High Moon (A F.R.E.A.K.S. Squad Investigation Book 4)

by Jennifer Harlow

  “Go-Go-Go,” he coughs “to-to hell.”

  I squeeze. “Tell me where she is.”

  Release. “Fuck you.”

  Squeeze. “Where is she?”

  Release. “Bitch.”

  Squeeze. “Tell me where she is!” I shout.

  His bloodshot gray eyes stare at me with ire as he struggles for breath. I release again. I really don’t know how much more he can take. He coughs for ten seconds, and another ten before he catches his rattling breath. “Had enough?” Adrian draws in one big rattling gulp of air, then spits phlegm right onto my cheek. The moment that sticky, viscous fluid hits my flesh, I learn that the phrase “seeing red” is a physical possibility. The world shades fire engine crimson and by the time it clears I realize Adrian’s scratching at his chest, rivets of blood welling up, as I squeeze it. I still don’t stop. “Tell me where she is!” I shriek. “Where is she?”

  “Agent Alexander!”

  I lose my concentration, giving that little shit a reprieve. Chandler strides into the cell, hand on his sidearm as if he were approaching a perp. “Step away from the prisoner.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Now,” Chandler orders voice as hard as titanium.

  When I meet his cold eyes any thoughts of protest run and hide. Adrian continues hacking and crying as I rise and walk out with as much grace and dignity as possible. Chandler slams the freezer door shut, muffling Adrian’s gasps and coughs. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What no one else has bothered to. Getting him to talk,” I say.

  “You were using your gift to harm an innocent. We have arrested people for a lot less than what you just did.”

  “I don’t care! His mother has my fiancée. Your best friend. Right now. Right as we stand here arguing. And God knows what she’s doing to him. There isn’t time for pussyfooting around, Paul. There isn’t time for you to apparently grow a pair and do what needs to be done. He knows how to find her, and if I have to drag him to the precipice of death, if I have to flay him alive, I will do it. Nothing else matters but finding Will. Nothing. So either help me or get the hell out of my w—!”

  The opening door draws both our attentions diverting that way. “What in the hell is happening here?” Oliver asks as he steps in, zeroing in on me. “And why the hell are you not in hospital?”

  “Agent Montrose,” Chandler says, hand moving to his gun again, “Agent Alexander was assaulting our prisoner. I am relieving her of duty for the foreseeable future, and I require you to escort her back to the hotel. If she resists in any way, you are authorized to use force to restrain her.”

  “Are you kidding me with this?” I shout.

  “Adam Blue is there now and can watch her until I can arrange to have her flown home. You are to return here post haste to glamour the prisoner for his interrogation.”

  “Is all of this really necessary?” Oliver asks as he steps to my side.

  “She is not in any state physically or mentally to help us with this case. She almost killed Adrian Winsted. She’s damn lucky I’m not sending her to the Facility.” Chandler stares at me. “But I will. Make no mistake about that, I will. Go back to the hotel and get some rest before your flight. That is an order, Agent Alexander. Montrose?” Chandler nods toward the door.

  “This is—”

  “Beatrice,” Oliver cuts in, “come.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Now.”

  “Oh, for…” Pick your battles, Bea. And this isn’t one of them. I turn on my own heel and walk out before either can manhandle me. Oliver is by my side almost immediately as I tromp outside without a glance his way. He’ll only tolerate being ignored for a moment.

  I blink, and he’s standing right in front of me. “What the bloody hell are you thinking? Why are you even out of the hospital? You can barely stand.”

  “I’m fine,” I hiss back, “but I’d be better with a solid lead on Will, which wasn’t happening.”

  “So you decided to risk your health, not to mention your freedom, by torturing a sick man?”

  “If it got the job done, if it got my fiancée back, then hell yes.”

  Oliver stares into my eyes, his mouth set as straight as a razor since I uttered the word fiancée. “Well, all it got you was suspended. And Chandler was correct in that action. I know you feel guilty. I know you are frightened and angry and in pain every way possible, but it is clouding your judgment. You are no good to a soul, let alone William, in your current state. Last night you asked me to do what you could not. You asked me to help you. This is me helping you, Trixie. Get in the car or I shall force you. This is what needs to be done. Please trust me on this. Please.”

  “I would trust you, but the problem is I’m not sure which Oliver I’m looking at right now. The man who sat through my godson’s Christmas pageant, who I’ve spent hours laughing with. Who held me when I cried. One of my best damn friends. Or the man who almost fed me to a werewolf. Who beat my fiancée to a bloody pulp. The one I’ve heard a dozen nightmare inducing stories about. You know, I hadn’t met him until recently. Didn’t think he still existed. But he does. And he won’t lift a finger to find Will. He would just stand in the corner watching with glee as the man I loved came home in a coffin, and the best way to make sure that happens is to take me out of the equation. Send me back to Kansas with platitudes and promises of aid. And I think that’s the Oliver before me right now.”

  He stares at me, shocked and pained into silence for several seconds. “After all we have been through,” he all but whispers, “all that I believed we meant to one another, the fact those words just left your mouth, proves my assessment correct. My Beatrice would never wound me so. She would never think that let alone say it to my face.” The vampire lowers his nose to mine, staring straight into my eyes. If I weren’t already chilled by the night, those eyes would do the job. “You can curse me. You can hate me until the sun burns out, but I will not let you continue on like this. I will not let you ruin my Beatrice’s life. I will not. So you get in that bloody car or I shall drain you and deposit your body to the hospital where you shall remain for a week.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” I snarl.

  “If it saves your life, your soul, then there is nothing I would not do, Beatrice. Nothing,” he snarls back, exposing his fangs. “So get in the bloody car before you force me to prove myself.”

  I believe him. Worse, there’s nothing I could do to stop him. I could give him an aneurysm, slow him down, but then the others would come after me. I need to stay here, nearby, if I can be any help to Will. So I stare down, hang my head in defeat before getting into the car without another word. I’ve failed him. Again. Another sin to add to my record.

  “You are doing the right thing, Trixie,” Oliver says, starting the car.

  “Who for?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Going Rogue

  I don’t utter a single word the five minutes it takes to arrive at the Holiday Inn Express. I refuse to even look at Benedict Arnold as he escorts me to my room and deposits me with Nancy after strict instructions not to allow me to leave. As if a ninety pound seventeen-year-old was a match for me, even without my curse. But be it the pills that only take the edge off, the pain still left at a seven, or just general depression and hopelessness, I don’t have the energy to even try to escape. Yet. I crawl into bed without even pulling up the covers and shut my heavy eyes.

  When I open them again Nancy’s gone, the door to the adjoining room is open with the television on in the other room, and an hour and a half was stolen from me. I’m still so groggy when I even attempt to lift my head, it swims. Jesus. The second attempt isn’t better, but I power through it, using my not good but less mangled arm to force me into the sitting position.

  “Agent Alexander?” Adam asks from the other room. He walks through the door just as I swing my feet to the floor. “You need help?”

  “I need to use the ba
throom. You gonna offer to wipe my ass too?”

  “Not really my kink, but…” he says with a smile.

  Jesus, he smiles so damn much. Right now I want to smack it off his face. Not his fault though. Most prisoners feel the same way about their jailers. “Think I can manage.”

  I hobble to the bathroom and accomplish the task with minimal problems besides the horrific pain in my side when I bend for toilet paper. I muffle my scream by biting into my finger. Maybe Oliver’s right. If I literally can’t wipe my own butt, what good am I to anyone? At least I accomplish that one task. Adam’s waiting at my desk when I return. “Here’s, uh, your bag from the hospital. Your pills, necklace, cell, they’re all in there. Want me to—”

  “I can do it. Thank you. And you don’t need to wait in here. I can’t exactly make a run for it.”

  “Just thought you might like to know we got a lead on your boyfriend,” Adam says. “The vampire got Winsted to talk. Glamoured him. There was a rendezvous point. A Starbucks in Boone. The mother had a safety deposit box in town under an alias with cash and fake IDs inside. He doesn’t know the fake names though. Last I heard they were waking up the bank manager to get the surveillance and warrant for the box.”

  “That’s it? That’s all he knows?”

  “Well, he’s making a list of all the victims and marking where he buried them. Thirty plus here and about eighty overall. She is a sick bitch.”

  “But that’s all? All he could give about finding his mother? A place she’s come and gone from already?”

  “It’s something. This is good news.”

  It’s not much. Hell, it’s barely anything. A bread crumb that’s probably been eaten by a bird already. And I almost killed that man for next to nothing. Christ, as if I couldn’t feel any worse.

  “You should also know I’m supposed to drive you to the airport in about an hour. You’re flying commercial, but Dr. Black will pick you up in Wichita.”

  “Anymore bad news? Did Brad Pitt’s face melt off while I was sleeping?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then I’m going to rest until it’s time for prison transport. If I need anything, I’ll scream.”

  Shaking his head, Adam rises with my hospital bag and steps toward me. “Really. If you need anything…” He sets the bag on my bed. “And we will find him. He helped us out when we needed it. We’re not leaving until he’s safe and sound.”

  “Then that makes one of us, I guess,” I say, I wish with a cruel smile but it’d hurt too much. As does walking to my bed. “Wake me when it’s time for my exile.”

  I lower myself on the bed beside the bag. In case he’s needed Adam, gentleman that he is, waits until I’m lying down before returning to his television, no doubt grateful to be away from the rude Gorgon. Nana would tan my hide for being so rude to someone trying to help me. Another karmic point lost. I’ll care tomorrow.

  Inside my plastic bag I find what’s left of my bloody suit after it was cut off me in the ER, the borrowed flip-flops, my pills, my gun, my compass necklace, my purse, car keys for a car probably still parked at the college, my badge, and cell phone. I dry swallow the pills before putting on my necklace. I feel naked without it on. Cell phone next. The first voice mail is from Nana just calling to check in. Yeah, I’m not even close to emotionally ready to speak to her. Delete. I also delete the fateful voice message about Adrian Winsted. Goddamn it, if I hadn’t been gabbing with April. If I’d just picked up. If, if, if, if, if. The third message is just silence for several seconds. Delete. Texts next. Text from April: “Still mad?” I’ll call her later too. The next text is from an unknown caller. “555-7787. U alone. No tricks or he dies.”

  I almost drop the phone.

  Crap. Oh crap. It was sent at noon. Crap. I punch in the number and climb off the bed. I don’t want Adam to hear this. Four rings. Five. Oh, come on, you bitch. Answer.

  “Hello, Agent Alexander,” Patsy says on the other end. “I was beginning to worry you’d never call. Are we alone?”

  I shut the bathroom door and turn on the faucet. “Yes.”

  “I’ll keep this short regardless. Not that you can trace this call. This is a pre-paid cell which I will destroy when we’re done here. He’s alive, by the way. Very much so.”

  Thank God. Thank you, God. “I want to talk to him.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps he doesn’t want to talk to you. He’s actually asleep right now. Poor thing, I wore him out.”

  I am going to kill this bitch, I swear to God. She is fucking dead. “I want to talk to him,” I say again with a hard edge.

  “First things first,” Patsy says. “Your people have my son?”

  “We do.”

  “Then your lover for my son. Simple and elegant, no?”

  “I want to talk to Will,” I insist again.

  “A few conditions, though,” Patsy continues, ignoring my request. “This is between us ladies. I deal with you and you alone. If I see or even suspect your little boy band is around or tracking us, I will kill him. You attempt any of your mind tricks or harm me and mine in any way, I kill him. Do you believe me, Agent Alexander?”

  “I do,” I say without hesitation. “But I need proof of life. I want to talk to my fiancée. Now.”

  “Fair enough. William! Come here, darling! Someone wishes to speak with you!” Patsy calls as if he were a dog. I’m surprised she doesn’t whistle too.

  There’s thudding and mumbling in the background. “What?” Will asks in the distance.

  It’s damn good I’m sitting because my knees would surely have given out in relief at the sound of his voice. He’s alive. Really alive. Thank you. Thank you, God.

  “Say hello to your fiancée, darling,” Patsy orders.

  “What? Who?” he asks groggily into the phone.

  “Will?” I moan.

  “There’s your proof of life,” Patsy says. “I’ll contact you again in half an hour with the location of the exchange. One police car, one whiff of the fuzz, I cut off his head and mail it back to you. Do you believe me, girlie girl?”

  “I do.”

  “Smart cookie. Then my son, half an hour. Ta ta.”

  She hangs up.

  Oh crap. Oh crap. What am I going to do? What can I do but what she asks? Because without a doubt that woman will murder Will without a second thought. And the last time we tried an exchange like this was on my first case, and we all almost died. Maybe if I’d been alone that night, just given Walter Wayland his zombie daughter, I wouldn’t have been attacked by ghouls, and I wouldn’t be missing a chunk of my neck. I can’t risk anything going wrong like last time. She gets her son, I get my fiancée, we catch them tomorrow. Of course no one else will agree with my assessment. They’ll want to do exactly what we did in Colorado. And what do they say about insanity? If I just do what she says, and let them go on their way, we’ll live to fight another day. Of course she could just shoot or hex me on sight, not to mention the problem of getting Adrian out of custody. I don’t know what to do. I enlist the others help, Will’s life remains in jeopardy. I go alone, mine is. Gut. Go with my gut. And my gut says…crap.

  I vomit up the pills with little effort, I need every last one of my wits about me, before stepping out of the bathroom. Preparation first. Gun with silver bullets, silver Mace, my badge, cuffs, cell all present and accounted for. I slip on my flats, turn on the television and increase the volume, hide my purse in the bathroom, take a deep breath, and begin the great escape.

  Adam’s lying on his bed watching TV when I shuffle into his room. Where are they? I scan the room. Please don’t be on him. Where…gotcha. Top of the dresser by his wallet.

  “You…okay?” Adam asks, eyebrow raised.

  “What? Oh, uh, fine,” I say, moving to the dresser. I put my back to it and casually reach behind. “I just, um, wanted to apologize for earlier. I’ve been acting like a Grade-A b-word when you’ve been nothing but nice. So I’m sorry.
Really.”

  “It’s okay. I don’t take it personally. You’ve been through a lot. You’re worried about the man you love…I get it.”

  Got them! Car keys. Check. “Still. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” he says with a smile.

  “Anyway, um, I’m gonna take a shower before we leave. Wash the hospital off.”

  “Okay. If you need help…I promise not to look.”

  “I got it. Really. But thanks.”

  With my fingers tightly curled around his car keys, I pad out of the room. Step Two. As if everything were hunky dory, I walk into the bathroom and turn on the shower before shutting the door. I just shut it from the outside. Adam can’t see the bathroom from his bed and hopefully with the TV on his werewolf hearing won’t pick up there’s actually no one in the shower. Step Three. As quietly as I can, I make my way to the door. Turning the handle a fraction of an inch a second, I finally get it open. With the same care, I step into the hall and close it again. Ten minutes. I just need ten minutes before he raises the alarm. I don’t waste a second of it. I hustle down the hall to the elevator then to his SUV. Just give me ten minutes.

  Hurdle Two presents itself five minutes later at the National Guard gate. I pull up, my stomach churning with nerves, but the teenage guard takes one look at my badge and waves me through. This is proving easier than I thought. Of course Hurdle Three is the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro. There are only two cars in front of mobile command, but that just means anywhere from one to five people with guns inside. If there is a God, there’s only one. A forgiving one.

  The doors to the three rooms are closed, but I hear voices in the conference room. As quickly and quietly as in the hotel, I creep toward medical. My hand trembles so badly I punch in the wrong code. Twice. I have to take a deep, deep breath before number three. Am I really going through with this? Maybe it’s just the head wound taking the wheel here. When the door finally slides open, I’m close to vomiting again. I still step in.

  At first glance, it’s empty. No Dr. Neill, no Carl, no…I thought too soon.