Turning Payne

by Chantel Seabrook

  The tension in Turner's body was almost impossible to control.

  Jacob's nostrils flared and his lips thinned. His eyes locked on Turner. "If something's happened, you need to talk to me."

  Turner shook his head. He couldn't trust him. Not with this. The man's sense of duty to the agency would override any friendship that lay between them. It didn't matter that Jacob was his brother's best friend, or that the man's mother had basically raised him and Chase. If Jacob thought for even a minute that Turner had violated the agency's rules, he would hand him in. Exposing what he knew about Riley and Kiera would be a huge mistake. A mistake he couldn't afford if he was ever going to bring Boyd to justice.

  Forcing back the truth of his words, he snarled, "Once a fuckup always a fuckup, right?"

  Jacob stiffened. "I didn't say that."

  Turner rolled his eyes. "You didn't have to. I see it in your eyes every time you look at me. And don't think I don't see the way Maverick and his brood watch me, waiting for me to fail."

  Jacob shook his head and sighed. "No one wants you to fail. I'm just worried about you."

  Worried about him? He almost laughed. Jacob didn't know a tenth of the shit he got himself into—and out of—on a regular basis. He was a walking, talking time bomb.

  "You work me harder than anyone here." He swallowed hard, and played his next card. "If you're worried about me then give me a few days off to recuperate."

  "You want time off?" Jacob's eyes narrowed and suspicion glowed in the amber depths.

  There was no point pushing his luck. He shook his head and turned. "I'll be here tomorrow morning."

  "Agent Payne." Frustration filled Jacob's voice.

  Turner paused with his thumb pressed against the security pad. "What?"

  "Take a few days off. I expect you to be in better form when you return." Jacob gave a curt nod and walked away.

  Turner heaved a heavy breath as the doors shut behind him. It was less time than he needed, but it would have to be enough.

  Chapter 7

  Riley tucked her knees under her chin and chewed on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. She hadn't moved from her spot on the living room couch in over an hour. What was she supposed to do? What could she do?

  She closed her eyes and placed her forehead on her knees.

  Turner said he'd come back for her, that he'd help fix Kiera, but could she trust him? She shook her head and let out a long shaky breath.

  What were her options? It wasn't like she could call the police. A small, hysterical laugh vibrated through her throat as she thought about how the conversation would go. "My sister's been turned into a lion, and some smoking hot guy, who's actually a lion too, has kidnapped, or rather lionnapped her, and dragged her off to God knows where…"

  They'd end up carting her off to the loony bin.

  Tears blurred her vision and she blinked them away. Breaking down wasn't going to help. She stood and shook out the numbness in her fingers. She needed to stay strong—for Kiera.

  The shrill ring of the phone made her jump. She wiped her hands on her pants and walked to the kitchen. An unknown number displayed on the green screen.

  "Hello?"

  There was silence on the other end. A click and the line went dead. She frowned and put the phone back on the receiver.

  It was the third dropped call today. The house was eerily silent. Almost too quiet. Her stomach clenched and an uneasy feeling settled over her.

  Before she knew what was happening, a gloved hand covered her mouth and nose, and an arm wrapped around her chest, pulling her back towards a solid, large mass.

  Panic surged through her. A ragged scream, muffled by her attacker's hand, burned her throat. She fought for breath, and struggled, but he tightened his grip.

  "I'm not going to hurt you." Marcus' voice was raspy and wet against her ear. "I just want to talk."

  Cold prickles ran up her arm and she went still. She looked around for something she could use as a weapon—nothing. She gritted her teeth, feeling her body weaken from lack of oxygen.

  "Good girl." He tightened his grip around her chest, but removed the hand that covered her mouth.

  She gasped in several breaths. "What do you want?"

  He retrieved something from his pocket and a small pop sounded close to her ear.

  "I want you to tell me where they took your sister."

  She turned her head slightly and felt the blood drain from her face as she spotted the large syringe he held. "What are you doing Marcus?"

  "Tell me where they took her and I'll let you go. If you refuse"—He lifted the syringe in front of her face, and a small drop of the amber liquid beaded at the end of the needle—"There are other alternatives."

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "What is it?"

  "Come on Riley, you're smart enough to figure it out." He placed the needle against her neck. "Tell me where she is."

  "I already told you. She hooked up with someone last night and—"

  He pushed the needle through her skin and she cried out. "Stop fucking lying to me. I know she turned and I want to know where she is. So unless you want to share the same fate, you better start talking."

  "It was you." The words came out in a gasp, and the anger that swelled up within her threatened to choke her. "You did this to Kiera?"

  "I'm not the bad guy here," he snarled, relaxing his grip slightly. "I didn't want to have to do this."

  Her skin pulsated where the needle was embedded in her skin. His thumb twitched over the plunger. She clenched her teeth, willing herself not to cry. How much worse had Kiera suffered? When had he injected her, and why hadn't her sister told her?

  She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. "Then why are you doing it?"

  "It's my only chance." His body trembled around her and his breathing quickened. "I don't want to hurt you—"

  "Like you hurt Kiera." She blinked back hot tears. Riley knew the guy was bad news, but this? "She trusted you."

  "I did what I had to. It's the only way." A pained cry tore from his lips and he shuddered. The movement drove the needle deeper into her neck and she gasped. "If you tell me where she is he can save her."

  "Who?" she whispered, licking her dry lips. "Who can save her?"

  A knock sounded at the front door and Marcus stiffened. "Fuck." He loosened his grip and pulled the needle out of her neck. He took a couple of quick steps backwards and crashed into the kitchen table. "Who's here?"

  Riley turned slowly and touched her neck. Another series of knocks, this time more persistent. It was too early for Turner to be back. But who else could it be?

  Marcus took another step backwards and skirted around the table, his gaze darting around the room. "It's him, isn't it?" The syringe dropped to the floor, but he didn't seem to notice.

  "Marcus." She couldn't let him leave, not if he knew how to change Kiera back.

  When his gaze snapped back to her, his eyes were wild, crazed.

  She caught her breath and took a step back. "If you know how to help Kiera, I'll do whatever you want."

  "You can't trust him. Any of them." He blinked several times, then thrust a hand through his dark hair. "He's not who he says he is. Tell me where they've taken her and I'll make him fix her. He'll have to."

  She shook her head. He was talking in riddles. "I don't know where she is."

  A loud crash sounded from the front of the house, and Marcus bolted out the patio door.

  "Wait!"

  She started to follow him, but froze as Turner rushed into the kitchen through the hallway door on her left, weapon drawn.

  His handsome face drew down in a scowl, and his eyes flashed silver in the shadows. "You all right?"

  She gave a sharp nod, and he disappeared out the back. Her legs went rubbery and she had to grab the kitchen counter to steady herself. The neighbor's dog let out a long series of howls. She glanced out the kitchen window at the darkening sky and let out the breath she'd been holding in. />
  Turner slammed the patio door shut and stalked towards her, teeth bared. "Did he hurt you?"

  She touched her neck. "He had a needle."

  A growl vibrated from Turner's chest. He pushed her hand away and ran his fingers over the small puncture wound. For a moment, she swore she saw a flash of panic cross his expression.

  "He didn't inject it." She motioned towards the discarded needle.

  He dropped his hand from her neck.

  "Go pack a bag. Clothes, toothbrush, whatever you need. You can stay with me until we figure this out."

  Stay with him? She didn't even know him. But if she stayed here, she knew Marcus would come back for her. He'd made his threat clear. If he couldn't have Keira, then he'd come back for her.

  Turner shuffled through the pantry, and pulled out a box of plastic lunch bags. Using a bag as a glove, he picked up the syringe and held it up to the light. "It doesn't look like a sedative."

  "I think it's what he used to…turn Kiera."

  His head snapped towards her and his mouth dropped open. "Did he tell you that?"

  "Not in so many words, but he threatened to do the same to me if I didn't tell him where you took her."

  The muscles in his face tightened and his jaw clenched. "Did he say anything else? Mention who he was working with?"

  "No." She rubbed her temples. "I don't know. It happened so fast. I don't understand any of this. He seemed to know about you…what you are. Is he one of you?"

  "Fuck no," Turner growled, his lips curled up in disgust. He dropped the syringe in a bag and sealed it. "Get your stuff. We need to leave now."

  "You'll take me to Keira?"

  "It's too dangerous. If we go there now and this psychopath is following you, we run the risk of leading him straight to your sister. Chase can handle himself, but I'm not putting Lora at risk."

  "Lora?"

  "His mate."

  "Mate?"

  He gave an irritated growl. "Wife. Soulmate. Life partner. Whatever term you humans want to use."

  "Oh." She looked down at the floor to hide her discomfort. Mate—the word sounded so primal, animalistic, and she couldn't help the desire it stirred within her.

  Turner cleared his throat. "We really need to leave."

  With a sigh, she headed towards her bedroom to pack. A thousand arguments of why she shouldn't go with him raced through her head, but none of them overruled the fact that he had her sister. The man seemed relatively sane, the lion-thing aside. He definitely wasn't the one jamming needles in her neck and threatening her, but she still couldn't shake the feeling that Turner was hiding something.

  She'd go with him and find out where he'd taken Kiera. If it couldn't change her sister back, then she'd find the man who Marcus said could.

  Chapter 8

  Turner opened the door to his apartment and winced at the mess. He groaned silently as he ushered Riley in, and shut the door behind her.

  Empty beer bottles and pizza boxes lay scattered about. He glanced at Riley. She surveyed the room, brow raised, but kept any comment to herself.

  He'd thought of taking her to his main pad, but exhaustion was setting in and the thought of driving another forty-five minutes on the I-80 made his head hurt. Also, he was sure the white board in his home office, covered in pictures and notes about her family would raise questions he wasn't prepared to answer at the moment. But having her at the apartment that he used to spy on her made his skin crawl.

  Riley took her shoes off, placed them on the welcome mat, and gave him a forced smile. So much for first impressions. The apartment was small, but it was all he needed. More of a stopover than an actual living space. And it wasn't like he normally invited women to his apartment, either of them. If they wanted to hook up, there were plenty of places that didn't involve invading his personal space.

  He rubbed his hand over his chin, the two days of growth rasping against his skin. "I haven't been here much lately."

  She shrugged and looked around. "I'm used to a mess. I'm constantly reminding Kiera—" A flash of pain crossed her expression, then her green eyes went blank and she looked down at the floor.

  Damn the vulnerability that wrapped around her like a thick blanket. His lion paced with the need to possess her, to take care of her. He shook his head and reminded himself why she was there. She was his best connection at finding out if Boyd was still alive, and if he was, where the man was hiding.

  "I'll show you the bedroom." He slung her duffle bag over his shoulder and started down the hall. When she didn't follow, he stopped and looked back.

  Her lips tightened and her brows drew down sharply. "Your bedroom?"

  "Don't worry. I'll sleep on the couch."

  The relief that washed over her face didn't do much for his ego. Sharing a bed with her had crossed his mind more than once on the drive over, but even if she'd been willing, his body screamed for sleep.

  "Come on," he said.

  She let out a pent up breath and followed him into the small room.

  He kicked the pile of dirty clothes that sat in the center of the room into a corner and dropped her bag on the unmade bed. The room smelled of dust and mildew.

  "There are clean sheets and towels in the hall closet." At least he hoped there was. He couldn't remember the last time he'd done a load of laundry.

  She gave a non-committal nod, wrapped her arms around herself, glanced at the bed and then back at him.

  Fuck. Was he supposed to make the bed for her? Damn if he knew the first thing about having a guest—especially a female one. He took a step towards her and she sucked in a sharp breath. Fear, or something akin to it, crossed her expression. Shit, did she think he would hurt her? He held his hands up to placate her.

  There were many things he wanted to do to her, but hurting her wasn't one of them. His gaze focused on her plump lower lip, and as if reading his mind, she began chewing on it. His cock twitched and his lion growled low in his chest—Mine.

  He mentally slapped himself for the thought. She wasn't his. She was Richard Boyd's fucking daughter.

  "Why are you doing this?" She looked up at him, eyes wary.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "It's my job."

  It wasn't entirely a lie, just a slight deviation from the truth.

  She nodded, watching him carefully. Her gaze landed on his lips and she shivered. He could smell the faint scent of arousal drifting from her. He inhaled deeply and his cock stiffened. Damn, he needed to get away from her before he did something stupid, or rather, stupider than what he'd already done. Bringing her back to his apartment was another nail in his coffin. But what else was he supposed to do? Handing Riley and her sister over to the Therian Council wasn't an option. At least not yet.

  "Get some sleep. We'll figure things out in the morning."

  * * *

  A loud crash and a series of high-pitched beeps woke Riley out of a deep sleep. She bolted upright in bed and glanced around at the unfamiliar room. An old retro-style dresser sat against the wall, the mirror cracked along the side. The bare, discolored walls were void of pictures and a heavy blanket hung with nails over the window. It took her a moment to grasp her surroundings, and bile rose to her throat as the events of the day before assaulted her mind.

  She pushed the covers off, stood and peeked out the makeshift curtain. A garbage truck rolled away from the curb six stories below. She knew the neighborhood. The apartment complex wasn't far from her house. It was a rough area. Cheap rent, albeit, but definitely not a place she would have tagged Turner to live in. The black SUV that he drove probably cost triple the price of the rundown apartment.

  Something seemed off. It wasn't just that the apartment didn't suit him; other than his discarded designer clothes, there was really nothing to tie him to the place.

  Her stomach growled, reminding her that it had been way too long since she'd had anything to eat.

  She opened the bedroom door and peered out. There was no movement. The hal
l was bare, except for an ugly yellow stain on the wall.

  Her stomach grumbled again, this time louder and more persistent. She pushed the door open and tiptoed down the hall.

  She stopped cold when she saw Turner, spread bare-chested across the couch. Her breath caught in her throat and her mouth went dry. Holy shit was he built. One muscled arm covered his handsome face, the other lay limp across his chiselled abs. A blanket covered his lower half, but had fallen low, and Riley swallowed hard as she followed the thin line of dark hair down to the thick bulge beneath his low riding jeans.

  Heat flushed her cheeks. It wasn't right to stare, but she couldn't pull her gaze away. His sun-bronzed skin was unmarked, except for a scar that ran up the length of his side. It was faint, but by the color and texture, she was sure it was a burn mark.

  Her gaze lingered on his broad chest, before moving upwards to study his handsome face. In sleep, his strong angled features appeared younger than they had the day before. His full lips twitched down in a frown and he mumbled something incoherent. She allowed herself one final look before turning away and heading to the kitchen. All she needed was for him to wake up and find her watching him.

  He wasn't even her type. Not that she had a type, but if she did, it certainly wasn't Turner Payne. He was too untamed, wild, sexy, alpha, primal…hot. Who was she kidding, he was every woman's type.

  She scoffed inwardly. There was always an excuse. At least that's what Kiera would say. According to her sister, Riley was the queen of making excuses for her prudent lifestyle.

  The meager contents in the fridge made her shake her head. She was able to salvage a few eggs, half a block of cheese, and an unopened jar of salsa. It wasn't much, but if she could find a frying pan, she could whip up a half-decent omelette.

  There were a couple of mismatched pots and pans under the sink, and a bottle of unopened cooking oil. She placed her findings on the counter and got to work. She enjoyed cooking. After her mother had passed away, preparing meals had become her responsibility. Kiera, despite being the artist of the family, was a disaster in the kitchen. Her sister had nearly set the house on fire when she forgot to remove the cardboard base of a frozen pizza before she put it in the oven.