Floor-to-ceiling glass gave him a clear view of the sidewalk and half-moon drive outside the front of the hospital. Already, yellow tape surrounded the area outside the doors. Techs snapped photos or paced the sidewalk, head down, searching for clues.
The police cars and activity had drawn a crowd. Inside, a smattering of hospital personnel stood along the edges of the lobby, watching and whispering.
“I’ve got to speak to the bodyguard,” Ham said as he peeled off to the right. Peyton, recognizing his own fragile control on his temper, opted to stay out of arms reach of the man who had failed to protect KT.
Movement on the perimeter of the crowd outside caught Peyton’s attention. The mass of bodies parted like a bow-wave in front of an immaculately dressed man—Anton Marant. Despite being flanked by two bodyguards in dark suits, Anton Marant did nothing overt to make his way through the crowd. He didn’t shove, he didn’t shout, but when he spoke, people stepped aside, causing others to look around and give way.
A policeman turned to see what was happening. He stepped forward to lift the yellow ribbon high. Such was the presence of the Marant clan’s Alpha.
Anton Marant stepped under the ribbon with a gracious nod to the policeman and then skirted the scene, his expression tight, his focus on the doors of the hospital. One of the two men in his wake dropped back to speak to the officer in charge; the other followed on Anton’s heels.
As soon as Anton crossed the threshold, Peyton, as well as every paranormal in the lobby, tensed, nerves alert to the deadly anger beneath the polished surface of the man striding across the lobby. The paranormals paused and stepped to the side, heads tilted down, gazes shifted aslant. The humans in the lobby stiffened and the whispering stopped, as if the humans subconsciously sensed the predator among them.
Ham stopped in mid-sentence and walked forward to meet Anton. He stopped in the middle of the lobby and gave a half bow to the approaching man.
“Alpha Marant.”
The paranormals resumed their work, and the whispering picked up with a renewed sense of anticipation. Cell phones materialized to capture the scene or text the inside scoop.
Anton Marant stopped in front of Ham, his bodyguard like a shadow at his shoulder.
The bodyguard’s gaze swept the lobby and paused on Peyton before continuing.
Though Anton’s gaze never left Ham’s face, Peyton sensed Anton’s awareness touch on him before focusing on Ham.
The Alpha of the Marant clan gave his famous smile and held out his hand to Ham. “No formalities here, Colonel Brilling. Just Anton. Now, can you tell me what happened?”
The two men shook hands and Ham stepped back, his arm sweeping to indicate a small alcove off the lobby. “Sir, if you’ll follow me, I’d be glad to fill you in.”
The bodyguard stepped forward to examine the alcove and then turned back to Anton with a nod.
Anton’s dark brown gaze hit Peyton like a megawatt spotlight. “Mr. Allers, if you would care to join us?”
Peyton fought down an urge to bristle at the unconscious challenge presented by an Alpha of Anton’s stature. The older man’s smile remained in place, but for a second, Peyton saw the deeply guarded pain in Anton’s gaze before Anton repeated his question. “Mr. Allers?”
Knowing how seldom men of Anton’s power asked twice, Peyton nodded and followed the trio toward the alcove. The bodyguard stopped to take up his position just outside. Anton gestured for Ham and Peyton to sit before taking a seat himself.
He leaned forward. “Tell me what you know.”
“Not much, sir,” Ham began and then filled Anton in.
Peyton watched Anton closely, comparing the external appearance to the deeper presence that was Anton Marant. To the casual eye, KT’s father looked like just another successful businessman—average height and build, brown hair and eyes, conservative suit. However, despite his calm demeanor, his anger and frustration filled the alcove like a surging tide. Peyton could see Ham’s effort to maintain his military calm beneath Anton’s unwavering gaze.
Ham finished his report and asked, “Has there has been any contact, sir? A ransom demand?”
Anton shook his head and looked toward his bodyguard. The glance appeared casual enough, but Peyton recognized the ploy, a delaying tactic and, perhaps, to gather composure.
That’s where KT learned it.
When Anton turned back to Ham, his expression was calm. “My people have heard nothing. But we all know this is no simple kidnapping.”
Remind me to never play poker with this man, Peyton thought and Max gave a little mental snort.
“The local police have put out an APB on the limo,” Ham said. “We expect to—” Ham’s cell phone chirped and he glanced at Anton before he stood up. “Excuse me, sir.”
Ham stepped outside the alcove and walked down the hall a short distance, his voice low.
Peyton wished he could follow but Anton’s voice brought his attention back with a snap.
“I’m pleased that you’re on your feet, Mr. Allers. If you hadn’t already been brought in, I was going to ask Colonel Brilling to request your assistance.”
Surprised, Peyton focused on Anton. “Thank you.”
“She thinks highly of you.” The older man’s gaze took on a calculating gleam which Peyton met without reservation.
“I think highly of her,” he replied.
Anton nodded and leaned back against the cushions of his chair. For a moment, the polished façade slipped and permitted Peyton another glimpse of the anguished father beneath. “I was afraid Torne might try something like this.”
Peyton fought down a spurt of guilt over KT’s decision to stay in the city. Keep focused on the here and now, not the past. “Looks like you took all the precautions, sir. Torne just found a crack.”
“There’s always one, isn’t there?” Anton looked at Peyton. His gaze held the ghost of old pain mingled with the new. “There’s no way to keep anyone completely safe, all the time.”
Peyton shook his head, his combined guilt about KT and Lance a bitter ache in his own chest. “No sir, there isn’t.”
Ham stepped back into the alcove and they stood. Max rose, intent. Hunt now?
Peyton’s gut tightened. Hunt now.
Ham jerked his head to the front door. “They found the limo.”
****
Peyton rode with Ham in one of the Alliance sedans and Anton followed in his limo. Ham’s driver maneuvered through the traffic with the suicidal skill of a New York cabbie. Anton’s followed at a more reasonable pace.
Their destination proved to be a residential neighborhood, brick high-rises complete with awning-covered entrances and doormen. The driver flashed a badge at the policeman directing traffic away from the crime scene. The officer waved them through; they pulled in behind a squad car. Ham and Peyton leaped out and headed for a small cluster of uniforms standing in front of an alley between two brick buildings.
Peyton saw the hood of a limo halfway down the alley, parked askew behind a dumpster. Yellow tape closed off the entrance to the alley. A few techs, armed with cameras, clicked shots of the alley and the limo from various angles. One team worked the limo, dusting for prints and looking for evidence. Crime tape marked off the exit to the next street and another police car blocked the opening, lights flashing.
The empty limo made Peyton’s gut tighten. KT had complained about her father’s insistence on the bodyguard and the expense of a rented limo. Peyton had seconded her father, much to KT’s irritation. And Torne had gotten her anyway.
Peyton turned to scan the street. Several of the doormen stood outside their buildings, arms crossed while they watched the activity. A small neighborhood store sat about the middle of the opposite block. A florist’s delivery truck was parked a few doors down. The police were questioning some of the pedestrians clustered on the sidewalk.
Peyton glanced back down the alley at the limo and then at the street. The store with its outside display of vegetables
and fruits sat almost opposite the alley entrance. A small security camera perched on a light pole in front of the store, its lens directed at the sidewalk and front door. Through the front window, Peyton could see the indistinct form of man staring out at the proceedings.
Peyton crossed the street and pushed open the door. The squawk of the door sensor greeted him along with strains of scratchy rock-n-roll.
The man behind the counter stepped closer to the register in front of a wall of cigarettes and smokeless tobacco products. The framed business license hanging amid several outdated calendars listed an “Arthur Klaussner” as the owner of the “Shop & Save Mart.”
“I’ve told the police everything I saw,” the man said.
Peyton’s temper inched up at the man’s defensive tone. “You the owner or an employee?”
“Owner.” His tone added a silent “what’s it to ya,” but Peyton ignored it.
Peyton hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Mr. Klaussner, did they ask about your security camera?”
Klaussner gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Course they did, but it’s focused on my store, not the street.”
“Let me see.”
Klaussner hunched like a dog over a bone. “Why? Nothing to see, just my store.”
The door opened and Ham stepped inside. “Peyton?”
“Security camera,” Peyton said, focused on the man in front of him. “I want to see the tape.” He leaned forward. “Now.”
Something in Peyton’s face made Klaussner take a step backward. He looked at Ham, as if for help. Out of the corner of his eye, Peyton saw Ham flip out his badge and the man relaxed, a little. Klaussner shifted a small monitor screen on the counter so that Peyton could see it.
“See, just the front of my store.”
The screen showed the exterior of the shop. A man in a t-shirt emblazoned with the florist’s logo walked past while Peyton watched. Peyton leaned closer and waited. An engine started and the reflection of the delivery truck inched between the store and the entrance of the alley. The huge plate glass window captured the image beautifully.
Peyton pointed. “There!”
Ham glanced at the screen and then over his shoulder at the street. “Good catch!” He nodded at the store owner. “Run it backward.”
With a sigh and a half shake of his head, Klaussner disappeared below the counter and the images on the screen flickered. The florist’s truck backed down the street and the delivery man walked backward across the screen. The arrival of the police and the techs played out and then there were a few moments of empty sidewalk in front of the store.
When a dark SUV backed into view and into the alley, Peyton tensed. “Stop.”
The image froze and Peyton strained to read the backward lettering on the license plate. He ground his teeth. “I think it begins with ‘FSG’ but it’s too blurry to be sure. The techs’ll have to pull it.”
From beneath the counter came a muffled “whadja expect” and Peyton growled. Klaussner’s head popped up over the counter, his eyes wide.
Peyton gave the man his best poker face. “Keep rolling it backward.”
With an audible gulp, Klaussner nodded and disappeared behind the counter.
The headlights on the SUV went out and the doors opened. Torne climbed out of the driver’s side and backed toward the rear of the SUV. A woman Peyton thought looked vaguely familiar got out of the passenger side.
Ham leaned closer to the screen. “Well, I’ll be. That’s Patricia Tercelon.”
Peyton snorted. So that was KT’s missing aunt. Well, she didn’t look like a captive. What did she look like was a partner to kidnapping. A willing partner.
Patricia Tercelon opened the rear passenger door and then stepped around it to bend inside. Torne joined her and then they straightened, closed the door and backed down the alley supporting a staggering KT.
Peyton’s pulse picked up at the blurry image of KT, her head lolling, stumbling between Torne and the woman. Max surged forward, his fury an added pressure behind Peyton’s eyes. His hands curled into fists on the counter.
“Freeze it!” he growled and the tape stopped again.
Chapter Fourteen
“Drugged, but at least she’s alive,” Ham said. He leaned over the counter to speak to the store owner. “I want that tape.”
“I’ve only got two tapes for this thing,” Klaussner whined.
“Then I guess you’ll have to buy another one.”
The sound of a long-suffering sigh rose from behind the counter. “Sure.” There were several clicks and whirs and then Klaussner stood up, a small cassette in his hand. He held onto it for a moment. “Will I get it back?”
Peyton caught a glimpse of something akin to anticipation in the man’s eye and his leash on his temper frayed. He launched himself forward and Klaussner backpedaled into the display behind him.
Cigarette cartons and snuff packages rustled and shuddered from the impact, several tumbled to the floor. The man paid no attention to his merchandise, his terrified gaze fastened on Peyton.
Peyton’s fingers curled around the far edge of the counter and Klaussner all but went cross-eyed trying to watch Peyton’s face and his hands at the same time. He gave up and shot a look at Ham who stood back, arms crossed over his chest.
“Hey man!” Klaussner pointed a shaking finger at Peyton. “Make him back off. Don’t let him go all hairy on me.”
Peyton growled again, letting the sound rumble through his chest until the man actually whimpered. “If so much as a single frame of that tape turns up on the web or newsstands, you’ll really find out what happens if I get hairy. Do you understand?”
Klaussner swallowed and nodded. “All I meant is it’s an old unit and the tapes’re hard to find. That’s all.”
Ham stepped forward and clamped his hand on Peyton’s shoulder. “Easy.” His fingers tightened in warning.
Peyton restrained the urge to shrug off Ham’s grip and eased back from the counter. When Peyton was back on his side of the counter, Klaussner took a shuddering breath.
Ham held out his hand to the store owner. “I understand your concern sir, but right now, that’s evidence. Check with the precinct. They’ll let you know when you can pick it up.”
Klaussner dropped the cassette into Ham’s hand never allowing his gaze to stray from Peyton. “Yeah, I’ll do that.”
Peyton turned and stalked out, Ham right behind him. Anton stood talking to one of the officers, but stopped as soon as Ham and Peyton stepped outside. He intercepted them in the middle of the street, but, with a brief nod to Anton, Ham continued toward a policeman standing beside a cruiser.
Peyton marveled at Anton’s restraint. If he’d been in Anton’s shoes, Peyton would’ve grabbed Ham’s arm and demanded to know what was going on. As it was, Anton watched Ham confer with the policeman for a moment before looking at Peyton.
“Get anything?”
“Video of Torne’s car. License plate number was too blurry to read. All I got was a partial. Ham’s letting them know, but the techs should be able to clean it up and get the full plate number.”
Peyton jerked his head toward Anton’s car. They walked to the car and stopped beside the rear door. Anton’s driver opened the door and stood waiting.
Peyton eyed the driver and then looked at Anton. “Listen, another thing. Looks like Patricia Tercelon’s in this with Torne. She was helping him get KT into the second vehicle.”
Anton’s growl raised the hair along Peyton’s arms and back of his neck. KT’s father took a deep breath and the rush of angry energy eased down to a roiling simmer.
“If anything happens to KT, I’ll...” Anton stopped himself.
Peyton finished it for him. “I’ll take care of Torne and Patricia. You have my word.”
Anton’s eyes flickered from Peyton to the police and Ham and back again. Peyton shook his head. “My word. Sir.”
The anger dwindled further and Anton nodded.
“They’re probably
out of the city already,” Peyton said, as if the short exchange never happened. He took a breath. “Once they leave the city, it’s a crap shoot.”
Ham joined them at the car. “They’re searching the traffic cams and tapes. We should have a route pretty quickly.”
Peyton looked at Ham. “Torne’s heading out of the country. To do that, he’s gotta have a plane.”
Ham frowned. “All the airports are being watched, private included.”
“Not the one he’s gonna use. I guarantee it.” Peyton looked at Anton and gestured to the door of the limo. “Sir, I suggest you use your resources to light a fire under the locals. We need that plate number.”
Anton looked at the open door and then back to Peyton. “And what will you be doing?”
Peyton glanced at Ham. “We’re gonna go see a man about a plane.”
****
Benny Lofland’s shop stood on a prestigious block of SoHo among upscale boutiques and restaurants. Dark-stained wood framed a display window with the single word “Lofland’s” etched in the glass in foot-tall letters. Spots lit the items in the display: an elaborate tea set arranged on a table that looked too fragile to support it, a huge framed still-life of over-ripe fruit and cheeses on a simple black metal easel, and a four-foot tall green oriental vase.
When Peyton pushed open the door, classical music flowed out to greet him while a discreet chime sounded in the rear of the building. The door swung shut behind him, soundless despite its weight. Two of the exposed brick walls supported an eclectic array of paintings of all sizes and styles from modern to classical. A massive wooden bar, complete with brass boot rail, held pride of place on the third wall and served as the reception desk where a statuesque brunette held court.
Cassandra Jones. The first time Peyton met Benny’s receptionist/assistant, Peyton recognized her as the predator she was. Though she was 100% human, with that body and whisky-kissed voice, Cassandra Jones all but screamed “man-eater.” A dare that most red-blooded males would find irresistible; Peyton just found her overstated. However, he never insulted an alpha in her own territory.
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