by MJ Compton
The baby twisted, probably in retribution for her wicked thoughts about its father. Michelle rubbed her belly. The baby kicked back. It hated her already, and it wasn’t even born.
A hot tear slid from the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek. Don’t judge me, baby, she tried telepathic communication with the fetus. The living fetus, snug and secure in her womb. Whatever Mattie had dosed her with had worked.
Michelle closed her eyes and tried to summon slumber, but the baby was showing off now, doing Fred Astaire routines on her bladder. She needed to relieve herself, but she wasn’t supposed to get out of bed, and Randy certainly wouldn’t do chamber pot duty for her.
She shifted, trying to ease the pressure in her kidneys.
“. . . and the walls came tumbling down.”
Her eyes jerked open, and she peered into the waning darkness. The singing had been so faint, so distant, she must have dreamed it.
“Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.”
No, that wasn’t her imagination. Her heart stuttered, and she clutched Randy’s arm.
He awoke instantly, threads of spittle in the corners of his mouth. “What is it?”
“Shh,” Michelle said. “Listen.”
“. . . and the walls came tumbling down.”
Dread spiked in her veins. She recognized that voice. “Mattie was wrong,” she whispered. “It’s not a warning from God. It’s Lucy’s ghost.”
Then the howling began.
Chapter 16
“I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” Stoker said as he dropped a blueberry muffin on Lucy’s plate then helped himself to another before passing the basket.
“I’m with Stoker,” Hank said.
Operation Jericho had reconvened in the motel coffee shop for breakfast. There were too many of them for a booth, so they sat at pushed-together tables in the center of the eatery, a set-up not exactly conducive to privacy.
Lucy, who shouldn’t have been there at all, eyed the coffee pot in the waitress’s hand with unabashed longing.
Someday, Stoker thought, she’ll look at me like that.
Restin sighed. He looked tired.
Good. He deserved to lose sleep over what he was forcing them to do.
“And I don’t like being shot at,” Ethan said.
Restin ignored him. “We’re obviously unnerving New Sinai.” He sounded pleased.
“I’m with Ethan on being shot at,” Hank said. “And, I am not willing to learn firsthand if the only-silver-bullets-can-kill-a-werewolf myth is true, either.”
The others growled in agreement. They were musicians, for howling out loud, not soldiers or spies, no matter how much Restin liked to pretend they were. Their treaty with the government called for them to use their inherent abilities to assist soldiers and spies, not replace them.
“At least their observation platforms don’t allow for accuracy,” Luke said.
“There is that,” Restin said.
“I still hate being shot at,” Hank said, “accurate or not.”
“I hate making babies cry,” Stoker said, and everyone at the table except Restin scowled.
Lucy covered his hand with hers.
“If one child is harmed because we’re outside that fence howling . . .” Stoker said.
Restin arched an eyebrow.
Stoker glared. “I’ll find a way to make you pay.”
“Aren’t you overstepping your bounds, Delta?” Restin asked.
“No,” Stoker said. “When it comes to children, there are no boundaries.” He pushed away from the table. “Come on, Hank. It’s time to play rejected mate up on the mountain.”
“I want to see my wife. Bring Lucy here or take me to her.” Déjà vu all over again, Stoker thought as he stood outside the open gate of the New Sinai stockade.
Michelle appeared as transparent as a ghost, not that he’d ever actually seen a ghost, but if he were to describe one, it would look like Michelle. Her lack of substance worried him.
Michelle inched closer. “Lucy can’t come to the gate, and you can’t come in to see her. Things aren’t going to work out for the two of you.”
This was getting to be like the scene in the original Star Wars movie, with the princess slipping the message disc into the little robot, over, and over, and over . . .
Ancient Ones, he hated that movie.
“She needs to tell me face to face,” Stoker said, trying to inject emotion into the words. He’d never make a good actor.
Michelle shook her head, and reached for his hand, as if to comfort him.
Behind him, Hank growled a warning.
Michelle pressed something into Stoker’s palm. Something small and hard. Diamond hard.
He glared at her, without any effort at all.
“It’s over between you and Lucy,” she said.
Stoker pocketed the ring. “I don’t believe you, and I don’t trust you. I want to hear Lucy’s decision straight from her mouth without anyone holding a gun to either one of your heads.”
“Isn’t the ring enough of a message?” Michelle whispered. Her eyes darted around as if to make sure she wasn’t overheard. “You have to forget about Lucy. She can never leave New Sinai now.”
“How do I know you didn’t steal it off her finger while she slept?” He, too, whispered, because he’d bet a piano Randy didn’t know Michelle was returning the ring to him. “How do I know Butler didn’t kill her and steal it?”
Michelle’s eyes widened, and she flinched as if Stoker had slapped her.
Now he was getting somewhere. “Prove to me she’s still alive. Or can’t you? Maybe I should come back with the cops.”
All color drained from Michelle’s already too-pale cheeks, leaving her complexion ashen.
“What are you doing out of bed?” The woman who’d tried to escape with her family stalked across the yard, alone today.
Stoker’s stomach wrapped itself around his heart as he wondered about her children.
“I . . . there were some things I needed to do.” Michelle stared at the dirt sifting between her bare toes.
“Nothing is more important than taking care of that baby,” the other woman said.
Hank stepped toward Michelle. “Are you all right?”
Oh, scat, Stoker thought.
Michelle kept her eyes downcast, her face averted. “Go away,” she said, her voice strained. “Don’t come back.”
Hank took another step toward Michelle and the open gate. “Do you need to go to a hospital?” he asked, his voice more of a vibration than a whisper.
“Leave with them,” the woman urged Michelle. “I can’t do any more for you. Save your baby.”
As if cued, Butler, surrounded by gun-toting minions, strode across the open expanse of the yard, and Michelle scurried toward him. “Why are you at the gate?” His voice boomed.
“The piano player is here again,” Michelle said. “I gave him the message, but he doesn’t believe me.”
Not one flicker of emotion marred Butler’s expression. “What he believes doesn’t matter.”
“What about your wife and baby?” Hank asked, and Stoker wanted to punch him.
Butler acted as if Hank hadn’t spoken and gestured for the guards to close the gate. “Don’t bother coming back,” he said to Stoker. “This is the last time I’m telling you. If you come back again, I won’t be as welcoming.”
“What did he say?” Randy demanded.
Michelle perched on the edge of their bed. The ache in her lower back speared up her spine. She never should have gotten out of bed, not even to return the ring to the piano player. “He suspects Lucy is dead.”
Randy narrowed his eyes. “What did you say to him to make him think
that?”
“He’s not stupid. If we don’t give him proof she’s alive, he’s going to come back with the police.”
Randy waved off her concern. “The police have no authority here. I need him to keep believing she’s alive until we can make arrangements for her estate to be turned over to you.”
At least she still was of use to him. Other than incubating son, that is. But what would happen once the baby was born and Randy had his hands on Lucy’s trust fund?
“If he returns tomorrow, perhaps I’ll invite him to spend the night. Then he can hear Lucy sing up the sun.”
“She’s going to lose that baby!” Hank slammed his fist on the bureau top, and Lucy flinched and grabbed Stoker’s hand. The band had gathered in Stoker and Lucy’s room for the latest update on New Sinai, and it appeared Hank was going to trash the place.
“You don’t know that,” Restin said.
Just because pregnancy had gone terribly wrong for Hank’s mate didn’t mean Michelle was in danger, but Stoker wasn’t going to be the one to point that out to his cousin. Seemed as if no one else was, either.
“Stoker, you tell them,” Hank snarled.
“She was awfully pale,” Stoker admitted. “And that other woman told Michelle to catch a ride to the hospital with us because she couldn’t do any more to save the baby.”
Lucy’s grip on his hand tightened. “You’re not thinking this through. Even if you enter through the tunnel, how will you get to Michelle? If it were that easy, wouldn’t you have done it by now?”
“At night,” Hank said.
“She sleeps with Randy. Do you plan to kill him first? I thought you weren’t here to kill anyone.”
Lucy was right. Hank hadn’t thought this through. Then again, Hank was delta and thinking wasn’t a delta’s strength.
“It wouldn’t bother me,” Hank said. “Killing him in his sleep might be the least messy way of dealing with New Sinai, and the sooner we do it, the sooner Michelle sees a doctor.”
“I agree with Hank,” Stoker said. He wanted this whole Idaho trip in the past. Once they had Michelle, his part was over. The government would deal with the aftermath of a Butler-less New Sinai.
“No,” Lucy said. “You don’t want to give New Sinai a rallying point. If you kill Randy in his sleep, you make him a martyr. You need to distract Randy, not immortalize him.”
“No, we don’t,” Stoker said. He needed to stop Lucy right now. Her ideas always backfired or worsened the situation.
“Snatching his wife should distract him,” Hank said.
Restin smiled, and every hair on Stoker’s human body stood on end. “Lucy’s right,” Restin said.
“No, she’s not,” Stoker said. “Lucy is delta.”
“Lucy is scared to death for her sister’s safety,” Lucy said. “I don’t like any of this.”
She looked frightened, and guilt panged in Stoker’s chest. Lucy should feel safe and cherished, not fearful. He wasn’t doing a very good job at this mating stuff, but he didn’t appreciate her exposing his inadequacies to his pack. She should have told him privately, not made a general announcement.
“I promised you I’d get your sister out of New Sinai, and I will,” he said, not even trying to hide his irritation. “So stop trying to think.”
Lucy’s green eyes widened, and she opened her mouth as if to argue then shut it again. A twitching muscle on the side of her face betrayed how tightly she clenched her teeth.
“We need a plan,” Hank said, his glare fixed on Restin. “You’re the hot shot team alpha. Come up with something.”
The room was so quiet Stoker would have sworn it was empty if not for Lucy’s frantically racing heart, which drowned out the heartbeats of everyone else in the room.
“I say we continue to play it by ear,” Restin finally said. “We’re musicians. We know how to improvise.”
How could he be so drained yet still want to mount his mate, Stoker wondered as he closed the door. The others had gone to the studio to work on the new Toke Lobo CD, and since Lucy needed to remain out of sight, Stoker decided they should stay in their motel room.
She brushed against him as she emerged from the bathroom, and his body leapt to attention. He caught her shoulder and pulled her close.
“I thought you were exhausted,” Lucy said. She pulled free from him and went to the window.
“I’m frustrated.”
“We’re all frustrated.” Her back was to him. “Weren’t you listening?”
“Oh, I was listening, all right. You need to stop thinking. And if you must hatch ideas, keep them to yourself. Restin doesn’t need any more of your help screwing this up.”
She turned, her eyes narrowed, her forehead crumpled in a scowl. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m delta. I’m a middle-of-the-pack kind of guy,” he said, annoyed that he even had to explain. Again. “I don’t think, not if I can help it, and especially not about important stuff. I write music. I leave all the plotting, scheming, and backstabbing to the alphas and the betas. You are my mate. You don’t need to worry about how to make things happen. Just leave the thinking to Restin, okay?”
“We’re talking about my sister.”
He tried to quell his growing urge to shift and hurt something. Or someone. “I’m aware of that.”
“If you refuse to think, how are you going to get her away from Randy? Don’t you need a plan?”
“Hank says she’s his mate. He’ll rescue her from New Sinai.”
“But you promised—”
“Hank is my cousin, as good as me. Well, as far as rescuing your sister goes, anyway.”
“That makes no sense. Why should Hank be responsible for your promise?”
“We’re a pack. We’re all responsible for the pack.” He slid an arm around her waist and tried to kiss her.
Lucy averted her face. Her breath fogged the cool glass of the window. “I’m not in the mood.”
What was that supposed to mean? Not in the mood for what?
“You think you can insult me then jump my bones?”
“What insult? Your plans always backfire. Which is proof you shouldn’t think. Pointing that out isn’t insulting, it’s a kindness. I don’t want you to keep embarrassing yourself with bad ideas. Besides, we’re delta. We’re not supposed to think.”
He tried to kiss her again. Lucy claimed she liked his kisses, and if he could kiss her into forgetfulness, maybe he could do something about the restlessness gnawing at him.
She twisted out of his embrace. “Okay. Now I’m really upset. With you. Which, for a human female means I’m not putting out. Which means you need to keep your jeans zipped.”
“I’m not wearing jeans.” She knew Operation Jericho required easy-on, easy-off sweatpants, so why did she say something so ridiculous? “I don’t understand why you’re upset.”
“Of course you don’t. That would require thinking. And you’re male, which means that when you do think, you use your . . .” Her cheeks flushed as she gestured toward his rapidly expanding private parts.
“Trust me,” Stoker said, suppressing a snarl. “My equipment is brainless. Otherwise, it would understand why you’re upset that I want to have sex.” He reached for the hem of her sweatshirt.
She swatted away his hands. “I said I’m not in the mood,” she repeated through clenched teeth.
Talk about not in the mood for something. He definitely didn’t want to deal with some human snit. “You’re my mate. My partner. Now that I’ve marked you, we’re supposed to have sex together. It’s a law or something.”
Lucy tried to duck under his arm, but there was no place for her to go. At least she had enough sense to realize she couldn’t leave the haven of their room.
“I’m
edgy,” he said. He licked behind her ear, trying to calm her. She tasted . . . different. “I won’t be able to sleep while I’m . . . frustrated.”
“Go for a jog,” she suggested, “or pick on Luke.”
If she were only a little taller, he could have her just like this.