by Renée Jaggér
He climbed into the passenger’s side. “Well, no disturbing pocket vibration so far,” he stated.
“That’s always encouraging,” Bailey remarked.
After filling the tank at the gas station next door, they found a restaurant specializing in breakfast and brunch about a block and a half east of the motel. It was doing a modest business, which hopefully meant a shorter wait time.
“Right now,” Bailey said, “I’m pretty sure I could eat enough omelets for both of us. Meaning two. Three or more might be a bit much.”
“Hmm,” Roland pondered. “We could order three and split the third one.”
They ended up doing just that, to the initial confusion and later amusement of their waitress, an older lady who seemingly enjoyed the opportunity to take down an unusual order.
The pair sipped their coffee.
“Roland,” Bailey asked once they had some privacy, “I was wondering. Where do you get your money? Can you really afford all this? I mean, I kinda got the impression that your family’s pretty well-off, and obviously you’ve been managing so far, but…I dunno. Just curious.”
His mouth took a sour twist. “I was afraid you might ask that,” he muttered.
Bailey was suddenly concerned and a bit irritated. That sounded like there was something he should have told her sooner, but she was curious.
“I am asking that,” she pointed out. “Speak.”
“Fiiiiiine.” He sighed. He shot a quick look around to make sure no one was within earshot, then turned his face back to her.
“So,” he began, “one of my greatest magical talents is manipulating things, kinda like what I did with my belt back at the farm. But it goes beyond telekinetic stuff like that. Some time ago, I figured out a little…shortcut for procuring funds.”
Bailey wondered if he meant counterfeiting, but she’d seen him pay for things with cards, not cash. Then again, she supposed he could have counterfeited a lump sum, deposited it in a bank, and be drawing off it with his debit card.
“I’m all ears,” she said.
He coughed and went on, “I run fake credit card applications. Just keep re-rolling new ones with new limits. The details are a little technical, but trust me, it works. Even saved my life a few times, you might say. The downside is that the goddamn things always fall through after a while, and then they’re traceable.”
Bailey’s eyes widened. “I’m having breakfast with a criminal? Shit!” Roland didn’t react, so she added, “Although like the cops back home said, getting into fights all the time is technically illegal, too.”
Roland laughed. “True. Most people aren’t as innocent as they seem.”
Bailey’s face fell. “If they’re traceable, though, aren’t you gonna end up with a bunch of debt collectors riding your ass pretty soon?”
He shrugged. “Meh. I’m keeping tabs on all of it. I’ll pay them back soon. Well,” he glanced around again, “I’m hoping to pay them back once I can settle down and secure a normal income again.”
His eyes shot up. Following them, Bailey saw the server approaching with their food, so she shut her mouth for the time being on the subject of illegal activities.
The waitress balanced a large tray next to the table. “Ooookay there, young folks,” she proclaimed. “Three omelets for ya. Nice and hot, so watch the plates. Can I get you anything else for now?”
Roland and Bailey helped her arrange the plates and asked for a coffee refill, but that was all.
“Sure thing!” the lady agreed.
They tore into their meals, and Roland continued his story between mouthfuls of fluffy egg, meat, veggies, and melted cheese.
“Thus far, the only reason the witches haven’t caught me,” he paused to chew and swallow, “is because I keep staying in places they wouldn’t think to look. For being individuals with magical powers and expensive educations, they’re not terribly imaginative people. Except when it comes to fashion, I suppose.”
Bailey almost spat out a mouthful of food at that. Instead, she forced it to go in the opposite direction.
“Yeah, good observation,” she got out.
“Plus,” he added, “I’ve been staying in low-end places. They’re too fastidious or not tech-savvy enough or whatever to catch onto the fake cards and identities. Yes, I was using a fake ID previously, but I ditched it before I came into Greenhearth—which was a good thing since your sheriff would probably have gone apeshit if he’d found it.”
Bailey finished her coffee. “You’re a clever man, Roland.” She snickered. “Maybe a little too clever from the sound of it.”
He waved a hand at her, and his smile was a tad arrogant. “I’ve heard it all before. Unfortunately, cleverness only goes so far against psychotic, obsessive persistence.” He sighed. “I just wish that their—the witches’—parents or employers or friends would get on their asses and make them give it up. They must have someone who’s willing to say ‘Young ladies, you come back home this instant’ in a stern voice. Right?”
“Who knows?” Bailey remarked.
Soon they’d finished their meal. Roland had a little trouble with the extra half-omelet, but Bailey was able to make up the difference, and they stacked the three plates on the end of the table. The waitress materialized a moment later to collect them.
“I’ll take those and bring you your check. Together?”
“Yup,” said Roland.
“Okay, then.” She trudged off.
In the pleasant afterglow of a good meal, Bailey leaned back and then turned to look out the window. Her breath caught in her throat.
“What the ever-loving fuck?” she gasped.
Roland tensed immediately, his own eyes snapping reflexively to the glass. “What is it? It’s not Shannon. I don’t see her, and nothing from the coin. Is it—”
“It’s not your lady friends,” Bailey informed him. “But it’s just as bad.”
Chapter Eleven
Bailey couldn’t believe it at first. Her brain tried to tell her it was just a paranoid hallucination, but no. She’d seen the damn thing for the three entire seconds it took to drive past the restaurant and vanish around the corner.
She steeled herself, gritting her teeth as she spoke to the Seattleite.
“It’s Dan Oberlin’s butt-ugly SUV.” A subtle tremor of rage went through her. “Not that brown thing they had at the farm; that must have belonged to one of his boys. This fucker, I’d know anywhere.”
Roland blinked and gave her a cockeyed look. “Are you sure? Somehow I didn’t peg them as the types to venture out of town any more than you.”
“Like I just said,” Bailey grated, “I’d know it anywhere. God, what an awful piece of shit. 2008 Chevy Suburban, white, so it picks up new goddamn mud stains on a daily basis because Dan Oberlin is a fucking moron.”
The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she hated the vehicle almost as much as its owner. Maybe more.
“Everyone around town knows that shit-ass horrible piece of white-trash crap with its fucking stupid big black spinner rims and its gaudy chrome lips and its bitched-up lifter kit that he tries to use to lift it beyond all reason like a fucking dipshit. And worst of fucking all, that horrible blue and purple wraparound flame decal fuckery that Gunney degraded himself by fucking putting on.”
She balled her hands into fists. The wizard remained silent.
“I told him,” she ranted on. “I said, ‘Gunney, do not accept that shitfaced bastard’s goddamn money for a blue and purple flame job on a white SUV. Not a truck, a fucking sports utility vehicle.’ But nooo, old Gunney told me that he’s a paying customer and the customer’s always right. I did not do that shit. The other guy, Kevin, did it. I fucking refused. What a goddamn fucking bitch-ass piece of sub-redneck shit.”
Roland stared at her, mouth agape. The waitress also returned with their check and stood blinking politely as Bailey hastily wrapped up her profanity-laden tirade.
“Sorry,” she said to the older
lady. “I just saw the worst truck in Oregon, if not the world. Trucks are, uh, kind of important to me.”
The woman nodded. “I guess so. Anyway, here’s your check, no hurry on paying. Have a nice rest of the day!”
“You too.” Roland smiled and waved as she hustled off.
Once they were safely alone again, the wizard turned back to his companion. “Did you see Dan Oberlin driving it?”
“No,” Bailey admitted, “but who the hell else would drive something that looked like what I just described? For fuck’s sake!”
“Good point.” He shrugged. “Anyway, that’s all the more reason to get the hell out of here. Sadly, we might have to skip the gardens. Why would Oberlin be in Portland, though? Is this normal for him?”
The girl shook her head. “Yeah, maybe some other time on the gardens. And I have no idea. He and his crew sometimes go to parties and shit in other towns in the mountains, but I’ve never heard of him coming into the city. Kinda coincidental. Makes me think they’re after us for revenge.”
The dark implications of that sank in as silence reigned.
Roland was the first to break it. “I suggest, then, that we don’t bother them or otherwise get their attention.”
“Yeah,” Bailey acceded. “Much as I’d love to kick their asses just for driving that…thing, not to mention everything else, we don’t need the extra trouble right now.”
They used the bathroom quickly and then beat feet out to the truck. To both their surprise, just before she climbed in, Bailey’s phone started ringing.
“The hell?” she grumbled, pulling the device out and checking the number. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
She answered, “Hi, Gunney. What’s up? I was planning to call. Sorry about that.”
“Bailey,” the old man said. “Jesus, are you okay? Your brothers told me the gist of it, but we’ve all been waiting to hear from you. Didn’t the sheriff tell you to check in when you got to Portland?”
Her shoulders slumped. He was right; she should have called. But focusing on her adventure with Roland, not to mention the flight from the witches, had been kind of distracting.
“Yeah, I forgot with everything going on. I apologize. Don’t get your panties in a wad. I’m fine. Also, sorry I won’t be able to make it back in time for my shift today, but you can give it to the new girl. Like I said, she needs the hours.”
He made that rough-edged sighing, grunting sound he always made when he was impatient to deal with something important. “Listen, I’m not worried about that for now; we’ll be okay. Did you hear the news? You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you? Shit, everyone here’s talking about it.”
Now she was confused, and Roland, watching her and listening in, frowned in concern.
“What news? Calm down, old man, and talk sense. I’ve been busy trying to figure out the goddamn roads in this place. Don’t have time to—”
He cut her off. “The missing girls. From Greenhearth. Remember yesterday when I told you about that girl from the south side who went missing? I was gonna send a card to her parents. Well, there’s another one gone now—Lauren Heuerman. We just found out.”
“Holy shit,” Bailey blurted. Suddenly, the poster she’d seen in the park last night flashed in her memory.
“And,” Gunney went on, “guess fuckin’ what? The South Cliffs all happened to leave town at about the same time. The initial assumption was that they went to go get drunk with their dipshit friends on the other end of the valley after your fight, but once we all heard about the girl…”
Something in Bailey’s spine went cold at that.
“Gunney,” she replied in a low voice, “you don’t think…”
“I do think,” he shot back, “that they might be involved. That’s everyone’s suspicion. I mean, innocent until proven guilty, but let’s just say the police are on the same page as everyone else. Bailey, this is important, so I need you to tell me. Do you know anything about this? Did you have anything to do with it?”
She knew he was concerned about her, but the question stung anyway.
“Hell, no,” she almost shouted. “I came up here to get away from Oberlin and to help Roland here evade his stalkers. And before you ask, I’m sure he didn’t have anything to do with it either.”
There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line. “Okay, fine,” Gunney responded.
“However,” Bailey added, “I’m almost positive I just saw Dan’s POS drive by five minutes ago. I assumed they were looking for me. Since when do they get to Portland?”
The old man exhaled noisily. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Girl, you take care of yourself, you hear? Be careful, watch your back, and come home as soon as you reasonably can. I’ll tell everyone you’re okay for now, but this isn’t a good time for anyone.”
“Okay, Gunney,” she said. “Thanks for letting me know what’s going on. And have faith in the new girl. She’ll do fine.”
“I will. Bye.” He hung up.
Suddenly feeling like she could use a beer, Bailey slipped the phone back into her jeans.
Roland caught her eyes. “I overheard most of that.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Yeah, I’m sure you did. He was practically hyperventilating. He’s a cool old guy, but every once in a while, he flips out when something’s, you know, serious.”
“Well, it sounded serious,” Roland insisted.
The werewolf ignored him for the moment. She was thinking.
Lauren Heuerman was a Were. Gunney hadn’t named the other girl, the one from the south side, but Bailey would not have been surprised if it turned out that she was a Were, too.
And those names on the poster last night had been familiar, which meant they could also be Weres. What the fuck?
Roland coughed in a loud, theatrical way. “So, I’m thinking we should do something, such as step into the vehicle,” he suggested, “and then figure out where we’re going next.”
Bailey nodded sharply. “Into the vehicle, yes. But I know exactly where we’re going—after Dan Oberlin’s shitmobile.”
Again, the wizard’s mouth hung open for a second. “Uh, Bailey? I really don’t think that’s a good idea. We’re trying to keep a low profile here, and you agreed with me five minutes ago that dicking around with those idiots would be an excellent way to fail at that.”
“Yeah, well,” she said sharply, “a lot has happened since then. Get in. We’re going hunting.”
They opened the truck and hoisted themselves into the seats. Roland waited until he was buckled in before he tried arguing with her again.
“You know,” he began, “instead of trying to chase them down or whatever it is you have in mind here, you could just call Gunney back, tell him our current location, and have him inform the police that their vehicle was sighted here. That way, they could start sweeping the area, and we wouldn’t have to deal with Oberlin or the cops.”
She snapped her head toward him. “Stuff it, city boy. First off, we can’t call the police. This is a pack matter. The pack stays together, Roland. Always. A girl from one of our friendly packs is missing, and the goddamn South Cliffs probably had something to do with it. Going after them isn’t just my opinion, it’s the goddamn rules. The traditions.”
He was smart enough to recognize that she meant business.
“You did go out of your way to help me,” he observed. “And I wouldn’t want anything to happen to that girl, even though I don’t know her. But frankly, I’m not a member of—”
“You’re my boyfriend, remember?” she interjected. “Or at least, that’s what everyone thinks until further notice, so as long as we’re practically mated, you are pack. The rest will accept you because I’ve accepted you.”
By now, she’d gunned it out of the parking lot and down the road in the direction she’d seen the atrocious white SUV going.
To soften her words, she smiled at him, and not in a clever or amused way; this was different. It must have worked be
cause she saw him melt. Suddenly, he was on board with the program just because it would keep him by her side.
“All right,” he almost whispered. “Let’s get the bastards.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” She gave him a soft punch on the arm. “Besides, we’ll be able to keep you away from the witches. Can’t be any safer than with a bunch of werewolves who’ll rip anyone who messes with them to shreds. Well, one, at least.”
He reacted to her punch by aiming his index finger toward her ear and slowly moving it closer. She swatted his hand away.
Roland adjusted his jacket. “Those wolves will rip me to shreds if I can’t belt-nunchaku them into oblivion this time. We won’t have the home-field advantage, you realize.”
Bailey ran a yellow light and changed lanes to avoid a forced turn, cutting in front of the car behind her, who honked. She was getting the hang of city driving.
As for Roland’s comment, she didn’t want him to end up as meat scraps, but…
“Hey,” she said. “If you do get dismembered, disemboweled, and decapitated, at least Shannon and her color-coordinated groupies won’t be able to use you for a sperm donor.”
He let out a low, awkward laugh. “I can’t argue with that logic.”
* * *
An hour and a half had passed—a delightful interlude filled with asshole drivers in annoying vehicles.
“No, listen,” Roland insisted. “The fact that they were heading east doesn’t mean they were going to continue east, because then they’d end up driving their horrible flame-decaled SUV straight into the frickin’ Columbia River. That would be nice for everyone else, but I doubt even they are that stupid. Now, from what G-Maps is telling me, there are a few winding back roads that go off into the hills, but somehow, that doesn’t seem right.”
“Bullshit,” Bailey retorted, braking hard to avoid a lane-change by some asshole in a Tesla ahead of her. “Some of us are used to back roads through the hills. Seems like exactly the kind of place they’d head for.”
