Shattered: The Sundance Series

by Rider, C. P.

  "What do you mean?" Lucas took my hand.

  "Garrett Harris doesn't think paranormals are people, much less 'neighbors,' therefore he isn't breaking any of his religion's rules. From what I saw in his head, the man was an expert at compartmentalizing to retain his sanity, his moral viewpoint, and his vision."

  "Then what does besmirching look like in Harris's world?" Amir asked.

  "In this instance, it looks like a paranormal taking on the name of a revered human biblical figure." Sampson turned back around in his seat, gazed out the passenger side window. "Neely's right. Harris is consistent in his hatred of paranormals."

  "Where is Harris now?" I asked.

  "That's above my pay grade," Sampson said. "But I do know that he's no longer at the Yuma, Arizona facility. He was moved a month ago to wherever it is the agency sends the prisoners they don't kill. Trust me, it's not a large facility. "

  "Lewiston might know. Have you heard from him?"

  All the smug went out of Sampson. "No. I think he's dead."

  "What? Why do you say that?"

  "He was with Henry. I know they synched up, because he left me a message telling me so." He flicked a glance at the phone. "You didn't get a picture of Lewiston."

  "Because he's not related to me. That doesn't mean he's dead." But he hadn't had my dad call the way he'd said he would, and though I didn't know him well, the impression I’d received was of someone who followed through on things like that.

  "Lewiston has no living family. So far as I know, he's not important to anyone but the agency, and the only people in the agency who know who he even is are your father, a few team members, and me. None of us have gotten a cell phone dropped in our laps by a wolf." He glanced at me over his shoulder. "I'd have heard, if that were the case."

  Feeling defeated, I leaned back against the seat.

  "Having said all that," Sampson continued, "if I had to choose someone I thought was slippery enough to free himself from these Legion bastards, it would be Henry. Lewiston would be a close second, maybe even tied for first. There are cops, there are soldiers, there are operatives, and there are people like Lewiston and MacLeod."

  "It's not a job for them," Lucas said.

  "No. They live and breathe it every second of the day," Sampson said.

  The trancer wasn't lying. My dad had a single-minded devotion to his work, and he'd been that way my entire life. Not that I'd had a clue what the work was until a short while ago, but once I knew, it had all fallen into place. The missed family events, him sending me away with my uncle when I was thirteen, his lying to me about who my mom was—it all fit the pattern.

  "I'm so glad Lewiston gave me my mother's journal. If he hadn't, it would have gone up in flames with the rest of my dad's things."

  "Do you think he was supposed to give you that journal? That your dad wanted him to?" Lucas asked. "Amir said the box looked different, and he ran it out after you'd already looked through the other boxes your dad left for you."

  "It seemed suspicious to me at the time." Amir checked his rearview mirror often as he drove, and he'd slowed to the speed limit.

  "Honestly, it did to me, too," I said.

  "Where is the journal?" Sampson asked.

  "In the bag by your foot. Hand it to me, please."

  He did. I took it out and flipped it open to where I'd last finished reading. If Lewiston had had ulterior motives in giving me the journal, it might have been because he'd hidden something inside it. I riffled through the pages of the leather-bound book, taking care because it was old and some of them had come loose. There was no note.

  Starting at the beginning, I went through every page, skipping my mother's entries and speedreading my father's, trying not to get hung up on the parts that interested me. That was a challenge. Eventually, I came to a page in the center of the book that appeared to be the same color as the others from the outside of the book, but when I peered closer, I saw it was newer.

  "This is interesting. There are two sets of numbers penciled in here. One positive and one negative. Thirty point three—"

  "Coordinates," Lucas said, and fished his cell phone out of his pocket. "Hang on a sec, Chandra put an app on my phone that pinpoints these things. My second prefers to communicate locations with coordinates instead of street directions, like a normal person. Okay, read them off."

  When I was finished, Lucas showed me the location on his phone. The app had a street view that showed a photo of a distant house surrounded by weed-choked, uncultivated fields.

  "Why would he send us there? It's not the address the kidnappers gave us. In fact, it's all the way across the county from it."

  "Send you where?" Sampson asked.

  "Alpha Martinez's uncle's property. Where we found Guillermo Martinez and where I … uh, shifted for the first time."

  His mouth fell open. "You really are a crossbreed?"

  "Don't use that term."

  "Okay. Sorry. I won't say that, but … Are you serious? Holy … I've never seen a cross—well, you know … I've never seen one of you before."

  "Aw look, the little guy is all tongue-tied." Amir rolled his eyes. Sampson gave him a dirty look that made him laugh. "Are we going to Tío Chuy's place or what? Driver needs directions."

  "Looks that way," Lucas said.

  "Maybe we should call Juan and warn him," I said. "If the Elijahs are here in Austin, they might come after Guillermo."

  "No, we shouldn't." Amir's voice had a reluctant undertone. "We have to assume that the Martinez pack is … involved. All of them."

  "All?" That had to have cost him, given how he obviously felt about Dahlia.

  He nodded.

  "Are you sure?" I asked.

  "Taking a page out of your book, Neely. What was it you said? '…this is about Juan's brother and Gert's grand-nephew. I'd be a fool to think they'd protect me over him.'"

  Lucas gave me a long, considering look before replying to Amir. "You think Johnny is involved in this? You know how long he and I have been friends. Since we were kids. Our parents were allies. Grandparents too."

  "Think? No. But someone in that pack is. Guillermo Martinez might be compromised too. I can't get a firm read on him. Neely, what's your take?"

  "He's utterly broken."

  "Broken?" Amir set his jaw and gripped the steering wheel until it creaked. "Do you recall the illusion you had in Alpha Martinez's truck on the ride from the airport? The dire wolf created an illusion inside an illusion—and this in an unhinged state of mind. I overheard Gert telling Dahlia she'd never heard of any prehistoric wolf who could do something like that. That he was, if not more powerful than Juan Martinez, at least equally so."

  "That doesn't mean he isn't broken."

  "No, but it makes it a lot less likely." Lucas shut down the GPS app and put his phone away.

  My mind raced through the possibilities. "Do you think I was duped?"

  "Hard to say." Releasing his grip on the steering wheel, Amir peered into the rearview mirror and said, "If you were, rest easy knowing Alpha Blacke and I were as well."

  Knowing that did not make me rest easy.

  Lucas leaned over the front seat to get a closer look at his fourth-in-command. "You've been inside the situation in a way I haven't. I trust your judgment. If you think we should play it cautious, we'll do it."

  Sampson nodded. "That's what MacLeod and Lewiston would do. They have a mantra of sorts in the agency." He stole a glance at me. "Expect betrayal at every turn from everyone."

  "How sweet. Someone should stitch that onto a pillow," Lucas said.

  "I'll have it put on a coffee mug for you," I muttered.

  "There's something else you haven't mentioned, Neely, but you have to have considered it by now," Amir said.

  "I know what you're going to say, and yes, I have considered it. It was the first thing I thought of when I saw the frozen crape myrtle branch."

  "What is it?" Sampson asked.

  "The mystic. Whoever cast that s
pell around the door was a meteorological mystic. Alpha Juan has one in his employ: Barney Drath. He uses him to predict the weather to better protect his livestock and the crops he grows."

  "Drath?" Lucas asked. "I met the guy last night. He's a hundred years old."

  Sampson took his cell phone from his pocket and tapped on the screen. "He's a mystic. Age only makes him more powerful."

  "It fits." I warmed up to the subject. "He led us to Guillermo Martinez's location by casting a charm spell using the bee that had manifested on my pillow during my weird dream. The witches said the charm was legitimate and that it should work, so I wasn't suspicious. But what if he didn't need to follow it? What if he already knew where Guillermo was?"

  "How did he cast the spell?" Sampson's brows drew low. "Did he use blood? Yours?"

  "Mine and Alpha Juan's. Cut our palms with this old, double-sided knife."

  "A haladie," Amir clarified.

  "Excuse me a minute." The trancer began tapping furiously on his cell phone. "I have a friend who might be able to assist—well, more a contact than a friend. A contact who is very good at what she does."

  I took out my phone and brought up the witches' number. Their identification picture was of the two of them in the tower, holding up glasses of wine. They called it their "selfie," even though I had snapped the picture. I wanted to talk to them in private, but if I tried texting them something this complicated, I'd get a phone call from Dolores and the first words out of her mouth would be, "Knock it off. You know Dot and me don't like doing that stuff."

  Sampson finished texting. "She's going to send me something in minute."

  "What's she sending?" Lucas leaned against the back seat and tried to stretch out his legs. "Also, pull the seat forward, Ibarra. My knees are in my armpits."

  "Camera footage of MacLeod's house." He scooted the passenger seat up a few inches. "I figured his security cameras were all destroyed in the explosion, but then I remembered this was Henry MacLeod. He wouldn't only have cameras on his house, he'd set up a 360-degree view. I asked my friend to see if she could tap into any Wi-Fi-linked cameras in the area that were still functioning, including the neighbors'."

  "The people across the street had one of those doorbell cameras," Lucas said. "If she's that good, you might want to ask her to get rid of any footage with us on it."

  "She is that good and I've already done that. At this point, it's up to the quality of the recordings, which is out of her hands. With any luck, she'll be able to locate something usable. I gave her a narrow window, so if there is something, it shouldn't take long. That is, if I'm right about the time." Sampson's cell phone blipped. "Told you." He studied the screen and then shrugged and held up the phone for Lucas and me. "No one I know. How about you?"

  The man on the small screen strode purposefully to my dad's front door and hung a silver necklace and charm on the doorknob. He turned the knob and the door opened. He then pocketed the charm and walked inside, moving with more energy and grace than he'd demonstrated the night he cast the spell to track down Guillermo Martinez.

  It was Barney Drath.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  "That squirrelly little fuckface."

  "You know, I remember a time when you hated cursing, Miss Costa MacLeod. Once, you even made me promise to stop cursing for an hour." Lucas moved in to take a closer look at the footage on Sampson's phone.

  "I used to pretend I didn't like cursing because I thought it was the right thing to do. I used to hide everything I was from everyone because I was afraid of being myself, and I used to feel bad for spiking squirrelly little fuckfaces like Barney Drath. Times have changed."

  "That they have." Lucas took Sampson's phone and used two fingers to enlarge the still image of Barney Drath hanging the charm on the doorknob. "That charm. Does it look familiar to you?"

  I squinted at the screen until I saw it. "Hey, that's my mother's star charm! The one I told you about. That bald jackass in Guillermo's head crushed it under his heel."

  "Doesn't look crushed to me."

  "Do you think that means the others are still around, too?"

  The hope in my voice must have reached him, because Lucas leaned over and kissed the top of my head. "Let's hope so."

  One of the phones rang, ramping up from a quiet chime to an earsplitting jangle. It wasn't mine or the burner phone, it wasn't Lucas's, and I could see it wasn't Sampson's. "For shit's sake, how many phones do we have in this car?"

  "It's mine." Amir put the call on speaker, then pulled off the freeway and onto a side street, where he parked in front of a small café.

  "Dahlia?"

  "Amir, are you still in town?" She sounded out of breath, as if she were running—or had just finished crying.

  "Yes. We're at Neely's father's house." This was a lie, but if what Amir suspected was true, he couldn't trust Dahlia either. No matter how he felt about her, his allegiance was to the Blacke group.

  "Can you please come back right away? Johnny tried to bring Gil into the pack and now Johnny's stuck in an illusion and it's bad. His heart is pounding out of his chest and Gert's trying to reach him, but she can't break through. Is there any way Neely could help him the way she helped Guillermo?"

  "Dahlia, I don't think we—"

  "Please. I'm begging you. He's my son and I don't know what to do. Guillermo won't come out of wolf form and I can't seem to locate a healer or Barney."

  "I'm sorry." His voice reflected that truth. "Let me speak with my alpha and I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, tell Gert to keep trying."

  He ended the call.

  "We have to help Juan," I said.

  Sampson spoke up. "It's a trap."

  "Maybe, maybe not. But I can't walk away. I understand if you need to, though. All of you."

  "I'm in," Amir said.

  "Thanks." I looked to Lucas, who rolled his eyes at me as he took my hand.

  Duh. I'm always in with you.

  I know. I love you, too. I threaded my fingers through his.

  "What about your dad?" Sampson scowled over the seat at me. "We're supposed to be at the address they gave us in twenty minutes. What do you think they'll do to him if you're late?"

  I glanced at Lucas, who nodded.

  "Alpha Juan is in immediate danger, so I'm going to go on the assumption that they'll wait for me," I said. "It's about priorities—and trust me here, trancer—nobody understands priorities better than my dad."

  The trip to Juan's took twenty minutes, but felt like twenty hours. Dahlia stood on the porch, accompanied by six Martinez wolves in the hybrid form closest to wolf with the ability to walk on two legs. They were magnificently uniform, each one just under seven feet tall, with equally sharp teeth and furred flesh, and shoulders two axe handles wide.

  "This is serious," Lucas said. "His security team is standing guard, making sure the pack doesn't witness his weakened state."

  "But they can feel it, right?" I asked.

  "Yes. If there's any unrest, it would be the perfect time to attack him."

  Another good reason not to join a shifter group: cutthroat shifters in your own group kicking you when you're down.

  Then again, if anyone tried to kick Lucas while he was down, shifter or not, I'd want to be there to protect him. So, maybe not such a good reason.

  He sighed. "They won't allow Amir or me inside without a fight to the death, and I won't push it unless you need me.

  "I may need Sampson's help."

  "They'll let him in. He isn't a shifter."

  Dahlia broke free of the wolf group and beelined to my side of the car, dragging me by the hand through the wall of wolves, and inside, to Juan's office. Sampson followed.

  "Thank you for coming, Neely. Please help him."

  My first thought was, if this was a trap, it was the best one ever laid.

  The Austin alpha leader was in hybrid form, curled in a ball on the floor and shuddering as if from a seizure. Gert was on her knees beside him, both hands
on his chest, eyes tightly shut. Guillermo was in wolf form in the farthest corner of the room, wrapped up in the Mexican blanket I'd left behind. He was shivering nearly as hard as his brother, eyes wide open and terrified.

  Recalling how I'd drained the wolves to near-death in the field outside Juan's uncle's house, I gave Dahlia explicit instructions to clear out the house and make certain there were no humans or weaker shifters within a mile of me. I even bargained with her for Amir and Lucas to be in the room so one of them could throw Sampson over his shoulder and run like hell if things got bad.

  Agreeing to my conditions, she expanded the directions to the entire pack, commanding the wolves to move any and all shifters, humans, and livestock out of the vicinity, telling them to treat this as a fire drill—which apparently was a thing they did here.

  As Dahlia Martinez stood there, hands on hips, shoulders back, chin raised, I saw the formidable alpha who had not only been a partner to a powerful alpha leader but had raised one herself. The look on her face told everyone there she meant business, and arguments to the contrary would be dealt with severely.

  Damn. No wonder Amir had fallen for her.

  I looked to Sampson. "I'm going to try to assess exactly what's happening before I do anything."

  "He's being attacked. That's what's happening," the trancer said.

  "Maybe, maybe not. Hold tight until I instruct you to act, please."

  "All right."

  Juan's thoughts were a jangly mess, which actually helped. I was able to easily lock onto the erratic waves of energy emanating from his brain and force them to match mine, which were calm and stable. Once this was done, I slowly pulled energy from the shifters in the room, closed my eyes, and spiked into his mind.

  There were no bees. But there were other things here. Scary things.

  As I moved farther into Juan's brain and deeper into the illusion, the scene became richer, more vivid. Marshy clover beneath my bare feet, cold, wet air in my lungs, mingled scents of damp earth and the acrid tang of rubbing alcohol—it all felt real. My sight adjusted with my hearing, which was when the discordant sounds of the wind blowing through autumn trees and the beeping of some sort of medical monitor came to me, coinciding with the image of Juan Martinez strapped to a hospital bed, vines wrapped around his head, wrists, and ankles.