’t hook up with Mary Kate, either. Fiona took a twisted reassurance in the knowledge.

  A call from the kitchen door ended the conversation, and they headed to the house for the meeting.

  Rhys watched his half-sister as she entered. Smoky gray overlaid her aura with spikes of muddy mustard color flashing like lightning in a storm. She was still hiding something and very agitated. He’d suspected she hadn’t confessed everything last night, but he wanted to give her time to let him in on her own terms. Persuading her seemed wrong, even though Eli insisted he do it. He knew he would have to use persuasion skills in the near future. It didn’t mean he had to cross the line and use them on family.

  Fiona’s cell rang. She checked the number.

  “Do you need to answer?” Rhys asked.

  “No.” She punched the screen and stopped the ringing. Then she shoved the cell into her pocket.

  The smoky yellow in her aura increased. She did need to answer. Who would be calling that would unnerve her? “If it’s Kyle we can wait until you answer.”

  “It’s not Kyle. Can we just get this meeting over? I need to get to work.”

  Rhys lost the color of her emotional aura for a second as she answered a question with a question. The first move in masking one’s aura. Had she done that instinctually, or had someone taught her?

  Determined not to let her get the best of him, Rhys shot another question at her. “Have you heard from Falhman this morning?”

  Dirty yellow flared around her then faded. “Don’t you think I would have told you if I had?”

  Rhys glanced around the circle. Eli, Alexi, and Mary Kate all wore disbelieving expressions. Like him, they had seen Fiona’s lie.

  “Not bad, sis,” Rhys said, “but you’ll have to be quicker to hide a lie from me . . . or Falhman.”

  “I’m not lying,” she protested.

  “Dinna deny, lassie. We can all see it as plain as the nose on yer face.”

  “See what?” Mike asked. He addressed LJ. “Do you see anything?”

  LJ shook her head, frustration creasing her face. “All I see is another family argument beginning when we need to be concentrating on finding the babies.”

  Fiona yanked the phone from her pocket and held it so they could see the last caller’s ID. “Blocked,” she said. “I don’t know who it is.”

  LJ grabbed the phone and powered it off. “Stick to the subject at hand. Finding the boys!” She faced Fiona and stared her down. “If you know where he is, you have to tell us.”

  “I don’t,” Fiona said. Before anyone could argue, she added, “I swear.”

  “That,” Rhys said, “is the truth. But you do know who’s calling from the blocked number.” He took the phone from LJ, turned it back on, and checked for messages. The caller had left one. Rhys punched the voicemail button.

  Falhman’s voice came over the speaker. “Fiona, I’m sending the helicopter for you this afternoon. We need to talk about the shooting. Be at the airport at 4 p.m., and be ready to stay for dinner. We’ve a lot to discuss.”

  “We’ve got him,” LJ exclaimed. “We’ll just follow you right to him, and rescue the boys tonight.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  “You don’t even know if the children are there,” Fiona said. “You can’t go barging in. It will ruin everything. In your search, I mean. If they’re not there, and he knows you’ve found him out, he’ll run.”

  “She’s got a point,” Rhys said, as he continued to eye his sister. A point that somehow benefited her as much as it did them. But why? What was she planning with Falhman that she was trying to hide? He asked Mike, “Can we trace this number?”

  “Try *69,” Mike said.

  Rhys dialed the numbers then hit the speakerphone button. “I’m sorry, but the number you have reached is not in use. Please check the number and dial again,” said a computer-generated voice.

  Mike took the phone and tried several more series of numbers, with no success. “He must have some sort of sophisticated phone firewall. Callback is a dead end.”

  “Then we have to get you on the chopper with Fiona tonight. Alexi and I will follow from the air and survey the lay of the land.” Rhys faced LJ, who was shaking. “We’ll find the boys, but you have to be patient and let us do our job. We don’t want to scare him into running. Okay?”

  LJ swallowed hard and nodded. “It’s hard just waiting and doing nothing.”

  Alexi put her arm around LJ. “I know, but we are equipped to handle this. You have to trust us.”

  “I’m trying, but I miss him. Both of them.” The last word nearly disappeared under a barrage of sobs.

  Alexi eased LJ out of the room. Rhys nodded his approval to her at removing LJ. Handling his sister was enough drama for him. He didn’t need a weeping woman mucking things up.

  As they made the rest of the plans for the evening, Rhys kept a close eye on Fiona. He had to get a good read on her before he taught her the finer points of hiding her emotions from Falhman and skirting around lies. If he couldn’t continue to read her after his lessons, he might be forced to persuade her to get the truth.

  Chapter 35

  Mike and Fiona were waiting when the chopper landed. As they made their way forward, the pilot hopped out, extending his hand to stop their approach.

  “Only you, Miss,” he said, motioning to Fiona. “I don’t have clearance for another passenger.”

  “Then contact your boss,” Mike yelled over the noise of the whirling blades, determined to stand his ground. “Someone has been trying to kill Miss Kayler, and she’s not going anywhere without her bodyguard.”

  “I’ve got my orders,” the pilot said.

  “Which were to bring her to your boss, right?” Mike asked.

  The pilot nodded.

  “Then you’ll have to bring me, because I’ve got mine, and they’re to protect her with my life.”

  They stood in a face-off for several minutes. Mike assessed the man in front of him. He’d planted his boots in a wide, stance. Feet balanced on the toes, ready for action. On his fisted right hand he wore a ring with the Marine emblem on it. Obviously ex-military. Marine was good. If he managed to get in a Semper Fi or an “Oorah” he might be able to connect and extract some valuable information. Once a Marine always a Marine. They had a brotherhood that reached beyond service time. He also noted the pilot had no Turning Stone ring on. Mike wondered if he knew who, or rather, what, he worked for. Maybe he could turn that to his advantage as well.

  “Time’s ticking,” Mike said, “and I’m not budging. Where she goes, I go, or she doesn’t go.”

  The pilot stepped away from the chopper and dialed his cell. A few minutes later, he returned.

  “What’s your name, buddy?”

  “Mike Corritore.”

  The pilot relayed the information. Then he hung up and motioned them toward the helicopter. After they’d belted themselves in, the pilot han
ded Mike two helmets with blacked-out visors. Then he gave a barf bag to Fiona.

  “You need one, buddy?” The pilot’s voice came over the helmet’s communication system.

  “Nah.” Mike slid on his helmet. “Once you’ve been over Iraq in the dark in one of these, a blacked-out visor’s no big deal.” He set Fiona’s helmet on her head and dropped the visor, then flipped his over his face. “Pretty sweet chopper. Must be a dream to fly. Not like those sand-blasted military grasshoppers we had in Iraq.”

  “It’s the difference between drinking vinegar and a hundred-year-old wine,” the pilot said.

  “Where’d you serve?” Mike asked.

  “Iraq and Afghanistan. Two tours.”

  “Me, too. Marines.”

  “Oorah!”

  “Oorah.” Mike held his fist out and the pilot fist-bumped him. Then the chopper lifted off.

  Brotherhood. Mano e Mano. Worked every time.

  Rhys and Alexi lifted off from their perch on top of the airport roof as soon as the chopper left the ground. He let Alexi take the lead so he could keep an eye on her. She thought her wings fully healed, but he wondered if she wasn’t pushing herself too far too fast. She flew straight, wings beating furiously, following the chopper with the precision of an arrow shot from an Olympian’s bow.

  Rhys circled around her, cawing for her to slow down and act more like a bird than a bullet out to hit a mark. They had no need to draft the chopper. As hawks they had 20/2 vision. He could spot a mouse on the ground from a mile away. He would not lose sight of something as big as a helicopter.

  After circling her a couple of times, Alexi got his message and let the air currents lift her, her wings spread wide to catch them. Rhys soared higher, the wind under his wings, thanking whatever shifter divinity who decided the animal egos they got. Had he been a bear, like Eli, or a coyote, like Falhman, tracking the chopper would not have been possible.