Checkmate

by Elyce de Reefe

  Jesse finished the last sample and pushed that thought away. That was the kind of thinking that had gotten him in trouble in the past. He tucked the vial in the padded carryall Dean had provided and replaced the sample in the fridge.

  “Done over here. Need a hand, Zeke?” He snapped the padlock closed as he spoke.

  “All set here.”

  Jesse glanced over to see Zeke rising from doing the same, his gaze on his brother.

  “Done,” Boaz said, pulling a flash drive from the computer set up in one corner.

  This particular lab was in an actual medical building, which was unusual. It had one of those walk-in clinics on the first floor and various specialists’ offices on the second and third floors. Along with the lab, which was on the second floor, sandwiched between an orthopedist’s office and a dermatologist. It meant the building had a lot more security than usual, including cameras that had to be avoided. The whole thing made Jesse nervous— but they managed to get down to the first floor and out of the building without tripping any alarms. As with most buildings, the cameras weren’t really set up to watch the stairs.

  They were cutting through the parking lot, heading toward the SUV parked a few blocks over, when he smelled it. That strange, almost non-smell. Not quite plastic, not really paper… He’d smelled that before. Twice. At the last two labs they’d investigated, to be exact.

  He paused, scenting the air, and Zeke paused beside him. Boaz was out in front as usual.

  “Bo,” Zeke said, the quiet syllable apparently conveying a wealth of meaning because Boaz paused, glanced at them, and then melted into the shadows at the edge of the parking lot, waiting.

  “Do you smell it?” Jesse asked.

  Zeke shook his head. “Nothing unusual. Just normal parking lot smells. What’ve you got?”

  “I’m not sure,” Jesse said slowly. “It’s not very distinct, but…” he trailed off. It was coming from the pavement. “I think I need to check this out.” He pressed the padded canvas sack with the samples to Zeke. “Take this to the truck. I’ll meet you.”

  Zeke glanced toward his brother briefly, then back to Jesse. “Sure. You don’t want help?”

  “Nah. Just need to check this out. I won’t be long.”

  Zeke nodded and trotted obediently toward his brother, who waited in the shadows. From the corner of his eye, Jesse saw them turn together and head for the truck.

  Ten minutes later, Jesse finally confirmed his suspicions. He pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

  Checking out a lead. Get the samples back to Dean. Tell Lucas I’ll check in later tonight.

  Roger that.

  Zeke’s reply had Jesse’s lip twitching again. It wasn’t like they were in the military. But Jesse was in charge of this mission.

  Meet you back at the OK corral.

  Jesse felt his smile spread as he typed the message into his phone. Aaron’s brothers were good guys. He hoped they decided to join the pack officially. He felt pretty confident they would, eventually. But they did have their parents and sister to consider, and so far, Aaron’s parents had not seemed interested in changing packs.

  He scented the air and set off at an easy lope, following the trail. Aster had been using something— something not quite paper, and not quite plastic to mask her scent. But he had it now, and it was fresh.

  He had a sudden thought of Lucas’s reaction should Jesse actually manage to locate his sister after all this time. Approval. Acceptance. A warm feeling invaded him, tinged with a familiar sense of longing. He squelched it. He wasn’t a kid anymore, desperate to impress his Alpha.

  His mind shifted to Aster’s probable reaction. Her reaction would be very different. He felt his smile stretch along with his stride, feeling the play of his muscles as he ran smoothly down the dark, deserted streets. Wouldn’t she be surprised?

  He breathed in the soft night air of spring, letting the scents envelop him. He pushed everything else out of his mind and immersed himself in what he did best. Identifying and differentiating the dense tangle of smells that made up the world that surrounded him. He pulled one thread from the tangle and followed it, anticipation building as he ran. Soon.

  Chapter 6

  In chess, the term Bad Bishop actually has nothing to do with the value of the Bishop. It merely refers to the color of the squares it can move on. A Bad Bishop is on the same color squares as its pawns. However, this can be a very strong defensive position, if the Bishop is defending the pawn from attack. It can even be enough to cause a draw.

  — From the Journals of Aster Ardennes

  Aster approached the small, two-story office building warily. It was after midnight, and this side street on the edge of the residential district just outside of Albany was quiet and deserted. Still, Aster couldn’t deny her uneasiness.

  Formerly Conrad Claims Adjusting, it now housed the research of one Dr. Evans, who seemed to be in charge of the fertility research. At least according to the files she’d managed to decode last night. There had only been the one reference, buried in the accounting records, but the expense report had provided both the name of the research project and the address where it was taking place.

  Genetic Fertility Triggers. Just the name had her heart rate accelerating. If she could get her hands on those records, that might be exactly what she’d need to take down Marten and determine just how deeply the research had delved into the secrets of the People.

  Aster circled the building one more time, searching for any trace of danger, a scent that didn’t belong, a hidden camera, anything. But there was nothing. The night was still, with no breeze to carry information about the surrounding area. It made her nervous.

  She approached the street again and watched the building from two houses down. Nothing. No movement. No sound but the crickets’ ordinary nightly serenade. The pungent scents from the garbage cans lined up for the morning pickup blotted out anything farther away than about ten feet.

  Aster rubbed her hands on her jeans above the Tyvek boots and pulled on her gloves. She didn’t have time to mess around. She needed to find out exactly what this Dr. Evans was up to. She slipped behind the garbage cans and down the side of the building to the back door. The building did not appear to have any extra security. That just didn’t seem right.

  She knelt and quickly picked the deadbolt, once again blessing Mr. Miller and his unconventional approach to college internships. The man had run a one-man private investigator business and supplemented his workforce with local college students. She’d originally signed on to do mostly computer work, but during the slow times, the old man had amused himself by teaching her all kinds of useful skills.

  Aster heard the last pin slip into place and the bolt slid back. The small doorknob lock took only a few additional seconds and then she slipped inside. She pulled the door closed, flipped the bolt, and paused, inhaling deeply. She could smell humans, Murphy’s Oil Soap and something else. Something distinctive, coming from down the hall. Something sweet and compelling. Almost—but not quite—familiar.

  Cautiously, she padded down the hallway, the lack of windows making it hard for even her eyes to pierce the darkness. She inhaled again. At least one of the humans was female, and familiar. She’d caught that scent once before, at the restaurant lab. Anticipation flooded through her. She was definitely in the right place.

  Aster reached the first doorway, but she could tell just by smell that it was a bathroom. The next room held file cabinets, which was promising, but she was drawn on by that oddly compelling scent. It was a little like honey, rich and redolent with hidden complexities. But there was something… disturbing about it too.

  Aster moved silently down the hall, careful not to brush the wall with her shoulder or arm. She didn’t want to leave a scent marker here. This had to be what Marten was involved in. That scent was… nearly irresistible. And that first lab, the one she’d followed Kenton to, had been working with pheromones. Was Marten trying to develop something that would
draw females to his pack of loners?

  She inched down the corridor, listening carefully, but she was nearly certain she was alone. The air was too still, the building too quiet— but as strong as that scent was, it could be masking others.

  She reached the next doorway, this time on the right, and tried the door. Locked. Which figured. The scent was coming from behind that door. She knelt and pulled out her lock pick kit from her pocket. This lock was a little harder to finesse. Her knees started to ache at the prolonged contact with the hardwood floor. As she worked, she could almost imagine that obsequious scent seeping from beneath the crack, rising up to coat her skin with its syrupy sweetness. Finally, the lock clicked open and she rose to her feet.

  Cautiously, she pushed the door open. The scent hit her in the face like a slap. She took a hasty step back. These humans must be completely scent-dead to be able to work in these conditions. Without the barrier of the door, she could detect a slight minty flavor balancing its heavy sweetness.

  Aster peered into the room, which was definitely set up as a lab and lit only by the cool blue indicator lights of various pieces of equipment. She moved forward slowly, inching toward the center of the room. She gazed around, taking it all in. Much of the equipment was familiar, but some of it looked different. There was a row of stainless steel refrigeration units against one wall. That was different, all right. She could only see the tops of them, their lower halves blocked by a long lab table with cabinets underneath. The scent seemed to be coming from there. Had someone dropped a vial?

  Moving carefully, she crept closer to the table. Maybe she could—

  Aster felt the wire across her ankle a split second before the trap was sprung. She leapt to the side, throwing herself toward the table in a vain attempt to avoid it. She was vaguely aware of the sound of shattering glass as a net of almost invisible mesh snapped around her and yanked her into the air.

  No! I cannot believe I fell for this! Such a simple, low-tech trap—

  She had a moment of clarity, hanging there in an ignoble tangle, suspended from the ceiling exactly like some idiotic cartoon character. Her hands were tangled in the netting above her head. She couldn’t even reach her phone. She struggled briefly, but the sweet cloying scent rose up like a cloud, enveloping her in a dizzying wave. A bizarre rush of desire sparked along her nerve endings, and then blackness closed over her.

  Aster couldn’t tell if it was moments later, or hours when the sound of the front door clicking open caused her to stir to bleary awareness. The thick cloud of scent made it hard to think. Her body throbbed and her mind churned sluggishly, trying to figure out what she should be doing. Her neck ached with the strain of being curled in an unnaturally tight ball, the netting cut into her skin along the back of her neck and her forearms. Her left knee jabbed painfully into her solar plexus. She tried to move, to wriggle into a more comfortable position, but she was held fast.

  Crrreeeck.

  Crreeck.

  What was that noise? She blinked and tried to focus her mind. Someone was coming down that hall. She felt a thrill of fear wash over her, blanking out all other senses except for that inexplicable ache of desire. Pheromones. Hormones. It has to be. And here she was trussed up like some sacrificial lamb. Fear slammed into her again with the realization. Marten had set this trap. And she was helpless to do anything about it.

  ***

  Jesse trotted down the quiet street, the stillness of the air making the back of his neck prickle. The soft breeze of the evening had died out completely, and he had only those scents right in front of him to inform him of who, or what, might be around.

  He was still tracking that odd non-scent—almost paper with just a touch of plastic—both of them muted, close to undetectable. A moment later, a soft breeze stirred, bringing with it faint news from the northeast. Jesse’s senses came alive. It was just hint, the suggestion of a hint, but he would swear that was Mont-Tremblant Pack. And not just any Mont-Tremblant. Those were Marten’s loners.

  He picked up the pace, moving farther into the shadows, and suddenly that papery scent got stronger. Was it— Yes. It went right around this building.

  Jesse slipped down the driveway toward the back of the building, following that elusive scent. He crept around the corner—

  A new scent assailed his senses. It was like nothing Jesse had ever smelled. Sweet. Almost too sweet. But… there was something mouthwateringly succulent about it too— with just a hint of spice. He felt his whole body come to attention, a distraction he did not need. Because it was coming from under the back door of the building. Shee-it.

  He was going to have to go in there. Jesse hoped like hell Aster was actually inside, because there was no way he could tell with that scent blanking out all his senses.

  He pulled out his lock pick and delicately probed the lock, feeling for the resistance, for that subtle hint of surrender. Each lock was different, but they all yielded their secrets to the patient man. He felt the first pin slide into place, and searched for the second. There it was. He pushed gently and it slid home. He angled the tool slightly to the right— ah, yes. There it was. A soft nudge and the bolt slid back.

  He tried the door, but the doorknob lock was engaged. He tested it with his probe, a light inquisitive touch, circling… there. He pressed gently and heard the lock give with a soft click. He twisted the knob, opened the door, and almost fell on his ass as an avalanche of scent hit him in the face.

  That was… strong. He had to brace his knees before he could move forward. But he couldn’t linger here in the doorway. Anyone could be creeping up behind him and unless they made some noise, he’d never know. He suspected even Marten’s loners could move quietly enough through this suburban neighborhood. But he had absolutely no idea what was inside that building. That unnatural smell covered everything.

  Nothing like going blind into the lion’s den.

  Jesse took a shallow breath through his mouth, which didn’t really help, and stepped through the door. He pulled the door closed and paused, considering. Should he lock it? He tried to gather his thoughts. Whatever they were working on here— it was some serious shit. He was painfully hard and he felt like the odor was seeping into his brain, coating his thoughts in syrupy confusion.

  He pushed away from the wall, glad he was still wearing the gloves from earlier tonight, and moved down the hallway. There was a bluish light coming from an open doorway about halfway down its length on the left. He moved down the hall, one silent step at a time, instinctively trying to sniff the air— which only made things worse. He had the dizzying sensation that he was blind.

  If Aster was in here, he had to get her out immediately. Which was not going to be easy, considering the rush of desire that slammed into him at the thought of the princess. His step faltered and he lurched sideways. His shoulder knocked into a doorframe on the right. The door creaked open with a loud screech. Jesse shook his head trying to clear it and pushed himself out of the doorway. There was another loud screech as he pushed away from the door. So much for stealth.

  Two quick steps brought him to the open door he’d spotted before. His heart pounding, he peered around the doorframe. And, shit. There she was. In some kind of rabbit snare, hanging from the ceiling.

  He pulled out a mini flashlight and shone it around the lab, looking for tripwires. There was broken glass on the floor, sitting in a small puddle, and the scent was emanating from that. He had to grit his teeth with the effort of not rushing to her like some kind of rutting bull. But Jesse had a lot of experience ignoring his desires.

  “Well, Princess, look at you. All tied up and ready for bonding.” He pitched his voice low, going for mock seductive, and was gratified that it didn’t shake. Or crack. “I imagine we can expect Marten, or his goons, any time now.”

  Aster rolled her eyes, which actually helped a little. “Funny, Jesse. Very funny. Just get me down.”

  His hands shook as he pulled out his knife from the ankle holster he always wore
. He needed air. It was getting really hard to think. If I lower her onto the table, that would be the perfect height to—

  “Jesse!” Aster’s hissed shout brought him out of it. He blinked.

  He’d been standing there, staring into space. It felt like he was moving through molasses. He shone the flashlight around one more time to make sure it was clear and made his way to the rope holding her up. She squeaked as he wrapped it around his forearm, bouncing her toward the ceiling. He braced himself.

  With one smooth move, he cut the rope and then slowly lowered her to the floor. The net was tangled around her, and gingerly, he stepped closer, helping her peel it aside. She scrabbled up. He would have helped her, but he didn’t dare touch her. Not with what he was feeling right now. His control was dangerously thin.

  “Let’s get out of here, Princess. I wasn’t kidding. Mont-Tremblant is close by. I caught their scent on the way in.”

  “Of course they are.” Aster’s voice was sharp and sarcastic and completely uncowed. Jesse let out a breath of relief. He didn’t think he could handle a distraught female right now. But she was going the wrong way, heading farther into the lab.

  “Aster, come on. We need to leave.”

  “Just a second.” She pulled open one of the large refrigeration units along the wall and poked her head in. She grabbed a dozen or so samples and tucked them inside her shirt. She repeated the process at the next two fridges. Jesse had to swallow and look away from the flash of skin revealed when she pulled her shirt up to tuck it in more securely. She nestled the vials there against her belly like some kind of mama kangaroo.

  He swallowed again, trying not to imagine stroking that soft, white skin, trailing his fingers down—