There was a porthole near the bunk and Stone craned his neck so he could see out. They were already approaching land. How long had they been travelling? He couldn’t see his watch but a clock on the wall showed the time. It was almost mid-afternoon. Given that he’d waited in the back of Dante’s jeep for quite a while, his best guess was that it was a little over an hour since he’d been loaded onto the boat.
Stone pulled up a mental map of the area, trying to decide which ports were approximately an hour away from Cantala. The island of Santa Marietta or the neighbouring country of Mercosta were the most likely candidates. He searched the approaching coastline for something to help him verify his guess. It didn’t take long. The Santa Marietta flag was waving from a flagpole. Ironic. He’d just left a private clinic on the island a few days ago, now he was returning to one. At least if he needed backup, there was a skeleton team of Lycans on the island.
The sound of the engines changed as they slowed. Stone imagined the boat approaching the dock, the deckhand hailing someone to catch the rope that would be thrown, cutting back on the throttle… The noise of the motor ended abruptly allowing him to hear indistinct voices and rumbling sounds like a cart being pulled along a dock. He lay down again before someone came to check on him.
Footsteps came closer. Stone closed his eyes and regulated his breathing. The door opened and, after a moment, shut followed by retreating steps. They must have decided he was still unconscious. What now? How would they smuggle his body off the boat? Wait until nightfall or brazenly do it in broad daylight, assuming no one would question what was happening?
Two sets of footsteps now. Voices. More distinct.
“The cart’s ready. No one’s around.”
“Good. Let’s drag him up on deck.”
The door opened. Someone grabbed his legs. Another person grabbed his arms.
“Damn, he’s heavy. We should get paid extra for him.”
A grunt was the only response.
They weren’t being overly careful with him. Stone exercised all his self-control in order not to wince or groan as various parts of his body hit door jambs, walls and the edge of stairs.
Soon a fresh breeze skimmed over him. The rays of the sun bathed his face.
“We’re almost done. Are you ready?”
They began to swing his body. Once. Twice. The third time he had the briefest sensation of flying through the air before landing hard on something solid. He cracked his eyes open to discover he was in some kind of white plastic cart. Before he could even begin to wonder why, the answer hit him in the face. Buckets of fish were being dumped on him.
A deluge of curses sprang to his lips and he barely held them back. Next time he saw Dante he was going to kill the man, regardless of what Reno or anyone else said!
Once he was covered in fish, the cart was rolled down a gangplank onto the dock. The sound of voices grew louder as the men pushing him chatted with passersby.
“A good catch today?”
“Very good. We have plenty to sell to the chefs at the resort.”
“They like it fresh for the evening menu, don’t they?”
“That they do.”
Eventually, the sound of voices faded. The cart came to a stop. A door squeaked open. Metal scraped on metal. He could feel that he was being pushed up a ramp, likely into some kind of truck.
“Make sure the cart is secure. We don’t want it rolling around back there.”
“I’ve locked the wheels on the cart and attached bungee cords. He’s not going anywhere.”
“Good. We’re right on schedule for dumping this guy at the clinic.”
“Ever wonder what goes on there?”
“Nope and I don’t want to know. We get paid to make the delivery. That’s the end of it.”
The door clanged shut blocking out the rest of the conversation. Soon the engine started and the cart began to joggle as the van made its way along the road.
Stone shifted his position into a more comfortable one, or at least as comfortable as one could be when bound, gagged and covered in stinking fish. As soon as he was done with his part of this mission, he was taking a shower. Smelling the way he did, it wouldn’t matter that Christina wasn’t a Lycan, she’d pick up his scent a mile away.
It seemed the clinic was only a short drive from the docks, for soon the van swayed as if turning into a driveway, the speed slowed and then they came to a halt. The doors opened, the cart was pushed down the ramp and, given how smooth the ride was, inside a building.
“Delivery. Fresh fish for the kitchen.”
“Sign here.” Stone speculated they were talking to a security guard. “Okay, looks like you’re expected. Kitchen is down the hall, to the left then turn right at the second set of doors.”
“Thanks.”
The cart started to move again. They turned left as directed but then left again rather than right. It would seem they weren’t going to the kitchen. A short distance later they turned yet again and came to a stop.
“Perfect timing as always.” It was Saul. “Let’s get him out of there and then you can make your delivery to the kitchen.
Stone kept himself limp as hands grabbed him and he was dragged from the cart and then set on what felt like a metal gurney. A sheet was draped over him.
“Need anything else, Doc?”
“That’s it for now. If I require your services again, you’ll be hearing from me.” A rustling sound followed, as if bank notes were being counted, and then Stone listened to the retreating sounds of two sets of footsteps and the faintly squeaky sound of the cart’s wheels.
Stone lay on the gurney wondering what was going to happen next. He was tired of being treated like a sack of potatoes. Lying around doing nothing wasn’t his style and his wolf didn’t like it either. It was still muttering about the indignity of being buried under fish. A few minutes longer, or so he tried to tell himself. Dante needed as much information as possible before he made his move.
Someone entered the room. “You buzzed for me, Doctor?”
“Yes, we have another donor so prepare the guest rooms. With any luck, several people will be arriving for transplant vacations as soon as I get the blood work done on this fellow.”
“I’ll get right on it. Anything else?”
“Ensure all the paperwork is ready; a death certificate, a police report—it should say he was drunk, fell off a boat and sustained a severe head injury causing brain death. Make sure the insurance coverage for our transplant patients is in order for their aftercare once they return home. You know the procedure as well as I do.”
“The more layers of paperwork, the easier it is to launder the organs.” The person spoke in crisp efficient tones as if they’d done this numerous times. “As soon as you’ve completed your cross-matching let me know how many surgical staff will be required and I’ll make the necessary changes to the roster.”
“I will. Oh, and there will be a supply of children’s organs soon. Pull up the waiting list if you have time so you’re familiar with the cases.
The person left the room.
Stone struggled to stay still as rage grew within him. Saul had to be referring to Sister Bernita’s orphans. His inner wolf snarled and a soft sound must have escaped him.
“Waking up, are we.” Saul spoke conversationally to what he must assume was a slowly awakening victim. “I’ll give you another shot to keep you quiet. I must have greatly underestimated your weight if you’re waking up this soon. No worries. I’ll make this dose stronger.”
Stone dared to crack one eye open. Saul was across the room, filling a needle. No way was he going to let the bastard sedate him again.
“This should keep you sleeping around the clock.” Saul approached. Stone readied himself. The sheet over his arm was moved. His sleeve was pulled back.
With a muffled roar, Stone swung his fists upward knocking the doctor backwards and then, with a flex of his muscles, burst free of the ropes around his wrists. The needle fle
w from Saul’s hand, skittered across the floor and landed in the corner.
Stone swung his legs off the gurney, grasped the ropes around his ankles and tore them apart then ripped the tape from his mouth. Shit, that hurt!
Saul was on the floor, staring at him with wide eyes. “Who? What?” The man sputtered and scrambled backwards as Stone approached at a slow, menacing pace.
“I am a Shomer Virtus and I’m going to rip you limb from limb.”
“A what? Why? I’m a doctor.” Saul retreated even more.
“A doctor? More like a butcher.”
“No, no. I save lives. I help—”
“By stealing organs?”
“They are compensated. I swear!”
“Like I was going to be?” Stone narrowed his eyes. “Be careful how you answer. I can smell a lie.”
“No.” Saul licked his lips nervously. “A favour. You were a favour for a friend.”
“And how many ‘favours’ have you done? How many of your ‘donors’ have died?”
“Not many.”
Stone growled, his wolf coming to the fore, his fangs beginning to show.
Now we can exact justice, the beast him inside declared.
The man’s face was white now. “Okay, more than that. I don’t know; I don’t remember, I swear. There just aren’t enough to meet the demand. My patients are willing to pay anything for a second chance.” His back was pressed against the wall now, nowhere else to go. “It started as just one lung or one kidney, maybe part of a liver.”
“And of course all those donors are willing, well-informed, well paid and given proper medical care afterwards.”
“Some.” Sweat beaded on Saul’s brow.
Stone snorted. “If they survive, most don’t have access to follow-up care and couldn’t afford it if they did. Any money you might pay them, if they survive, goes for food for their families.”
“That’s their choice.”
“Choice? Watching your family starve, or selling part of your body, risking death or disability, shouldn’t be a choice.”
“It’s not my fault they’re poor. I give them an opportunity. My clients are important people.”
Stone shook his head in disgust and reached down to grab Saul by the throat. He was tired of hearing the bastard trying to reason away his sins.
At that moment, Saul swung his arm out, the needle in his hand again. It plunged into Stone’s forearm milliseconds before he grasped the man’s wrist and bent it back.
Saul struggled against Stone’s grip, trying to push the plunger on the syringe. Stone tightened his grip, there was a crunching sound and Saul screamed, his hand going limp.
“My wrist, you’ve crushed it!”
Stone yanked the needle from his arm. It still had fluid in the barrel. “I’d love to kill you but I know someone who wants to beat every bit of information from your brain first.” He jabbed the needle into Saul. “This should make you easier to handle. Have a good rest.”
Saul opened his mouth to say something and then slumped into unconsciousness.
“Half my size, no wonder it worked fast.” Stone stood up. He was starting to get a bit drowsy himself and fought the feeling. Some of the drug must have entered his system.
Stone stumbled to the window and opened it. Ground floor, several bushes. Good. Giving his head a shake in an effort to stay awake, he grabbed Saul. After dragging the man across the room and tipping him out the window, Stone climbed out after him, shut the window and sank to the ground.
There was something familiar about this place. He tried to focus his eyes as he looked around, noting a large building not far away. Wasn’t that the hospital he’d been in just a few days ago? Which would make this building the private clinic for the rich and infamous that Reno had mentioned. Hell, Saul had been right under their very noses and they’d had no idea what was going on.
His vision blurred again. He rested his head on his knees, breathing deeply, fighting the grogginess. Damn, he was tired.
Call Reno.
That was the next job. Get Saul’s phone. His hands fumbled over the numbers but he managed to press the correct sequence.
“Reno? Put a tracer on this call and send a team here to pick up Saul.”
“Stone? You sound drunk. Are you okay? Is Dante there?”
“Drugged. Need to get back to Christina. Orphans. Gotta shift.” The phone fell from his hand and he used his last bit of energy to change forms.
Chapter 22
Stone slunk through the bushes, the shift having helped dissipate some of the effects of the drug. He was still groggy but his wolf was managing to keep all four legs coordinated enough to move. Staying with Saul until a team picked the scum up would have been the right thing to do, what Reno likely expected him to do, but the doctor would sleep until Reno was able to arrange a pick up.
Finding his way back to Cantala was his priority now. His gut was telling him to get back there as quickly as possible. Over the years he’d learned his gut was usually right. He wasn’t going to start ignoring it now.
No fishing boats, his wolf muttered still not having forgiven him for that debacle.
Stone agreed whole-heartedly. He’d swim back to Cantala before he’d hide under a pile of fish again.
Keeping to the shadows and shrubs as much as possible, he made his way to the marina. If someone looked his way, he’d duck down an alley or behind a parked car. The ‘mad dog’ incident from the other day was still fresh in his mind. Little wonder the Lycan population was almost zero around here.
As he travelled the effects of the drug lessened. By the time he was at the marina, his head was clear again, his legs steady. Crouching behind a dumpster, he watched the activity along the quays. Not many people about this late in the day. Most of the fishermen had gone home while the vacationers were still eating. Stealing a boat would seem to be his best option.
Shifting to human again, he strolled down the dock, hands in his pockets. He avoided the yachts; the harbour master was probably paid extra to watch them. What he needed was a small dinghy with an outboard motor.
Stone gave each boat a quick inspection as he walked by, discounting those that were too large or showed signs of frequent use. When he found a likely candidate he slowed his step for only a moment before moving on. No need to show he was interested in case someone was watching. He proceeded to the end of the dock, stopped and admired the view and then returned, eyeing the dinghy one more time. It was exactly what he was looking for. An older model, it had oars and an outboard motor plus it hadn’t been used recently based on the layer leaf debris inside. Noting its location, he gave a mental nod and continued on his way.
The cover of night was needed to steal the boat with the minimum amount of risk. While he was waiting, he decided to check in with Reno. The man was probably having a fit, wondering what had happened.
Stone patted his pocket then remembered he didn’t have a phone with him. Saul had taken it. Sighing he looked around for a likely spot to steal one. Damn, he was turning into a bloody thief! There was an outdoor cafe complete with a bar near the beach. Lots of men chatting up the ladies. He spotted an unguarded cell phone and took up a position near it, leaned against the bar as if checking the place out.
Sorry, buddy, he silently murmured to the hapless owner. I hope you don’t have a lot of holiday pictures on this. A second later he’d palmed the phone and was walking away with it.
Pushing his conscience aside, Stone found a secluded spot and placed the call.
“Reno. It’s me.”
“Where the hell are you, Stone?”
“Nice to hear from you, too, Reno.”
“Cut the crap. Last time I talked to you, you said you were drugged. When a team arrived, you were nowhere in sight. I didn’t know what to think.”
“I’m fine. You’re just turning into an old woman. Did you get Saul?”
“Yeah. He’s still sleeping off whatever you gave him.”
“I’ve
no idea what it was. When he wakes up, you can ask him.”
“Oh, we’ll have questions for him. Or at least the FBI will. Dante’s getting hold of his contact and arranging a drop.”
Stone turned to survey the area around him. No one was near; he could talk freely. “Lycan Link working with the FBI boggles my mind.”
“Dante plays both sides. They’ve no real idea what he really is.”
“Things could get messy if that ever happened.” He switched topics. “I overheard Saul saying they were expecting a shipment of children’s organs. He had to be talking about the orphanage where I found Christina.”
“You found her in an orphanage? Isn’t she too old for that?”
“I’ll explain later.”
“Should be interesting. Anyway, with Saul out of the picture, the deal can’t go through.”
“That’s what I’m hoping, but with Dee you can never be too sure.”
“Dee?”
“Deirdre. She’s part of this mess, too. And Emilio Mendoza, the drug lord. I have a bad feeling about all of it. As soon as it gets dark, I’m heading back.”
“Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“Will do.”
Stone hung up and pocketed the phone. He might need one again.
The sun was setting, the resplendent reds and oranges reflecting on the shimmering water. A short walk along the beach seemed to be in order. He’d be in place when it was time to grab the boat.
He paid no attention to the hand-holding couples strolling along the water’s edge. Romantic nonsense wasn’t for him. Hunching his shoulders, he kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of him. Waves lapped up onto the shore, washing away the remnants of the day’s activities; footprints, sandcastles, elaborate sand carvings, they all fell victim to the incessantly rising tide. That’s how he felt right now. Like everything in life was constantly beating him down, slowly eroding everything he’d worked for. Each time he met one challenge another arose. His last mission, just when it seemed everything was going to turn out right, disaster had struck and he’d lost Adisa. He’d returned to the States to find Virtus ruined. And now would history be repeating itself? What was waiting for him back in Cantala? If something happened to Christina, he’d be completely lost.
Wolves, Witches and Bears...Oh My! Page 32
