So, she’d compartmentalized that little girl just like she did with so many other aspects of her life. She’d packed her way. Maybe, when she slit the packing tape holding the boxes closed, she’d find that little girl inside folded up, her head resting on one arm, the other arm wrapped around her middle like she had to protect herself.
She’d always had to protect herself even when it didn’t seem like there was anything right in front of her she needed protection from. It was more of an overall feeling, a sense of dread—the sense that anything might happen at any time, and there’d be no one to help her. There would be nothing to stop whatever it was—that shapeless, featureless threat always looming over her like a cloud casting her world in shadow.
Who would want to identify with that weak, powerless person? Who would want to reach out to that memory and claim it as their own? It wasn’t exactly the same as running away. She’d never run away from anything in her whole life, not ever, not even when running away would have been easier and safer.
It was protection. She was protecting herself the way she always had, and if anybody had a problem with that? They could go to hell as far she was concerned.
If she had to leave the boxes behind, so be it. Let whoever found them try to piece together the mismatched, misshapen patchwork quilt of her life. She hoped they had a lot of patience if that was what they intended to do.
By the time eleven-thirty struck, Aimee was relatively confident in most of the household either being asleep or at least lulled into a sense of complacency. She’d heard Marnie go up to bed around eleven, her light footsteps followed by heavier ones. That had to be Sledge.
At least they were being quieter than they had at first, the day of the hurricane. There was nothing so uncomfortable as listening to people having sex—even when those people were complete strangers, and even when it was clear they were trying to be quiet. Sometimes the quieter a person tried to be, the louder they were.
And damned if it hadn’t sounded like Sledge howled at one point. That was what had first woken her, in fact, that howl like an animal. How was she supposed to take him seriously after hearing him in the throes of passion?
It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be there much longer. Maybe Marnie was too tired tonight, maybe she was still a little heartsick. It wouldn’t be a surprise.
Focus, damn it. Aimee shook her head, blinking hard. It was a signal to her subconscious to stop wandering off in directions that did nothing to help her chances of completing the mission she was currently attempting. And just then, she needed every ounce of concentration at her disposal.
The window was open a crack for the sake of letting fresh air into the room. The effects of the hurricane were still evident as Aimee raised the window higher—there wasn’t so much as a hint of humidity in the air, all of it having been pushed out to sea by the strong storm. The air was soft, gentle, that late summer feeling she guessed other people would associate with campfires and marshmallows and friendship.
The only thing she could associate it with was the impending school year. Even now, years after school had stopped being a concern, she still imagined the schoolkids who died a thousand little deaths every time they went to the store with their parents and saw the back-to-school displays.
She lifted the screen next, grateful the windows were in such good condition. They were whisper-quiet when a creak or a squeak would’ve given her away. She was fully dressed, right down to her black boots, and she prayed they would give her the traction she needed as she slipped on the gloves she’d tucked into the back pockets of her jeans, flexing her hands inside to loosen up the material.
A moment later, she swung out the window and gripped the trellis with fingers and boots. Even now, with her heart hammering in spite of every effort to remain calm as she used every ounce of skill and discipline to shimmy down the trellis silently as a ghost, she couldn’t help but appreciate the heady fragrance of so many lush, gorgeous roses.
One day, she would settle down and have a garden like the one Marnie had planted and so lovingly tended. She would wake up every morning with the scent of flowers in the air, would wander out with a cup of tea or coffee in the morning, a glass of wine at night, and admire the peaceful oasis she’d created in the middle of an otherwise hectic world.
All she needed was the space. The time. The patience.
And a permanent home.
All of this went through her head in a matter of moments, the length of time it took her to reach the ground. Aside from a few broken blooms on the grass, there was no evidence of her having been on the trellis at all—once she kicked those flowers onto the hedges, there wasn’t a trace of what she’d done.
She turned then, intending to head around to the front of the house.
What she got instead of a clean escape was a blinding light shining straight in her face.
Her first reaction was pure panic, instinct screaming at her to hide. Only there was nowhere to hide—there were no shadows; everything was bathed in harsh white light. It was disorienting. She didn’t know which way to turn, couldn’t see anything beyond the floodlights.
Only when a pair of hands much bigger and stronger than her own closed around her wrists was her brain finally able to catch up with what was happening.
They’d rigged the place. Probably long before then.
And she’d wandered right into their trap.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t understand any of this.”
Zane barely looked up from his feet which were currently in the process of pacing a very deliberate, very precise pattern on the rear patio. There was Marnie, sitting next to Sledge on the wicker sofa, her feet drawn up under her and a billowing robe draped over top. If she’d been asleep when Aimee made her escape attempt, any and all trace of that sleep had vanished in favor of panic over the commotion outside.
No matter how they tried to play a situation like this—especially in a residential area, where neighbors might take notice—there was no eliminating the disruption caused by the capture of a hostage trying to escape.
“What don’t you understand?” Sledge asked. His voice was heavy with love, patience, sympathy. He barely sounded like himself—at least, not like the Sledge Zane had known for so long.
Marnie looked around, her gaze landing on each of them in turn like she was hoping somebody would understand before she had to explain herself. It struck him as odd that she seemed disappointed to be the only one with a clue—after all, wasn’t somebody like her used to being the smartest person around? It had to be an everyday thing by then.
“I don’t understand why she would’ve tried to do what she did, knowing the house was already rigged with floodlights and all sorts of surveillance equipment.” She looked around again, waiting for somebody to catch on. “She was here before. Or somebody was. Shouldn’t she have known to be careful? That the lights would go on and she would have to make her way through them? The way she did before.”
“We don’t know for sure that it was her before—and honestly, now it seems like it wasn’t her. It must’ve been somebody else, some other person they had working for them.” Sledge wrapped an arm around Marnie’s shoulders, squeezing tight briefly.
She was a stubborn one, and maybe she was used to having to explain herself to men who thought they knew better. In fact, Zane would’ve bet just about anything that she was used to it.
He didn’t have to be a feminist to know there were plenty of men who didn’t give a damn what a young, petite woman had to say. Or any woman.
Which was why it came as a surprise but not a shock when Marnie shook Sledge’s arm off her shoulders. He wasn’t surprised that she did it, but he was surprised she would do it to Sledge of all people.
Sledge looked surprised too and maybe a little annoyed at the rebuff, but they were newly mated, still figuring each other out. It seemed like that was the same for all relationships—not everything had to change just because they were wolves.
&nb
sp; “Think about it,” Marnie insisted, looking around. “Why didn’t she know? Why wasn’t she prepared for what was about to happen? You said it yourself, she froze when the lights went on. It took practically no effort to grab her. Wouldn’t she have run the second her feet hit the ground if she knew there were floodlights about to give her away?”
Logan cleared his throat. “Alright, let’s say this is relevant. Why do you think it is? What do you think this means?” It seemed to be a night for surprises since he didn’t sound the least bit put out by somebody seeming to know more than he did. Normally, Logan didn’t exactly take kindly to others pointing out the flaws in his logic—or lack thereof.
“Somebody would’ve told her, wouldn’t they? Somebody would’ve reported the presence of floodlights here. Right? I mean, that sort of basic stuff? That’s definitely the sort of thing you want to pass on to your teammates or colleagues or whatever. Be careful trying to break into Marnie’s house because it’s been rigged up with all sorts of things. Right?”
Zane thought he was finally starting to catch on. Too many days in a row of stress, little sleep, and ill-advised obsession with this mysterious hostage had left his brain moving like molasses. “Either that knowledge was deliberately kept from her, or she wasn’t in close enough contact with everybody involved in this to learn about it. She was holding herself apart from it.”
“I like that theory best,” Marnie nodded. “It makes the most sense.”
“But does it?” Logan pondered, looking around. “These people decided they wanted to tie up all loose ends, including the ones doing their dirty work for them. Maybe they deliberately kept it from her. I think we can assume with a fair amount of certainty that Aimee wasn’t the person who tried to get into the house that first night after we set up the equipment. Whoever tried to do it wasn’t very large-framed, but that doesn’t mean it had to be a woman, or it could have been a woman, just one who wasn’t her.”
“Either way,” Jace surmised, “there’s not a ton of communication here. They’re not a team like we are.” He gestured around to all of them, Marnie included. In a way, she was like the unofficial sixth number of their force. “I mean, Val and Doc and Hawk don’t come out with us, but they’re still part of the team. We communicate everything with them and vice versa.”
“That probably makes it easier for them to do what inevitably needs to be done,” Braxton used. The fact that he was with them at all rather than with Serenity had been to be killing him, just like it killed Jace not to be with Kara.
They were both all-in, just as they always were. So was Sledge, though it was probably a little easier to devote himself to the case when his mate was right there with him. Besides, it was her house, and her life was still in danger.
“Exactly,” Marnie agreed. “You’re probably looking at a very small pool of individuals making up most of this team. There could be one or two outliers; contractors only get brought in when things are really dicey. Otherwise, they rely on contractors. Like Aimee. She can be one of them. I’d bet anything.”
“Why? Because you girls bonded?” Zane snickered.
It was a mistake since she very quickly whirled on him, eyes blazing. “And if we did?” she challenged, fixing him with a stony gaze. “I didn’t bond with her, though it would be my choice either way.”
Zane could only incline his head, acknowledging her silently as he did while he tried to ignore Logan’s stern gaze practically burning a hole in the side of his head. Yes, he knew he had to cool it with his attitude. Marnie deserved it less than any of them.
She continued, a little stiffer than before like Zane had hit a nerve and she was none too pleased about it. “As I was saying, I don’t think she was one of them. Not a full-fledged member of whatever group we’re talking about. She talked about her life, very briefly of course, but enough for me to get a sense of her. She seems like the kind of person who doesn’t have deep roots. She talked about having boxes she’s never even unpacked after moving around from place to place. She’s a rolling stone, like in the old song. She probably doesn’t settle down for very long.”
“And when she does,” Sledge continued for her, “she finds work and gets it done.”
“Or she might move where they tell her to move,” Zane murmured, lost in thought.
“Whatever the case, this isn’t a team like your team,” Marnie concluded. “Which makes me wonder just how devoted she is to them.”
“Are you sure you’ve never done any work as a profiler?” Logan grinned. He wasn’t the sort of guy who gave out compliments like they were candy, and it took a lot to learn his esteem. From where Zane stood, it looked as though she had.
Hell, she’d earned his esteem, too. He wasn’t any more of a pushover than Logan was.
She only blushed and shook her head. “I just observe people,” she shrugged. “Not that it’s ever done me much good or helped me make friends. Maybe I hold myself apart from others, I don’t know. I’ve always had a problem not blurting out the things I observe.”
They all shared a quiet laugh, even though there was an emptiness to it. Hollowness.
Because in the basement, there was a young woman tied to a chair. Zane had made sure to leave the ropes around her wrists and ankles tight, a constant reminder that she couldn’t get away. There were additional loops across her chest, her lap, her thighs.
They weren’t taking any chances with her, not after that close call.
Though, now that Marnie had pointed out the obvious, it didn’t seem like such a close call at all. Sure, she’d made her way down the trellis, which was something any trained assassin or skilled soldier would be able to do, but the lights had stopped her. That was all it’d taken. Not a warning shot, not any type of violence or restraint to freeze her like a scared rabbit. Just bright, white lights. She hadn’t expected them at all. The element of surprise could be worth a lot more than physical strength.
“Remind me to recruit you when this is all over.” Logan winked, making Marnie blush again. There was pride written all over Sledge’s face at the thought of his mate being deemed worthy of such esteemed company.
Logan then looked around at the rest of his team. “I’m glad we’re learning more and more about this person, though nothing we’ve learned so far has led us any closer to the location of the people she’s working for. And now that Marnie has inspired me to think along these lines, it’s pretty clear these people probably kept her in the dark as to where they were, whether they had a physical office, and who any of the people were who worked alongside her.”
“Except for the guy who tried to hit us,” Zane pointed out. He looked to Sledge, who nodded. “She said his name was Price. She’s mentioned it more than once. She kept Price from running us down.”
“I already have Val looking into that and Hawk,” Sledge added before Logan had a chance to ask. “Maybe his name will lead us somewhere. It’s worth a shot, anyway.”
“If only you guys hadn’t really destroyed his phone,” Logan muttered, shaking his head. He was never going to let them live that one down, and Zane could hardly blame him. They should’ve known better. Sure, the girl’s advice was decent—and he doubted she was deliberately trying to mislead them since she was completely terrified at the time and had been the reason for Price’s death.
But they could’ve gotten his card out of his phone and pulled the information from it. They could have. They should have. They didn’t, too wrapped up in destroying evidence and making sure the phone couldn’t be tracked.
“I guess somebody had better go down and sit with her, make sure she doesn’t pull some crazy spy shit like biting off her own tongue or otherwise hurting herself,” Sledge suggested, looking around.
“I would gladly go down there,” Marnie offered. It sounded more like an announcement than an offer, like she was telling them what she was going to do rather than asking for permission. He reminded himself again that this was her house, that she should be the one to decide what ha
ppened there, who came and went.
Clearly, Sledge had other ideas. “Absolutely not,” he announced, shaking his head.
“I don’t remember asking for permission,” she snapped. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to get used to not telling me what to do. I don’t appreciate it, and if you gave me a second to explain myself, I could’ve told you all of you need to get some rest. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends for days, all of you. This can’t keep perpetuating itself. You’re all going to burn out, and then what good will you be to me?”
She tried to make that sound like a joke in the end like she was teasing. Zane didn’t buy it for second, and he didn’t blame her either since she made a strong point. Where would she be without them? Her life was still in their hands—in their hands and unfortunately in the hands of the assassin currently tied up in her basement.
“Just for a few hours,” she suggested with a shrug. “Listen, I’m not a child. And don’t think for second that I could ever forget the things she’s done or the things she might’ve done—I’m just going to assume she’s the one who did everything since she won’t tell us otherwise.”
Her instincts were remarkably strong. Hadn’t Zane said something close to that earlier directly to Aimee? Until she fessed up, they would assume she was behind all of it.
“Trust me, I’m not down there to be friends with her,” she assured them in a dark voice with an even darker expression. “I’m doing this for you guys. Get some sleep. I’ll be fine. There should be books down there, so I’ll have plenty to keep me occupied.”
“I can sleep there in the room with you,” Sledge suggested. “I’ll sleep on the floor if I have to.”
“You don’t have to do that,” she murmured, and this time her voice was softer, loving. “Sleep on the couch or something. Sleep for real. I saw Zane tying her up. She’s not going anywhere.”
Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset Page 80