"We have a situation in D.C.," Winkler said. "Matt called. We're going in. I just hope we get there in time."
"But," Ashe said. He thought it would take hours to arrive at the nation's capital. He revised that thought when he saw what waited for them at the airport. A military jet sat there, the engines revving as Trajan, Winkler and the unknown werewolf hauled Ashe across the tarmac and up the metal steps to the jet. Seating was limited and there was barely room for all of them inside the tiny space.
"We'll break the speed limit going in," the unknown werewolf muttered grimly as he strapped himself in. Ashe, looking around for his own seatbelt, found the ends, pulled them together and clicked them across his lap. Ashe blinked at Winkler, but Winkler's eyes were closed. Figuring that the Dallas Packmaster didn't want to be disturbed, Ashe sat back while all kinds of potential situations raced through his mind.
Unmarked patrol vehicles met them at the D.C. airport. As did Director Matthew Michaels. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" The Director walked up to Winkler and peered around the tall werewolf at Ashe, who stood in the early-morning light, shoulders hunched and hands in pockets. Trajan had an arm loosely draped around Ashe's shoulders.
"It's the best we have, Director," Winkler said. "If it doesn't look good when we go in, we'll come right out and let the regular forces have it."
Ashe sat in the back of a limousine between Winkler and Trajan while the Director, sitting beside the unnamed werewolf, outlined the problem for Ashe. "The British Embassy has been taken over by terrorists," he explained. "They tried the same thing with three other embassies at the same time, but were only successful at this one. There are quite a few dead at the other venues, including the enemy, but those embassies are now secure. Only the Brits are in danger, now. We gather that there are at least seven terrorists inside the building; four were killed before they gained entrance. Now, everyone inside that embassy is in danger, if they haven't been killed already."
"Ashe, you're going to carry Trajan and some of the Director's men inside; they'll try to take out the terrorists," Winkler said. "Don't put yourself in danger; we'll show you a map and you'll drop your cargo where Matt says to drop them. Understood?"
"Uh-huh," Ashe felt shaky as Winkler and the Director outlined what they wanted. A map of the embassy interior was spread across the hood of a police cruiser, safely parked behind crime scene tape. The lights were on in the British Embassy, but nobody was visible behind the windows. Someone had a representative from the terrorists on the phone, but they were refusing any sort of negotiation at that point.
A covered porch with square columns lined the front of the building, which was built in a wide U-shape. Ashe couldn't begin to describe how many national agencies and security personnel were outside the British Embassy in the early-morning light. The media had been kept away from the site and Ashe was thankful for that. He didn't want his mother to see his image plastered all over national television, especially since she thought him safe in Dallas—he'd talked to her shortly before he'd gone to bed the night before. Now, a light breeze ruffled Ashe's hair and flipped crime scene tape tied to vehicles and convenient traffic signs. The day promised to be a warm one.
"We think this is the safest place to make the drop," Matt made sure Ashe knew the proper room and the floor number inside the building as he bent over the map. The small room Matt indicated held copy machines and other office equipment. "Now," Matt went on, "these are the ones you'll take inside." Matt jerked his head at six men who stood nearby. "All of your jobs are on the line if you breathe a word on how you got inside," he spoke to the six operatives, all of whom stood at attention beside him. "Remember your non-disclosure agreements," Matt reminded them.
"Yes, sir," all six said in unison. Ashe knew they must be military, maybe Special Ops or something. He also figured that nobody would tell him anyway, so he didn't ask.
"Boy, now's the time. Get them in there pronto," Matt ordered.
"Yes, sir," Ashe nodded and went to mist. The six operatives and Trajan weighed nothing as mist. Ashe quickly found the designated room inside the embassy. He also found three bodies inside the room when he dropped his seven passengers. One of the dead was a young woman, who looked to be a secretary or assistant. The other two wore uniforms and were obviously security guards.
Ashe was supposed to come right back out of the building and join Winkler while they waited for the ones left inside to do their job. After seeing the dead woman, her throat viciously slashed, he decided otherwise. What would they do? Send him home? Ashe followed over Trajan's head.
His hearing still as sharp as it ever was, he heard voices on the lowest floor toward the front of the building. He'd dropped Trajan and the others on the second floor. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. At least two people were walking up. Did Trajan hear them? The six operatives had scattered in other directions, looking for terrorists and survivors. Ashe hovered right behind Trajan's shoulder as the tall werewolf stepped inside a room, concealing himself beside the door. Ashe realized Trajan was waiting for the two to come upstairs. Pulling a pistol from his jacket pocket, Trajan waited for the terrorists to walk past. Except they didn't. Instead, a grenade rolled right up to the doorway where Trajan stood. Ashe shrieked grenade! mentally and then gathering Trajan inside his mist again, rushed down the stairs ahead of the two who'd tossed the grenade.
Ashe didn't know where the six operatives were, but there was sudden shouting and screaming as at least a dozen prisoners, tied up and sitting on the lower-level floor, had a grenade tossed in their midst by another captor. Desperate, Ashe gathered the prisoners up as well, somehow leaving the grenade sitting on the floor. It and the one above stairs detonated one right after another as Ashe shot skyward, going straight through the roof with fourteen screaming people inside his mist.
Somehow, Winkler had found a bullhorn and was shouting through it. "Meet at the New Zealand Embassy," he yelled, his voice magnified by the device. Ashe, unsure where the New Zealand Embassy was, made a complete circle, confused. Then Winkler and the Director began pointing in the proper direction before climbing into a squad car and skidding away. Ashe followed overhead until the car pulled up before another, smaller building nearby. Ashe zoomed right through the walls, making his passengers shriek again before dropping them all in an entryway.
Screaming and crying, still bound and in a tangle, the hostages were attempting to wriggle away. Trajan, however, grabbed Ashe as soon as he reappeared and held him in a tight bear hug. Winkler, the Director and several others rushed in and began untying the hostages.
"This is gonna take some 'splaining," Ashe muttered. Trajan gave him an extra hug and let him go.
* * *
"Ashe, I know I don't have to tell you to keep this quiet; national security is on the line," Winkler said inside an office later. "Matt can be counted on to keep your secrets—he already knows about Amarillo." Winkler went on to tell Ashe that the hostages were being debriefed inside the same building, and Ashe learned that three of the six operatives had been found alive inside the rubble of the British Embassy. Ashe had done as much as he could, but felt bad for the ones who hadn't survived the attack.
"Mr. Winkler, something set those guys off—the terrorists," he said. "I think they knew we were coming, somehow."
"The Director thinks the same thing, Ashe," Winkler nodded. "But that's for him to solve. We've done what we came to do. Would you like something to eat or would you rather rest for a couple of hours before we find a ride home?"
"Can I do a little of both?" Ashe held his stomach, which had been growling for half an hour. It was nearly ten in the morning, Eastern Daylight Time. Trajan had gone in search of coffee for himself and Winkler.
"Lie down on that sofa," Winkler pointed to a sofa against the back wall of the office. It held a desk, the sofa and two chairs. "I'll see if I can get somebody to find food." Winkler walked out the door. Ashe flopped down on the sofa with a sigh, removed his shoes and curled up on it.
* * *
"He's sixteen, and you'll be opening a can of worms with the vampire and shifter communities if you try it now," Winkler pointed out. Matt was already talking of recruiting Ashe. "I have him for the summer, but that won't be true if his parents learn what he's doing right now. I'll take him back to Texas, but he'll be a flight away if something else comes up, Director."
Matt had to be satisfied with that. Ashe was underage and the President would have a fit if he found out who'd done the rescue. "All right, but do everything you can to keep him with you for the rest of the summer. Damn. If I could just keep that kid," Matt shook his head. He'd been impressed with the Amarillo thing. This was achieving the impossible. He and the President had been on the phone with the British government following the rescue at the Embassy. The official explanation was that the Special Ops team had gotten everyone out. Later, a bit of well-placed compulsion from two of Matt's vampire operatives would ensure that the victims' stories matched that explanation.
"What can I offer in payment, besides giving you a ride back to Dallas?" Matt asked.
"The kid hasn't had breakfast," Winkler grinned.
Matt shook his head later as he watched Ashe devour French toast plus ham and eggs over easy, with a glass of orange juice. "He's still growing," Trajan said softly.
"I can't do a lot right now, but here are a few souvenirs from the White House," Matt handed a duffle bag over with an official seal on it. Ashe took it, surprised that he'd gotten anything.
A private jet waited on them this time, with more comfortable seating. Winkler herded Ashe up the steps, with Trajan right behind Winkler. The unknown werewolf was noticeably absent this time. Ashe blew out a breath and looked around quickly before boarding the jet. He'd never been to Washington, D. C. before and hadn't gotten a chance to see much of it this time.
"Come on," Winkler placed a hand on Ashe's head to duck it below the top of the door.
* * *
"Ashe gets to sit in an air conditioned office and we're picking peaches in the humidity," Sali grumbled.
"Hey, you volunteered. And we get paid for this," Dori peeked around the trunk of a peach tree and wrinkled her nose at Sali. Wynn was still recovering, so she was at home with her parents. Several others from the community had taken the job in Shirley Walker's peach and grapefruit groves. A rush of wind blew past them, rustling the leaves and bending the trees, but it was gone almost as quickly as it arrived. Sali was grateful for the cooling wind; it was oppressively hot in the South Texas groves.
* * *
"Mom?" Marcie stared at her youngest son. She hadn't recognized the red Lexus that pulled up in front of Cordell Feed and Seed, but she recognized the two who'd climbed out of it.
"Honey?" Marcie was crying as she hugged Jackson Pruitt to her. Her oldest, Dustin, stood nearby as his mother wept and held onto Jack.
"Marcella?" Jason walked into the shop from the back; he'd been working in the greenhouse.
"These are my boys," Marcie stood back from both of them. "Boys, this is Jason Landers. My husband."
"Yeah. We heard," Dustin nodded respectfully to Jason.
"Boys, did your father allow this visit? And how did you find me?" Marcie wiped her cheeks with a shaking hand.
"We heard from somebody in Phoenix that you'd come here. Dad wouldn't tell us."
"Honey, your father will be livid."
"I don't care. I've already sent word to the Grand Master about him," Dustin muttered, a look of anger crossing his face. "And I sent photographs. He has my email address. If he forces us to go back, then he isn't much of a man. Besides, Jack will be eighteen next year. Dad can't do anything after that."
"You're still members of the Phoenix Pack," Jason warned. "There's protocol, Son. I'll have Winkler contact the Grand Master, too, but these things can take time to sort out. Especially if the Packmaster files his own complaint."
"Honey, I'm just worried your father will try to cause trouble," Marcie sighed.
"Mom, something's going on. I heard from Bob Greer that Dad didn't throw a big fit when we left, but a few days later something happened and he tore the house apart. I don't think we had anything to do with that, but we also don't know what caused it."
"Jason, I think we need to get the boys to Dallas as soon as possible," Marcie said, turning imploring brown eyes on her husband.
"I think so, too. Let me see if I can get Trace or somebody else up here to take over until the shop sells. I'll make some calls." Jason headed toward the office at the back of the store.
"He's a good man," Marcie said. "We'll get this sorted out. Are you hungry? There's a really good restaurant around the corner."
* * *
"Take the rest of the day off, Ashe," Winkler said. "Work out with Trajan and Marco, but that's it," he added. "That'll give you a long weekend. Marco can take you out later if you want to see Dallas." Ashe had slept during the trip back to Dallas, but still felt tired.
"I think I'll get in the pool for a little while and then go to bed for a nap," Ashe said, yawning wide enough to crack a jaw.
"That sounds great. I have to return some calls, but the pool sounds good." Ashe waved at Winkler's words, yawned again and headed toward the stairs and his bedroom.
* * *
"My Queen, how may I serve you?" Rabis bowed low before Friesianna.
"I have not forgotten that your gift is Foresight," the Elemaiyan Queen snapped. "I need your talents now."
"My Queen, what has happened to Hilbah?" Rabis knew very well what had happened to Hilbah. Hilbah was weak as a Miriasu, one born with Foresight. Hilbah's greatest talent had been telling Friesianna what she wanted to hear instead of the truth. Now, Hilbah's unexpected death at the hands of a human criminal left the Queen without a Miriasu. Rabis was the only remaining choice. He'd stayed away from the Queen's camp for centuries. Now he would be forced to return and serve her.
"I have a task for you, Rabis. One of our half-children must be brought to me. Of all those we made, only he has failed to hear the call and come to us."
"Is he of age?" Sixteen was considered an adult among the Elemaiya. "I heard that many half-children have been killed by our Dark cousins."
"Of course, he is of age. I would not ask otherwise," the Queen's temper was rising.
Rabis knew not to push her. He took in her beautiful, hand-embroidered silk gown and the crown she'd wrested from her predecessor centuries before. Friesianna had never been a proper Queen. Someday, Rabis knew, she would pay a price for her treachery and for subsequent mistakes made through the years. That time has not come as yet, more's the pity, Rabis thought sadly. Because Friesianna held Le'meruh, what many Elemaiya termed the rare ability of extreme compulsion, Rabis was compelled to obey her. He was faced with cowering before her now and performing the duties of a Miriasu.
"I will serve my Queen gladly," Rabis lied, bowing low.
"As you should," she snapped. "Come. We have little time."
* * *
"Come on, you can do better than that," Trajan watched as Ashe bench-pressed one hundred twenty pounds. Ashe was doing it—barely. "We've got leg presses after this," Trajan was back to torturing him, it seemed, and Ashe was still expected to run afterward with Marco.
"Trajan, I have another one for you. Maybe two." Ashe knew that voice.
"Jason?" Ashe said, working to get the weights up again.
"Young man, I heard you were drafted," Jason's face appeared above Ashe. The old werewolf was smiling.
"Currently undergoing torture," Ashe hissed out a breath.
"He's so mistreated," Trajan muttered sarcastically. "Who's this?"
"Marcie's youngest, Jack," Jason introduced someone else Ashe couldn't see. "And her oldest, Dustin, is parking his car. He'll be in shortly."
"I can take both of 'em, if that's what you want."
"I do, but Dustin is past twenty. We'll have to ask."
"Good enough. Let me know," Trajan agreed. "Ashe, all the way u
p," Trajan said, watching Ashe wobble the weights.
"Jackson Pruitt, but everybody calls me Jack," Ashe took the hand offered to him when Trajan let him up from the weight bench. Jack was dark-haired like his mother, with the brown eyes common to Marcie and Denise's family.
"If you're done, Ashe, get to those leg presses," Trajan rumbled.
"Dude, are you sure you want to do this?" Ashe hissed loud enough for Trajan to hear. That earned a flip to the ear from Winkler's Second. Ashe was pretending permanent harm as he walked toward the contraption where he'd do leg presses.
"Looks like fun," Jack said, sealing his fate.
* * *
"Mr. Winkler, Dom was involved in something, I know it," Marcie said. She and Jason sat inside Winkler's spacious office. "He went out of town at least once a month. At first, I thought it was another woman, but I don't think that was it. Several times, I found evidence that he'd been to Mexico. I knew better than to say anything, though." She had known better; Dominic Pruitt had beaten her throughout their marriage. If her father had known what Dom Pruitt truly was, he'd never have consented to the marriage.
"Why don't you let me work on this?" Winkler steepled fingers beneath his chin. "I'll do some credit card traces and such. We'll see what we can find. In the meantime, I'll call the Grand Master. If he'll approve a temporary transfer for your boys, we'll get this sorted out."
"Thank you, Mr. Winkler. You have no idea how much this means to me."
"Jason, you can move those two boys into a bedroom upstairs if you want. Nobody will get to them unless they can get past all my guards."
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