Triple Cross

by Tymber Dalton

  “Why?”

  “He looks torn between horny and sad.”

  Now she felt guilty. “I played dirty.”

  “Ah. Well, I don’t want to look like him, so I won’t ask.”

  “You already look like him.”

  “You know what I mean.” He hesitated, his tone slipping back to serious. “Come home when you can. I know you have things to do. Doesn’t mean we don’t miss you and want you with us.”

  “I know. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  When she got off the phone, she stared at it for a moment. If she wanted a shot at figuring out how to live this new dual life she’d been handed without losing what little remained of her sanity, she needed this time away from them. Time to clear her head.

  Time to deal with it without them suddenly shoving plans for a nursery down her throat, or asking her baby-related questions.

  Or coddling my ass.

  Wasn’t this supposed to be the best time of her life? Becoming a mom? She didn’t feel like it. In fact, it felt damned inconvenient, to be honest. She now had way more to do, and would be hampered in doing it.

  It would force her to be safer. Take less risks.

  Which meant it would hamstring her efforts to get to the deeper truths once and for all and dig them out for exposure to the light of day. Why were the cockatrice the way they were? What other plans had Baba Yaga set into play that they didn’t know about yet? What else had Mercedes uncovered? What other secrets did Rodolfo have that they didn’t know about? Who now had the other cockatrice spellbook that she saw in her vision?

  And how the hell would they keep Lina’s vision of a cockatrice-set nuclear weapon from coming to fruition?

  Chapter Four

  Elain tried to sleep, but despite the calming effects of the chamomile tea, her brain revved too fast to allow her to downshift it into shut the fuck up mode.

  When all was said and done, Elain knew she had to fly to Bolivia. She needed answers.

  Answers that only Lacey and one Marston Hill could provide her with.

  At first, she inwardly cringed, wondering if she even had her passport with her.

  Yeah, I can see that going well. Hey, boys, just stopped by home real fast to grab a couple of things…on my way to fricking Bolivia.

  She let out a snort.

  She found the backpack she’d used as a purse for this journey and dumped the contents out onto the bed. Sure enough, buried at the bottom and tucked into her checkbook, was her passport.

  Ooh, looky there. It hasn’t even expired yet.

  Bonus.

  She pulled out her laptop and, using her personal credit card, booked a flight that left Maine tomorrow afternoon. One of the agreements she had with her men was that her personal account was just that—personal. That unless there were dire circumstances, they would respect her privacy and not peer into her records, the same way she wouldn’t pry into their personal accounts without asking. They had a general household fund they all had full and unfettered access to for things like bills and groceries, but the discretionary money was theirs to spend however they wanted.

  And right now, she wanted a one-way ticket to fricking Bolivia. She booked a journey that would eventually get her on a plane to the town with an airport nearest the jaguars’ compound. And she knew reaching her final destination might be a little tricky on her own.

  She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d do once she got there, but she had the jaguars’ phone numbers. All she could do was start calling and hopefully track down at least one of them. Or maybe find someone in the town who knew them and could give her directions.

  Hell, Lina and Zack managed to track down my dad there because of one of her visions and nothing else. If they could do that, surely I can do this.

  She laid a hand on her belly. Better now than when I get too big to fasten an airplane seat belt around my middle and the guys go uber-protective on me.

  * * * *

  It was late the next afternoon when she sat at the boarding gate for her flight to Dallas, where she’d catch her flight out of the country.

  A flight through Tampa or Miami would have been cheaper, but no way would she even think about the risk of getting that close to her men. She’d already called them to tell them she was going off the grid until the next day so that they wouldn’t worry.

  And she’d called Callie that morning before leaving Lacey’s.

  “So how is your little vacay going?” Callie asked. “I think you’ve got the snowbird thing backwards. People are supposed to go to Florida from Maine, not the other way around.”

  Elain thought about the new addition to Lacey’s garden. “I’ve just been digging around in a few things.”

  “I take it this isn’t strictly a social call?”

  “You’re good. I just wanted to ask if you could please ask Blackie not to check up on me.”

  “Gotcha. Personal time?”

  “Yeah. I’m okay, but I just…” She didn’t want to outright lie to her friend. “I don’t want someone tracking my every move, or sounding alarms if I decide to go for a long run and I’m not home when someone drops by just to say hi.”

  Callie’s bright laugh rang through the line. “No worries. I promise I won’t poof in without warning, and neither will Sir. Well, you know what I mean.” Her tone turned slightly serious. “But if you need me, call me, got it? You know, poof, and I’ll be right there. Anywhere. You tracking?”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  Elain hoped Callie’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt that she didn’t reveal her pregnancy. She had to tell her men first, she owed them that. It was bad enough that Lacey and Ryan already knew before them.

  And she wasn’t ready to tell them yet. She also didn’t want anyone knowing she was leaving the country, although she understood Callie suspected something based on her statement. But if Callie didn’t know where Elain was going, she couldn’t be edicted by Blackie to tell anyone.

  Elain wasn’t even sure if she’d tell anyone about her trip when she returned.

  She’d bought a larger suitcase and a few changes of clothes to take on the trip before leaving Maine. What she’d brought from Florida wouldn’t cut it. Originally, she’d anticipated a couple of days in Maine before returning home, not a transcontinental flight.

  That evening, as her flight from Dallas lifted off, she stared out the window at the darkness, the runway lights disappearing under them as the plane soared skyward.

  I really need to master that poofing in and out crap. It would make life sooo much easier.

  * * * *

  Elain’s Spanish wasn’t good for much besides ordering in a restaurant or asking for directions to the nearest bathroom. A very tired and bored-looking customs agent at the airport in Bolivia stared at her passport after going through her luggage.

  He asked her something in Spanish, and when she didn’t reply with anything other than an apologetic smile and a shrug, he tried again in heavily accented English.

  “Purpose of your trip?”

  Instinct seized her. He wasn’t a shifter, but he smelled strongly of them. She reached out and touched his wrist and, not sure if it would work, sent him a mental image of Ortega Montalvo.

  His eyes widened as he stared at her.

  Yeah, you’re wide awake and paying attention now, aren’t ya, buddy?

  He called out for someone else, who came racing over. A flurry of Spanish transpired between them while Elain stood there, patiently waiting with her arms crossed.

  The second man examined her passport before confronting her. “Why are you here?”

  She met his gaze head-on. This one was a shifter, although she wasn’t sure what kind. “Ortega Montalvo. I’m a personal friend of his. And of his brothers. Don’t suppose you’d like to point me to a map and a rental car, would ya?”

  Five minutes later, Elain found herself comfortably sitting in the back of a black Mercedes SUV and speeding through the darkness wit
h a silent driver who’d been given barely five words of instructions before Elain and her luggage had been deposited inside.

  Well, if they were going to kill me, they would probably have me in handcuffs or something. Or at least a guard.

  She noticed the man in the front seat kept nervously glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He wasn’t a shifter. Likely he was a low-level flunky unlucky enough to be on duty that night and who was handed this assignment.

  When she caught him looking at her again, she flashed him a broad, friendly, slightly manic and toothy wolfish grin.

  He quickly refocused on the road, his shoulders hunched.

  She snorted, struggling and succeeding not to break out into full-on laughter.

  He’d probably wet himself if I let out a howl.

  She had to clap a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter over that thought.

  Then again, it might scare him and he’d run off the road and wreck and kill us both.

  Yeah, that would be baaad.

  Even with her lupine vision, between the darkly tinted glass and the dark night, she could make out little about the landscape around her. The occasional outside streetlight, or lit widow, was only briefly visible before they sped past. The road felt pretty bumpy, but from the way her driver kept wrenching the wheel around, she suspected he knew it well.

  That made her feel a little better.

  In the east, the sun was still below the horizon but sending up the first hints of dawn when they slowed before stopping in front of what in the headlights appeared to be a well-guarded, high-walled compound. A guard brandishing an automatic rifle at them held up his free hand in the universal gesture of stop right the fuck there, bunky.

  She sat up a little, wondering if that was the wise thing to do, or if maybe she should duck down.

  Another armed man walked over to the driver’s side. The driver nervously conversed with him in Spanish. Elain watched as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder in her direction, and the man peered into the car at her.

  She opted for a smile and a friendly wave. “Hiya.” He looked familiar, then she recognized him from the trip to Montana when they rescued Fiona. “Is that you, Marco?”

  “Elain!” He slung his rifle over his shoulder and yelled at someone, apparently to open the gate because they were admitted. Marco was opening her door almost before the SUV came to a stop, offering an arm to help her out even as he shouted orders at someone else, who ran into the building.

  “My most sincere apologies, Elain. No one called us that you were coming. We would have sent a car and driver to meet you.”

  “That would be because they didn’t know.”

  The driver stayed right where he was, hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel and nervously staring straight ahead.

  “Um, I think Skippy there is freaked out. Maybe I should grab my bags and y’all can just let him go.”

  He laughed and said something to the driver, who relaxed a little.

  I really need to learn Spanish.

  But Marco also snapped his fingers and pointed at another man, who immediately stepped in to grab her luggage for her. Less than a minute later, the terrified driver was speeding out of the compound, and Marco was leading her toward the house.

  “So what brings you here?” he asked. “Especially unannounced.”

  “I need to talk to Ortega.” She stopped and looked at him. “And Lacey. And…” She glanced around. “Someone else. I promise, I come in peace, and no one will leave in pieces. I just need some answers.”

  He slowly nodded. “I think I understand as much as I need to at this time.”

  She smiled. “No wonder Ortega loves you.”

  He shrugged. “I have my good points.”

  They waited in a cavernous and tastefully decorated main foyer. Somewhere from the second floor, she heard Ortega speaking to one of his men and sounding out of breath. A moment later he appeared, running across the balcony to the top of the stairs and still pulling on a bathrobe over his pajamas.

  “Elain Lyall? What are you doing here?” he asked as he hurried down the stairs.

  “Yeah, sorry to drop in on you unexpectedly like this.” He reached out for a hug before she could extend a hand for a handshake. She felt nervous tension wash from him. “And I promise, I have plenty of bubblegum,” she joked.

  “What?”

  “Bubblegum. You know, I came here to chew…” Confusion palpably washed from him. “Um, never mind. It’s a line from a movie, sorry. Can we go talk?”

  Ortega apparently ordered his men to take her luggage somewhere, because Marco helped the other guy tote her stuff upstairs. She lost sight of them when they turned a corner.

  “Come.” Ortega led her through the house to a large, ornately carved dark wooden door that opened into an office worthy of any Wall Street CEO. “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

  “No, I’m okay for now. I’ll definitely accept a good bed here in a little while. I didn’t sleep on the plane.”

  He closed the door behind them. Instead of walking over to his desk, he led her to a leather sofa along one wall, and sat her at one end while he took up the other.

  “Now then, what did you wish to talk about that couldn’t be discussed over the phone?”

  “Marston, for starters.”

  His face turned into an unreadable wall. “Marston?”

  “Ortega, seriously, it’s okay. I promise, no killing. I know he’s under your protection, and no, Lacey didn’t have to tell me.”

  She tapped her forehead. “But I know Lacey’s here, too, and she’s also on my to do list of talking-tos.”

  She kicked off her shoes and tucked her legs under her as she gathered her thoughts. “I know some shit went down in Maine. I know you helped Marston and the baby get out. Before I tell you how I know all of that, please, I need your honesty. This is between you and me, a Seer and a Clan leader. And as same, needless to say, it comes with my confidentiality, as I know it will come with yours.”

  The façade he’d held dropped. Scrubbing his hands over his face, she heard stubble rasping against his palms as he let out a sigh. “Do you know how long it has been since we’ve had someone we could utterly confide in?”

  “Is that a royal we?”

  He smiled. “I mean our Clans here. In South America. And not just mine, and not just the jaguars.” His smile faded. “I believe there still might be a Seer or two on our continent, but they live in fear and hiding.”

  “From the cockatrice?”

  “That, and from humans. There is so much fighting, drug wars, governments, and rebels…” He held up his hands. “I digress. My apologies.”

  “So I guess pulling a Butch and Sundance and moving here isn’t such a hot idea, huh?”

  He smiled and pointed at her. “That reference I understand.”

  “I figured.”

  He proceeded to tell her about talking with Mercedes at the Clan Gathering in March in Yellowstone. His promise to provide sanctuary to her and hers if it was ever needed. Fast-forward to a few weeks earlier, when he received a frantic call from Mercedes with a set of GPS coordinates.

  “The cave,” she said. She didn’t phrase it as a question because she knew the answer.

  He sadly nodded. “Nearby. We moved as quickly as we could, but unfortunately, we arrived a few minutes too late. I will forever regret that. I feel responsible for her death.” He set the scene, described finding Marston holding his newborn daughter, which he’d had to cut from his mate.

  How close Marston came to Ortega killing him right then.

  How, once Marston told the story and revealed where Rodolfo was, Ortega did a one-eighty and immediately spirited father and infant out of Maine.

  And how Lacey had recently shown up for a visit of her own. “But she called first,” he teased. “Just as she was getting on the plane in the States to head here.” Then he cocked his head. “Now, it is your turn.”

  Leaving out the par
t about digging up and relocating Mercedes’ body, she told him exactly what had happened, the visions she’d had, and how she knew about Marston. “And what’s this about a spellbook?”

  “Marston told us about it. But I swear to you, when we searched the house it was already gone. It looked like someone had ransacked the place.”

  “Do you have the address?”

  “I’m sure we do somewhere. If not, Marston must have it.”

  “I want to follow up on that when I get back to Maine.”

  He studied her. “So. Where do we go from here, Seer? Did that answer your questions?”

  “Some of them. I still want to speak to Marston. And Lacey. But I also want you to show me Rodolfo.”

  “Now?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “The man fucked up my life before I was even born. Just promise me that he won’t leave your dungeon alive.”

  When the jaguar shifter grinned, he showed teeth that would have scared her were she not a wolf. “I swear on my life, Elain, that Rodolfo will not leave my dungeon alive. He might, however, remain alive for many years hence.”

  She fought a dangerous rolling in her stomach that she wasn’t sure was triggered by morning sickness finally kicking in, or the sheer, sinister glee in Ortega’s tone. “Well, that’s your call, not mine. I just want to know I can be sure he’ll never be a danger to anyone ever again.”

  “He will not.”

  “Good.”

  “Before I take you there, I have a request.”

  “Sure.”

  He clasped his hands together and stared at them for a moment before returning his gaze to hers. “As wolves, Marston and Lacey have provided invaluable help and insight for my wife and myself with Fiona. But you are a Seer with talents even they don’t have. Before you return home, would you…”

  She picked it up. “Talk to her for you? Smooth things over?”

  He nodded. “Right now, she goes through periods where she is full of anger and rage. She is settling in well with us, and her cousins, but I do worry. It is one thing for myself to be full of rage at Rodolfo. While I want her to hate him, I don’t want her to be absorbed by it, if that makes sense? I wonder if I didn’t do too good a job of making her hate him.”