He left Moira’s backpack in the truck, but took his own, and started up the steep trail. He wanted to roar his challenge to the people who took his woman, who dared to hurt her. Instead, he sent a fervent wish to the silent stars to let her know to hang on, because nothing would stop him from coming for her.
8
Lawrence Witzer maintained surface calm as overly muscular, sharp-faced Clay Pruhon, dressed in a silver jumpsuit, climbed into the back seat of Lawrence’s custom-built, armored limousine. His driver had parked them in the dirt lot of a salvage yard full of machinery parts, which was as close as they could get to camouflaging its distinctive wide, military shape. He’d paid an exorbitant sum to have it flown in with Pruhon’s men, but he was not going to manage an invasion from a surplus infantry mobility vehicle.
Pruhon’s alpha power was almost palpable, even to normal people. Lawrence trusted Pruhon’s human greed would keep the wolf part of him in check. But just in case, he had positioned quick-acting wolf-shifter tranquilizer guns in multiple locations. The eleven wolves were greedy, hot-headed, and careless, but perfect as secret weapons, hidden among Pruhon’s security company of human mercenaries.
“The main operation is going like we planned.” Pruhon tapped the microphone in his ear, indicating he’d been in touch with his teams. “But we haven’t located Graham yet. The store where my scout tracked her to is dark and closed up tight.”
Pruhon’s chiding tone rankled, but Lawrence ignored it. He was a much better businessman than Pruhon, and his instincts had urged him to move up the operation by a day. They could catch Graham later, at their leisure. The wolves by themselves had failed to catch her for three years, but after tonight, he’d have a dozen or more psychics under his control.
He’d hardly believed his eyes when he’d watched the video of Graham walking down the street. Divine intervention had Pruhon’s scout stopping in the sleepy, foothills tourist-trap for gas, and following Graham’s scent into Wyoming and the resort town of Kotoyeesinay.
At first, Lawrence had sneered at the ridiculous names for the businesses that preyed on the gullible, but he’d been struck by a thought. What if Kotoyeesinay held the motherlode of psychics, hidden in plain sight? A quick call to one of his contract sorcerers confirmed that Kotoyeesinay was all Lawrence thought it was and more. It was ripe for the plucking, and Lawrence was just the bold man to do it. They might have psychics, but he had wealth and wolves.
He’d quickly schemed with Pruhon to mobilize his pack and every available human operative to lure the psychics into their snares and spirit them away under the cover of darkness. The high valley on the other side of the mountain was the perfect landing spot for helicopters. He’d keep the best psychics for himself, and quietly auction off the rest.
Lawrence drummed his fingers on the phone that rested on his thigh. “Graham is a lower priority than tonight’s mission.” He still planned to catch and keep her, however, in case she was still the key to his success. Destiny was sometimes a willful bitch.
Pruhon cleared his throat. “We may have another problem.”
“Tell me.”
“Your sons went off the radar in Miami two days ago, and we can’t find them.”
Lawrence drilled Pruhon with his gaze. “And you’re just telling me now?”
Pruhon visibly bristled. “I didn’t know until a few hours ago. They’ve been pissy for days, but they really got mad when I removed Richie Traidor, like you ordered. They ditched their security detail. They obviously figured out we’d bugged them, after the last time they pulled that stunt, so they took a taxi to a thrift store and left their clothes in the changing room, then vanished. They aren’t losing money in Atlantic City or losing their virginity again in the club in the Dallas, and they aren’t having a party at any of your properties.”
Adam and Zed had been thorns in his side from the moment they were born, and were constantly plotting harebrained schemes to get control of his companies, instead of waiting their turn like he’d had to do with his father. If they messed up his deal of a lifetime, the one he desperately needed Moira for, he’d feed them to Pruhon’s wolves.
“Dammit, I don’t have time for their bullshit.” Lawrence crossed his arms. “Put Traidor back on their detail. Maybe he can track them down.”
“I’ll call him in.” Pruhon pulled out his phone and rapidly typed a text message.
Lawrence uncrossed his legs. “Back to your report. How many have we got so far?”
“Six. No muss, no fuss, sleeping in the vans.” Pruhon’s eyes narrowed in thought, and he frowned.
“What?” asked Lawrence.
“Little things. My wolves keep complaining about smelling pine air freshener. The streets are too deserted for a tourist town, except near the casino.” He folded his hands together. “I know you paid a lot for the scent and psychic shields, and the ‘I’m your best friend’ charms for each of us, but this seems too easy.”
It was Lawrence’s turn to frown. “I see your point.” He drummed his fingers. “Let’s bring in the rest of the teams now.”
“All of them at once in a town this size? That won’t be very quiet.” Pruhon smiled, clearly pleased by the prospect.
“I don’t care. I want to get everyone we can now, and get out. We can sort them out later.” Lawrence grinned and pointed to the futuristic helmet in Pruhon’s hand. “After all, who’s going to believe anyone in a town full of psychics who claim they were abducted by aliens?”
9
Moira woke to pain so intense, it blinded her. The hard, sharp surface under her seeped cold into her bones. It took a long minute to determine she wasn’t actually blind; she was in a cave with no light. Last she remembered, she’d been in the back cargo area of a Jeep, going up an off-road mountain trail.
The cave smelled dank and musty, like the air didn’t circulate well where she was. Thankfully, it didn’t smell of critters that made dens in caves. It was warmer than she’d have thought, until she remembered the Wyoming mountains were riddled with hot springs.
She started to sit up, but the agony of her head and neck convinced her to wait a bit. She didn’t know whether to blame the tranquilizers, the punch to the face, or the multiple times that Richie had “accidentally” thumped her head against car doors when transferring her in and out of the van and the big-wheeled Jeep.
She curled onto her side and massaged her drum-tight neck as she listened, but heard nothing but her own breathing. She was alone, at least in her part of the cave. Why she was alone was something to ponder.
Her arm and thigh were sore from the darts. Even her butt cheek hurt. She slid her arm over her hip and felt with her fingertips. The rectangular shape in her back pocket puzzled her, until she remembered the little brass mirror she’d found in the store’s backyard. That must have been the crunch she heard when she’d fought with Richie on the loading dock. Gingerly, she pushed a finger into her pocket and confirmed her fear that the mirror had broken. She likely had shards of it in her ass. Just wonderful.
During the drive, she’d drifted in and out of consciousness as the men had shoved her into the Jeep like a sack of laundry. One of the men stayed with the van in town, and Richie and the third man drove the Jeep up the mountain.
She remembered disjointed bits of conversation that suggested the ski-mask-wearing men were brothers, and they planned to trade her to Witzer for seats on the board of directors. She’d researched Witzer and knew he had dozens of companies and unethical deals, and seemed to prefer the shadows to the spotlight.
One of the brothers had ordered Richie to cut the zip ties off her wrists and ankles, which would have been hard to explain if they got pulled over. They’d repeatedly mentioned “Dad,” making her suspect they were Witzer’s twin sons, Adam and Zed. She vaguely remembered seeing pictures of them, drunk and falling out of a limousine, on the front page of some checkout-stand scandal rag. She fervently hoped they were as incompetent as they looked.
Darkness didn
’t scare her, and neither did the twins, but Richie did. He was inhumanly strong—he’d lifted and carried her five-foot-eight frame like she weighed no more than a sweater—and he thrived on violence and pain. Besides, he smelled really bad, like a dog that had rolled in something three-days dead.
She hoped to every deity in existence that Chance and Shepherd had called the sheriff and were coming after her. She missed her backpack, especially her useful tools and her cellphone, but maybe it would convince Chance that she hadn’t left by choice.
She guessed she’d only been sleeping for a couple of hours. Her sharp pains were too fresh, and her muscles weren’t sore yet from overexertion. She rolled onto her back and reached out with her arms. More uneven, cold rock underneath her. To her left, her fingertips brushed a vertical surface of rock. Ignoring the eye-watering pain of her head, she felt around with both hands and feet. They’d apparently stashed her for safekeeping next to the wall in a small cul-de-sac of the cave. She didn’t feel very safe.
The stabbing sensation in her butt motivated her to gently fish out the broken pieces of mirror in her back pocket and put them aside so she wouldn’t roll on them again. Finally, she slid the frame itself out. From what her fingers told her, only one curved corner remained. Too bad it didn’t flash like the mirrors in the shop, or she could use it to see how to get the hell out of the cave.
She nearly dropped the frame when the mirror started to glow, low at first, then bright enough to dazzle her dark-adapted eyes. She put it facedown on her chest to shade it. When she looked in the corner of the cave, the smaller shards were softly glowing like a little string of Christmas lights.
Great. She was now completely and totally crazy. Off the deep end. Certifiable.
But if crazy meant she had magic, and a broken mirror could give off enough light to get her out of the cave without falling down some inconvenient shaft, she’d take it. Reality was overrated.
In the real world, she’d be powerless to get away from Richie, and stuck being a pawn in the Witzer family power struggle. In the magical world, she had the means to escape and find her way back to a man she was falling in love with, despite having met him only two days ago. She just hoped they hadn’t shot him.
Which reminded her of overhearing the twins laughing about how their father would soon be busy with Richie’s security team, rounding up all the psychic wackos in Kotoyeesinay. Witzer would hurt anyone who got in the way of his quest to get to her. She had to warn them.
She took a deep breath, tucked her braid down the back of her T-shirt, then started crawling, using her mirror light to show her the way. The passage opened up into a wider, taller portion, meaning she could stand and walk for a while. Her head was feeling marginally better, but her nose was stuffy and ached. Even if her nose wasn’t broken, she’d bet she had one hell of a black eye starting. How sexy.
The larger cave was chilly, and seemed to have ventilation from somewhere. Every few yards, she stopped to listen for any other sounds, but heard nothing. She couldn’t guess why they hadn’t tied her up again or taken her shoes, or at least left a guard, unless they trusted the total darkness to keep her prisoner. As it would have, without her miraculous… no, magic mirror.
When she crouched to examine one of two possible passageways, wondering which one would take her to freedom, her mirror pulsed red. The green pulse when she pointed the mirror toward the other passageway was good enough for her. Just as she was resting and listening, wishing for some kneepads, she thought she saw a glimmer of light at the end of the passage, which spurred her to move faster. The last place she wanted to be caught was in a four-foot-high passage with no place to hide or run.
Once again, the cave opened wide. The light turned out to be a heavy-duty, club-style flashlight. She bet someone had left it to point to the correct passage. She switched it off and shoved it in her back waistband. If nothing else, it would make a good weapon. The front button of her pants gave way and made a metallic pinging sound as it bounced out of view. She sighed, knowing her jeans were history. It was so hard to find a pair that fit. A whiff of herself said she’d probably have to burn her T-shirt.
This part of the cave system was cluttered with gray rocks, and she felt a breeze tickle the hair on the back of her neck. When she finally saw the cave’s entrance, she shut off her mirror light by the simple expedient of shoving the frame in her front pocket. Or she would have, if it hadn’t already been occupied by Chance’s bandanna. It gave her the idea to rig a pocket sling around her neck to hold the mirror high on her chest, so she’d have two hands for climbing. She used the hair tie from the end of her braid to secure it. The mirror blazed brightly when faced outward, and dowsed when faced toward her chest.
The ground beyond the cave entrance sloped down sharply. As much as she needed to get out of the cave and warn Chance and the town, she’d likely break her neck if she went sliding down a steep mountainside in the dark. The high surrounding peaks blocked any help from the moonlight. She flipped the mirror forward long enough to pick a path, then eased over to the left and grabbed onto a branch of a crooked scrub pine. Dirt and pine needles slid out from under her, making her scramble for footing and send a cascade of pebbles downward.
The windy mountain wasn’t as quiet as the cave, but if her captors were anywhere near and heard her creating miniature landslides, they’d catch her for sure. The only thing she could think of was to make her way down from one tree or shrub to the next, using her mirror light just long enough to pick her targets.
She just reached a bulbous granite outcrop when she heard a voice echoing.
“Here’s the second marker.” That was Richie.
“Where are the twidiots?” She didn’t recognize the voice.
Richie laughed. “Twidiots. That’s good. Adam lost his keys, and Zed went back to town to pick him up. I called Pruhon as soon as Zed left, but you don’t have much time to get her out of here before they come back.”
A passing beam of light briefly outlined the ridge of rocks below her.
It was too late to think about going up the mountain, but the big rock might hide her in the dark. She pushed her way around it and past a low shrub, feeling with her foot rather than her vulnerable hands. Her shoe and pant leg might offer protection if she disturbed a sleeping snake. Shuddering at the thought, she pushed aside the tough branches of a shrub to squeeze in beside it, making herself as small as possible. The flashlight pushed on her kidney, and the zipper of her jeans dug into her skin. Fortunately, any noise she’d made was covered by the scrape of feet and grunts of effort from the two men.
If they went by her and into the cave, she could sneak down the mountain by following their path. She pulled her T-shirt over her knees, then ducked her head so her face and eyes wouldn’t be visible. She hoped her gray T-shirt made her huddled form look like a piece of the rock. She felt a stir of wind that left a coating of… something on her. Maybe it was her imagination, but she hoped it was her magic, hiding her.
She tracked them by sound and the occasional quick glance to check their progress. The stench of filthy, wet dog stung her sore nose, even through the congestion.
The man with the flashlight hesitated in front of the cave entrance that Richie pointed to. “You said she’s a witch. She’s not going to shrivel my nuts or anything, is she?”
“Hell, Chaffet, how could you tell the difference?” Richie laughed when the other man growled. “She’s no threat. Adam double-tranqued her with that gun he lifted from Witzer’s limo. She’s an ordinary human. She’ll be out for hours. Muzzle her when you get her in the van, though. She can make your ears bleed with her scream.”
Chaffet ducked and went in. Richie started to follow, then stopped and turned, his face tilted up like he was smelling something. He shook his head, then ducked inside.
She wished she knew how her magic worked, so she could trap them in the cave. She tried willing rocks above the entrance to slide, but they stayed stubbornly still. She didn’t h
ave any more time to waste, so she slowly extricated herself from the branches.
She listened intently as she crab-walked quietly toward the gap in the rocky ledge, then oozed down, feeling with her feet. She flipped her mirror light briefly for a snapshot view of the trail, then flipped it over again and eased down the steep slope on her butt as far as she dared in the dark, then repeated the sequence. She hoped anyone below would assume the light was from Chaffet’s flashlight.
Come to think of it, she had her own flashlight, stuffed in her pants, but she preferred her mirror. Her magic. It sounded weird but felt true. God, she hoped she’d get to tell Chance he was right.
By the time she reached a flatter section of the slope, she shook with a combination of terror and fatigue. Her athletic shoes didn’t have the best traction, and she nearly slipped into a bed of sharp rocks and the painful-looking branches of a dead tree. Each sound made her jump, sure that another of Richie’s pals was waiting to grab her. She couldn’t leave their back trail, or she’d never find the road. It had been hard enough to follow their footprints over the sections of solid rock, but her mirror light helped by pulsing green when she pointed it the right direction.
Where she crouched, the ground was sandier, probably deposits from rain runoff. She occasionally heard water trickling somewhere as she’d made her descent. If flash floods had a season, she hoped it wasn’t early June.
An angry shout echoed off the rocks and peaks. No telling where it came from, but odds were good for above, near the cave. Her mirror light showed her the path to the wide slot between two tall rock outcroppings, but the second she took a step in that direction, the mirror pulsed red.
Shift of Destiny Page 9
