Mallory's Hunt

by Jory Strong

  Deb claimed the chair, fingers unconsciously tracing the flowers on the upholstery. "Until a year and a half ago, Caitlyn was my perfect child. She's always been mature for her age. She handled the divorce with her father well, considering he moved to North Carolina and immediately started a new family. She handled my marrying Adrian and she's been a wonderful sister to Landon. But when the twins were born she started acting out. Her friends changed, for the worse. We fought… You've probably heard this story a hundred times."

  "What did the private detective learn?"

  "Marquice, Marquice Nelson. We hired him when the police didn't get anywhere. He didn't learn much more than they had. Caitlyn disappeared at the same time one of her friends did. Bailey Morsey, that's the girl's name. They went to the same school but I never met her. I'm not sure Caitlyn ever mentioned her."

  "Were they experimenting with drugs?"

  Deb looked away then back. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  "Marquice said it was a strong possibility. He said we needed to be prepared for that. I went to the girl's house and talked to the mother. Angela. Angela Morsey. She had faded bruises on her arms. After years of being an ER nurse, I recognized the signs of domestic abuse though she denied it. I thought she was probably high."

  Deb blinked rapidly, wiped at the tears. "I checked with Marquice a month ago. He told me Bailey's younger sister had been taken by child protective services because of allegations of sexual abuse by one of her mother's boyfriends. He said Angela had been arrested on drug charges."

  "Does Bailey look like Caitlyn?" Mallory asked, careful to use the present tense, heart aching even as she did it.

  "No. She's a lot more physically developed than Caitlyn, or at least she was fourteen months ago. Though I guess by now Caitlyn has caught up. She'll be a teenager in another two months."

  Mallory swallowed against the throb in her throat. "Could I look through her belongings?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  Deb led them upstairs. A dark-headed boy with a bright green iguana clinging to the front of his shirt emerged from a bedroom.

  "This is Landon."

  Matthew crouched in front of Landon, his response to the boy and the similarity in coloring sending a spasm of longing through Mallory, burning into her memories in the same way images of Phillip with Austin had.

  "Cool pet," Matthew said.

  "Dad and Deb gave him to me for my birthday."

  Landon looked across the hall at the closed door. "Are they here because of Caitlyn?" he asked, voice going small.

  "Yes," Deb said, opening the door.

  Mallory wanted to turn away from the sight of a bedroom perfectly preserved, waiting for the return of the girl it belonged to. Time had stopped, becoming a window into a life that would never be reclaimed, like Viktoriya's watch, now stripped of everything but meaningless numbers.

  One day missing.

  Two becoming a week.

  Three turning into a month.

  Twelve months.

  And then a second year.

  A third.

  On and on and on.

  How long had her bedroom remained like this one?

  She'd never asked her mother that question.

  The answer would only hurt them both.

  The Reaper Lord hadn't only taken her to his realm to become a Hound. He'd sentenced her mother to a different type of hell, and that was reason enough to hang on to her hate.

  Even if it blinds me to possibilities?

  A young child screamed downstairs.

  "Stay as long as you need to," Deb said, hurrying away.

  The screams of a second child joined the first.

  Behind Mallory, Matthew and Landon talked about reptiles and a party.

  In front of her there were horses everywhere. Their beauty captured in pictures and figurines, the love of them made huggable with stuffed animals.

  She made a cursory search through desk and drawers, in closets and under the bed, all the while knowing that there was only one thing she'd gain from this visit. It was only a matter of choice, of deciding which of Caitlyn's possessions was the most significant. She finally found it in a backpack hung off the desk chair, a miniature palomino wrapped in a dark blue bandanna, a possession important enough for Caitlyn to take with her to school, important enough to risk being teased over by girls who'd moved on to boys.

  Mallory slipped the small plastic horse into her pocket, balled up the bandanna and returned it to the backpack. The theft bothered her, darkened her, but to ask for it would only give Deb hope, and that would be worse.

  At the doorway she paused for a final look at the perfectly preserved bedroom.

  Caitlyn was as dead as Maven Stone and the Jane Doe left behind a dumpster.

  Mallory closed the door. For a moment she closed her eyes and touched her forehead against it. Behind her Matthew told Landon, "I need to talk to her now."

  And then he was there, his heat and scent surrounding her, capable hands on her shoulders, thumbs stroking, digging, releasing the knotted muscles and she sighed with relief and longing.

  "We'll find this guy," he said, low enough that his voice didn't carry to Caitlyn's brother.

  "I hope so."

  But would they be in time? Before he found his next victim? Before the night the Reaper Lord expected to hunt?

  She turned to face Matthew. The desire to wrap her arms around his waist and press against him was so strong that it trapped the breath in her throat. Eyes met and held, the air thickening, becoming quicksand trapping them together until she finally managed to say, "I have to talk to Hayden."

  No, Caleb thought, even as he knew that he needed to use the inroads he'd made with Mallory to get closer to the other two.

  Walk away from them, he wanted to say. You and I can find this guy and gift-wrap him for the police.

  He stepped back when everything inside him wanted to step in, so the front of her body was plastered against his and they shared every breath.

  They found Deb Lawrence rocking a child. And for an instant, before he could censor the image, it was Mallory.

  Get this job done and a wife and kids become a possibility.

  He glanced away, letting her do the talking.

  A few minutes later they were in the Jeep.

  "You're not ditching me, Mallory. If you want into the Brides' office, you don't cut me out when it comes to these girls."

  A low growl came from the back seat, startling him. Christ. How had he forgotten the dog?

  Pinpricks of cold swept over him with the realization that he'd never seen Dane greet Mallory the way dogs do. No licking or tail wagging or ecstatic barking.

  He'd never seen Mallory petting or hugging the dog, never seen her doing anything but treating it like she would a human.

  Maybe she didn't know better.

  That didn't fit. That didn't explain the dog.

  Put it away.

  "I'm serious. I'm sticking with you."

  "You'll have to wait in the bar while I go in and talk to Hayden."

  He let it go until they'd gotten out of the Jeep at the Brass Ring and he'd lost the battle with himself and touched the gun beneath the Harley jacket. He played his ace. "I got a lead on the guy we're looking for when I was talking to Landon."

  "What is it?"

  He laughed, and even he heard the anger that worked its way into the sound. "I can't trust you not to cut me out of the loop, Mallory. You would never have taken me to the temple if I hadn't threatened to walk. You would never have let me close to Caitlyn Lawrence's family so I could connect the dots that say Iosif's girls would appeal to a guy you were already looking for."

  "Maybe the less you know the better."

  "Not buying. You get the information I have when I'm convinced you're not holding out on me. Until then, it's mine to pursue."

  At her other side, Dane's growl was a low, long rumble.

  She jerked the bar door open, angry strides taking her to the o
ne in the pool table alcove.

  He tried to stuff the excitement down deep when she slapped the palm plate.

  The locking mechanism released.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 18

  Caleb's pulse sped for no rational reason at seeing the brass ring set in the floor. His hindbrain woke on a surge of adrenaline ten times stronger than what he'd experienced when he'd opened the door at the Satanists' temple and spotted the cockatiel on the altar.

  Hayden jerked to his feet from behind a desk and started flipping the papers on it so they were face down.

  "Matthew knows about the girls," Mallory said. "You can get what we need from the Satanists yourself, Hayden."

  Hayden bared his teeth and kept turning the papers over. "Strike out, Mal?"

  "Not completely. Unless you already know Maven Stone disappeared close to where the runaway was last seen."

  "Which runaway?" Caleb asked, his gut telling him she was still holding back, that she wasn't talking about Caitlyn Lawrence.

  Mallory dropped the manila envelope she'd carried in from the Jeep onto the desk, hesitated, then flipped one of the pieces of paper over. "Amanda Edson. There may be no connection at all."

  You don't believe that. But Caleb didn't think she was lying.

  "You're being stupid," Hayden growled. "And it's going to cost you."

  "Anything on the john or the Russians?"

  "No." A brick wall sent the same message in Hayden's voice. He wasn't about to reveal anything with an outsider in the room.

  She said, "Caitlyn Lawrence went missing the same time a school friend did. The girl's name is Bailey Morsey. Mother is Angela, currently in prison."

  The things Mallory had taken from the rooming house crowded a wooden box at the end of the desk like valued possessions around a coffin. Caleb's gut churned on another surge of adrenaline, instinct saying he wasn't reading the situation right, that he needed to run as fast as he could, as far as he could.

  The junkie was sitting next to where Hayden had been. His nostrils flared and a third round of adrenaline poured in at having the black-abyss eyes of a conscienceless killer focused on him, at sensing Dane gathering himself.

  "You want to call your dog off, Mallory," Caleb said, hand inching toward his gun. "You want to remember what I said about dropping him."

  "You'll be the one who's dropped," Hayden growled.

  Mallory put herself between him and her brothers. "Then we'll all be screwed. We need Matthew to get into the Brides' office tonight."

  The mood changed.

  Dane and the junkie throttled back.

  "This is fucking insane, Mal," Hayden said.

  "Deal with it, Hayden. We don't have a choice."

  "I don't have a choice. Mikhail doesn't have a choice. Dane doesn't either. But, you, you fucking do and you keep making the wrong one."

  Hayden's gaze swung to Caleb. "I don't trust you."

  "No kidding."

  "Nathan's help on that other thing led to Royal Oaks," Mallory said. "Matthew's already evaluated security. I could use your help, Hayden. Mikhail's too."

  Irritation sizzled along Caleb's nerve endings. Now he knew scoping the cemetery had to do with the man they were hunting. Now he knew she was still holding back.

  He gave her credit for trying. He wouldn't let her succeed.

  "Cut the crap, Mallory. You're looking for a burial site, probably a girl I don't know about. You need intel on who went into the ground when and where. Or maybe you just need the cameras off so you can dig."

  A suffocating silence descended, making him think he'd scored with the second point. Black eyes drilled into him, three hostile pairs and one holding worry.

  Mallory rubbed arms that were now crossed. "Let's get this over with. Cemetery first then the Bride's office."

  Hayden jerked a desk drawer open. He removed an already loaded and capped syringe, tossed it to her with a baring of teeth. "Since you're calling the shots tonight."

  She tucked it into her pocket. The junkie rose to his feet like a dog following the scent of its next meal.

  Anger flashed through Caleb, at Mallory for being a part of that, for being a part of this. It was countered by inexplicable chill at noticing she'd added a palomino horse to the items huddled near the carved box.

  Jesus. He needed to get Operation Hellhound behind him.

  Hayden waited for the others to leave then gathered the things they would need, tossing them into the knapsack before moving to the wooden box. He opened it.

  The sight of the soul jars made him curse Mallory for not taking the fucking gun, for dragging a human into their affairs, not that he cared if this particular one ended up dead.

  He didn't trust Matthew though he'd once trusted other humans, once loved them.

  Grabbing the soul jars, Hayden hurled them at the wall.

  They bounced and dropped, unbroken, unfazed, uncaring of his rage. And expressing it did nothing but make him remember the spirits trapped by the Reaper Lord's minions on the day they'd come to collect him and introduce him to Hell. It made him think about the rooms full of jars he'd discovered when he went looking, intending to steal the three he cared about, the three he'd sacrifice his life to free, if that's what it took. They were souls held in stasis, hoarded treasure and bargaining chips—like the one they were about to gather—because the Reaper Lord willed it, not because he was entitled to them.

  Crouching, Hayden picked up the jars. He tossed all but one into the box and slammed the lid.

  He spilled the contents of Mallory's envelope onto the desk then added the soul jar and the picture of the Jane Doe leaning against a dumpster to the rest of the stuff in the pack.

  Mallory might be acting like a fool, blinded by denial and attraction, but he didn't intend to be one. Entering the bar, he spotted the creature he needed.

  Last night she'd been dressed for a Hollywood party. Tonight she wore low jeans and a cropped tee showing plenty of creamy curves and alabaster skin. He'd seen her with Matthew but he wasn't willing to pay the price she'd ask to reveal what she'd learned about him.

  Reaching her, he said, "I want you to keep someone company."

  A tongue darted out, licking lush red lips. "Name your poison."

  Her voice was light and teasing, but her eyes probed and measured and judged like a chef reading a slab of meat and determining if it was ready for the barbecue pit.

  Not going to be me. Not tonight anyway.

  He tipped his head toward the exit.

  "Later," she told the man she'd been playing with, running blood-red fingernails down her prey's upper arm before sliding off the stool.

  Steps away and those same clawed fingernails scratched knowingly against the backpack. "What am I supposed to do while I keep this special someone company?"

  "Watch him. He's there to shut down the security and keep it down. You're there to make sure that's what he does."

  "It'll cost you a favor of equal value."

  Of course it will. And she could see through the bullshit camouflaging heart and soul and find the exact weight of what was due.

  "Done."

  The cemetery gate was open and Mallory was waiting on the other side of it when they caught up.

  Hayden felt an unwelcome spark of admiration. He knew how long it took Dane to get into Royal Oaks. Matthew was quicker.

  The Jeep moved forward, pulling away to lead him to the grave. He hit Mallory's cell number. "I'm stopping here first."

  Brake lights flared. Dark amusement gripped him at Mallory's scrambling out of the Jeep.

  The demon laughed.

  "This is our insurance," he told Mallory when she reached them. "Deal with it."

  Mallory's eyes glowed red. Her scent told him just how much she didn't want the demon near Matthew.

  Hayden couldn't resist a taunt. "Better hope lover boy isn't catching that look on camera."

  The demon scraped her nails along Hayden's arm. "I'll leave you to your fun whil
e I enjoy mine."

  She sauntered toward the office door, hips swaying sensuously.

  A growl sounded in Mallory's throat.

  He wondered if she was even aware of it, if she even realized how dangerous her infatuation with the human was—to Matthew and to her.

  Of course she didn't.

  She spun, angry strides taking her to the Jeep.

  The cemetery gate closed after he'd passed through it.

  Moonlight caressed the tombstones, creating beauty. He steeled himself against feeling pity for the dead girl they'd come for, hid it beneath the ruthless resolve to do what needed to be done.

  Agonizing over the necessity of it was a waste of time. Conscience was a luxury none of them could afford, though Mallory was taking forever to learn that lesson.

  He almost admired her. Almost.

  They reached the mass burial site. Gathered at graveside. Mallory stripped out of the long-sleeved shirt, revealing the black tank beneath it, and the brand she made a point of hiding as if by doing it she could avoid this fate.

  He gave her the soul jar, spoke the words he'd been taught over the knife and handed it to her, smiling at her distaste.

  There's no running now, Mal. No escaping.

  He placed a pair of sigil-inscribed bowls at the center of the grave along with a red candle in a silver holder.

  Cutting away a square of turf, he scooped out a handful of dirt, dropping it into one of the bowls, though without hair or ashes or bone, they'd be lucky if they got anything useful.

  He jammed the grass back in place and leaned the death-scene photograph against the bowl of grave dirt, then removed a stoppered flask from the pack. He uncorked it and poured water from the heart of their sire's domain into the second bowl.

  Hayden began speaking the required words. He cupped the bowl, stood then walked a circle around the grave with the bowl tipped.

  Water poured from it in a steady, unnatural stream. It soaked into the ground though when he set the bowl in front of Dane, it held the same amount of water he'd poured from the flask.

  Dane sat west on a compass point realigned so south led straight to the Brass Ring.