Triple Cross

by Tymber Dalton

  It reminded her more than a little of Brodey’s pitiful look.

  “Your mom said you can sense cockatrice,” she softly said. “Feel like taking a walk tomorrow?”

  He wagged his tail.

  She smiled. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful…eh, whatever this is.”

  Jasper softly woofed.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Blackie sent someone out to scout around Lacey’s house to make sure it was safe before he allowed Elain to leave. It was the compromise they’d come up with to keep him from giving her a personal escort out of the territory and ratting her out to Ain and the others.

  She was actually glad for the delay in leaving the Blackestones’ home, because it gave her enough time to settle her stomach. She hadn’t experienced full-on puking yet, but the bouts of nausea were coming more frequently.

  Greeaaat.

  Elain told Blackie she needed to do a couple of things first, but would leave for Florida by that evening.

  Still not happy, he grudgingly agreed.

  Elain and Jasper returned to Lacey’s. She tested out his prowess by leading him across the road to the spot where the cockatrice had waited.

  The large dog stiffened as he sniffed where she pointed, a low, threatening growl rumbling deep in his chest.

  She stroked his head. “I know, buddy. I feel the same way.”

  Elain quickly changed into hiking clothes, dumped several bottles of water and a couple of snacks for her and Jasper into a backpack, and jumped in her car with the dog. Making sure to keep an eye out for any strange cars or trucks, she parked at the same place by the fire road and got out.

  She wouldn’t deny the weight of the nine millimeter in the waist holster concealed by her shirt comforted her. As did the full extra magazine in her back pocket.

  Jasper, on the leash, sniffed around and started growling.

  When she crouched down to sniff, she caught the scent. The same cockatrice as from Lacey’s, only this scent about a day or so older than the other.

  Aha.

  She suspected this cockatrice might be Cameron’s wife. But to test her theory, she needed to get back to that grave. So she locked the car and shouldered her backpack.

  Now that she knew the way, she broke into an easy lope, the dog happily keeping pace with her in the cool morning air. It didn’t take nearly as long to reach the grave this time. Jasper, predictably, reacted to the scent of the cockatrice along the way.

  And Elain smelled the cockatrice around the grave, saw where the dirt had been recently disturbed, as in the past day or two.

  Unshouldering the pack, she knelt next to the dirt. “Okay,” she muttered. “Let’s try this again.”

  She took a deep breath and pressed her hands into the dirt.

  The same images from before rushed into her mind. This time, Elain was prepared for them and paid better attention. She worked her way through the images pouring into her mind’s eye until she found the one she wanted.

  Cameron finding the book in the house just vacated by Mercedes and Marston, and, with the guy now buried with him, returning to the hotel.

  She couldn’t see the name on the hotel sign, but she now had a better view of the building itself, and an approximate location.

  More importantly, now she could clearly see Cameron’s wife.

  And her name. Aliah.

  “Gotcha,” she darkly muttered.

  Unfortunately, that was all she could get. No last names, no other details.

  But with that information in hand, she grabbed Jasper’s leash and picked up the woman’s scent again. Aliah had also found Mercedes’ grave, likely by following Elain’s path.

  Able to run this time, since she wasn’t exhausted, dragging a body, and carrying a shovel, Elain followed her previous trail, spotting telltale footprints that belonged to the cockatrice in the drag marks. It looked like she’d come back that way, too, based on the direction of some of the tracks.

  When she reached the point where Ryan had intercepted her, the cockatrice’s tracks and scent trail stopped and turned around.

  Hmm.

  From the way the tracks were spaced heading the opposite direction, it looked like the cockatrice had departed at a pretty fast clip.

  Elain snorted. Jasper looked at her, ears cocked, making her outright laugh.

  In her mind played a scene from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

  Run away! Run away!

  Circling around, Elain couldn’t find anywhere else the cockatrice had gone.

  Just as an afterthought, she looked up and around. “Hey, Ryan?” she called out.

  Jasper sat and stared at her, head cocked the other direction.

  She stared back. “What? It might have worked.”

  He sneezed.

  “Everyone’s a critic,” she muttered. “Well, let’s get back to the car. We have a house to visit.”

  On the way back to the car, at a slightly slower lope than she’d taken on the way out, she wondered how Aliah—and she was pretty certain that was who this scent belonged to—had found the graves in the first place. Her scent had wound past the rock pile, the clearing with the cave, and to the graves.

  The same path she herself had taken to discover them.

  Has she been following me?

  Elain stopped, holding her breath and looking around. Nothing but the sound of the woods, no feeling like she was being watched. And by the time she reached the car, she’d felt no strange tingles, no sensation of being under observation.

  It would seem that she, an armed wolf shifter, was the most dangerous animal there.

  Although she didn’t want to hurt Jasper’s feelings and tell him that.

  Maybe Mai or Lina could give Elain a little insight when she got back to Florida, but she felt like Jasper was already protective of her.

  Elain plugged the house’s address into her GPS. According to the annoying device, it said it was 28.3 miles away, and would take her fifty-five minutes to drive.

  Challenge accepted.

  She made it in thirty-two minutes, slowing when she reached the turnoff, past a car parked off to the side in a wooded area and past other houses until she reached the address and pulled in.

  There weren’t any cars in the driveway.

  Hmm. Marston had told her the car was there, and that she should feel free to use it.

  So if it’s not here, where is it?

  She didn’t get out of her car, left it running just in case. She whipped out her cell phone and dialed her favorite jaguar. He answered immediately.

  “How are you today, my friend?”

  “Peachy. Hey, listen, I need to talk to…your upstairs guest.”

  Just in case he misunderstood what guest she was referring to and held the phone up to Rodolfo’s ear by mistake.

  Well, what was left of his ear, anyway.

  Ortega sounded a little confused, but like he’d started walking. “Do I need to know why?”

  “I’m doing some investigating, and he told me there’d be a car where there is no car.”

  “Is that another movie reference I do not understand?”

  She snorted. “Sorry, no. I mean a real, four-wheeled vehicle is not parked where it should be parked.”

  “Ah. Hold on.”

  She heard him knock, a faint reply, followed by the sound of a door opening.

  In her mind’s eye she envisioned the jaguar entering Marston’s suite. Likely, the man was either tending Colleen, or waiting for her to wake up.

  She suspected he didn’t have any other hobbies.

  Then the man himself came on the line. “Hello?”

  “Hi. Listen, I’m standing in front of the address you gave me. One-story house, greyish-blue, white trim. Right?”

  He sounded cautious. “Yes?”

  “Is the car in the garage?”

  “That’s not where we left it. Hold on.” She heard the muffled sound of him asking Montalvo something before coming
back on the line. “Ortega says the car was out front when they went through the house.” He described the year, make, model, and color.

  “Hmm.”

  “I take it there’s a problem?” Marston asked.

  “Yeah. No car.”

  “I see. That would be a problem.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” She looked around, down the street. It was a more rural neighborhood, but on the map it showed the street ended in a cul-de-sac.

  Unless one of the other residents had stashed it behind their house, or in their garage, she didn’t see the car anywhere.

  “Ah. Well, I can send you copies of the paperwork via e-mail, if you wish. She kept copies on her computer.”

  “Let me get back to you on that. But have Ortega text me the tag number, please? Thanks.”

  She ended the call. The last thing she wanted was e-mails from their family’s mortal enemy ending up on her iPhone, and one of her guys accidentally stumbling across them.

  Awkward.

  She’d need to set up a secret account for that kind of stuff.

  She let out a sigh. Greeeeaaat. More secrets.

  After retrieving Marston’s keys from her purse, she drew the gun, checked that she had a round in the chamber, and flicked off the safety.

  Just in case.

  She shut the car off and got out. Jasper jumped out of the car and patiently waited for her to grab his leash. As she led him toward the front door, he slowed, lowering his head and growling.

  She stroked his head. “Easy, buddy. I don’t think anyone’s here. I think it’s just the scent.”

  She wasn’t good at scanning areas like Micah was. He wasn’t a Seer, but he had a skill of picking up shifters nearby.

  But trusting her gut, so far, had kept her safe.

  She knocked on the front door and rang the bell, just in case.

  Nothing. No hint of movement inside.

  Taking a breath, she unlocked the door and pushed it in, staring into the dark interior.

  Jasper lifted his nose, sniffed, and growled.

  “I know, boy. We need to check it out.”

  She retrieved the keys from the lock and closed and locked the door behind her. A quick walk-through, and she found a broken window in the back door, and that someone had unlocked it.

  She flipped the deadbolt. It didn’t lock silently, so someone would have to make a little noise if they wanted to open it while she was there.

  Here she could smell Marston in the stale air, and Mercedes’ scent, without the overlying death and decay.

  And Rodolfo.

  And rotted groceries sitting on the kitchen table.

  And…

  She walked around, slowly.

  Yep, Aliah. Her scent was far fresher than the others. Well, except for that of the rotted food.

  Son of a bitch.

  “Let’s think this out,” she said to Jasper.

  He sat, staring at her, ready to listen.

  It brought a smile to her face.

  “Hey, at least I can talk to you, can’t I?”

  His tail slowly wagged back and forth across the floor.

  “According to Marston, Cameron bumped into Mercedes in the grocery store. She told him Cameron followed her. So maybe he gave his wife the address, right?”

  Jasper’s tail wagged a little faster.

  “Marston said they ran out the back door with Rodolfo in tow and headed for the woods.” In her mind, she replayed the scene as she’d seen it through Marston’s eyes. Cameron and the cousin had no doubt tracked them that way.

  With the nine millimeter in her hand, she grabbed Jasper’s leash, unlocked the back door, and set out through the yard. The grass was starting to get tall, and she spotted a trail going out and coming back, but only one person.

  Aliah.

  It didn’t look like she followed them deep into the woods.

  Think, Elain. You’re a journalist. You’re trained to think.

  How had Aliah found the fire road? Specifically, the parking area? There were no other cars there. It wasn’t a designated parking area. Blackie had told her during their first trip there that it was rarely used.

  She pulled out her cell phone when it vibrated. From Ortega’s phone, a text with a license plate number.

  She called him back. “Thanks. I need to speak to him again.”

  He handed the phone over immediately.

  “Yes?” Marston asked.

  “Mercedes’ car. Did it have a GPS?”

  “Actually, yes, it did. I never used it, but she did. All the time. Annoying damn thing, the way it chattered at you if you so much as diverted a foot from its suggested course. Why?”

  “You said she’s the one who stocked the cave, right?”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you ever go with her?”

  “No, not until that day.”

  “Okay, that’s all. Thanks again.” She hung up and returned the phone to her pocket.

  Back inside the house she headed down to the basement. In the concrete wall, Mercedes had embedded metal spikes upon which silver rings had been affixed.

  It matched the backdrop of her earliest vision about Rodolfo being held captive.

  “Finally answers that question,” she said to Jasper.

  The dog, visibly unsettled by the strong scents of Mercedes and Rodolfo in the basement, maintained a stiff, alert posture.

  “I know, buddy,” she said. “Just give me a minute.” She knelt and placed her hand on the stained area of the concrete floor directly under the rings. Obviously it was where Rodolfo had spent his time in captivity with Mercedes.

  She closed her eyes and caught glimpses, images, nothing cohesive.

  She wasn’t sure if it was due to not being able to pick up anything, or because Rodolfo was fricking batcrap crazy.

  Maybe a little of both?

  When she stood, she made sure to wash her hands in the sink down there. Returning upstairs, she made another call. Ortega must have left his phone with Marston, because he answered it.

  “Darling,” he said, “we really should stop meeting like this. People will talk.”

  She almost chuckled, until reality slapped her upside the face and reminded her what a shit weasel he was. “Why are the lights still on? The electricity,” she clarified. “It’s been weeks.”

  “She set up the payments for the utilities to be deducted automatically. They’ll continue until disconnected.”

  “Or the money runs out?”

  His turn to laugh. “Disconnected first is far more likely.”

  “Oh. Okay. So someone could be sneaking in here and using it as a hideout?”

  “I suppose they could.”

  “What about the water?”

  “Same thing. Automatic payments.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Should I disconnect them?”

  She considered it. “Not quite yet. I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

  She ended the call. Moving quickly, she found garbage bags under the kitchen sink and swept the rotted groceries on the table off into the bag. She used spray cleaner and paper towels to wipe down the table as best she could, and dumped the bag in the garbage bin outside, which she pushed to the street. Other neighbors had pushed theirs out already.

  Returning to the house, she quickly searched, her heart aching over the nursery that would never be used.

  Mercedes had been a mom-to-be, eagerly anticipating the birth of her baby girl.

  Ortega felt guilty over not getting there sooner. Maybe it would have made a difference, maybe not.

  They’d never know.

  Elain suspected there were greater forces at play, forces likely engineered by one Baba Yaga, who’d conveniently gone off on a little vacay.

  She grabbed Jasper by the collar and closed her eyes. “I’m at Baba Yaga’s,” she said.

  He let out a bark. When she opened her eyes, she and Jasper were, in fact, at Baba Yaga’s house.

  “Hello?”

>   No one.

  She quickly walked through the house. It looked no different than any modern home, three bedrooms, two baths. The master bedroom looked neat and tidy, with a few tasteful pieces of art on the wall, but nothing personal. No pictures.

  They walked outside and found the human-bone picket fence there. Turning, the house looked like a tiny, decrepit hovel.

  “You’ve gotta be shitting me,” she muttered.

  Back inside, the house was definitely larger.

  She snorted. “She lives in the fricking TARDIS.”

  Jasper stared up at her, offering no feedback. “Guess you’re not a Doctor Who fan, huh?”

  He wagged his tail.

  “All right.” She grabbed his collar again and closed her eyes. “I’m back at the rental house in Maine.”

  And there she was.

  “Hmm.” She thought about it. Closing her eyes, she said, “I’m at Lacey’s house.”

  But when she opened her eyes, she was still at the rental.

  Well, crap. So much for the poofy stuff working all the time.

  “What to do?” She looked down at the dog. “People will think I’m crazy for talking to a dog.”

  He wagged his tail.

  Sudden, nearly painful homesickness hit her. She missed Juju and Bea. They loved jumping up on the couch with her, and were attentive, gentle playmates for BettLynn and the Beasts.

  She missed BettLynn and the Beasts.

  She missed her men, and her friends, and her parents.

  When tears threatened, she quickly blinked them away. Pregnancy hormones, most likely.

  She found a notepad and pen.

  I think we need to talk. 941-555-8694

  Staring at the note, she nodded. Either Aliah would call or text her, or she wouldn’t.

  Either way, she’d have to come up with an excuse for Blackie as to why his guys should keep an eye on the house. Although she didn’t expect Aliah to return to the house more than once. Just long enough to see the garbage cleaned up, and the note.

  And if the cockatrice was stupid enough to call her, Elain knew she might be able to get a better bead on her location. She could spend another week or more there in Maine, constantly looking over her shoulder and guarded by other shifters while trying to find the hotel…