“You think?”
“I think she’s trying to protect me. Maybe all of us.”
“Hell.”
“Exactly. Bro, any chance you can use Allie’s police chief brother-in-law to break into Hannah’s cell phone but not ask too many questions?”
“Maybe. It might take a little while. You have her number?”
“Yeah, got it three days ago when we were walking home from work.”
Had it been only three days? It felt like so much longer.
“Can you still track the Hummer?” Peter asked.
“Ja, but I’d like to know what I’m getting into. If there were any texts or voicemails I can access, that’d be helpful. Something’s going down. I feel it in my bones.”
“I agree.” Peter murmured to Allie. “I’ll talk with Bryce and see what he can do. No guarantees.”
“You two safe?”
“For now.”
Peter’s voice came through strained, hesitant. Who would blame him? As mortals, Peter and Allie were helpless if Jerahmeel unleashed his power or his minions on them. Damn. Dante couldn’t be everywhere. Damn.
“Lay low, Petey. I’ll call if I find out anything else.”
Clicking off the phone, he sprinted toward his laptop still on the kitchen table and fired up the wireless hotspot. He pulled up the tracking program, something he figured he’d only need if someone stole the Hummer. It was stolen, technically speaking. A blip on the map showed that Hannah traveled up a highway west of town. The road appeared to be pretty windy on the map, and he shuddered to think of her going off the road in the darkness. She possibly traveled toward Portland or maybe would catch I-84 and go east back toward La Grande.
Hannah, what are you doing, ålskling? Why are you running away? Tell me where you’re going.
He pulled on a thermal shirt and jeans and threw his remaining personal items into a bag. Closing the laptop and stowing it on top of his clothes, he slung the bag over his shoulder and jogged through the campground section of the park. There weren’t a lot of people around this time of year, but enough for his purposes. He wasted precious minutes searching for the right vehicle. He excelled at most things, but carjacking wasn’t his best skill. He’d rather not break in and hardwire a car. Better to try it the easy way first, then go to plan B if that didn’t work.
Several of the people staying in the campground lingered outside, sitting by crackling fires. Low voices drifted back to him near some of the RVs. Dante had to stick to shadows and move silently, a challenge for a person his size.
As he crept to the back of each vehicle, he searched for the magnetic extra key owners occasionally hid there. Finding nothing on the back bumper, he checked the front wheel wells, where folks sometimes stashed their keys. On the fifth vehicle, the metal jingle when he reached over the driver’s side wheel sounded like beautiful music to his ears.
Throwing his bag into the hatchback, he crammed himself into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and cringed as loud country music blared from the radio. Cursing, he threw the car into reverse as the panicked owners ran around the side of their RV.
Jåvlar. The cops would be looking for him in a heartbeat.
His vision blurring, he almost ran off the park road as the knife pulsated. It wanted him to kill someone, this very minute. He reached for his lower leg, his hand pulled against his will.
Not now, helvete, I can’t do this now.
With a guttural yell, he yanked his hand back and forced it to the steering wheel. His thoughts shifted to Hannah. No. Ignore the pain; ignore the knife.
Instead of traveling west on the highway toward Portland, he drove back a few miles to John Day. Pulling off behind a local repair shop, he hid the car from view of the highway. He broke into the shop’s key box, fished out as many keys as he could hold, ran over to a Jeep and tried out each one until, thankfully, he found a match. Sirens blared as Dante ducked down. Police cruisers raced east on the highway, probably searching for the stolen hatchback.
Turning the Jeep’s lights off, he confirmed that the vehicle started. He spied thick paper on the floorboard; a good sign the car had been serviced.
With the Jeep purring, Dante flipped open his computer again and checked Hannah’s position. The Hummer moved north on Highway 19 toward a crossroads. He had to make an educated guess: follow her route or assume that she traveled back to Portland. If he guessed correctly, he could take a more direct route on Highway 26, which cut straight through the mountains. Closing the computer, he decided to go the direct route. Unfortunately, with the police out in force, he couldn’t speed as much as he’d prefer until he had passed well out of the area.
He pulled out of the repair shop lot and drove east, fighting against the instinct to stomp on the accelerator. As he passed the state park, flashing blue and red lights winked in the campground.
He kept going.
In the monotony of the dark night, as mile markers and small animal eyes flashed by, his thoughts remained in constant motion. What the hell had happened with Hannah? Why did she leave? Was it all to do with Brandon? Or had Dante really scared her off?
Didn’t matter. He needed her. Needed her to be safe. He’d kneel and beg for her to stay with him if it would help. Nothing mattered without Hannah in his unnatural existence. He would figure out how to make her a part of his life or die trying.
An hour west of John Day, he pushed the speed up to fifteen miles per hour over the speed limit. Really, the big danger out here was deer, not cops. Of course, hitting wildlife wouldn’t kill him, but it’d slow him down tonight.
The moonlit high desert flew by as he raced west. When he stopped to fill up in the crossroad town of Madras, he rechecked Hannah’s position. Just as he thought, she traveled on I-84, passing through Hood River, heading straight to Portland. But where?
He tried her cell number again but went straight to voicemail again. Kristus.
His phone rang. Peter.
“What’ve you found out, bro?”
“We tapped into the voicemail on Hannah’s phone. Brandon left her a message. It sounded like he was torturing a guy he identified as Scott—”
“Jåvla skit!”
“Yeah, I hear you. He said if she doesn’t get there by midnight, he’ll kill Scott.”
Dante glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Not enough time to intercept her. Herrejåvlar.
“Where, bro? Where’s she going?”
He’d kill the minion if he so much as looked at her. Damn Jerahmeel’s wrath and retribution. She was an innocent who didn’t deserve to get mixed up in the Indebted mess.
“I’m sending you the directions. Brandon texted them to her phone. Be careful. This feels like a huge trap. For both of you.”
“I’ll take precautions. Thanks, bro. Keep Allie safe.”
The text came through with the address. Dante swore, threw the car into gear and sped into the night through the Cascade Mountains to Portland.
Chapter 17
11:50 p.m.
Hannah steered the Hummer down a deserted street to the address on North Rivergate Boulevard, an industrial area north of downtown Portland. Streetlights cast cruel halogen shadows against her destination, a complex of stark metal warehouses at the road’s end.
Yes, she had truly reached the end of the road.
Across the broad Willamette River, traffic hummed in the distance, drivers blissfully traveling home, or to work, or wherever they were going. Probably not to their deaths.
Lucky people.
When she opened the SUV door, the cool air off the river raised goose bumps on her arms, and she rubbed her skin, trying to warm up. No trucks rumbled down this road tonight. The parking lot was empty. No lights on in the buildings. Not a soul in sight.
She expected evil to jump out of the shadows and grab her. What did it matter? What more could happen?
Lots more, unfortunately.
A boat horn boomed from the nearby Port of Portland, plaintive in the night.
Half a million people in this town, and she stood in the middle of the city, completely alone.
She missed Dante’s warmth. His strength. His assurance that he would protect her from any and all bogeymen out there.
Dante.
A sob lodged in her throat, but she pushed it back down. She wouldn’t think about his big, muscled arms. His hot kisses. The hope of much more for their relationship—if this were a normal relationship. However, nothing about their connection was normal, thus why she stood next to a stolen vehicle while the sexiest and sweetest man in the world cooled his heels hundreds of miles away.
At least he’d be safe. That was her main goal where Dante was concerned.
Shivering in the evening air, she considered grabbing her hoodie—but why bother? She wouldn’t survive long enough for it to make any difference.
It was 11:54. Got to get moving. Help Scott.
She grabbed a Leatherman multitool from the console. Pitiful protection, but it made her feel a bit braver, gave her strength.
She refused to think about Dante’s confident, broad smile and that intense blue gaze. As she closed the solid Hummer door with a thud, the sadness swamping her didn’t originate solely from her dread of what awaited in the warehouse.
Tonight would ice the cake on her crappy life.
She tiptoed around the second warehouse building to the loading bays, per the texted instructions. Every creak of metal and crunch of leaves made her jump. All of the truck bays were dark, except for the last one where a sick, yellow glow spilled out from the door onto the pavement. Sneaking beneath the bays so anyone looking across the loading area wouldn’t see her, she strained to catch any sound.
Only light traffic across the river and faint maritime sounds at the port a mile away.
Then a gut-wrenching scream pierced the darkness, like the one on the phone. The hairs stood up on the back of her neck.
Scott.
Hannah took off at a clumsy, crouched run, stumbling on her bad foot. Dodging under the truck loading pads, she flew up the stairs to the loading dock and peeked through the window on a metal door. She blinked twice, unbelieving, her palms sweaty when she pressed her hands against the glass. Turning the cold metal knob slowly, she slid open the door and slunk inside, still keeping to the shadows.
Row upon row of heavy metal racks stretched from the closed loading bay doors far into the warehouse darkness. The racks rose a good fifteen feet high. A figure paced between the nearest two racks, only about twenty feet away. Even with his back to her, she recognized the shock of red hair. In one hand, he held a short whip. The tips had a metallic glint in the dim light.
Brandon walked away from the garish light into the aisle, out of her line of sight. He chuckled, the sound both grating and nauseating. Then a whoosh and a snap split the still air. Another soul-shattering howl sprinted up her spine. Scott. She had to do something.
With shaking hands, she eased the door closed and slipped deeper into the warehouse, the rough sound of her shuffling steps masked by Scott’s screams. Inching around the first huge set of shelves, near the wall of the warehouse, she hid behind a stack of pallets. Brandon’s footfalls receded. When she peeked around, her vision went dim at the edges.
Scott’s wrists were bound to the metal shelving so tightly that his hands were a lilac color. He dangled, his toes not quite reaching the ground. There were stains on his torn clothing, and on the floor below him, dark liquid pooled. His guttural moans echoed through the huge warehouse.
She had to get him out of here.
Her heart beating its way out of her ribcage, she crouched on the floor and scrabbled for something, anything, that might help. On the bottom shelf, she found a box of small metal bolts. She grabbed a fistful and hurled them down the back aisle into the darkness as forcefully as possible. Brandon never saw her, crouched on the bottom shelf in the shadow of a large bin, when he ran past. He disappeared into the depths of the warehouse.
Scott opened his mouth to speak when she reached him, but she shushed him. One of his eyes had swollen shut. Linear slices in his clothes revealed oozing wounds. His good eye rolled back, and he sagged against the shelving. Each of his breaths rasped too loudly in the concrete and metal building.
Climbing up one shelf, Hannah pulled at the leather binding Scott’s wrists.
Too tight to untie.
She had to hurry. Brandon wouldn’t stay away forever.
Clumsily opening the multitool, she sawed at the straps. The knife slipped in her sweaty hands every few passes.
Brandon’s footsteps became louder, but he walked up the outside aisle. He couldn’t see them yet, hidden as they were between the first two rows of shelves. But he sure as heck would spot them when he turned the corner.
Go faster.
She sawed desperately on the straps.
Sweat beaded her forehead.
Please.
Free of the restraints, Scott crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud. Scrambling down, she tugged at her brother’s inert body. Get up!
Footsteps approached.
If she could get Scott into the next aisle, they might be able to lose Brandon in the maze of shelves.
Scott moaned when she draped his arm over her shoulder; his shoulder creaked and popped, the sounds turning her stomach. Somehow she hefted him to his feet. Urging him to move, she half dragged him to the end of the racks.
Just get around the corner and we’ll have a chance.
Almost there.
Come on, Scott, walk.
Scott’s weight disappeared.
She staggered backward, landing hard on her butt.
Brandon’s sneering upside-down face entered her field of vision. “Hey, skank, nice of you to join the party.”
He grabbed a fistful of her T-shirt and yanked her to her feet.
Scott lay in a semiconscious bloody ball on the floor, wheezing and gurgling.
“Well, this is perfect. Big hero Hannah trying to save her brother. Which is funny because we wouldn’t even be in this situation if your drunk brother hadn’t blabbed all over creation about your abilities. No one cared about you until this moron opened his mouth. Now you’re the most interesting girl at the ball.”
“What are you talking about?”
He lifted her until the T-shirt fabric cut into her armpits.
“I had to make sure that idiot Blackstone stayed focused on his job and not on a crusade to deliver your stepfather’s apology from the great beyond. Keeping Blackstone away from you would have been enough, but then Judas here sold you out big time.”
Brandon poked Scott with his boot and shrugged. “Moron can’t hold his drink. It was much too easy.”
“Let him go. He’s not part of this.”
“That’s true. But he’s only step one: get you to come here.”
“What?”
“Step two is to get him out of here. Then it’ll be just you and me. Oh, and you’ll need to heal him.”
“Then he can go?”
“Of course. We don’t want this worthless mess. He was just bait, and he almost couldn’t complete that one simple task.”
“Who’s we?”
He laughed, a nasty, razor-sharp sound slicing through her ears. “Blackstone’s and my boss, our lord Jerahmeel.”
Hannah held her breath. Dante had thought Jerahmeel might be interested in her abilities. Disastrous. Things had just gone from bad to worse.
“My boss wants you for sure. My job is to deliver you. What the lord of evil does to you, I can only guess.”
When Brandon grinned, his tiny pig eyes disappeared in his pinched face. He sneered at her brother, who still lay crumpled on his side on the concrete floor.
“Enough chitty-chat. You need to heal him soon, or he won’t get out of here alive. He looks pretty bad off.”
“You’re a jerk.”
Brandon dropped her, and she staggered forward, her knees barking on the concrete. She crawled over to Scott.
; “I’m sorry, sis,” he rasped over cracked and swollen lips. Blood trickled down his cheek as he lay curled on his side.
“At least let me get you out of here.” She reached out her hands.
“No. Healing me will kill you”—he wheezed—“or they’ll kill you.”
Brandon’s nasally voice cut through her concentration. “Actually, no, we won’t kill her. We’ll do worse than kill her. Right, babe?”
She refused to meet his twisted expression. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she focused on the one thing she could do before her existence became a living hell of unimaginable proportions. Hannah pressed her hands against Scott’s forearm. The transfer was like hitting a brick wall at full speed. She couldn’t move beneath the force of his pain.
Get it all out of him. At least one of us can have a normal life after tonight.
Burning agony flowed through her hands and into her veins. All of Scott’s whip slashes appeared on her body and sluiced fire over her raw skin. The torn ligaments in Scott’s shoulders from where he’d hung by his arms crackled and shifted in her joints. Tears coursed down her cheeks as she struggled to inhale against bruised rib muscles—even the smallest effort stabbed poker-hot pain into her chest.
Every place where Scott had been kicked or punched, she absorbed it. The pain sucked. Badly.
Scott, healthier now, pushed her off him as he rolled away. She shuddered as she curled in a ball on the cold concrete. The open wounds burned. Her shoulders throbbed.
“Hannah,” he whispered.
“You’re free. Go have a good life.”
Her brother scrambled to his feet. “Brandon, you asshole. Leave her alone. Let me take her for medical care.”
“Get out of here, douchebag, or I’ll mess you up so bad, even your little sister can’t fix you. Be thankful I didn’t hurt you more. You’re a loser piece of shit. I only hung out with you to get to your sister and her thick-headed boyfriend.”
“Damn it.”
“Get out of here, idiot.” Brandon lunged at him with the whip.
Scott jumped back. “I’m sorry, sis.”
Relentless Flame (Hell to Pay) Page 20
