That was the only reason he could be falling for a monster. He was sure of it. Damn that witch! His family would kill him if they ever found out. Literally. He got his jeans off the floor and jammed his legs into them, yanked on the fly and stuffed his feet into his shoes. He was going for a walk to clear his head.
He passed the car where the plainclothes sat, eating donuts. He crossed the street (not smart after dusk, despite the fact that his shirtless condition made him easy to see) and was about to go into the restaurant when a kid in the uniform met him at the door.
“No shirt, no service, sir.” He turned the lock. Jackson slammed his fist into the door, making the glass vibrate and the kid start, but he turned around and started walking again. The cops in the car were yelling at him from across the street but he kept going. He passed by several youngsters out trick or treating and was several blocks away when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. He was being followed.
Stupid! That woman had him all in a tangle and he hadn’t even taken any of the basic precautions he’d been drilled in since he was old enough to hold a gun without shooting someone by accident. In his family, that had been before the age of nine. He took stock of where he was. His momentum had taken him several stop signs down Colfax, to an even worse section of the street than the one the safe house had been on. He grimaced. Shop windows were barred and closed up tight, though the sun had barely set.
He glanced behind him once, in hopes of seeing the unmarked car cutting across the grid-locked traffic to come get him. He wasn’t the star witness that the woman was, though, so he doubted they were going to come to his rescue. He told himself he didn’t need them anyway. With all the masks and costumes, it was difficult to pick out which one was actually following him and which ones were just out for the night. The crowd was getting older as the night got darker and rougher and his pale skin set him up as a target regardless of who it was following.
He ducked into a doorway to watch those pass by. He tried to look through the glass window to see if anyone stopped or a car that slowed down, but nothing jumped out at him. He crossed his arms, cold. This was wrong on so many levels. He shouldn’t be the one being hunted.
He decided to cut back and make his way towards the safe house, taking his chances that he wouldn’t walk right into whoever was following him. He passed the closed-up shops again. Passed the kids out with their moms and crossed the street. He was within sight of the plainclothesmen, sitting in their sedan in traffic when he felt the bite of some sharp metal in his skin. He pushed away, but stumbled. He felt the drug course through his system quickly. He felt his heart pause a beat, then longer. It should have started by now. He would have panicked, but for the echo of another heart farther away. Aislyn’s heart. It was reminding his of what to do, despite the drugs that should have stopped it.
He knew he should call out, but couldn’t make his mouth work. The people around him dismissed him as just another drunk out when he shouldn’t be. Some of the older folks hid him from the kids, and also from the view of the help in the sedan.
He knew the dose of whatever was coursing through his system was too high, that if it hadn’t been for his link to Aislyn he would have been dead already. A tender hand helped him fall into the back seat of the darkened jeep, and he watched the plainclothesmen pass by. He was scared. Not that he would die, but that he wouldn’t get the chance to fight back. That it would be that simple to take him out. He was used to the things he hunted not playing dirty. He watched as his captor got behind the wheel of the Cherokee and cursed himself. Now he really felt stupid. Big bad huntsman that he was and this little bit of a thing had taken him out without even a fight. Sleep. He just needed a little sleep and he could figure this out. The jeep started up and moved into traffic.
Chapter Fifteen: Aislyn
I was in the van with Rodriguez, heading to LoDo when I felt a sharp pain in my side. I flinched. Rodriguez had been explaining how I was supposed to put this little microphone and transceiver into my person somewhere and looked up at me. In the darkened interior of the van, he raised an eyebrow. I shouldn’t have been able to see it, but I did. I shook my head, not sure how to answer him. I waved for him to continue with his lecture and he began pointing out some of the limitations of the bug I was going to wear.
“It only has a five-hundred-foot radius, so we need to be close when he grabs you. You should be trying to get him to talk as much as possible. The profile suggests he likes to feel in control of his victims, so let him feel as if he calls all the shots. He’ll feel more like talking that way. Ask him why he chose you, any details of what he’s going to do to you, anything like that. We’ll have ears but if you go somewhere we can’t follow, you’ll have to give us some time to get to you. If you can’t see us and need backup for whatever reason, just ask for Phil. Then we’ll know to come and get you.”
He started to fiddle with the bug, making as if to pin it to my shirt. I took it and the ready piece of tape from him so he wouldn’t feel my lack of bra, and stuck the bug firmly to the skin between my breasts under the cover of Jackson’s T-shirt. It still had his scent lingering to it and my cat whined. I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and lick my wounds myself, so doing something proactive like this was exactly the right sort of distraction.
“‘Phil’?” He turned his head from me and motioned for the other cops to pull into a parking garage while we talked.
“My first name is Felipe. In English it’s…”
“Philip. Nice.” He turned to me and I realized abruptly that he was shy. How a man this beautiful could ever be shy around women was beyond me, but he was. I smiled at him and he ducked his head. The cop driving glanced back in the rearview mirror and winked at me. I better be careful what I said or I was going to get dear Detective Rodriguez into trouble.
I had a sudden shooting sensation of panic, arching my back, sucking in breath and reaching out to grasp wildly. My heart echoed too loudly in my ears and I felt the strain as it pumped blood for two, then a second heartbeat began echoing and my body relaxed enough for me to draw a breath. Rodriguez’s arms were naturally under my hands.
“If you don’t feel comfortable with this…”
“Jackson,” I breathed. My throat constricted in fear and the knowledge that I couldn’t fight back. Help couldn’t see me. I was alone and I was powerless. I couldn’t fight. The frustration in that thought brought a hiss from my mouth.
“Sanderson, get Dicks and Chase on the horn,” Rodriguez snapped, while hanging onto my forearms, even though my grip had to be bruising him. The cat in me yowled and I struggled not to echo it out loud. Jackson was in trouble. I needed to get him. He was mine, not the way Tammy had been mine or the way Rodriguez could be, but he was still mine and I needed to protect him.
Just as the other officers were about to pick up the radio, it sparkled to life.
“Boss, we lost the guy. One minute he was walking right in front of us on the sidewalk and the next he was just gone. Should we look for him?” Chase and Dicks would not make a higher grade.
Rodriguez cursed soundly in Spanish. I relaxed my back one vertebra at a time as he uttered each word. I hadn’t done it before, so I was afraid how much I could control it, and I certainly didn’t want to do it full on with the cops in the car, but I let the cat out of her forest, just a little.
“What do I do now?” I asked her.
“Trail him,” came the unmistakable answer. I needed to follow the trail that Jackson was laying. I could still feel him, his fear and panic at not being able to move. In my mind’s eye, I could see it. Wolves might have scent nailed down, but cats have the market cornered on sight. I could follow the trail in my mind. I knew it. The fact that the Ghost Cat had kept him awake was something in and of itself. Ghost Cat wanted to be found and wanted me to find them. I tensed up again, this time in anticipation of the hunt.
First things first, I had to ditch Rodriguez and company. They were babbling about wha
t had happened, possibilities and who was to blame. Rodriguez never took his eyes off me.
“Ghost Cat has him, doesn’t he?” Rodriguez’s tone was mournful. He snapped an order to the driver. “Back to the station. We’ll wait for him to contact us there. Dicks and Chase stay where they are in case Jackson gets away.” He turned back to me, and I realized his arms were still under my hands. “He’ll be all right. Ghost Cat doesn’t want men.” Neither one of us believed it.
As we pulled into the station, I noticed Jackson’s red pickup in the parking lot. It would have everything I would need and I smiled at the first real piece of good luck I’d had all week.
I followed everyone into the station, and then asked to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t the most original idea, but there was a reason it worked so well in the movies. Rodriguez had gone ahead to review his information, set up APB’s and the like. That left Winker and me at the ladies’ room. He was a gentleman insofar as he stayed outside to guard me, but that was all.
It was a standard public restroom, eight stalls along one wall and four sinks on the other with two mirrors and a tampon dispenser in-between. Obviously it had been designed by a man. Then again, it was a cop shop. I looked for a window and realized that I couldn’t find one. At least that explained why Rodriguez had felt safe letting me go potty. Oh well, on to plan B.
I opened the door a crack, listening close. Winker was walking up and down the hallway, waiting. He was a pacer. Perfect. The hallway was narrow and unoccupied. I looked up quick and couldn’t see any telltale dark bubbles for the security cameras. One of the bulbs had burnt out, dimming the hallway. Finally something was going right. I waited until I heard Winker all the way up at the opposite end of the hallway and snuck out, up behind him and hooked him around the neck. Thirteen seconds later he’d sunk to the floor and no one had come out of either bathroom. I was freaking blessed.
I ran out to the lobby area and started yelling that Winker had fainted. Within minutes, every cop there had run down the hallway to see. That late at night there weren’t any civilian employees left around to see me duck out the front in all the confusion either. I kept in the shadows until I reached Jackson’s old truck.
I know that it would have been cool to just strip a couple of wires and hightail it out of there, but I didn’t have the time to figure it out. I put it on my list of things to learn for next time, if there was a next time. I yanked the door open and rummaged around until I found a set of keys that I somehow knew would be there. I pulled out of the station before anyone thought to check where I was.
Chapter Sixteen: Ghost Cat
The bait was docile in the back as County Line Road wound along in front of the jeep. It wasn’t long until the ranch would be coming up. It was a nice, isolated spot that would avail itself to the trap being set. It would take a few hours for the whole set up to be constructed, the obstacles set and the bait properly placed. Then this Ghost Cat had to wait for the call to be placed and the police to be distracted. But the false cat would know which trail to follow. The false cat would come willingly into the trap and become the prey. Everyone would be satisfied, even the whispers.
The turn off the road came up too quickly. Passing through the gates was exciting now. This had been a haven and opening it up, hunting on sheltered land, was going to be both thrilling and dangerous. It would necessitate leaving and that would be sad. This place had served a higher purpose. This place had made the hunter more effective, more seductive, and more confident. It had gone from being a place to dread to a holy place.
The barn ahead had long ago been converted to a sort of warehouse used for the rehabilitation of horses. There were plenty of uses the empty pool could be put to, but the hunter had something specific designed for this occasion. The bait was placed deep within, and then surrounded with extra discouragements. Fencing originally used for guiding livestock in certain directions was deliberately placed on the outskirts of the way in. Concrete areas were liberally scattered with crisp dried hay, then a line of gasoline was added.
After a few hours, all was complete. The collection of trophies was within the house proper, and it must be visited. Traveling through the main doors, up the stairs to the attic, the Ghost Cat made a final pilgrimage. Here was a feast for the senses. Hair from the first prey ever taken, braided and lovingly laid aside. Blood-splattered crucifixes from the second and third prey. Relatives, if memory served correctly. Teeth from the fourth and fifth. Then there was a scattering of limbs in jars. A finger here, a toe there, all proof of skills gained and honed. Finally, the pictures led to the practice kills for the cat. A dried mouthful of each of the five women lay under a picture of the cat, offered in homage. Each killing had increased the skills the predator’s claws used, represented the worthiness that had been tested. One braided corn row from the bar owner laid on the altar as the offering it had been.
Soon the final test would come. The ultimate hunt would begin, and true worth would be established. The cat would unequivocally establish that here stood the greatest hunter. Here stood one who was worthy of the rewards and promises made. Here stood one of great significance and the world would weep when it discovered how that significance had been treated. And it would tremble in terror, beg forgiveness and be punished.
Preparations had to be completed. Leaving the shrine, though heartbreaking, was necessary. Retreating to the second floor, the proper incense was lit. To treat this as anything less than a grand ceremony would diminish everyone involved. Herbs were burned and the smoke inhaled and washed over spirit to cleanse it of impurities. A bath was drawn and proper ingredients added to cleanse the body. A candle was lit inside of the chalk circle in the empty bedroom and was knelt in front of so the mind could be cleared of contamination.
When all was judged ready, the armoring of the wild hunter began. First black leather gloves glided over hands, the fingers cut out. Then soft cloth-covered legs. Inside pockets was placed the appropriate symbols. A rotted tooth, a bit of fossilized wood, a funeral tear, a bit of corpse wax, all placed in a circle around the waist. A light dagger was tied around the right leg. The shameful addition was given to the left. Chain mail half-vest covered the chest and stomach. And brass claws were drawn over the hands at last, to protrude from the knuckles past the fingertips. Black leather covered all down to the ankles, which had been encased in hard black boots up to the calves. A final look in the mirror would have revealed nothing but a Goth clubber to the untrained eye, but a killer now stood before the silver and glass.
Once all preparations had been made, the words chanted, the proper petitions sent, the way was made to the bait. A careful threading through the obstacles, dormant for now, was made.
In the pool the bait lay on a roughly constructed stage. A living altar, as it were, chained and gagged and ready for sacrifice. Kneeling over the bait, watching as the eyes widen at the hunter’s Changed appearance was enjoyable. Waiting for the prey was not. At the appointed hour, the police would be called; the plan would be set in motion. All would be successful if properly followed.
It was with great dismay, therefore, that the sound of a truck coming up the drive was heard. The prey was, unfortunately, early.
Chapter Seventeen: Aislyn
The trail was almost glowing in front of me. By the time I’d gotten out of the city, I’d lost most of the busier street traffic. I’m sure there was some sort of APB out on me, and I probably should have been on the lookout for state police, especially once I reached I-25, but I had to trust that whatever luck had gotten me out of the police station without being seen was going to keep riding me.
On the highway, I gave over most of my thinking to the cat. She…I saw things I couldn’t have seen otherwise. I whipped in and out of traffic, avoided collisions that human reflexes couldn’t have. And the trail in front of me superimposed itself onto the road. I could see the line that connected Jackson and me like a thin thread, leading the way as I came along behind and gathered it up into myself.
I growled in frustration as the Mouse Trap loomed before me. The trail left off the County Line Road exit. I pulled back from the cat enough to begin feeling around the truck. A catch, imperceptible to human touch unless you knew it was there, lifted the passenger seat to reveal a small cache of weapons. Silver throwing daggers gleamed in the passing street lamp’s glow, as well as a small 9mm with shimmering ammo clip. I loaded the gun and tucked it into my back waistband. A couple of the knives went, sheathed, into a few belt loops up front. There were vials of some liquid and instinct told me to tuck those into my pockets as well, so I did. I closed the seat up and put both hands on the wheel, watching the traffic peter out and the trail become more solid. I was getting closer. Ghost Cat was close.
I slowed down as the dawn light started to confuse my eyes. I shifted back to mostly human, the better to see with at this point of the day. The trail pulled into a ranch up the road. The sign overhead announced the Lay-Z Ranch in dilapidated lettering. The fence was broken and the place looked like it had run aground years ago. A For Sale sign hung just off the side. I pulled up the long driveway to the two buildings left standing, an old farm house and a two-story high storehouse of some kind. I parked the truck a ways back, trying to hide the fact that I was alone and got out. The trail led to the storehouse.
There was no chance that I hadn’t been heard coming up the drive, but I walked silently towards the propped-open doors and the darkness inside. I must have been within fifteen yards when a single shot rang out and the fire started. It lit up the open doors like a Christmas tree; the smoke and light effectively blocked what was behind it from view. The cat shied away but I grabbed hold and got as close to the way in and heat as I could stand. Gathering my legs underneath me, I jumped, cleared the fire, and had a split second to cough through the smoke before crashing painfully into rodeo fencing. Shit. So much for making a silent entrance.
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