Hunted (Riley Cray)

by A. J. Colby

  Propping open the door to the carrier, I welcomed him into my lap and struggled to staunch the tears that rose in my eyes. It would’ve been all too easy to break down into a sobbing mess and change my mind about going, and as I trailed my fingers over his silken fur, I was tempted to do just that. I knew without a doubt that I had to leave, but the rational voice sounded so small in the sea of emotions clamoring for attention. The fact that Loki looked at me with an accusatory expression, as if he knew I was leaving, didn’t make my decision any easier.

  “I love you so much, buddy,” I whispered, bowing my head to rest my forehead against his. “I’m so glad came into my life, and so grateful that you chose me to be your guardian.”

  Try as I might, there was no way I could stop the tears from slipping over my cheeks when he placed his paws on my shoulders, giving me a kitty hug.

  “Take care of the cowboy for me, okay? He’s going to need a friend when this is over,” I said, no longer resentful of their bromance. Knowing that they’d have each other after I was gone helped to ease some of the heaviness in my heart.

  As much as the restless energy thrumming in my veins made me want to leap up and get the hell out of there, I selfishly allowed myself to remain on the floor snuggling with Loki for several minutes. I wished that I could have shared a similar farewell with Holbrook, but I knew that he’d lock me away at the first mention of facing Samson alone. While the white knight act was romantic, it was likely to get him killed.

  For once, the fates appeared to be on my side, granting me a few extra minutes with them both. Content that I’d said my goodbyes to Loki, I started to get up from the floor when a puffy-eyed agent brought in a couple sandwiches and cups of tepid coffee, breaking through Holbrook’s concentration. Relief and irritation warred for dominance while I rose to my feet, relief winning out as I accepted the plastic encased sandwich and returned to my chair.

  I hadn’t realized how long it had been since I ate until I tore open the carton and my stomach clenched in hunger. Drawn by the prospect of food, Loki jumped up into my lap, looking at my sandwich with the intensity of a teenage boy glimpsing tits for the first time. When my stomach gave another hungry spasm, I figured he had to be ready to eat his own tail. Flinging the wilted piece of lettuce into the trashcan by the door, I tore off a chunk of soggy bread and mystery meat for Loki and then took a large bite. Vending machine food had never tasted so good.

  Together, we made short work of the first half of the sandwich, and were making a considerable dent in the second when Holbrook broke the silence. “You’d better slow down or you’re going to choke.”

  Looking up I was surprised to see him watching me over the rim of his cup, his eyes tired and bloodshot but filled with affection. Washing down my last bite with a gulp of lukewarm coffee, I paused to pick an errant piece of tomato off my shirt to hide the guilt that was surely plain on my face.

  “Anything new?” I asked, gesturing to the open file in front of him with a tilt of my chin, hoping to distract him from the remorse burning a hole in the middle of my chest.

  Running his hand across his face, he sighed and set his cup aside. “Nothing of use. There have been plenty of reported sightings of Samson, but nothing concrete. He’s moving erratically, so we can’t track him or predict where he’s going to show up next.”

  “What about Johnson?”

  “We’re looking for him, but so far we’ve come up with nothing. CSU is still processing the house, so who knows, we may get lucky,” he said, forcing a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

  The talk of my two would-be assassins stole away my appetite, and where I had all but inhaled the first half of my sandwich, I could do little more than absently pick at the crust of the second before eventually tossing the rest of it onto the floor for Loki. As soon as he jumped down to demolish what was left, I went about brushing the crumbs and cat hair off my lap. It was a futile effort, in regards to the cat hair at least, but I needed something to keep my hands busy while my mind twisted itself into knots of logic. I knew one way to figure out where Samson was going to be, and that only I could lure him out.

  It was time to quit stalling.

  I wasn’t ready to go, but I knew that if I waited until I felt ready I’d be waiting until the end of time, and Samson would track me down and finish me off long before then. Rising from my chair, I brushed imaginary crumbs from my shirt, stealing just a few more precious moments to watch them.

  “I’m...ah...gonna visit the ladies room,” I said, hoping Holbrook wouldn’t notice the guilty quaver in my voice.

  “Okay. Out past the elevators to the left,” he replied without looking up, once again engrossed in the report on his desk. He looked so much like a lost little boy with his hair sticking up in a dozen different directions and a half eaten sandwich beside his elbow.

  Lingering in the doorway I watched him, wondering if I’d ever see him again. We’d barely known each other for a week, but as sappy as it sounds, it felt like so much longer. I’d been drawn towards him from the first innocent brush of his fingers, and the events of the past few days had only worked to deepen our connection.

  “Bye, Darius,” I whispered, and turned to walk away.

  I got a few inquisitive looks as I strode down the hallway but no one stopped me until I had passed the elevators and was angling towards the stairs.

  “Hey, Riley. You lost?” Tillman asked in a voice full of friendliness and innocence.

  Shit.

  Plastering a smile on my face that felt more like a grimace, I turned to face the exuberant young agent.

  “Oh, hey Tillman. I was looking for the ladies room.”

  “You’re almost there. They’re just down the hall.”

  “Would you mind showing me?” I asked, turning up the charm, and throwing in a coy tilt of my head for good measure.

  For a moment he didn’t look like he’d cooperate, confusion creasing his brow, but then a wide smile split his face as his cheeks colored.

  “Sure thing.”

  Damn, I guess Holbrook was right – the kid is sweet on me.

  Gesturing for him to go ahead of me, I glanced around quickly to make sure that no one could see us, and delivered a knockout punch to the back of his head. He stumbled forward a couple of steps, but didn’t go down.

  Aw, come on! It always looks so easy in the movies.

  “What the hell?” he asked, rubbing the back of his head as he turned around to face me.

  Grinning sheepishly I shrugged and said, “Sorry.”

  “What was that for?” he demanded, shock giving way to irritation and suspicion. While one hand remained on the goose egg blooming on the back of his skull the other moved towards the gun at his hip.

  Well, that took care of his crush at least.

  “Sorry, Tillman. I’ve got to get out of here, and right now you’re the only thing standing in my way.”

  “You know I can’t let you leave.”

  “I do. That’s why I have to do this.”

  “Do what?” he asked even as I was already winding up to sock him in the face. His eyes grew comically wide as my fist swung at him, too fast for him to dodge, and connected with his nose with an audible crunch.

  The impact echoed up my arm, zinging the nerves in my elbow, but infuriatingly he looked like he’d stay on his feet. I watched, at the end of my patience, as his eyes filled with tears and blood gushed out of his nose.

  “What the fuck, Riley?” he hollered through the hands cupped over his face, sounding as if his nose had been stuffed full of cotton.

  “Oh, for fucks sake!” I said, throwing my hands up in irritation.

  Before he had a chance to react I grabbed him by the lapels of his suit jacket and forced him backwards into the ladies restroom, kicking the door shut behind me.

  “I think you broke my nose!” he said, his voice full of disbelief. Whether it was because a girl had hit him or that I’d been the one to do it, I didn’t know, and di
dn’t really care.

  “Oh, you’ll be fine. Don’t be such a big baby,” I said, grabbing a handful of paper towels out of the dispenser on the wall and pushing them into his hands. All the while I was trying to school my features into an expression of emotionless detachment, not wanting to let him see my guilt, or my worry at the fount of blood that was his nose.

  That doesn’t look good.

  Glaring at me around the mass of crumpled, bloody paper towels with angry eyes, he looked like a petulant child, and try as I might my brow creased into a guilty frown.

  “I really am sorry,” I said.

  He didn’t say anything in response, opting instead to continue to glare daggers at me.

  “You know I’m still going to leave, right?” I asked, hoping he’d just nod and let me go.

  “I can’t let you do that,” he replied, reaching towards his gun with one bloody hand.

  “You’d really shoot me, Tillman? Rather than letting me leave, you’d put a bullet in me?”

  I saw the doubt the instant it began to bloom on his face and was certain he’d never pull his weapon on me unless I was a real threat. I rushed him before he changed his mind and did something we’d both regret, aiming my shoulder into his stomach as I drove him back into the handicapped stall. He went down in a tangle of long, flailing limbs, landing on the toilet, narrowly missing falling into the water. While he fought to keep his ass out of the water I rifled through his pockets until I found his handcuffs.

  The traces of silver in the metal made my fingers itch, but I ignored it as I snapped one end closed over his wrist. Turning shocked eyes on me, he paused in his awkward flailing and turned his attention to trying to wrest the cuffs out of my grip. Despite my clumsy attempts at trying to knock him out like a movie Kung-Fu Master, I was still considerably stronger than him. Or at least, I would have been if I hadn’t been weak from my injuries. As it was, we were fairly evenly matched, and it was only his prone position that gave me enough of an upper hand to loop the cuff over the handicap rail and snap it shut on his other wrist. Before he had a chance to cuss me out, or worse yet, call for help, I grabbed his tie and shoved it in his mouth.

  Stepping back I ran shaking hands over the front of my shirt, smearing a few stray drops of blood in the process. Wiping his blood off my fingers I surveyed my handiwork, doing my best to ignore his furious stare or how pathetic he looked with his striped tie hanging out of his mouth and what looked like a gallon of blood smeared over the lower half of his face.

  Spotting the gun still in its holster on his hip I leaned forward and gingerly removed it, hoping that the safety was on and I wouldn’t accidently shoot either one of us in the foot. Crossing the room to the trash can set into the wall, I pushed aside several paper towels and offered him an apologetic shrug of my shoulders before dropping his gun inside.

  “Aw, man!” he mumbled around the gag.

  “Just making sure you don’t try to do anything stupid,” I explained, covering the gun with more paper towels.

  He growled something at me that I couldn’t quite make out. Judging by the bitter anger in his eyes, that was probably for the best.

  “Well, I don’t think you’re likely to bleed to death, and I’m sure it won’t be long before someone comes along and finds you. I hope someday you’ll be able to forgive me, but I understand if you don’t.” Pausing, I reached out to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead and added, “I’m sorry Tillman. You’re a good guy, too good for the likes of me.” Pulling back from my touch he turned his face away, refusing to look at me.

  Leaving him in the bathroom shouting muffled obscenities at my back, I glanced both ways down the hallway to make sure I was alone and then ducked into the stairwell. Taking the steps two at a time I propelled myself down the stairs as fast as my battered body would allow. It wouldn’t take Holbrook long to figure out that I was gone or for someone to find Tillman.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  I BURST OUT of the stairwell into the lobby and slowed to a leisurely walk, smoothing my hair and wiping the sheen of sweat from my brow. I did everything I could to project the appearance of casual innocence short of whistling a jaunty tune as I scoped out the lobby.

  I’d only ever been ushered in through the rear entrance of the building the couple times that I’d been there, bypassing many of the security protocols they had in place for visitors. Milling around in a corner of the lobby, trying to look the part of the casual observer, I was faced with the challenge of exiting the building under the watchful eye of two uniformed security guards.

  Looking out the glass doors to the sky beyond, I saw the sun gilding the edges of the dark clouds gathering over the mountains and figured another storm was preparing to bombard the city. By the looks of the inky clouds, it was going to be a nasty one. If I didn’t find a way out fast they were going to find Tillman and I was going to wind up locked in a broom closet somewhere, and I couldn’t stomach the thought of Samson running lose for another day. I felt his hunger and violence as if his thoughts were overlaid with mine. He was as eager for this to be over as I was, but that wouldn’t stop him from taking out anyone who got in the way.

  The minutes ticked by without end, each one like grains of sand slipping through my fingers as I racked my brain to figure out how I was going to get out of there.

  Oh, for the love of Christ. Can’t I catch a break?

  A moment later, in what was surely my first stroke of luck since the beginning of the week, my prayers were answered. Behind me the elevator chimed as the doors opened to reveal a gaggle of suited men and women sporting visitor badges, deep in conversation. Hanging back I let them pass me and then ducked in behind them, trying to look as unobtrusive as possible. I stuck close to the group, my heart pounding and my palms sweating, and made my way to the security checkpoint.

  Set-up just like the airport, metal detectors were positioned for entry, though only one of them seemed to be operational, while a small gate with a single guard was labeled as the exit. I stayed at the back of the group while I surveyed the setup. The metal detectors stood in the middle of the space, flanked on either side by a wide desk. The one exit that they were filing us through was off to the right, out of the way of the entry.

  In another blessing from above, luck, a woman coming in through the metal detector set off the alarms, her gaudy jewelry no doubt the culprit. Taking advantage of the brief moment of distraction I crept to the front of my group and watched for several heartbeats to make sure that the guards were occupied figuring out why the metal detector was going haywire, and then made my move.

  Walking swiftly through the exit I headed straight to the main doors, and darted out onto the street. Cutting a zigzagging path through alleys and parking lots, I didn’t let myself slow to a walk until I’d gotten a few blocks away.

  * * *

  Wang’s Chinese Restaurant wasn’t that far from FBI Headquarters, but between the wind picking up and a rapidly shrinking window of time before someone figured out I’d left, I flagged down the first cab I saw. I could’ve made it to Wang’s in half the time if I’d shifted and made the run on four feet, but a giant wolf running down the sidewalk isn’t exactly what I’d call flying under the radar. Besides, I wasn’t keen on the idea of showing up at Alyssa’s naked. The succubus was hard enough to be around without throwing nudity into the mix.

  * * *

  “Could you maybe go a bit faster?” I asked, leaning forward in the backseat of the cab to peer through the grime covered divider.

  I wasn’t sure if the cab driver heard me over the sound of a thumping bass and squealing guitar strings until he shook his head and replied, “Posted speed limit’s forty, and I ain’t in the mood to get a ticket.”

  Figures that I would find the one traffic conscious cab driver in the whole damn city, I thought, flopping back in the seat with a growling sigh.

  In the end it took twenty minutes for my cabbie to wind his way through the streets, fighting against the
beginnings of the lunch rush. When he pulled up outside the restaurant, I dug a handful of crumpled bills out of my pocket and tossed them through the small opening in the divider.

  “Keep the change,” I said as I leapt out of the car, not sure if I’d tipped him two bucks, or twenty.

  I recognized the owner behind the counter when I entered the restaurant, and if his scowl was anything to go by, he recognized me too. Making a beeline for the back stairs, I took the steps two at a time, drawn forward by the sugary scent of Alyssa as if on a string.

  Stepping into Alyssa’s clinic, I came face to face with my first real life leprechaun. They were a common enough sight on TV, Graham Ferguson being the most famous of them all with his late night talk show, and I had to admit enjoying Ferguson’s sharp and often times lascivious humor. Loki and I had spent many nights curled up on the couch together watching him wheedle incredibly personal details out of his celebrity guests. There was something about leprechauns that encouraged people to spill their most embarrassing and intimate details, though whether it was their almost childlike appearance, or some kind of power they possessed I wasn’t sure.

  They generally aren’t as short as Hollywood portrays them, varying in height between four and five feet tall, but they’re always easily recognizable by their fiery hair, pointed ears and elfin features. The patient receiving Alyssa’s care when I arrived was on the taller end of the spectrum, the thick thatch of fire red hair curling atop his head mussed from the baseball cap sitting on the bed next to him.

  “Pixie bites are nothing to mess around with, Dermot. You know how easily they can become infected,” Alyssa was saying, shaking her head at her diminutive patient.

  “Aye, they’re vicious little buggers,” he replied, his thick brogue lending a sing-song quality to his voice.

  No wonder leprechauns and the other Fair Folk are known for leading people astray. A voice like that could convince an Eskimo to buy ice.