The Hunted

by Val Tobin

  Rachel’s shifts covered fourteen days on the base followed by fourteen days at home, and she liked the schedule. She brought home a good salary and lived below her means. The townhouse complex was in a decent area outside the downtown core but close to the hustle and bustle. It also resided far from the edges where the forests might encroach.

  The grendel infestation that had exploded in the forests around Ontario twelve years before had forced people away from the woods, away from trees in general. No one went into the wilderness anymore alone and unarmed and never without hiring a protector to accompany them. Rachel frequently hired out her services on her weeks off, and sometimes, she and her entire team were recruited through the base to do special jobs.

  She pulled her brand-new silver SUV into her driveway, rolling up the garage door with the automatic door opener in her vehicle. Arriving home and settling back into a house she’d left empty for two weeks but for a neighbour peeking in each day to check on it always felt a little strange. The base felt more like home to her than her house did.

  Her furnishings looked as new as her car because she hardly used anything. The clean and shiny walls shone as if freshly painted. She always entered the house from the garage and made her way upstairs to her room to drop her duffel bag on the floor. Next, she’d fix herself a drink—it was five o’clock somewhere, she habitually joked to herself—and watch a show on a streaming service. Really, she spent most of her break running errands or biding her time until she could return to work.

  As she measured an ounce of gin into a highball glass and topped it with tonic water, she used the remote to turn on the television. Most of the time, Rachel avoided the news when she first arrived home, but today, she wanted to see if the media had picked up anything on the body Hound Dog had found.

  She snatched up her drink and strolled to the lounge chair facing the television. Setting her drink on the end table next to the chair, she sat down and released the footrest. On the screen, the news cycled through car accidents, shootings in Toronto and surrounding areas, robberies, assaults … So far, it was people hurting people. No mention of grendel attacks.

  Perhaps people had finally learned to coexist with the creatures. The thought made her smile. That would never happen. As if to prove her point, the news shifted, and a picture of a grendel displayed behind the newscaster.

  “A local team of protectors, based in Lakefield, Ontario, eradicated a nest of grendels over the weekend. Hunters Rachel Needham, Jack Ainsworth, Dalton Morin, and Paul Fraser recovered three grendel bodies from the kill site and one female victim. They found the female’s body near the nest. Details are unavailable at this time. We’ll update reports as we receive them.”

  So, HQ had told the media the grendels had killed the girl, but they hadn’t told them she’d not had a mark on her. The creatures couldn’t have killed her. They didn’t use subtlety to kill—they tore in with teeth and claws. Whatever had killed the girl wasn’t readily visible. Poison? Drugs?

  None of what they’d found made any sense.

  She picked up her drink. One hand holding the cup steady on her thigh, Rachel watched the news and sipped.

  A video clip played next, a voice-over explaining the contents.

  “Protests at the Needham Scientific Research Facility near Peterborough, Ontario, turned violent yesterday when Jeffrey Needham, son of CEO Stefan Needham, rammed his car into the facility’s gates. Bail was set this morning for Needham and two other protesters arrested along with him. Charges include destruction of private property and trespassing.”

  Rachel sat up in her seat, snapping the footrest back into place and setting her drink on the table.

  “Oh, God, Jeff,” she muttered. “What the hell have you done now?”

  Chapter Three

  Her heart pounding, more with anger than shock or fear, Rachel turned up the sound on the television. Her younger brother had apparently led a group of protesters to the facility owned by their father. When they found the entrance to the property barred to them—of course it was, you idiot, it’s a private research facility—he’d rammed his car into the gates.

  Rachel rose and paced the room. No one had called her. Why hadn’t Dad called? Or Jeff? One of them should’ve let her know he’d been arrested. There he was on the screen, hands cuffed behind him, a smug expression on his handsome face, as a police officer guided him into the back of a cruiser.

  She raced up the stairs to her room and fished her phone from her backpack. So much for unwinding with a G&T and watching television. She never should’ve flipped to the news. First, she tried Jeff.

  Voicemail, which wasn’t surprising given the recent revelations.

  She called her dad. Her father’s assistant gave Rachel a difficult time, but in the end, he put her through.

  “Hi, Rache.”

  “Dad, why didn’t you call me? I had to find out from the news.”

  “You mean Jeff?”

  “What else would I be calling about?” She sat on the edge of her bed, changed her mind, and lay down instead.

  “I was busy dealing with everything.”

  “Where’s Jeff?”

  “In jail.”

  “You left him in jail?” Her voice rose.

  “What do you want me to do? He’s a grown man. If he’s going to do something this stupid, I’m going to teach him a lesson.”

  Yes, her dad loved lessons. Loved stepping back to let them cope on their own. She supposed the strategy had worked. Neither she nor Jeff ever relied on their father for anything.

  “He’s barely nineteen. He’s barely old enough to drink.” That reminded her she had a gin and tonic sitting on the end table downstairs. Rachel went to retrieve it. This conversation would require it.

  “He’s doing this shit sober. Imagine what he’d do drunk.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “Why was he there?” Back in her room, she stood in front of her trophy case, her gaze flitting across the awards for running, for martial arts, for achievements as a protector. She sipped from her drink, and it slid refreshingly down her throat.

  “Protesting. You know how he is. We’re the bad guys to him.”

  “Have you talked to him? About your work?”

  “I can’t talk to him about what we do. It’s classified.”

  “No kidding.” She enunciated each word, frustrated that he spoke as if she were an imbecile. She adjusted her tone to reflect his. “Talk to him scientist to scientist. He understands genetics. The kid graduated university at seventeen with a Ph.D. in it. You don’t have to discuss specific projects. Listen to what he has to say. What if he’s right?”

  Stefan heaved a sigh so loud Rachel almost felt the breath in her ear. “Sweetie, do you think I haven’t tried? I invited him to work here. It could get him a Nobel Prize in genetics. He refuses every time. I’m out of ideas about how to deal with your brother. I’ve got nothing left.”

  “Will you bail him out? If you do, I’ll talk to him. I’ve got time off. Please? I’d do it myself, but I don’t have the money.”

  “What would it look like if I bailed him out? No, Rachel. You want to talk to your brother, go ahead. You can talk to him in jail. Perhaps that big brain of his will help him find a way out.”

  She heard a voice in the background, and Stefan said, “Yeah, on my way.” To Rachel, he said, “I gotta go, honey. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. You’re my warrior, right?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Before she could say anything more, he disconnected.

  Rachel next called the police station in Peterborough to track down Jeff’s whereabouts. The cop she spoke to, an old friend from her days on the force, told her someone had bailed Jeff out only moments before, but he wouldn’t tell her who.

  With some hope he’d answer, since he’d been released recently and would have his phone back, she called her brother.

  “Jeff Needham.”


  “Jeff, thank God. What the hell, bro? What are you doing ramming your car into the gates at Dad’s company?”

  “Nice to hear your voice, too, Rachel.”

  “I’m not trying to judge you. It’s all over the news. That’s how I found out. Not from you. Not from Dad.”

  He chuckled. “I’d have called you, but I was a little busy. Besides, the cops took my phone. How did you expect me to call you?”

  “You managed to call someone to bail you out.” She didn’t allow him a response and said, “Where are you? Want to come here? We can figure out what you need to do next.”

  “I appreciate the offer, sis, but you’re not responsible for me anymore.” Annoyance gave his words a hurtful punch to her gut.

  “I’m not trying to be responsible for you. God, I’m worried about you. Can’t you appreciate that?” Didn’t he realize she’d do anything for him?

  “Not really. I’m not a kid. We’re not running from grendels anymore.”

  “Yes, we are. Everyone is.” She sighed. “You think because you study them for a living and they’re humanoid that they can be domesticated. They can’t. They’re monsters. They’ll always be monsters. Wherever they sprang from, we must eradicate them.”

  “That’s your job. You won’t get my cooperation for it.”

  “They killed our mother. Why do you overlook that? They don’t understand you’re trying to help them. They’d kill you, too, if you stumble on them in the forest.”

  “So would a lion, but you don’t see people trying to eradicate the entire species.”

  Before responding, Rachel tossed back the rest of her drink in one gulp. “Lions evolved naturally. These things aren’t natural.”

  “I disagree. They’re flesh and blood creatures. Just because we don’t know where they came from doesn’t mean they couldn’t have evolved naturally. However, on that point, I agree with you. I think they’re the products of genetic manipulation.”

  Rachel gasped. “Why?”

  “I can’t prove it yet, and I can’t discuss this over the phone.”

  “Then come here. We’ll talk about it.”

  “All right. It’ll take me about an hour. I’m stopping by my house to shower and change, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  They said their goodbyes and disconnected the call.

  Two hours later, Rachel still waited for Jeff to show up. When she called his cell phone, it went directly to voicemail.

  Chapter Four

  Reluctantly, Rachel called her father’s office. She didn’t expect help from that direction but refused to let him off the hook. If something had happened to Jeff, her father needed to get involved in searching for him. He was their father, for God’s sake. Why didn’t he ever act like it?

  “What? I’m busy.” His exasperation came through the cell phone in waves.

  “Of course you are. Do you think I’d call you for no reason?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s Jeff again, I assume?”

  “He’s missing.”

  “What do you mean? Isn’t he in jail?”

  “No. Someone bailed him out.”

  “Who?” The annoyance in his voice climbed to new heights.

  “I don’t know. He didn’t tell me when we spoke.”

  “But you spoke. What makes you think he’s missing?”

  “I expected him here over two hours ago. He hasn’t shown up and isn’t answering his phone. I’m worried.”

  “You’re overreacting. He probably stopped somewhere and hasn’t let you know. I’m sure he’ll show up soon. Give him time.”

  “Couldn’t you at least, for once, sound a little concerned?”

  “I’m not concerned because there’s nothing to worry about. Look, if you must do something, call his friends. Call those maniacs he protests with. One of them will know something. He’s probably with them.” He paused, but when she didn’t reply, he said, “I don’t have time for this. Figure it out. Shoot me a text when you track him down so I can say I told you so.”

  As before, she didn’t find his attempt at humour funny. “Sure, thanks. Bet you win Father of the Year this year.” She disconnected the call.

  Damn him—her father and, frankly, add in her brother, too. She’d only ever wanted a normal life. Grow up, become a detective, help people, get married, start a family … and where was she now? Hunting monsters, arguing with her dysfunctional family, and living the single life—and not even really living it since she hadn’t had a date in two years. Ever since she became a protector.

  If cops had a difficult time having a family life, protectors had it so much worse.

  She opened the contacts list on her phone. How many of Jeff’s friends or partners in protests did she have on here? Not many.

  Isabelle Marie Hodgkin—Jeff’s friend and a member of his protest group. They’d met in university. She was older than Jeff by two years, but they were tight enough Rachel had added the woman’s contact info to her phone though they’d never met. Isabelle Marie might give Rachel more names and numbers. Or Jeff might be at Isabelle Marie’s. If so, Rachel planned to tear him apart grendel-style for worrying her.

  The woman didn’t pick up, making Rachel wonder if the two were together. She left a brief message on Isabelle Marie’s voicemail saying she was searching for Jeff, gave her number, and disconnected the call. Jeff’s friend might simply have turned off her phone, but then again, something might have happened to both her and Jeff. Rachel’s worry deepened. Who could she call next? He wouldn’t have gone to the university, would he?

  Before contacting the police, she’d try one more thing: tracking his cell phone. Rachel chastised herself for not doing that immediately. She went upstairs to the room she used as an office and booted up her computer. Once online, she searched for how to track a stolen phone, followed the instructions, and entered Jeff’s cell number into the online tracking app.

  She located it in the woods outside of Peterborough.

  ***

  Hound Dog lived in a much posher part of Peterborough than Rachel. His home sat on an acre of land on a cul-de-sac of exclusive homes. While not quite a mansion, the dwelling was, nevertheless, impressive. The door, set in a turret, swung open after Rachel rang the doorbell twice. Hound Dog stood before her, wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.

  “Making a house call, Frosty? Lucky for you, I’m naked under this towel.”

  “Get dressed. I need your help.” Why had she picked Hound Dog to turn to? But she knew the answer. Next to her, he was the best hunter in the protector fleet.

  Immediately, he turned serious. “What’s wrong? Something happened? You okay? Is it the girl we found?”

  “Are you alone?” She didn’t want some woman he was banging to appear naked from a bedroom.

  “Yeah. You interrupted my steamy session in the shower.”

  “All right, don’t get disgusting.” She almost smiled. Almost. “Without you getting skeevy about it, may I come in? I’ve got a huge problem, Dog. I don’t know who else to ask for help.”

  A puzzled look on his face, Hound Dog stepped backward into the house and ushered her in.

  “What’s up? Sounds personal, so not about the girl I found.”

  “Right.”

  He led her into a large but cozy family room with neutral walls and warm-toned accents and waved her to a sofa in front of a gas fireplace.

  “Sit. I’ll be right back.” He left the room.

  She appreciated he’d turned all business. Perhaps … no, he was nothing but a jerk underneath. Peel off the top layer, and you’d find he was as rotten at the core as he was on the surface.

  He returned five minutes later, dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans. “Want a drink?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “What’s going on. You look nastier than usual.”

  When she gave him a stricken look, he shrugged. “Just trying to cheer you up. What happened, Rachel?”

&n
bsp; As her name fell from his lips, tears sprang to her eyes, and she turned her face away. After taking a deep breath and pushing the emotions down, she met his gaze.

  “My brother’s missing. Jeff.”

  “I saw the news. Isn’t he in jail?”

  “He’s out on bail. I tracked his cell. To the forest. I’m going after him, and I want you to come with me.”

  Chapter Five

  They took Rachel’s vehicle because she insisted and Hound Dog understood she needed to have control. He could relate. If it were his brother—he’d had three, so he knew what it was like—he’d have done the same thing.

  As she drove, he studied her with furtive glances.

  She had a fierce expression that enhanced the warrior aura she always radiated. Her long, goth-black hair was tied back in a single braid and topped with an army-green ball cap. The denim jacket she wore hid her muscular arms. Not that it mattered. Hound Dog could picture those ripped biceps. He’d felt the force of them whenever they trained together. She’d learned martial arts from the time she was fourteen and had even won a few competitions.

  He tried to spar with her as often as possible, not just for the challenge but because he enjoyed being around her. Self-aware enough to realize the inauspicious start to their relationship was his fault, he nevertheless continued to allow his ego to dictate their interactions. That didn’t stop him from seeking out more contact. He swore to himself he’d stop coming across as a sexist lout, but his mouth and body refused to listen to his brain. One day, he’d outgrow the need to annoy her.

  But not today. Not now. Now, he wanted to ease her anxiety, and the best way to do that was to piss her off.

  “Couldn’t stay away, could you, babe? We got a week off, but you had to have more of the Dog.” He produced a lusty howl to punctuate the words.

  She gave him a satisfying scowl. “Don’t start with me. I’m not in the mood.”