“Why does that name seem familiar?” he asked the dogs. The one he figured was probably Radar twisted his head and lifted a paw.
Gavin shook his head. “Now I’m talking to you like you understand what I’m saying.” Who knows, maybe they did.
A car rumbled by outside before stopping a few houses down. A neighbor must be coming home. All three dogs rushed to the window to watch, but none barked. Whoever it was must be familiar enough they didn’t feel threatened.
Gavin flipped over the napkin. Across the back, in blocky, masculine script, someone had written another Branson-area-code phone number along with the words “new cell.”
Daisy’s father owned a bar.
It could be a coincidence. Or not.
He yanked his phone out of his pocket and searched “The Land of Milk and Honey.”
A local news station’s video feed popped up. The Land had suffered a major explosion the night before Daisy’s mother appeared at the back door.
Should he call? Should he ask? What if he made it worse?
What if that damned Fate blocked his phone again?
Maybe he should text. All he ever did was text anyway, because he had a difficult time understanding phone conversations, even with the new aids.
He hadn’t tried since the software update. His face tightened. Some small part of him wanted to push those buttons and dare the spyware to interfere. The same part that wanted to thump his chest and hoot.
Fuck it, he thought, and tapped in the number written on the back of the napkin.
He held the phone to his ear, and listened to it ring.
Radar and Ragnar wagged their tails as they watched out the window.
The ring sounded louder than it should, as if it reverberated throughout the house from the outside and he heard the set-to-vibrate buzz of the receiving phone.
Gavin pulled the phone away from his ear. It rang again. And, again, the buzz followed on a slight, half-second delay.
He was off the floor and running toward the foyer just as the lock tumbler clicked over.
The front door did not swing open immediately. Gavin disconnected the call and stuffed his phone back into his pocket.
What if it wasn’t Daisy’s father? What if it was someone faking well enough to fool the dogs? And he just stood in the front entry of the house, six feet behind the door, waiting for whatever was about to charge through.
The door squeaked open, pushed by the arm of someone much taller than Cecilia Reynolds. Someone holding a gun in his gloved hands.
Gavin jumped backward involuntarily, his perception pulled completely to the gun. He didn’t think or scream. He just threw his body in the direction opposite the gun and directly into the banister of the stairs leading to Daisy’s upper level.
The knob at the top of the bannister rail jammed into his shoulder blade.
Gavin groaned as a spiky jolt of agony screamed through his back, but he didn’t twist. Or turn. He watched the scowling man train the gun on his head.
Radar and Ragnar, though, scurried into the front entry, tails blazing and happy yips bouncing between the walls.
The man frowned and lowered his gun and flipped it into a holster under his well-cut jacket. Bright blue eyes stared at Gavin from under dark, well-groomed hair framing a face Gavin would have called “classically handsome” if he wasn’t terrified beyond words.
The man looked to be taller than Gavin by at least three inches. The way he moved his shoulders reminded Gavin of Daisy, though her tips and sways held more feminine grace. The angle of the man’s jaw and his athletic frame also looked similar.
The man standing in the doorway stood with a lot more authority than Gavin did.
Five Russian-accented words spoken in a deep, commanding baritone flowed from his throat.
“Who the hell are you?” growled the man who must be Daisy’s father.
Chapter Fourteen
The lock on the back door of the house clicked at the same moment Mr. Pavlovich growled at Gavin. The door slowly slid open as if the intruder wanted to sneak in unheard. But Gavin did hear, even with the blinding pain firing up his spine.
His shoulder blade blinked white hot in his awareness and distracted him from the terrifying man in front of him. How the fuck was he supposed to deal with this?
The dogs cocked their heads and looked over their shoulders, but Mr. Pavlovich whistled and they fell in line next to his legs—corgi included—as he walked in.
He pointed at Gavin. “Again, who the hell are you?”
“Umm…” The man had a gun. He also might not be who Gavin thought he probably was. “Are you Mr. Pavlovich?”
The tall Russian sniffed as he closed the door. He did, though, turn directly into the house when he spoke—more, Gavin suspected, to intimidate than to be courteous about allowing lip reading. “You will be dead before nightfall if you have harmed my daughter.”
“Whoa!” Gavin threw his hands into the air. “Fuck!” he muttered as he twisted his arm down and against his side.
He pummeled that monster on the lawn in front of the clinic without damaging himself but flinging his body into the railing like a terrified little boy gave him a beatdown? What the hell was wrong with him?
“I’m Gavin Bower!” Maybe Mr. Pavlovich would recognize his name and not immediately kill him. Gavin gripped his arm and tried not to dance around in pain.
“Why is your name familiar to me?” Mr. Pavlovich rubbed his chin. “You are the Fate’s ex-lover, are you not? The boy she left behind?”
Why did everyone think he was Rysa’s ex? And why did Mr. Pavlovich call Gavin a boy? “I’m not her boyfriend!” Damn it, his entire shoulder screamed.
Mr. Pavlovich snorted. “No, you are not. I suggest you not aggravate the Dracos by pestering their woman. You will not fare well.”
Oh my God, Gavin thought. “Umm…”
The person sneaking in through the kitchen chuckled.
Gavin pointed with his good arm toward the back of the house. “Someone just came through the back door. I hear them snickering.” Motherfucker. His shoulder hurt a lot.
Mr. Pavlovich’s forehead tightened and a single line formed between his eyebrows. Both his hands tucked under his jacket and he placed them on his hips the way a cop would. “You hear Ivan?”
Gavin tapped the side of his head. “My aids pick up everything.”
Mr. Pavlovich stood up straight again. “Why the hell are you in my daughter’s house? Where is she?”
“She’s okay!” Gavin’s stomach flipped. This man was more terrifying than that thieving monster. Or maybe the I just broke my shoulder blade thought dancing through his head was what truly terrified him. Either way, panic started to well up in his gut.
He nodded toward the kitchen again. “A small, dark-haired woman calling herself Cecilia Reynolds showed up. Daisy said no morpher was good enough to fake her mom so she believed the woman but my instincts made me suspicious. I can’t explain it, but she sounded wrong. Not like a voice enthraller, but still wrong.” Gavin took a deep breath. “Daisy left me with her dogs and I found your number and I heard your phone buzzing just before you walked in.”
Mr. Pavlovich inhaled deeply. Shock vibrated through his breathing, but he held it well.
“I can help, Mr. Pavlovich,” Gavin said. “Daisy saved me from Burners and I owe her.”
Owed her, respected her, valued her friendship. And he’d only known her for a couple of hours.
Another long pause followed. Awkwardness crept into the pain ratcheting through Gavin. He squirmed, but stopped when he glanced at Mr. Pavlovich.
“…telling the truth… Dmitri.”
“What the—” Gavin flung himself backward again, away from the new, sweet, feminine voice that spoke right next to his shoulder.
A tiny woman with lovely, slightly maternal Asian features and spiky blonde hair smirked and shook her head less than two feet from where he’d been standing.
She must have b
een the person who snuck in through the back. But how—
“Class-one enthraller.” She winked and tapped the tip of her nose.
“But I didn’t hear—” Gavin remembered Daisy’s explanations. “Did you use… calling scents… on me?”
The tiny woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Gosh, you’re so smart I can’t see at all why the Fate left you behind.”
Mr. Pavlovich chuckled.
A sudden spike of anger slapped down the pulsing pain in Gavin’s shoulder blade. “I learned about Shifters eight hours ago.”
The tiny woman shrugged and walked past Gavin, to the dogs. “How… boys?”
Both dogs barked and wagged their tails. The corgi barked too, and wagged her little butt as if mimicking the boys.
“Ah! … cutest thing ever!” The woman rubbed the corgi’s ears. “She yours?”
Gavin frowned. “A voice enthraller tried to use her to get to Daisy.”
Mr. Pavlovich’s back straightened. “When?”
Chapter Fifteen
The woman with the blonde hair went by the name “Ivan Ivarsson.” Gavin didn’t ask, though he suspected more to the name than ironic labeling.
She sat on the bar stool across from Gavin, staring distrusting daggers in his direction. Nothing about her voice carried sinister intent. Nothing about Mr. Pavlovich’s, either. Unlike Cecilia Reynolds, Gavin’s instincts said they were who they claimed to be.
Now, she waited for Daisy’s father to heal Gavin’s shoulder blade.
Heat like someone had laid an iron on his back shot through Gavin’s skin to his muscle and bone and just as suddenly as it started, it vanished.
Along with the pain. All his pain, including the residual ache from sleeping on his face, on a couch, in the middle of a living room that did not belong to him.
“How do you do that?” Gavin stared over his shoulder. “Are there a lot of healers? You’re a medical goldmine. I’m pre-med—”
“Nothing… deep bruise.” Mr. Pavlovich sounded like a disappointed father when he cut off Gavin’s questions. Like he thought a real man would have walked it off and not bother him with what Gavin suspected he considered to be whining.
Why should I walk it off when you can take care of it? Gavin thought. It was, at the very least, distracting. Everyone played better without distractions. If Mr. Pavlovich wanted Gavin to bring his A-game, then a moment to fix a throbbing shoulder was a wise investment.
Or perhaps Gavin’s doctor sense didn’t like wounds on his own body any more than it liked them on anyone else’s.
Mr. Pavlovich pulled his glove back onto his hand. He peeled off one glove for the healing while he left his other hand covered, and Gavin had a quick sense that Mr. Pavlovich was also minimizing a distraction.
He didn’t ask. Ivan continued to stare at Gavin’s face as if memorizing every pore and freckle and would probably put him in a chokehold if he started asking questions again. Daisy’s family didn’t consist of people Gavin would normally get within fifty feet of, much less interact with.
But he was about to get in a car and then a private jet with two powerful Shifters, one who could enthrall so well she snuck up on him.
Gavin spun his shoulder, testing for any residual pain. His muscles and joints glided along, happy and humming. “Thank you.”
You are welcome, Mr. Bower, Mr. Pavlovich signed. Seemed everyone associated with the dragons knew American Sign Language.
“Rushmore, you said?” Ivan jumped down from her stool before slapping the granite countertop. “Matches my intel. Sisto’s, as well.”
Mr. Pavlovich pointed at Gavin’s nose. “You stay here.”
“Oh, come on!” Now Gavin slapped the countertop. If they left him here, he’d be vulnerable. “What if another enthraller comes around? I’ll hear but I won’t be able to stop them if they use calling scents on me.” He pointed at the animals. “What if that enthraller comes back for her corgi? What if she takes the boys?”
Ivan groaned. Mr. Pavlovich arched an eyebrow as he pulled on his glove.
“The kid has a point, boss.” Ivan absently waved a hand in Gavin’s direction. “Don’t forget… Fate’s buddy.”
Though how much of a buddy at this point, Gavin wondered. “Why hasn’t Rysa texted me?”
Now Mr. Pavlovich waved his hand. “Her time has been… occupied.”
Ivan turned to make sure he saw her lips clearly. “That’s one way of putting it.”
She walked around the counter and opened the cabinet containing the dogs’ food. All three of the beasts trundled over, wagging their tails, but she still looked directly at Gavin. “Ladon and Ladon-Dragon are distracting on a good day. And your friend’s recent days have not been good.”
What was going on? “Is Rysa okay?”
Both Ivan and Mr. Pavlovich mumbled words Gavin could not parse.
The overwhelming waves smashed into Gavin again. He stood rigid in the center of Daisy’s kitchen clenching and unclenching his fists while two high-powered Shifters went about packing up the dogs’ food.
They spoke to each other, then Mr. Pavlovich rubbed Radar’s and Ragnar’s heads.
They were taking the dogs. Leaving him, and taking the three beasts.
“You can’t leave me here!” he yelled.
Mr. Pavlovich pushed the fabric of his gloves down between his fingers. “Ivan will enthrall you if you continue to argue.”
Gavin’s biceps tightened. “How often do you enthrall people against their will? Here I thought Daisy’s family would be better than that asshole who attacked us on campus.”
Ivan’s back stiffened. She frowned and turned away, so Gavin couldn’t read her lips. Whatever she said made Mr. Pavlovich’s scowl deepen.
“I hear voice enthrallers!” Maybe they’d change their mind.
“We need to go, Dmitri.” Ivan swung a bag containing the dogs’ travel supplies over her shoulder. “Flight… over an hour.”
Mr. Pavlovich’s eyes took on the fractured, distant look of someone recalling not one, but several memories. Some caused pain; his shoulders tensed. Some caused joy; a minute uptick flickered across his lips.
Dmitri Pavlovich looked, to Gavin, like a man who had seen too much in his life. This moment, in his daughter’s house with a normal he didn’t know, wasn’t unusual. It wasn’t odd or unexpected, even if it had come as a surprise. Dmitri Pavlovich looked tired of dealing with all the crap.
But he was a smart man. One who wasn’t about to pass up an advantage that did surprise him. Because if it surprised Mr. Pavlovich, it would surprise the Seraphim.
He nodded toward Gavin. “Come, Mr. Bower. We will talk on the plane.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mount Rushmore National Monument, under the shadow of Washington’s nose…
Daisy Pavlovich followed the morpher claiming to be her mother. They trotted along the boardwalk under the broad nose of George Washington’s giant granite head, toward, Daisy hoped, the real Cecilia Reynolds. Or at the very least toward better intel.
Only the most diehard came out to the Monument to see the sunrise, and not a lot of tourists walked the trails this early in the morning. A few park staffers milled around, as well as the occasional custodian, but mostly they had the park, its trails, and the massive museum/gift shop building all to themselves.
Daisy had made a choice, back at her house. A risky one for sure, but not getting the morpher away from Gavin and her dogs, not cooperating and so blowing the woman’s cover, not playing along, would have sent waves through her family’s Seraphim attackers.
If the morpher thought for one second that Daisy knew, she’d send out a call. If the Seraphim held her father, they might kill him. And Daisy was pretty damned sure the other Shifter had her mom hidden somewhere nearby.
She might put out a call to kill her mom, too.
The ruse seemed genuinely intricate and delicate. The obvious ploy was to take Daisy into custody and use her against her dad, but th
e woman stayed in character for the entire drive. Daisy might technically be a hostage, but the morpher didn’t make it seem so.
Her fake-Mom obviously wanted the fragment of the Fate Progenitor’s talisman that Cecilia Reynolds had stolen. How much would a chunk of the First Fate’s sword bring on the open market? Probably enough for this morpher to ignore the significant threat of Fate retaliation.
Which meant the morpher knew Daisy’s mom. So the next obvious ploy was to take Daisy to her mother and threaten torture until Cecilia gave up the info the morpher wanted.
And, for some reason, the morpher had chosen to hold Cecilia at Mount Rushmore.
Above them, salmon-colored morning sunlight danced over the foreheads of four American presidents. Their granite faces glimmered against the warming blue sky and the calm early summer air.
Daisy knew why the Seraphim had established a presence here—the place smelled like tourists. Her father’s Branson entertainment complex smelled like tourists, too. As did Wisconsin Dells and Reno. They were all places where people took day trips to “get away from it all.” Spots along the road that didn’t cost too much, and weren’t too corporate, and sort of felt like home. Tourists felt comfortable in these places. They let down their guard and didn’t feel as itinerary-laden as they did in Orlando and Vegas.
Places like Mount Rushmore made getting sales and tips all that much easier for enthrallers.
So here they were, ten hours from Daisy’s home in St. Paul, in yet another Shifter tourist-fleecing operation. This one, though, operated by the Seraphim, the only group with the full-fledged craziness to work a location owned by the federal government.
And the only group operating within the United States with morphers trained and brainwashed well enough to attempt kidnapping the bloodhound enthraller daughter of Dmitri Pavlovich.
The morpher sounded correctly Cecilia-like to Daisy’s ears. Her accent and tonality had been a pitch-perfect match to Daisy’s mother. Gavin, though, had heard something wrong. So she’d enthralled him into unconsciousness and left her dogs to watch over him.
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