Flight by Numbers
Rogue Spotter
Book Two
Kimberly A. Rogers
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people or entities, living or dead, business establishments, locals, or events is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Kimberly A. Rogers
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, digital, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed or electronic reviews, without the prior permission of the author and copyright holder.
Cover design by Rachel Rossano
http://rossanodesigns.weebly.com
Dedication
To Tom Hiddleston for being the perfect inspiration for Mathias
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Note from the Author
Rogue Spotter
You May Also Like . . .
Also by Kimberly A. Rogers
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Thank you as always to my family who support my efforts.
I also want to thank my early readers who have been cheering for this story since I first started working on it and introduced them to Mr. 10. Thank you all!
Additional shout out to Rachel Rossano for creating yet another magnificent cover!
Finally, thank you to my Lord and Savior without whom I am nothing.
Chapter One
Lauren
“Mathias, look out!”
I braced a hand against the dash as Mathias jerked the steering wheel swerving to avoid the troll lumbering across the motorway. A scream burst past my lips as we clipped the troll’s leg and spun out. I caught a glimpse of the troll’s mottled grey and green hide dusted with white snow and icicles rushing by, chasing two figures. Those idiots woke a hibernating river troll in January?
My own disbelief at the situation vanished as the car crashed into the ditch between the woods and the road. The metallic shriek of something cracking grated on my ears as I was jolted by my seatbelt when the car finally came to a halt haphazardly tilted so the driver’s side was angled higher than the passenger side. My ears were ringing as I looked in the rearview mirror. A bright 8 glowed in the darkness as the troll vanished into the other side of the woods. Of course, trolls were an 8 when angry. At least, it hadn’t turned on us.
“Lauren, down,” came the cool instruction accompanied by the touch of Mathias’ hand against my head.
I got as far down as I was able, and Mathias yanked my scarf over my face just as a rock sailed through the back window spraying glass and letting in the biting cold of January in Scotland. I bit my lip to keep from screaming. I heard Mathias’ door open and then a shout from behind the car.
Sitting back up, my breath caught as the cold chill of the night wind smacked into my face. That was cold! The sound of a muffled shout pulled my attention to where Mathias was grappling with a man on the edge of the ditch. Mathias must have been injured in the crash at least a little or he would have taken the guy down already. I reached for the steering wheel as I tried to unbuckle, but the seatbelt snapped hard against my left shoulder keeping me from grabbing the wheel.
I struggled to undo my seatbelt as a second man rammed into Mathias’ back attempting to bring him down in the snowy bank of the ditch. Both men had 7s glowing above their heads as they struggled with Mathias whose blazing 10 never flickered. I hissed under my breath when my left foot bumped against the center console sending a spike of pain through my ankle. The whole reason I was still stuck in our crashed rental car, since I couldn’t brace myself properly to get enough leverage against the pull of gravity.
There was a low roar in the distance. Probably the troll. I really hoped he wasn’t coming back toward us. Something heavy landed on the back of the car and I twisted around to see one of the attackers now lying limp on the trunk, his number flickering from a 7 to a 1. Then, the driver’s side door was yanked open. I looked up as Mathias leaned in, his blue-green eyes concerned, as he asked, “Can you get the belt off?”
“Working on it.” The seatbelt gave away just then, and I was barely able to catch myself with my right foot. It would have been worse if the car had been completely tilted on its side. As I reached for the steering wheel again, Mathias grabbed me by the forearm and heaved me over the console with surprising ease. Of course, being a foot shorter than his six-foot-two and roughly fifty pounds lighter, I wasn’t that much of a burden to my fellow fugitive. He pulled me out of the car, and then kept an arm around my waist as I leaned against him gaining a little shelter from the wind.
“All right?”
“Yeah,” I managed to get out between chattering teeth. Scotland was even colder in winter than I had expected. The wind was absolutely brutal. I shivered wishing my coat were heavier, even as I eyed our totaled vehicle. There was a metal rod resting on the ground and the left front bumper and tire were crumpled under the main frame of the car. It didn’t help that the car was tilted haphazardly with the right front wheel a good foot off the ground. My attention turned to our attackers. The man on the trunk of the car was a solid 1 now. But the other man . . . even half-hidden in the ditch, I could tell that his number was gone. Dead.
I looked up at Mathias who looked calm despite the cold and the fight. His number remained a 10 just as it had from the moment I first saw him. Months ago now, and an entire ocean away. Felt more like a lifetime . . .
“You need to get out of this cold,” Mathias grumbled before he helped me half-hobble, half-hop closer to the trunk of the totaled rental car. He dragged the man off the car and onto the road before he opened the trunk and pulled out our go bags. He shouldered them both, balancing mine on top of his, and then carried them up to the road as well before he came back to help me out of the ditch. “The village isn’t far.”
I glanced at the hunters’ car. “What about that?”
“Neither of them have keys,” he grunted as he shoved the surviving hunter into the back of the car and closed the door. He picked up our bags again, then walked over to me. He peered down at me, and then wrapped my scarf more securely around my neck and ears before pulling the length covering my hair forward a little and tugging my hood up. “Warm enough?”
“I’ll thaw out, I’m sure,” I muttered even as I tried not to think about the cold cutting through my jeans. “H-how far to the village?”
“Maybe a mile. Can you walk?”
I forced myself to nod, afraid to speak again for fear of my teeth chattering so loudly he would hear them. Mathias looped his arm around my waist, pulling me close, as we started walking far too slowly to accommodate my injured foot. I still wasn’t completely certain what I had done. Other than definitely landing wrong, when we were surprised by a hunter upon disembarking the transatlantic ship in Southampton, and hearing a nasty pop when I did. We had been forced to run anyway, and there had only been time to wrap and ice my ankle. But, it definitely wasn’t any better after five days.
Realizing I was leaning heavily on Mathias, I did my best to straighten and put more weight on my good foot. “S-sorry
.”
“Why?”
“Slowing you d-down.” I glanced at him and then added more softly, “Causing all this.”
“It’s not your fault, Lauren.”
But he was wrong. Completely and totally wrong. It was all my fault. When we first crossed paths in Olympia, Washington six months ago, Mathias had been in the employ of Weard Enterprises, the preeminent security company in both paranormal and norm society, and the new security consultant at Halliman’s. The equally prestigious PR firm where I had been hiding with my own unusual and valuable ability.
My name is Lauren Hope . . . and I’m what’s called a Spotter. I spot the people who are or can be threats because I see numbers floating over their heads that indicate their threat potential. The higher the number, the more dangerous the person, and the greater the threat. No other type of paranormal had this ability, and that made it a very dangerous gift to have given the fact that there were just as many people who would love to control me as those who would kill me to keep their deadliness secret. Exploitation or destruction weren’t the kind of choices I wanted to make so I spent my entire life hiding what I am and keeping my head down. Until now.
Mathias has the unusual distinction of being the only paranormal I have ever encountered who rates a 10, a number that makes him one of the most dangerous men in the world. But after getting to know him at work, I grew to trust him and to feel, well, a little more than trust. When I was revealed as a Spotter, Mathias helped me escape Weard’s clutches because it turned out the rumors were true and Weard now hunts innocent paranormals for their unique abilities. I escaped with him out of necessity, not sure if I could believe him or trust my own feelings on the matter, but after spending almost three full months on the run I knew Mathias was every bit the honorable man I had believed.
We spent most of that time backtracking across the States and laying false trails into Mexico or into Canada. All the while avoiding venturing too close to Weard’s headquarters in Chicago and dodging teams of hunters determined to bring us both in. Around Christmastime, Mathias finally felt confident enough that we had shaken the hunters to leave the country as planned. But instead of taking a plane or airship, we boarded a ship in New York to reach England. And, we still had a ways to go to reach Mathias’ intended hideaway somewhere in Scotland.
I tripped, biting my cheek to keep from crying out when my injured foot connected with the ground, and was jolted from my memories of our less than successful attempts to lose the hunters from Weard. Of course, Mathias was still wrong. It had been my fault that he was forced to go into hiding too. All because he wanted to help me avoid falling into Weard’s clutches. I glanced up at him as he pulled me closer and a shiver completely unrelated to the cold ran through me. We had become very close while at Halliman’s and I had thought . . . had hoped . . .
We only kissed once. The night before our lives fell apart, actually, which some might consider a bad sign. But ever since running, I felt like Mathias was trying to keep me at arms’ length. A rather ironic attempt considering we’ve been posing as a married couple this whole time.
I stumbled again and Mathias caught me before I could touch the ground with my injured foot a second time. A squeak escaped me when Mathias suddenly scooped me into his arms. “What are you doing?”
“You are injured and we need to get out of this wind,” he stated simply.
His stride lengthened underlining how much I had been slowing him down. I clung to him and wished I were a stronger paranormal like a shifter or one of the proper Fae or even the elementals. Strength and endurance would certainly have been more helpful than seeing numbers. But, there was little use bemoaning my heritage. I just had to keep my eyes open for the troll or the hunters’ return. At least, winter meant the woods had enough bare tree limbs that I would be able to see the glowing numbers before their owners were close enough to start another fight.
I was shivering terribly by the time Mathias reached the edge of the village and slipped inside the slight shelter offered by a bus stop. He set me down on my feet and kept an arm around me. “All right, Lauren?”
“Never better,” I whispered through trembling lips. Never more grateful for the fact that the scarf hid most of my face from his scrutiny either. I grabbed his coat as I gestured toward headlights coming our way. “Friend or foe?”
Mathias’ long lean frame shook with a chuckle. “Very friendly. It’s the bus into Edinburgh. Come along, Mrs. Jones.”
I tried to smile but my face was frozen. “Certainly, Mr. Jones,” I replied in my best mimicry of his British accent.
“Lauren, I think it best that you are quite simply Mr. Jones’ pretty American bride who insisted on a romantic holiday to half-frozen Scotland like any tourist.” Mathias glanced down at me as we moved toward the edge of the stop and waited for the bus to reach us. Concern crinkled his brow. “How badly are you hurt?”
“I’ll live,” I assured him.
Mathias looked as though he was going to argue but then the bus pulled up, its air brakes hissing noisily. The doors opened and I hobbled up the stairs. Mathias reached around me to pay then, after I mouthed ‘troll’ at him, he spoke to the driver in a low tone. “Best call the trappers. Some eejits woke a river troll. Made us crash when they lured it across the motorway.”
The driver responded with a rather colorful phrase as he waved for us to find our seats, then he got on the radio repeating the message. I limped to the back of the bus past the few passengers braving the weather. It was a relief to finally sit down and a deep weariness sank into my bones as soon as I did so. Mathias sat beside me after dumping our bags in the empty seats directly across from us. I closed my eyes for a brief moment and opened them again when Mathias touched my hand. “What is it?”
“We’ll be stopping in Edinburgh,” Mathias answered softly.
“Yes, to catch a train,” I murmured. “I remember the plan.”
Mathias’ grip on my hand tightened slightly as he responded quietly, “The plan’s changed, Lauren.”
* * *
Mathias
Lauren’s head rested against my shoulder as she slept, apparently completely worn out to the point she didn’t even notice the bumpy ride. I still covered her hand with mine, telling myself that it was to maintain the illusion of a married couple, but I knew the truth. All I wanted was reassurance that I hadn’t caused further harm to her. It was bad enough that I had failed to get her to a doctor when we reached London.
I should have seen to it. As soon as we stopped in the safe house, I had known something was wrong with her foot. She had insisted she would be all right with just wrapping and icing it, but I had known better. I saw the signs. She hadn’t been able to point her toes or lift her left foot at all. Combining those symptoms with the pop she had heard when it happened, it was a true possibility that she had torn her Achilles tendon. Something I dreaded given the fact that such an injury could render her compromised and unable to easily escape for months.
I should have taken her to the doctor as soon as we escaped So’ton and made it into London. That had been my plan. I had intended to take her to a doctor I knew, a Pixie who treated paranormals and norms alike, and she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut. But by the time we had almost reached her clinic, I had spied Salazar a jaguar shifter who was among Weard’s best hunters. I knew he was one of the best at tracking because I had overseen his training. My past deeds come to haunt me. With Salazar lurking near the clinic, I made the decision to flee London instead of risking a fight that could draw too much attention from the norms. Shifters were supposed to be regarded as folklore only, and certainly weren’t counted among the official ambassadorial species. Those belonged to the Fae courts of Seelie and Unseelie primarily, the ones who wouldn’t terrify the norms into demanding regulations and registration against the paranormal community.
The bus jolted around a corner, and Lauren gave a little pained moan in her sleep. I tightened my grip on her hand as I fought the
urge to confront the driver. Lauren’s dark hair was slipping past her scarf, brushing against her olive-toned skin, and adding to the air of fragility around her. I knew she hadn’t once blamed me for her pain just as much as I knew it was my fault. The last three months had been a slow torture as I tried to protect Lauren without making an offer. I had hoped that holding her at arms’ length, ignoring the feelings she stirred in me, would allow me to avoid falling into the coldness that always nipped at me. Yet she pulled at me, drew me closer.
Lauren snuggled closer against me, and I looked down at her again. Leaning toward her, I almost gave in to the pull. But, I caught myself just before I could brush a kiss against the top of her head. No. I couldn’t allow myself to draw any closer. It would be too dangerous, especially given my heritage. Still it took far more effort than it should have to straighten in my seat.
The bus jerked again, and Lauren inhaled sharply. She sat up, and I felt the loss too keenly. She looked up at me and her dark brown eyes softened with concern. As she tugged her hood and scarf down, she lowered her voice and asked, “Are you all right? Were you hurt when we crashed?”
I shook my head. “Don’t worry about me.”
Lauren frowned. “You’re avoiding the question, Mathias. Last time that meant a broken rib.”
“I’m all right, Hope.” When she frowned at me, I knew the use of her familial name had served its purpose in distracting her. “We’re going to a clinic.”
“What about hunters?” she whispered.
I reached up to cradle her cheek. “I promise to stop anyone before they harm you, Lauren.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake. The burden of promise burned like frostbite through my veins. But, it was too late. The vow couldn’t be unspoken.
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