by Noelle Marie
“Wisp!” I cried, cupping my hands around my mouth in an effort to project the sound, but much like when I’d called for her in the motel room, silence was my only answer.
For a moment, anyway.
“Hey, you!” a disgruntled voice called. “Keep your goddamn voice down!”
I turned to see that whomever had rented the room two doors down from ours was standing outside, smoking a cigarette. He was an older man – probably in his mid-fifties – with a pot-belly sticking out of the bottom of a stained, off-white wife-beater.
I stared in disbelief.
By the look of him, the man was obviously suffering from some sort of hangover, but it wasn’t like I was yelling obscenities into the wind at four in the morning. For Christ’s sake, judging by the position of the sun in the sky, it was nearly noon.
Regardless, there was a possibility that the man had seen Wisp, so I gnashed my teeth together and approached him. “Have you seen a girl wandering around out here?” I demanded bluntly.
He raised his eyebrows, drawing attention to his receding hairline. “I’ve seen plenty of girls ‘wandering’ around out here,” he replied. “Enjoyed one last night, myself.”
I barely withheld a disgusted sneer. “Not a fucking call girl,” I clarified. “A small brunette in an oversized, plaid shirt. She has freckles and big, brown eyes.”
The man took a long drag of his cigarette as he thought. After a long moment, he released a lungful of smoke into the air. “Nope,” he said, popping the “p”. Disappointment, sharp and biting, pierced my chest. “Sounds hot, though,” he added, almost absentmindedly. “If you’re into sharing-”
Before he could even finish the sentence, I grabbed him by the scruff of his wife-beater and slammed him against the siding of The Palace Inn. His head connected with a satisfying thwack.
“I’m not,” I hissed – like my actions hadn’t made that obvious enough.
I wanted to deal with him properly for suggesting such a revolting idea – to punch him in the face just for the pleasure of feeling his bones break under my fist – but fortunately for the asshole, I didn’t have time to dawdle.
Wisp was still missing.
With that thought in mind, I shoved the man into the siding one last time before forcing my fingers to loosen and reluctantly releasing the piece of shit.
He sank to the floor, curling into a ball.
I snorted at the sight. Pathetic.
Turning on my heel, I stomped back to the motel room, racking my brain for where else Wisp could have gone.
I refused to think that Felix had somehow gotten his hands back on her. There was no way he could know where we were, and there was no way in fucking hell I would have slept through some kidnapping scheme.
I slammed the door behind me, irritation born of worry sparking inside me when I spotted Thane still lounging on the bed where I’d left him, tail thumping against the mattress like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“What the hell are you so happy about?” I grouched. “Don’t you know that your precious Wisp is missing?”
He was nearly as protective of her as I was. His content demeanor made no sense. Unless…
I frowned, realization dawning. “Thane, do you know where she is, boy?”
Thane yipped happily in response to the question, like he somehow understood what I was asking. Then, leaping over from the bed Wisp and I had been sleeping on last night to the one that sat undisturbed, pillows fluffed and quilt tucked neatly under the mattress, he nosed at Abram’s duffel bag.
Abram.
He was missing, too.
I was a goddamn moron.
Rushing back over to the door, I jerked it open. My eyes urgently searched the parking lot. Sure enough, the Rolls Royce was gone.
Abram must have taken it somewhere – he must have taken her.
My stomach twisted. I shut the door, hurrying back over to Thane and taking his furry face into my hands. “Where did he take her, boy? Huh?” I demanded to know. “Where the hell did Abram take her?”
I trusted Abram – or I thought I did, at any rate – and it wasn’t like I thought he would hurt her, but when it came to Wisp and her well-being, I wasn’t willing to take any chances.
Unfortunately, while Thane seemed to have a better understanding of English than most canines, he certainly didn’t speak it, and thus, could tell me no more.
Five minutes later, I was on the verge of ripping my hair out.
I was debating whether doing a quick surveillance of the neighborhood was worth my time when the tell-tale sound of a key jiggling in the door’s latch caused me to freeze. A moment later, they walked through the door. Abram first, then Wisp trailing in behind him. They were fucking holding plastic Wal-Mart bags, the store’s famous smiley face logo grinning mockingly at me.
“Where have you been?” I barked, ignoring the obvious answer (Wal-Mart) and rushing over to them. Unable to resist the urge to touch her, I ran my hands up and down Wisp’s arms as my eyes checked her over for injuries.
Satisfied that she was unharmed, I turned my attention to Abram. “And what the hell do you think you were doing taking her out without telling me first?” I demanded.
Abram raised an unimpressed eyebrow at my peevish tone, calmly walking over to the bed and setting down his bags. “You were sleeping,” he pointed out, like it was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Like I was the one acting like a fool.
I wanted to knock his teeth in.
The only thing that stopped me from doing just that was Wisp placing her hand on my shoulder. “Derek, hey, it’s okay,” she assured. “Abram just took me shopping is all.” She bit her lip. “I… well, I needed a few things.”
“It’s not like you brought her any spare clothes,” the man chimed in oh-so-helpfully from behind me.
I grit my teeth. It was like Abram took joy in pointing out my deficiencies as a provider – as a mate.
“I could have gotten you whatever you needed,” I informed Wisp as calmly as possible before turning back around to face Abram. “In case you’ve forgotten,” I snapped, “we don’t know the repercussions of the fire yet. Who knows what Cornelius – what Felix – is going to do? Maybe they declared Wisp missing again. Her face could be plastered all over the morning paper by now. Someone could have recognized her.”
It was one of the worst-case scenarios that had run through my mind as Wisp had showered the night before. It would mean having to cross state lines… and possibly never coming back. As much as I hated the thought of leaving my cabin – my land – behind, I would do it. I would do anything for Wisp.
“You may be willing to risk her safety for some fucking licorice,” I spat, gesturing at one of his bags, where a package of Red Vines of all things was spilling out, “but I’m not.”
Abram snorted. “I doubt venturing out is going to be the problem you seem to think it is.”
“Really?” I demanded. “What, are you suddenly psychic now? Cornelius went to the press once before; it wouldn’t surprise me in the fucking least if he did it again.”
“Actually, you’re right. He did go to the press.”
I froze. “What?”
Wisp sighed, curling her hand around my elbow and regaining my attention. “What Abram means to say,” she said, shooting the man an unimpressed look, “is that we happened to catch a glimpse of this as we were leaving the store.” She dug a rolled-up newspaper out of one of her bags and offered it to me. “It’s the Seattle Times. Look at the article near the bottom.”
I took the paper, hastily unrolling it. And sure enough, a headline at the bottom, small, but in bold print, immediately caught my eye. Disbelief had my fingers tightening involuntarily around the edges of the paper as I read the accompanying story.
TRAGEDIES ABOUND FOR WASHINGTON SENATOR
The house of Washington senator, Cornelius Radcliff, unexpectedly went up in flames late last evening.
The four-time incumbent, along with his daughter, S
loane Radcliff, and housekeeper, Marianne Rodriguez, were all home when the house caught on fire.
Eighteen-year-old Sloane Radcliff recently made headlines when she disappeared from her father’s estate under suspicious circumstances a few weeks ago, and then again when she was found, alive and well, a short while later in rural Washington. (see pg. B6)
In an unfortunate twist of fate, however, Sloane was unable to escape the flames and perished in the fire.
While unavailable for comment, a representative of C. Radcliff has released this statement: “Cornelius is requesting privacy during this difficult time to properly grieve. Condolences and donations in Sloane’s name may be sent to his office address listed here: Office #35, 609 Kent Ave., Seattle, WA.”
This is just the latest in the long list of tragedies the senator has suffered. Nearly two years ago, he lost his late wife, Vanessa Radcliff, to early-onset Alzheimer’s.
Note: While the cause of the fire is still under investigation, firefighters believe that improperly installed electrical cables in the basement are what likely started the deadly blaze.
Dead.
They were claiming Wisp was dead.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Trees whirled by in a brilliant blur of color as we sped down the highway. The closer we got to Pine Ridge, the more the vibrant oranges and reds of fall replaced the stony-gray of the city.
It was a pleasant change.
It may seem strange, but in the few short weeks I had lived there, Pine Ridge – specifically, Derek’s cozy, little cabin in the woods – had become home.
Of course, that didn’t mean that convincing the man to return to town so quickly after the fire had been easy.
“What the hell is this?” Derek demanded as he finished reading the article proclaiming my untimely demise.
“It’s a newspaper,” deadpanned Abram, flopping backwards onto the bed.
I sighed when Derek, an angry flush creeping up his neck, wheeled around to face him. “I know it’s a goddamn newspaper,” he spat before turning back to me. “The article… it’s claiming you’re dead.”
I nodded, the surprise I had felt when Abram and I had first spotted the story in the check-out lane at Wal-Mart having long since faded. “Not only that, but Cornelius and Felix – they’re trying to pass the fire off as an accident. I mean, they have to know you set it,” I pointed out, “but the article doesn’t even mention that you guys were there when the fire started.”
Derek’s brow furrowed. “But…why? What are they playing at?”
I shrugged. “Abram and I were talking about it, and we think that maybe… well, maybe they’re letting us go.”
Predictably, Derek scoffed at the idea. “Yeah, or maybe they just want us to think that, let us get comfortable so they can-”
“So they can what?” Abram demanded, pushing himself into a sitting position. “Attack us? Steal Wisp away in the middle of the night? That seems like a lot of trouble to go over for one girl. As far as I can tell, Cornelius is cutting his losses.” The man snorted. “And why wouldn’t he?” he muttered, shaking his head. “He’s coming out of this mess smelling like a rose. Asking for donations in Wisp’s name. Give me a break.”
“I don’t think he really wanted me back in the first place,” I pointed out quietly. “I mean, he didn’t report me missing the first time I disappeared until after I’d been gone for weeks, and I’m guessing the only reason he eventually did was because he was pressured into it by the Vanderbilts.” I bit my lip as I recalled the conversation I had overheard between Felix and Cornelius in the latter’s office. “He owed them – the Vanderbilts,” I said. “I… I’m pretty sure I was supposed to be the payment.”
A muscle ticked in Derek’s jaw at the revelation. “But that’s just it, isn’t it?” he said. “Even if Cornelius was willing to let you go, what about Felix?” He paused. “What about the Vanderbilts?”
“I… well, I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Maybe they found a new way for Cornelius to repay his debt,” Abram suggested from his spot on the bed. “They may be rare, but there are other bearers in the world. If Henry was really that desperate to come up with a mate for his son, I have no doubt he could find one.”
Derek stared. “You really believe it then?” he demanded. “That they’re just going to let us – let her – go? Did you think they’d just let it go seventeen years ago, too, when you and my dad were meddling in their business?”
Abram froze at the blatant reference to the fire. “I don’t know, Derek, okay?” he forced out between clenched teeth. “But I do know that I’m not about to walk away from my land on the off chance that they show up there, looking for us. That was never part of the plan.”
“What then? You want to risk Wisp’s life for the sake of a run-down shack and a handful of bittersweet memories?”
Abram sprang up from the bed, taking a threatening step towards Derek. “You little-”
I quickly lounged between them. “Stop!” I cried, throwing out my arms. I took a deep breath in through my nose. “Just… stop, okay? You both have good points regarding the… situation.” It was one word for the mess, anyway. “Why don’t we lie low – stay here for a couple more days – to think on it? Then, at the end of the week, we’ll make a decision about what we want to do.”
There was no immediate answer as the two men stared each other down.
“Okay?” I stressed.
After a second, Derek offered a curt nod.
Abram pursed his lips. “Fine,” he muttered, “but come Friday, I’m heading back to Pine Ridge with or without the two of you.”
Without further ado, the man stalked out of the room, taking care to slam the door behind him.
“Asshole,” Derek muttered under his breath.
I pressed my lips together. It was going to be a long week.
As it had turned out, however, I hadn’t even needed the entire week to convince Derek to return. It had only taken another two days of being cooped up in the motel room, the overbearing sounds of the city – honking horns, police sirens, the raised voices of whomever had rented out the room next to us – ringing in Derek’s ears to get him to agree.
There were conditions, of course.
The biggest one was that he and I would stay at Abram’s place for at least a couple of weeks so that he could keep an eye on the cabin – make sure no one was surveying it – before returning.
That was fine by me. While I yearned to return to the cabin, I couldn’t deny that I was curious about where Abram lived.
The other condition wasn’t nearly as agreeable.
Derek basically wanted me under house arrest with one of he or Abram within ten feet of me at all times. In the end, though, I’d been desperate enough to leave Seattle behind me that I had given into his terms.
A few hours later, we had packed our meager belongings and were on the road, a dizzying array of yellows and reds flashing past the truck’s windows as we approached Pine Ridge.
We hit a bump in the road and my stomach lurched.
Derek shot me a concerned glance at my resulting wince, and I quickly offered him a reassuring smile.
Of course, I could have appreciated the vibrant autumn colors a lot more if the car ride wasn’t making me sick.
Right. Because that’s why you’re nauseous. It has nothing at all to do with… you know.
Not even the pesky voice that resided in the back of my head could say it aloud – the true reason for my flip-flopping stomach.
It had nothing at all to do with being crammed in the middle seat of the truck between two huge men or a crumbling, uneven road.
The sick feeling had been there, festering at the bottom of my belly, since my conversation with Abram.
“I’m talking about the cub.”
It had taken a while for my brain to compute what he had meant. I recalled my baffled response.
“Cub, as in… baby?” I demanded incredulously. “Surely you’re not
insinuating that… I mean, there’s no way… I’m not-”
“You’re pregnant,” Abram informed me bluntly.
I had denied it, of course, but the man was insistent. He claimed he could smell it on me, whatever that meant. When he’d suggested I let him take me to the store so he could buy me a pregnancy test and I could see for myself, I couldn’t think of a good reason to say “no”.
After all, I knew he was mistaken. I wasn’t… I couldn’t possibly be…
But as it turned out, I was.
And I had promptly thrown up in a Wal-Mart toilet before spending the majority of our shopping trip locked in the super store’s bathroom, gaping at the little stick with two pink lines, re-reading the directions that had come with it over and over again, certain I’d done something wrong.
Abram, who didn’t give a lick about social constructs, had come rushing into the room at the sound of my heaving.
I stared unseeingly into the toilet bowl, the taste of vomit sticking to the roof of my mouth and panic blurring the edges of my vision. I was numb to the outside world and nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden sound of pounding on the stall’s door. “What’s going on in there?” a voice demanded.
Abram’s voice.
“Wh-what are you doing?” I demanded shakily, wiping at my mouth with the back of my sleeve, praying that he wouldn’t be able to smell the bile. (Though it seemed unlikely considering he had somehow used his nose to detect that I… that I was…) “Someone could have been in here,” I added, composing myself as much as I could under the circumstances and standing on wobbly legs.
“I would have heard them,” Abram pointed out from the other side of the stall door, tone of voice indicating he thought I was being dense, which… fair.
(Though to be equally fair to me, I had a lot on my mind at the moment.)
“Yeah, well,” I floundered, jerking open the door, “some woman could still walk in here and see you.”
Abram’s forehead puckered. “I locked the door,” he assured me. “Now, what’s going on? Your heart is going a mile a minute.”