by Billi Jean
“Rick, it’s not that simple,” she protested.
“I know,” he said, cocky as ever, and with a jerk, their boots hit the ground—or his did. He held her off hers and grinned at her, happier than she’d ever seen him. “Now, you trusted me with that. Just trust me on this, too. I bet it won’t be as hard as that cliff hanging.”
She glanced up the cliff and shivered. He’d done it. Gotten her down, and she’d not passed out, killed them and regretted it for the rest of her life. He let her boots touch the ground and kissed her again, really quick and sneaky.
“Now, let’s see what we can find in the evil scientist’s lair.”
“Are you ever serious?” she asked but was so happy with him and how he was, she didn’t mean it. Maybe he was right. Maybe he was right on a lot of things.
A Jade witch.
If she was, then Margaret’s mother had taken her, or someone else had and given her to them. By why?
Margaret had always hated her. Her mother had as well. Her uncle had watched, silent most of the time, like a snake, and sometimes he too would punish her. The slightest thing could trigger punishment, from not cleaning her room properly, to a bad grade on her papers. A broken dish would earn her losing everything of hers. She didn’t have much, only things she’d collected. But they’d take every single thing away, even the blankets, sheets and door to her room. She’d stopped showing any interest in anything very quickly. If she liked it, sooner or later it would be gone.
“Not often,” Rick said, after guiding them around the woods to where they could clearly see the back of the house.
She ignored his cute response and settled for being serious enough for both of them.
“We should have enough light to search the house.” It was dusk, so the light was dim, but in Alaska she’d learned it stayed this dim for hours. Sometimes longer.
“Yeah, that was my thinking. Let’s stick to finding out anything we can about what he was doing. And maybe find any hidden crap, like an underground lab.”
She exhaled shakily, still filled with anxiety over the climb down. Her fear of heights was still there, but Rick had helped keep her mind busy on other things. She wasn’t certain she could do the same, alone, but it was something to think about—along with all the other things crowding her mind. Like how freaked she should be about falling in love with him. She had lost everything she ever loved, so why be given this? If Lucifer even suspected—
“Here. I think this is as good an entrance as any.” Kincaid gestured to the back door of the porch.
“Just walk in?”
“Sure, why not? Nothing has gone off or if it has, we haven’t been hit by lightning yet.”
“Or a squad of those creatures—or Lykae, or Vampires. Do you think Demetry knew this was here?” she asked, getting more nervous by the minute. Larisa had risen on her list of worries. If Lucifer knew about Rick from Larisa, wouldn’t he send her back in to finish the job?
Rick grimaced and scanned the area again before meeting her eyes. “My guess is, Larisa did, and if she did, he probably did as well. He seemed the possessive type,” he added, then muttered, “smart man,” as she headed to the stairs.
Is Rick Kincaid possessive?
The thought made her tingle. If he were hers, he’d never have to be, because if he were hers, she’d never have eyes for anyone but him.
But he’s not mine. He can’t be.
True, but…maybe, just maybe he…could be.
She filed the wishful thinking away for another day and followed Rick. She was struck again by how completely hot he was. He kept scanning the area, on guard for anything and everything. He wasn’t immortal. He wasn’t even in possession of any special powers, but he had something better—intelligence, and the cockiness required to get the job done. She liked that about him, along with a million other things. Each step they took brought them closer to whatever danger faced them inside Balrick’s home, but Rick never faltered. He probably never had in his life. Unlike me.
“All right, get your game on and no more daydreaming.”
“I never daydream,” she lied.
He paused and gave her a once-over for the response, then winked, but he also leaned forward as if listening for a sound through the door. He tried the knob without giving her a heads-up, which made her heart rate jump. It didn’t give, and before she could offer to open it, Rick crashed his elbow through the glass then reached inside.
Shit!
She waited for all hell to break loose, but nothing happened. No alarms, sirens, commotion, red-eyed devils—nothing to indicate anyone was home. Still, she couldn’t believe Balrick’s house would be just left open, unsecured. There had to be something in place, even after his death, to protect his home.
“Kincaid—”
Rick opened the door, lifted a hand shoulder height to stop her from following, then stepped inside.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Nothing here,” Kincaid called. “Come on in. The place’s been checked already.” He sized the damage up as he stepped aside to let Hunter in. The place looked as if a tornado had ripped through it.
Hunter stopped at the threshold and exhaled. “Well, this explains the lack of security.” She kicked a crushed and torn box of Kleenex across the kitchen floor and it hit the wall, falling into a pile of other junk. He spotted a security system that someone had ripped off the wall in the corner. There were dishes and ripped up furniture stuffing along with scraps of wood strewn across the house as far as he could see.
“A dead end, huh?” she whispered.
“Don’t call it a day yet. Sometimes sloppy jobs like this miss a whole lot.”
“You call this sloppy? I think someone was pissed off and sending a message.”
“Yeah, maybe. Those Vampires?” he asked.
“Why send us here if that was the case?” Hunter went to the living room and he followed. It was the same, only they’d ripped the leather sofa to shreds and torn the curtains off the windows. “If they were on the level—and I kinda thought they were—I think they’d have warned us this was what we’d find. Why send us here to search through this crap?”
He agreed. “Right. Doesn’t make sense.”
Hunter shoved some glass off a counter and whistled. “Jackpot.”
“Damn, see? Already we have something,” he muttered, coming up next to her to where she’d found a computer sitting on a counter.
“Maybe,” she whispered.
He stopped her from turning it on with a firm hand on hers. “Wait. Right now we check and see what else was left behind. Follow me, and remember—”
“A step behind. Are you sure you’re not from the dark ages?”
“I’m positive. I’d rather you be here, by my side, than ten steps behind, but right now, quiet, so we can hear.”
He entered the hallway and glanced in the bedrooms. The same mess everywhere. It was like dogs had chewed the place up.
Or red-eyed creatures.
There was one door closed to his left and he listened, but no sound came through the solid wood. He glanced to his right and down the hallway and checked in on Hunter. She was holding up good, so he twisted the knob. It gave and he swung the door wide, gun up. The smell of decay stopped him.
“This one is not good,” he warned and stepped inside. He pulled his flashlight free from his belt and used it to examine the bed, then the floor. “Blood on the bed, more on the floor, on those rags.”
“Oh, man. That’s a lot of blood,” Hunter mumbled through a hand she held over her nose and mouth. She kicked the bloody frozen rags, and shook her head. “Old, and looks like someone tried to clean it up, or clean someone up.”
Kincaid agreed. So that left them with…nothing. He stepped to the bathroom and pressed on the door, it opened slowly, but there was nothing there.
“Nothing,” she whispered. “So whose blood? And was there a body? Is that why the smell?”
It was easy to recall the tape and the woman
being devoured, too easy in fact. He headed back over to the bed. There wasn’t any bone or other sign that he’d expect to find if a person had been…eaten. A lot of blood could mean a simple kill—gun or something else—not dinner for some red-eyed monster. Someone wounded even.
“There was a door off the kitchen. Might be a basement.” He eyed Hunter, not liking how her face had paled since they’d walked in the room. No doubt she could remember that tape as well. Or maybe all the blood brought to mind things she’d rather not remember.
“Okay,” she muttered. “I was hoping for more.”
“Yeah, but at least we know he wasn’t someone’s favorite person and we scored a computer. That has to mean something.”
“True,” she whispered, and let him lead her back out of the door and down the hall to the kitchen.
The door opened to a basement, but he held Hunter back with a hand on her arm.
“I’ll check it out. You see if you can’t figure out what’s on that.” He pointed to the computer over by the refrigerator. “The fact that in all the destruction that was left untouched isn’t normal.”
“I don’t think we should be separated. And I already noticed it. And the fact that most of the damage is below counter level,” she added.
He did a rewind of what he’d seen and stared from the living room to the kitchen. She was right. All of the damage was below or at counter level. The computer was back almost to the wall and would have been hard to reach. So they were talking an animal, but not just any animal. It had to be one that knew what the hell it was doing.
“Good catch,” he murmured, but walked over to peer down. “It’s pretty normal down there. The stairs are small and tight. I’d rather you were here, checking on that, and I’ll only be a minute—five tops.”
Hunter winced but headed for the computer. “This place is creepy.”
He gripped her shoulder and made her face him. “It is, but the sooner we get it checked, the sooner we can head out. I say we do the scan and call it in, let a team come tear this place up with a fine-toothed comb then they can deal with the Vampires—”
“What, why?” she demanded. By her stricken expression she was clearly not on board with that.
“Well, what did you have in mind? We don’t have Balrick, and we don’t have anything here, so we’ve hit a dead end, but it’s only one. We’ll get something, maybe on the computer.”
She frowned harder and he got it.
Duh.
Of course she wouldn’t want him to call a team. They’d never believe her and she knew it. She was probably right, too. The Vampire had bought her act, hook, line and sinker. The reverse was also true. Her friends would doubt her, every step of the way, for a long time, unless they could clear her name with something so good she balanced the bad.
He changed tactics as another plan fell into place. “Okay, tell you what. We go to your place, gather some things, and head back to the Vampires, see if they won’t work with us empty-handed. You tell them Balrick’s dead,” he added, shrugging. “What do you think?”
For half a damn minute she stared at him, then she burst into motion. She smiled almost like she used to and shook his arm in her excitement.
“I can do that. I can tell them about this,” she said. Her face lit up. “And say I heard that he was dead and how he died. It won’t be a lie. They’ll believe me, and more, I’m out money so I will want to work with them, right?” she asked, hopeful as heck.
When she looked at him like that, he knew he couldn’t deny her a damn thing. This was cake. He trusted her and it was as solid plan.
“I’ll do the check below. You just see what you can find on that computer then we prepare for your Oscar, okay?”
“Oh, Rick!” she cried and hugged him tightly. “Thank you. You won’t regret this. I promise.”
Now even more off center, he swallowed and returned her hug. She seemed unaware and bounced over to the computer, happy as heck, whispering, “We are so getting this done.”
He hoped she was right. Instead of waiting, he headed down, gauging the low ceiling and ducking so he didn’t hit his head. The basement was as predicted. There was no damage down here, oddly enough. It was boring, normal and damn creepy to think a guy like Balrick would have his basement like any average Joe.
Less than four minutes after he’d walked down, he was just about to join Hunter when he heard her cry out, followed by a thump and silence. He tensed, ready to race to her, but he held onto his training and didn’t rush up the stairs.
His heart pounded, pumping his system full of adrenaline for a fight. He would need it. He could sense something was very wrong. Worse, his instincts were flaring. He eased halfway up the stairs so it wouldn’t make a noise. Above him the floor creaked, giving away that at least one heavy dude was walking around in the kitchen. Gun up, he took the safety off his Sauer. He was at twenty-five seconds since her shout.
He heard something in the room. Someone was there. He could tell by the shiver of awareness he’d spent over a decade refining. He counted five more seconds as he reached the last step. Moving gradually so he didn’t make the stairs creak, he peered through the crack he’d left open in the door.
Someone, a man, was bent over Hunter, another stood by him and a third was going through her backpack. Three men, possibly immortals. He kept them in view and watched them as he solidified his plan. He’d have to be quick, and he’d have to be quiet. The biggest man would go down first, then the other two. But were they human, or…?
Hunter murmured and relief shot through him. So she wasn’t dead.
One man shifted his stance and Kincaid saw the yellow glare of his eyes flash. Lykae. They’d survive a shot, and better, a shot would slow them down a little. That’s all he needed. Just a little time.
Decision made, he went into action. He plugged the first man in the head, firing rapidly at the one on his knees immediately after. He was trying to tie Hunter’s wrists together with what looked like the metal rings used on Demetry. Kincaid’s shots slammed him hard in the chest and he fell back. The third man launched himself into the air so Kincaid’s aim went wide and he missed by a yard as he slid on his side along the kitchen floor.
Not wasting time, Kincaid rolled to his feet. Unfortunately just in time to get hit with the guy’s full weight. They hit hard, and if the wall hadn’t been there, Kincaid would have been down. Instead he was jacked off his feet, which pissed him off.
Snarling, the man rammed his arm to Kincaid’s throat.
Stupid move. Kincaid nailed him with a punch to the head and followed through by encircling him with his legs and twisting, taking them down hard. Kincaid shot the guy—or wolf—in the chest, and rolled off, scrambling for Hunter as soon as he gained his feet.
She hadn’t moved, but the men he’d shot were already coming at him. He only hoped the one behind him wasn’t. Two to one was okay, but three? He dove for his bag, got his extra Sauer and fired again. The shots were loud, but both barely jerked at the impact. He aimed again and hit them a few more times.
Suddenly one stiffened, and with a gurgling groan, fell forward. Hunter stood behind him, her hands raised and glowing blue. There was such a look of surprise on her face, then relief when their eyes met, that he wanted to kiss her.
Instead he was jumped on from behind and had to struggle to keep from getting his back broken with a death grip on his ribs. Hunter screamed his name then cut off sharply, freaking him out. He delivered fast, hard hits to the kidneys and with a groan the guy fell back. Kincaid pulled his knife and was just about to slice his head off if he had to so he could reach Hunter.
“Rick! No, not him!” She touched his left shoulder, gaining his attention, but only part of it. “It’s Balrick. This is Balrick. ”
“Fuck, it can’t be! He’s dead,” he muttered and tightened his grip on the man’s head, driving his knife in deeper against his jugular.
“It’s Balrick,” she breathed. “I don’t know how, or why, but
it’s him.”
“Where are the others?”
“Down. We want him alive, though, remember? Rick?” she asked quietly, squeezing his shoulder the way he’d taught her. “Alive, but not awake, I think.”
He got the hint and eased off just as she fired a bolt right at the man’s head. Balrick’s eyes widened, then his entire body went limp. Kincaid dropped the knife then gathered Hunter into his arms. Sissy as shit, but he couldn’t let her go, or get enough of her small, warm body. She was so tiny. One blow and he could have lost her, immortal or not.
“You’re safe? You’re okay?” he asked, even though he couldn’t let her go long enough to see for himself.
“Yes,” she whispered, and held him as tightly as he held her. “But my head seriously hurts and I’m really, really needing a nap.”
“A nap?” he asked, pulling away enough to cup her face. Sure enough, her cheek was swollen and there was a bruise forming on her temple. Blood dripped, too, from a wound on her forehead, no doubt from whatever they hit her with.
“Baby, shit, oh man, come on. Let me see about this,” he muttered, wincing when he touched her forehead and she sucked in a breath. “Sorry, sorry.”
“I’m okay. It’s okay. We have to get him out of here and somewhere he can’t break out of,” she said, looking at him as if he’d have the answer to that one. “He’s not dead.”
“Sparky, I love the props, but I don’t know where…” He paused and glanced down at the big Lykae. “Wait, wait, maybe, just maybe, I do. How long is he out?”
She frowned and said, “Hour, maybe two?”
“You sure?” he asked, excitement spurring him to move.
