by T. S. Joyce
THE WITNESS AND THE BEAR
(BEAR VALLEY SHIFTERS, BOOK 1)
By T. S. JOYCE
Other Books in This Series
Bear Valley Shifters
Devoted to the Bear (Book 2)
Return to the Bear (Book 3)
Betray the Bear (Book 4)
Redeem the Bear (Book 5)
The Witness and the Bear
Copyright © 2014 by T.S. Joyce
All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, redistributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in any database or retrieval system, without prior written permission from the author.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Dedication
For readers, whose imaginations are limitless.
You are the inspiration behind this book.
Chapter One
Today was as good a day to die as any.
Jimmy’s fingers dug into her shoulder as he shoved her out the window. “Hannah! Stop fighting me. If you don’t run now, it’ll be too late.”
Another tremendous crash rattled the room. Stone’s men were coming in sooner than later and the men protecting her were sitting ducks to the hell on the other side of that door. Jeremy watched her with an eerie glow to his dark eyes. Fluorescent lights and dingy walls had that effect on him. Braced against the door, he snarled, “Get out of here!”
“And what about you?” she snapped, lunging for the window and gripping the edges with straining fingers. “Huh? They’ll kill you! There is no end to their reach. They’ll keep coming until I’m dead and I’m tired of running. Just let them have me.”
Defeated. After the last time they’d found her, she’d skimmed the insanity train. Paranoia ruled her life. And not the I-smoked-a-joint-and-now-the-government-is-after-me kind. This fear didn’t end with the high. It stretched on and on until she would drown in it. Burn in it. Fall into the darkness wider than the known world and tumble forever, hitting every rock crevice on the way down until her mind was shredded. She was so damned tired of it.
“I’ll never forgive you,” Jeremy said. His cold eyes threw ice that pierced her heart. Gray hair cropped short, wrinkles that textured his face, and most of them were probably from trying to keep her safe for the past year. Witness protection gone horribly wrong. He’d given too much for her to give up now. He knew it, and begrudgingly, she knew it too.
“Jimmy,” she breathed, tears burning her eyes.
His grip on her shirt tightened and he shook his head, slow. Bright blue eyes filled with sadness so deep, she didn’t know how he could draw a breath. Jimmy and Jeremy wouldn’t come with her this time. Their last stand would be here, in this filthy apartment in Ashland, Oregon.
Crash. Plaster spewed from the walls and ceiling and Jimmy shoved her out onto the fire escape. “Climb down and run. Don’t stop until you know they aren’t following. Take this.” He shoved a Glock into the palm of her hand, the metal cold against the perspiration of fear. “Shoot ‘em if you’re cornered.”
Jeremy flew backward with the force of the next blow and Jimmy shoved her in the back. She fell forward, catching the grate with her knees and crying out at the sudden pain. Gunfire peppered the tiny space and she tumbled down the stairs, caught herself on the railing at the bottom and shot one last look to the window, then pounded the pavement with the soles of her sneakers.
Jeremy who’d given up his life as a civilian to protect her. Jeremy, who’d calmed her fears when Stone’s men got too close. Jeremy, who’d become more like father figure than friend. He was trapped in the middle of the rattling explosions.
A sob wrenched from her throat. The last good parts of her would die with him. His death was on her. She’d made the choice to testify against Stone and his men, and that decision had caused an earthquake that rippled through her life and killed people she cared about. If she lived a minute or a decade, she’d never curse another person with her love.
A hand reached out from the darkness and wrapped around her throat like a manacle. She tried to scream but her wind wouldn’t come through his crushing grasp and as the man emerged from the shadows, the flickering street light illuminated a long scar across his forehead.
Spinning, he slammed her against a brick wall hard enough to rattle her skull and blur her vision. Sparks whipped this way and that through the edges of her vision and warmth trickled down her neck. Yanking her long, honey colored hair out of the way, the man grunted a satisfied noise and the crack of metal on metal was deafening as he cocked his gun.
Definitely one of Stone’s enforcers. No one else would be interested in the scar that marked her.
Gravel met the flesh of her cheek as he slammed her to the ground, and when his weight disappeared, she rolled over. No way was she going to die with a bullet in her back. The least this asshole could do was look in her eyes when he pulled that trigger. Gunfire had tapered off from above, and the apartment behind his shoulder had gone dark. Her breath trembled, filling the night air with the traitorous proof of her fear. Heart hammering against her sternum, she glared at the sneering man.
“Go to hell,” he said, lifting the barrel.
“You first,” she snarled, pulling the trigger on the Glock Jimmy had gifted her.
His gun discharged at the exact same moment as hers, and pain ripped through her, shredding her insides until there was nothing left. The man sank to his knees with a shocked look as his unloaded weapon clattered to the cracked pavement. She struggled to breathe as he brought searching fingertips to his chest and pulled them back crimson.
The last thing she’d do on this earth was rid it of an evil man. Pride surged through her as he fell forward. Her hand lay limp in front of her, smattered with blood. It felt detached from her body. Everything did. Nothing worked except her lungs, dragging air in, and pushing it out, and even that small movement was failing.
The man’s eyes dimmed until the dark orbs saw nothing at all. Her lungs rattled with every breath, but she smiled despite the pain. Stone won the war, but at least she’d go out on this tiny victory.
Her vision shattered inward and she winced at the blinding pain.
Nearby, an animal roared loud enough to rattle her bones.
If it was her death the creature sought, he was too late.
She was already gone.
Chapter Two
“You going to ignore me the whole way?” Jeremy asked.
Hannah flicked her attention to a small green sign that read Big Horn County, before they blasted by it in an old station wagon he’d picked up near the Oregon state line. “I’m not ignoring you. I just don’t feel like talking.”
“Mmm,” he grunted. “Best if you talk about what’s ailing you, instead of letting it poison you.”
“Jimmy.” That one word usually shut Jeremy up. She had no interest in therapy hour. Jimmy was dead and it was her fault.
“He was a good man.”
She leaned her cheek against the cool window pane and sighed. No amount of talking would bring him back.
“You need any more pain meds?”
As tempting as it would be to dive into another hallucination-laced trip, filling her voids with more emptiness wasn’t a solution.
Plus, she deserved the pain.
She used to wonder which safe house Jeremy would take her too when Stone’s men were getting too close, but not anymore. She didn’t care about anything. Maybe they’d stop in Montana, or
maybe they’d drive until they hit an ocean, she didn’t know. All she knew was the pain in her heart was reaching unbearable. Her breaking point would come soon.
“You’d do best just to leave me to find my own way,” she said.
His profile went rigid, and he moved to adjust his posture. He did that often. More bullets had drilled his body than hers but she’d never seen him take a pain pill. Stubborn man.
“You’ll get rid of me soon, but not until I pull our last resort card.”
“Last resort? Damn, Jeremy. You’re finally giving up on me, huh?”
He blasted a snort and shook his head. “You want to see a picture of the man who’ll be protecting you now or not?”
Jeremy was giving her away. Good for him. He should’ve done it a long time ago. Gone back to whatever life he’d led before he’d taken her on as an assignment. He should get a raise. A promotion too. For everything he’d done for her, he deserved a damned trophy and possibly sainthood.
“I don’t care,” she grumbled.
Jerking the wheel, he pulled into an old gas station. A man walked out with a wave to match his friendly smile, then wiped grease from his hands with a dirty rag. Jeremy tossed a small, wallet sized picture onto her lap and threw open the driver’s side door. It creaked and slammed, rocking the wagon. He greeted the approaching man and popped the hood.
Pumping her arm, she rolled down the window. “We’re almost full on gas. Why are we stopping?”
Jeremy didn’t answer as the man topped off the gas tank and sauntered away. Sliding metal, pops, and clanks rattled through the evening as the old cop checked the car.
“Who’s ignoring who now?” she muttered.
The picture fluttered on her lap as the breeze caressed the corner of it. The picture was in black and white, faded and torn. A shirtless man stood against a tree with a somber expression. A river ran behind him and a fishing pole sat the ground by his bare feet. Jeans, loose on slim hips, sat low enough for her eyes to go wide. Tanned skin stretched across musculature that looked carved like one of those Greek statues she’d seen in museums. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were, but his look was nothing short of smoldering, like he hadn’t wanted the picture taken.
A chill washed over her skin and she rolled the window up to block the breeze. It didn’t help.
Part of his body had been cut off in a bad crop, and she worried at the corner of the picture until the edges separated. When it was unfolded, a younger looking Jeremy squatted with a fishing hook in hand, and a cheesy grin plastered across his face.
“What the hell?” she muttered, the image of stoic Jeremy against the happy man in the picture blurring what she thought she knew of him.
The car rocked as he sat behind the wheel and pulled the door closed. “We’re refilling here because we’re headed somewhere dangerous, and trust me when I say you don’t want to have car trouble on the way in or out of where we’re going.
More danger? Fan-fuckin-tastic.
She held up the picture. “Is this your son?”
“No. Don’t have any kids, but if I did, I wouldn’t mind them being like Benson Riker.”
She canted her head and narrowed her eyes at the picture. He looked like a Benson. She couldn’t manage to hold his hard expression and she laughed. It was just a stupid picture. She tried again, but her gaze drifted to the left, like she had no control of where her eyes were going. Another symptom of her injuries? Or of her growing insanity, perhaps?
Jeremy was looking at her with the most confounding expression.
“What?”
He eased onto the gas and pulled out of the station. “Nothing.”
His face was impassive, shut down, and she frowned at the passing trees. Cottonwood, Aspen, Box Elder and Chokecherry blurred until she was overwhelmed with the beauty of the wild land. The concrete eventually gave way to a one lane dirt road and they drove for another hour through heavy woods before he pulled over at a fence line full of hand painted no trespassing signs.
“Geez, Jeremy, if you were going to bring me out here to kill me, you could’ve just left me in the alley in Oregon and saved yourself the effort and gas money.”
“Don’t talk.”
Her mouth dropped open at his audacity. “You were the one trying to get me to talk this entire never-ending road trip out here.”
Two men appeared from the trees and she jumped. “Jeremy?” she squeaked. Maybe he was finally giving her up. Trading her life for his. She wouldn’t blame him. She’d ruined enough of it.
“Relax, Hannah. We just need permission to be on this land.”
She leaned forward and studied the brutes who stood languidly against ancient pines. They looked like they could, and would, snap her neck like a number two pencil for funsies. “Where are we again?”
“The Big Horn Mountains. Do you trust me?”
“Sort of.” It came out like a question and she gripped the grab handle above her as he exited the car.
The men approached and Jeremy leaned against the car like he hadn’t a care in the world. Except from here, she could see the blood staining the back of his shirt where the bandages had soaked through, and the rigid tension in his shoulders gave away just how stressed he really was.
“What are you doing here, Jeremy?” the giant with the leather holster across his chest chock full of a small armory asked.
“I’m here to use my endowment for a favor.” Jeremy pulled a necklace from his neck with a snapping sound and held it out.
She squinted. Was that an animal tooth hanging from it?
“Sorry, traitor. It’s not a good time.”
“Don’t care about your timing, Murphy. I’m owed a favor by Riker and I’ll claim it now and be on my way.”
The smaller of the two ducked and glared at her through the dusty window. “You know the rules.”
Hands held out in surrender, Jeremy said, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust her and if I wasn’t desperate.”
The taller one chewed on a toothpick and stared at Jeremy with cold, dead eyes. “Go straight to Riker’s. You know what to do with the girl.”
The men melted into the woods and Jeremy sat in the driver’s seat with a sigh. “Trunk or blindfold?”
With a curt nod, she picked, “Neither.”
“Outsiders aren’t allowed to see the way in.” He turned, his lips set in a grim line. She knew that look. It was the stubborn one he got when he was going to get his way or die trying.
“Aw, crap. Fine, I’ll take blindfold. You’re not shoving me in the trunk.” Just the thought of a small dark space dampened her hands, and she wiped them across her jean shorts.
She wouldn’t admit out loud how scared she was. The same instincts that had warned her when Stone was getting too close were screaming now. This wasn’t like any other safe house she’d been to. And now she was in the middle of a Montana mountain range with scaries ghosting the woods and her protector convincing her she should wear a blindfold. She’d watched this movie before. The heroine died last, but she still died.
“Stop,” Jeremy drawled as he wrapped a roll of gauze around her head, cutting off her vision. “You’ll give yourself a heart attack worrying. It’ll be okay. This is your best shot at surviving this.”
This was her best shot? That wasn’t reassuring at all. “Worst pep talk ever, Jeremy.”
If he shrugged in his usual response, she couldn’t see it. All she could see was the top of her cheeks and white bandages. “This sucks,” she muttered. Leaning back into the seat, she flicked off her flip flops with a twitch of her ankles and stomped her bare feet on the dash. Jeremy hated when she rested them there. Said she’d make permanent footprints on the car. She’d reminded him once that when she died, he’d appreciate the reminder of the miles she’d ridden beside him. Maybe that remembered conversation was what kept his lecture in his throat right now. Or maybe the pot-hole riddled road kept him distracted. She was pretty sure one or all of the old wagon’s tires
were going to pop off and pass them at any second. She held onto the door handle to try and steady herself from ramming into the window with her face.
What was likely minutes felt like hours as they tumbled along. She tried to track the turns, but lost count six lefts and four rights in. The station wagon squealed as Jeremy braked, and groaned in relief when he jammed it into park. The keys jangled as he cut the engine.
The door beside her opened, blasting her with cool breeze and she was yanked from the safety of the car. She yelped as she was thrown across someone’s shoulders so fast it made her stomach lurch, and the nausea continued as she bounced across his unyielding back. A mixture of pine, male and crisp cologne filled her senses, and just as she thought she’d yak from the dizziness of being blindfolded upside down, her feet hit the ground and large, meaty hands steadied her.
Her head snapped backward as someone behind yanked the blindfold from her face. “Ow,” she groused, massaging her nape.
“You’re welcome,” the big man from the gate grumbled.
“Thank you,” she gritted out, “for blindfolding, then man-handling me. Where were my manners?”
His eyes narrowed, but when he opened his mouth to say something, his attention was diverted to the front porch of the old house in front of them. The sound of boots echoed off wood floors, and a man strode out of the shadows of the home, onto the sprawling front porch.
She recognized him. Benson Riker stood ramrod straight, hands clasped carefully behind his back, chin tilted up like he was studying the migration of cockroaches below him. A snarl lifted his lip and his eyes, a slate gray color, sparked with anger. His hair was longer on top, styled, and he seemed taller than in the picture, but the rest of him looked the same. Devastatingly alluring and dangerous. His stiff stance said his anger was tightly in check, coiled and waiting to release on anything that set him off. Tensed, the muscles in his shoulders and arms strained against the black cotton shirt he wore, as if the clothing were confining and uncomfortable. There wasn’t a tame bone in the man’s body.