by Josie Hunter
“That’s the kind of smell you usually find in a bird of prey, so that’s my guess.” He hitched up his coveralls and swiped his finger across his nose as though he needed to get rid of the smell. “’Sides, if your girl’s been kidnapped, that’s going to take a nasty kind of soul. Most smaller bird-shifters don’t have the temperament for an assignment of that magnitude.” He raked the scene with his sharp gaze again then drawled, “Not that it’s impossible, mind you, but in my view and experience, those little tweeters are pretty good people. The birds of prey though…”
He paused to spit out some tobacco juice. “Well, those fellers come in all sorts of packages. I’ve met some nice ones, a’course, but some would just as soon spill your guts with those big old claws they have as say good day. Some are downright nasty buggers.”
The wheelchair tire tracks and the large footprints—often missing because of the gravel path—had led to the parking lot. Walt sniffed around for a while before giving his analysis.
“I’m catching some really old smells but some new ones too. Trouble is there’s been quite a few cars here through the last day or so. I’m smellin’ all sorts of things. Suntan lotion, ham sandwiches, some really tasty-smelling chocolate cake, a poopy diaper—whoo-ee, that’s a stinker—three kinds of perfume, some tequila.” He sniffed some more. “Some poor feller’s got himself a really bad exhaust system. Really needs to get that checked out before it goes kerplunk.” He nodded sagely, his large noggin bobbing up and down like a bobblehead. “And there’s an oil spill here, though I think it’s about a week old.”
He tracked through the whole lot until he came to the edge where the drive led out to the main road. “That feather smell is strong here, and I can still get a whiff of your girl, though my guess is she’s been hauled like a sack of potatoes. The smell’s really faint, not part of the ground, more just a residual scent in the air. But I think we got ourselves a bit of luck.”
He gestured between two spots, and Robb had no idea what the gesture meant.
Walt smiled. “As you can see, we got ourselves a limo here.” When Robb frowned, Walt gestured between the two spots again. “The scents of the tire impressions are a bit gappy, way too long for a regular vehicle, even one of them newer luxury cars. But as you can see”—he waved his arm back and forth—“it’s wider than a standard minivan but not wide enough to be an RV. In other words, a limo.”
Walt moved from the parking lot, leaving them all gaping at two deserted parking spaces that looked and smelled like any other Robb had ever seen. They glanced at one another, and Robb deduced none of them, himself included, could smell a thing or follow Walt’s reasoning, but that didn’t mean Robb didn’t believe the old-timer. He believed every word, and at least they now had some information.
He watched as Walt followed the drive out to the main road, his big frame hunkered as close to the ground as his old body would allow. He peered at both sides of the road for a few minutes then straightened. He turned left and walked down the center of the right-hand lane. Robb watched as a parade of cars slowed and veered around him. Walt seemed oblivious to all of it. He just kept his body angled toward the ground and vanished around a bend in the road.
“Think one of us should follow him?” Marcus asked.
“If he needed us, I think he’d have asked,” Robb said.
“He’s liable to get creamed out there,” Steve said. “Some people drive like maniacs on that road.”
They waited close to an hour, and Robb was getting more anxious by the minute. He was just about to sprint down the highway when the old man appeared around the bend again. He took a minute to catch his breath when he reached them, and Robb handed him a bottle of water. He gulped it down then gave Robb a sad glance.
“The limo turned right at the bottom of the hill. After that, the scent mingles with hundreds of cars. That road’s just too well traveled. That’s all I can tell you, fellers. I’m terrible sorry.”
* * * *
“I can’t take this anymore.” Steve pushed back from the table. “How long has it been?”
“Too long,” Marcus muttered.
“I just don’t know what we’re supposed to do.” Steve picked up his phone then tossed it back down. The concern and worry had spiraled into full-blown terror.
“We’re supposed to wait,” Robb said, coming back into the kitchen.
“For what?” Steve asked.
“For contact,” Robb said. “Hopefully, if someone has her, we’ll hear from them.”
“And if they don’t?” Steve asked.
“I can’t go there,” Robb said. “Now relax. And keep your voice down. Bobby’s sleeping.”
Robb roughly pushed on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve sank back into his chair, holding on to his temper by a thread. If they could get through this nightmare without killing one another, they had a shot of sharing a life with Rosa together—if they got her back. They had to get her back.
As it was, Steve found himself walking a tightrope of control. He could only spend so much time looking at Marcus staring at his laptop as though he’d find the answers in a pop-up. Perpetual sadness etched his face. And Robb’s quiet rage vibrated like a tangible thing under his skin. One tiny slip, and Steve knew he’d fall into one extreme or another—near catatonia like Marcus or a soon-to-be raging beast like Robb. He wanted to remain himself. If he lost himself in this mess, he’d be of no use to Rosa if, when, they found her. After an ordeal of possibly immeasurable horror, she would need their strength, their sanity, and their comfort. He intended to hold on to all of that for her.
They stared at one another for what seemed like eons, their gazes daring one another to speak, to acquiesce to the fear he knew they all felt.
“I’m going to the spare room,” Steve finally said. “Call me if—”
“Yeah,” Robb said.
* * * *
Marcus watched Steve’s stiff back as he left the kitchen. He barely recognized his best friend anymore. The man was treading water, trying to keep his head above an endless barrage of killer waves. Marcus understood because he felt the same, but seeing Steve’s usual cheery and upbeat personality shredded into scraps, held together by willpower alone, was almost more than Marcus could take.
Robb stared moodily at the tabletop, spinning an empty beer bottle in his hands as though trying to conjure a genie. Now that would come in handy. They could wish an end to this nightmare and have Rosa back in their arms.
“We have to do something.” Marcus waited until Robb lifted his eyes to him. His friend peered at him through a shaggy hunk of hair, rubbing his hand along the stubble on his cheek. When was the last time any of them had shaved? “I feel useless. Give me something to research. Something, anything…”
“I wish I could,” Robb said.
“I’ve loved her for a while, you know,” Marcus said.
“Yeah, I figured,” Robb said.
“Have you loved her for a while?”
Robb gave him a small smile. “I didn’t want to. Seemed a bit counterproductive.” He spread his hands. “You know how we both are.”
Marcus did, and it hurt to think Rosa was somewhere without her precious control. He stood up from the table.
“I’m going for a run.”
“Sure,” Robb said.
Marcus opened the kitchen door and stood on the porch listening to the chirruping of the night insects and watching the fireflies darting in the bushes at the end of the yard. Since Robb’s property backed the woods, it was safe enough to allow his panther to climb to the surface. His clothes fell around him in a shimmer of light, and he leapt out of the puddle and headed in the direction of the woods and sweet oblivion.
* * * *
Robb stood at the window and watched as the panther vanished into the woods. What he wouldn’t give for a run, but he tried not to shift with Bobby around because it left his son too vulnerable alone in the house. Though his son carried many pieces of his genetic code, Robb knew Bobby had gott
en his shifter genes from Katharine. Luckily, he had the warmer personality of the panther.
“Dad?” Robb turned around and found Bobby standing in the doorway to the dining room, rubbing his eyes. “Marcus is snoring.”
“Just close the door, kid.”
“It is closed,” Bobby muttered.
“He won’t sleep long. He just needed to…” How did he explain any of this to a ten-year-old kid? It seemed like an impossible task.
“Forget?” Bobby asked.
Not as hard as I thought.
“Exactly.”
“We’ll find her, won’t we, Dad?”
“I sure hope so, Bobby.” His voice hitched on the last word. Bobby studied him for a moment then walked toward him and took his hand.
“We will, Dad. I know we’ll get a lead soon.”
“Thanks, kid.”
“And Rosa’s going to be part of our family after that, isn’t she, Dad?”
“I hope so.” Jesus, are those the only words I know? “Yes, Bobby, she is. I’m going to convince her she belongs with us.”
“And Marcus and Steve? Are they going to be part of the family too?”
“Would you like that?”
Bobby shrugged. “Sure. Suzie has a bunch of guys in her family, but only one dad. You’d still be my only dad, right?”
Robb yanked his son in for a hug. “Yeah, Bobby, you’re mine alone, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Could use a lady around here when I come to visit,” Bobby said. “Mom’s always afraid you’re not going to feed me. Though…” He glanced up, his chin warm and pointy against Robb’s body. “Do you think Mom will like Rosa?”
Robb laughed. “Doubtful, kid. But do we care?”
“Heck, no,” Bobby said. “What happens in our house, stays in our house, right, Dad?”
“Right, kid.”
Bobby looked thoughtful for a moment. “I would like Rosa to be ours.”
“Me too, kid. Me too.”
* * * *
By Saturday morning, Rosa had been missing over forty-eight hours, and Robb and the Lucas pride were in a state of near panic. They were all discussing their options, each taking turns pacing in the security hut office then dropping into an exhausted heap on the sofa.
“Jesus Christ,” Dusty said. “She can’t have just vanished off the face of the earth. Why the fuck doesn’t someone call?” He glanced at his twin. “Do we know any other hound-shifters?”
“Walt’s as good as they come,” Cougar said. “Dad trusted him for years before Walt retired.”
“I talked to several other trackers,” Shane said. “Each and every one recommended Walt.”
“So that’s it then?” Dusty asked. “We just give up? Sit around and twiddle our thumbs? Damn, I just can’t do that.”
“We’re not giving up,” Tyler said. “We’re just—”
“Just what?” Dusty snapped.
Tyler shook his head.
“It’s Santos,” Robb said. “I know it in my gut.”
“But that doesn’t help us know where he took her,” Dusty said.
“Where’s his headquarters?” Robb asked. “His main lab?”
“Santos Laboratories is in Miami,” Gabe said. “It’s also where the corporate headquarters lie.”
“Then we start there,” Shane said. “If he’s after Rosa’s blood, he’s going to need the lab. His best people, right?”
Most everyone in the room nodded, but Gabe gave him a hard look. “You honestly think he’d take his own daughter to a place that holds hundreds of witnesses? A place she could identify later? People who could identify her?”
“Shit,” Shane said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“He might not care,” Robb said. All the men in the room swiveled toward him. “He might not be planning to leave her alive.”
“Fuck!” Dusty sprang to his feet. “This isn’t fucking acceptable.”
“Excuse me, sirs.”
They all turned toward the door. Danielle stood in the opening and behind her stood two men. Robb recognized them both. One was the old-timer—Roy Bennington—from the Fourth of July carnival, and the other was his son, Scott.
“Yes, Danielle?” Tyler said.
Danielle straightened up, though she was already as straight as she could have been. She gestured behind her. “Alpha, sir, these men arrived at the gate a few minutes ago. Security alerted me. They need to speak to you concerning Rosa Santos. They say they might have information concerning her disappearance.”
“Gentlemen,” Tyler said. “Thank you for coming. I’m Tyler Lucas.”
Roy nodded his head several times. “Yes, sir, we know who you be.” He nodded to each man in turn.
Tyler gestured into the room. “Please come in. We’d be grateful for any information you have.”
Roy gave Scott a shove. “Tell ’em what you told me.”
Scott stumbled forward. “I’m not sure—”
“I said tell ’em,” the old man said.
Scott gave his father a dirty look then faced the alpha. “I was in the park on Wednesday night. Thursday morning actually, around two, two thirty.”
All gazes locked on Scott, and Robb took a step forward but shifted his gaze to Tyler. When his alpha nodded, Robb said, “Go on.”
“I’d been at Clandestine and was feeling a bit neglected because my usual Dom hadn’t shown.” He ducked his head as though embarrassed to admit he preferred the male Doms to the female Dommes.
“I’m aware you see Chance Delay at Clandestine, Scott, so there’s no need for concern.”
“Okay.” He nodded and swallowed hard. “I was in no mood to go home, so I shifted and sat in the big cottonwood in the park. It’s quiet and cooler, and I just needed to be alone. I wasn’t there more than ten minutes or so when this dude rolls through in a wheelchair. I don’t know what he was doing, but in a couple minutes, this eagle flies into the cottonwood and settles below me. He didn’t move. He seemed to be waiting for something. I didn’t know what he was about, but he made me nervous so I settled higher.”
“What did you see?” Robb asked.
“I couldn’t see much from where I was, lots of cover in those old cottonwoods. Maybe I just didn’t want to see anything. The eagle left his perch at one point and didn’t come back. But I could hear plenty. Two voices at first, a man and a woman, then later two men. They were at a bit of a distance, more in the grassy area. Then gradually they moved closer to me. When they got under the cottonwood, I made the mistake of hooting, and I caught the attention of the dude in the chair. I could see him below me. Big, kind of ugly, wearing a baseball cap. He said, ‘That’s my tree, you stupid bird,’ and something about killing his buzz. He tossed pebbles at me so I took off.
“I heard him say, ‘Keep on truckin’, bird, and stay outta my tree.’ When I looked down, I saw another big dude, and he looked to be carrying something with flowers on it, but I don’t know what it was.”
“Rosa’s robe,” Robb murmured.
“Could have been,” Scott said. “I just wanted gone from there. If I’d have known it was the lady I’d heard earlier or any person for that matter…”
“You couldn’t have known,” Robb said. “That’s at least helpful. Thank you.”
“There’s more,” Scott said.
Robb was aware Tyler had shifted even closer. All the men in the room were tense with anticipation.
“I’ve got some good ears on me,” Scott said. “Even though I was flying and nearly out of the park, I heard the guy singing a Grateful Dead song, though he seemed to be making up his own words. I can’t remember all of them, but some of them might be important. He was singing, ‘Truckin’ down to New Orleans, fuckin’ off of Bourbon Street. New girl’s gonna scream and scream…’.” He scrunched his forehead. “That’s all I remember.” He heaved a big sigh.
Tyler clapped Scott on the back. “Thank you. This is very good news. It might give us a place to start.” H
e shook their hands. “If you ever need anything from me, just ask.”
Scott nodded, and Roy said, “Thank you, sir. Now that you mention it, if I could get a better spot for my dart game next festival, it would be greatly ’preciated. Was mighty hot in my old location.”
“Done,” Tyler said with a smile.
After Danielle had escorted the two men out, Tyler turned and said, “What do we know about Santos’s connections in New Orleans?”
“I believe he has a brother there,” Gabe said.
“Shit,” Dusty said, “there’s more of them?”
“Several in fact,” Gabe said, “but I believe only one in New Orleans.”
“We’re not going to get Walt to New Orleans,” Cougar said. “We had a hard enough time getting him here.”
“We’re not sending anyone,” Robb said. “Find out what you can about the brother. I’m going myself.”
Chapter 12
She’d never been so cold in her life. It felt like her blood had frozen in her veins, becoming a thick, syrupy mucus that could barely sustain her. Her serpent had retreated far, far away, becoming nothing but a dim outline in her consciousness. She repeatedly pulled memories to the forefront—slithering across the hardwood floor of her apartment, winding along the railing of the balcony, tasting and scenting all the sensations Cattail Ranch had offered. She tried desperately to stimulate her serpent by offering glimpses of the past and hope for the future, but the serpent refused to budge. It lay coiled in the back of her mind, a cold, listless husk in a snakeskin. What would happen to her if her serpent died? Would she die as well? Would she become a shell of a woman who had no past, no identity, no way of preserving who and what she was?
She clutched the silk tighter, but even her hand seemed unable to perform the most basic of tasks in the cold dampness. It slipped and fell to her lap in a tangle of lifeless fingers.
How many days had she been here? It felt like forever, more than forever.
“Please, wake up…please move,” she pleaded to her serpent. She needed to feel it, even the tiniest slither across her mind. Tears dropped from her eyes and splashed in wet puddles on her robe. She didn’t have the strength to brush them away.