Hiding In Plain Sight

by Bru Baker

Tate ran toward him, flagging him down. “Jackson,” he called again, out of breath. He stopped in front of him, his scent sour with panic and his expression solemn. “They’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Harris is missing.”

  Jackson frowned. “He went into Bloomington with Candice—”

  “They know. But he didn’t come back. Candice was supposed to meet with her agent for an hour, tops. They should have been back at Camp H.O.W.L. hours ago, and when Jordan tracked the car, he saw it hadn’t moved.”

  Terror washed over him. He should be able to do something—anything—but his limbs were like concrete, and he couldn’t think straight.

  “Jordan said there were some strange scents by the car. Candice’s agent confirmed she never made it to the meeting. They think someone snatched them off the street.”

  Oh God. This wasn’t just the paparazzi—this was something different.

  “The FBI?”

  “They don’t have them. Since there’s no evidence of foul play, they won’t open a kidnapping case for at least twenty-four hours.”

  Of course. Because they couldn’t tell them that the crime scene smelled funny. Jackson reached for the fledgling bond inside him and felt nothing. That wasn’t out of the ordinary—the only time he’d been able to feel Harris was when they’d been in bed together the previous night, and even that was shaky. It was a new bond, and it wasn’t complete—he’d have to be close to even try to pull at it. He certainly couldn’t do it from hundreds of miles away.

  “I’ve got to get to Bloomington,” Jackson rasped out.

  His flight wasn’t for a few hours. Harris and Candice might be dead by then. If they weren’t already. Stop, he scolded himself. This was what he had trained for. Just because the victim was his mate didn’t mean he couldn’t work this like a case. He needed to stay calm and think.

  He’d worked several kidnappings as a regional Enforcer—

  Fuck.

  “I’ve got to get them to help,” he said, pushing off the wall and heading back to the glass doors he’d come out of minutes ago. “They have to help. They can fly a team to Bloomington and be on the ground faster than I could get there.”

  Jackson took off, leaving Tate standing on the sidewalk. The guard reached for his weapon when Jackson ran back through the doors. He was sure he looked deranged.

  “My mate has been kidnapped. I need to talk to Enforcer Abernathy. She can authorize a team to deploy to the scene.”

  The guard shook his head. “Sir, that’s not—”

  Jackson slammed his hands on the desk. “We’re wasting time! Call Abernathy!”

  The guard pressed a button on his collar, calling for backup. Fuck. He had to get to Harris. He didn’t have time for this shit.

  Thirty seconds later four more guards burst through a door, weapons drawn on Jackson. He put his hands up, trying his best not to look threatening. He wouldn’t be able to help Harris if he was in a Tribunal cell.

  The elevator dinged a second later, and Enforcer Abernathy and one of the Tribunal Alphas exited. She looked startled for a moment, then gathered herself and strode over, taking in the scene.

  “What’s going on here? Mr. Berrings is not a threat. Stand down.” She looked at the guard who’d been manning the desk. “Fellowes, what happened?”

  “He left and came back a few minutes later yelling about a kidnapping. He’s unhinged, ma’am.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied Jackson. “Speak, Berrings.”

  Thank fuck. “Respectfully, I came back asking for help. When I left the building, I found out that my mate and a high-profile wolfling from Camp H.O.W.L. were abducted during my absence. I need to get back to Bloomington before the trail goes cold. I was hoping you would dispatch a team.”

  She looked at the Tribunal Alpha, who nodded. They’d have figured out he was talking about Candice.

  “We’ll take this to the Tribunal. Most are still here. If they agree, we can be wheels up in twenty. Berrings, I assume you want a ride?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  HIS head was throbbing. The first thing Harris noticed when he woke up was the pain radiating from the back of his head. He tried to swallow, his mouth so dry it felt like his tongue had swollen to twice its size.

  What the fuck happened?

  He struggled to sit up, but his hands slipped on the cool floor. Cement? He ran his fingertips over it. Definitely not the floor of his cabin. The only building on campus that had a cement floor was the garage, but this was too dim for that. The headache blurred his vision, and he strained to make out his surroundings.

  He heard heartbeats, but none of them were in his immediate vicinity. Waking up alone and confused was becoming a disturbing habit.

  Harris eased up on his elbow, fighting off the wave of nausea that hit him when he raised his head. He touched the nape of his neck gingerly, grimacing when his hand came away wet. The copper tang of blood was heavy in the air. Even with his foggy brain he could put two and two together. He’d been hit with something, probably knocked out. The fuzziness was likely a concussion.

  He probed at the base of his skull again, wincing as pain lanced through him. The cut had healed, but his hair was matted with blood, and he had one hell of a bump.

  How long had he been out? The blow must have cracked his skull. That would have taken considerable time to heal.

  The last thing he remembered was parking the car and telling Candice he’d walk her to her meeting. Fuck. Candice.

  His head spun as he forced himself up. He had to find Candice. She might be hurt. He still had no idea where he was, so he didn’t dare call out to her, but he leaned against a cinder-block wall, closed his eyes, and focused all his energy on his hearing.

  There was a heartbeat on the other side of the thick wall and one somewhere in front of him—a few dozen yards, maybe. He thought he could make out a few more in the distance, but they were indistinct. It could have been one person or five.

  What would Jackson do in a situation like this? Harris almost snorted out a laugh at the thought of Jackson letting himself get kidnapped. He’d never fuck up this badly. Harris had been distracted, nursing his broken heart, and he and Candice had been kidnapped because of it.

  The first thing Jackson would do was assess the situation. Harris pretended the voice in his head was Jackson’s, and he let it guide him. It was comforting to have his mate there with him, even if it was in his imagination.

  Harris took a breath and opened his eyes. The dim room had stopped spinning, but he was still having trouble focusing. He used the wall as a guide and shuffled forward. There was a metal grate across one wall. Hinged like it extended from the ceiling. Was he in some sort of cell? He turned around, scanning the space. It was smaller than he’d originally thought and empty. This wasn’t an official cell; that much was for sure. He’d gotten familiar with the jail-issue toilet and uncomfortable regulation cot at the sheriff’s station.

  He peered through the metal grate. A bank of similar cells lined the wall across from him, and farther down he saw a forklift.

  He was in a warehouse. This must be a storage bay. He worked his fingers into the grate and tried to tug it up, but it wouldn’t budge. He squinted and saw a padlock on the outside. Fuck.

  “Hello?” The whisper was barely more than an exhalation, and Harris moved to the edge of the cell, his ear pressed against the grate.

  “Candice?” he whispered back.

  She sobbed quietly. “Oh my God, Dr. Wick. I thought they killed you! There was so much blood.”

  “Are you all right? Did they hurt you?”

  “No.”

  His knees went weak with relief. “Good. That’s good.”

  She sobbed again, her heartbeat fluttering. He had to calm her down before they attracted attention. Harris extended his fingers as far as he could through the grate. “Can you see my fingers? Focus on my fingers. I’m fine, see?”

  He cursed when he realized he’d extended the hand that had his bl
ood on it, but Candice seemed comforted by it anyway. Her panicked breathing slowed, and her heart rate followed.

  “Good,” he crooned. “Can you tell me anything you’ve noticed about this place? Are there guards? Did you see who took us?”

  “Th-they were blue,” she stammered. “Not like blue-blue, but their skin had a weird bluish tinge. They looked like humans, but sharper, maybe? Meaner. They didn’t smell right. Some of them had swords and other had these pointy stick things. I didn’t see any guns, so we can fight them, right?”

  Fuck. Harris closed his eyes and rested his head on the grate. Fae. They’d been kidnapped by the motherfucking fae.

  “We’re not trained to fight,” he said quietly, hoping she didn’t question him further. They stood no chance against the Fae Guard.

  “What are they?” she asked. “Are we going to die?”

  Probably.

  “No, of course not,” he said, careful to keep the tremor out of his voice.

  “Liar,” another voice called. “You were dead the minute they took you.”

  Harris raised his head and squinted into the gloom. The speaker was in the bay across from his, but he could barely make him out. “Richard?”

  “They’re trying us for exposure,” Richard said. He snorted. “It’s all that little bitch’s fault.”

  Harris curled his fingers around the grate, claws sprouting. “None of this is Candice’s fault. You were the one who sold your story to the press. If this is anyone’s fault, it’s yours.”

  The Fae Council was the ultimate supernatural authority. They were stronger and older than any other supernatural race, and they’d taken it upon themselves centuries ago to protect the supernatural world from exposure. The council kept up the veneer of civility by having “trials,” but Harris had never heard of anyone being acquitted for a crime the Fae Council accused them of. They were swift and brutal. The punishment was always death.

  “Have they given judgment yet?”

  “No,” Richard answered, his bravado fading. “They’re arranging to have the selkie released into their custody. When they have her, they’ll move forward with the trial.”

  That was good. It bought them a little time at least. It probably wouldn’t help them in the long run, but there was a first time for everything.

  “Dr. Wick? What is he talking about? What trial? Where are we?”

  Harris took a calming breath to ensure his voice didn’t waver. He didn’t want to scare her. “The Fae Council is in charge of keeping all supernaturals a secret. When there’s been a breach, they often intervene. They usually leave Weres and shifters alone because our own Tribunal polices exposure incidents very well. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding. The Tribunal will come for us.”

  Richard snorted again but didn’t say anything. His fate was sealed either way. Both councils would give him the death penalty for his betrayal. But Candice hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had he.

  “I’m sorry,” Candice said, her voice thick with tears. “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t asked to go meet with my agent, we’d still be safe at Camp H.O.W.L.”

  He didn’t want to tell her that if the fae wanted them, they’d get them no matter where they were. The reports of staffers feeling like they were being watched made a lot more sense. The fae could hide their scent and make themselves virtually invisible. They’d been stalking them. The camp’s defenses would be child’s play to a Fae Guard.

  “No, sweetheart. I’m the adult here. If I thought there was the slightest risk, I wouldn’t have brought you. Even Jordan thought we’d be okay, and he’s our security specialist.” Harris slid down the wall and rested his aching head against it. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? It’s got to be late.”

  Truthfully, he had no idea how much time they’d spent in the warehouse. The little rooms had no natural light, and his concussion was messing with his body clock. But it couldn’t hurt to sleep. He wanted to manage her trauma the best he could, and getting her to lie down and check out for a bit was the best way to do that.

  “You’ll still be here when I wake up?”

  His heart broke at how young and vulnerable she sounded. “Of course.”

  He hated himself for the lie, but reassuring her was more important than telling her the truth. He had no idea if he’d be there or if he’d be taken away as she slept. The Fae Guard had all the power here. All he could do was sit and hope his mate would come for him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  JACKSON leaned his head against the cool glass of the helicopter’s window. They were twenty minutes out from Bloomington, and he had to fight the urge to jump out so he could run. About two hours into their flight, he’d started feeling flashes of panic that weren’t his. Intermittent and faint, like a voice through a bad phone connection.

  The sense of fear and unease had gotten stronger the closer they got to Indiana. Tate had reassured him it was a good thing—it meant Harris was still alive. But it also meant he was in danger, and Jackson was having a hell of a time containing his wolf, knowing his mate was reaching out to him, scared.

  He jumped when Tate squeezed his elbow.

  “You’ll find him,” Tate shouted, the words almost lost to the sound of the rotors. The helicopter the Enforcers used was a modified military transport, unlike any of the commercial helicopters Jackson had been in. They were making good time, but it wasn’t big on amenities like insulation or doors.

  It was designed to make it easier for the Enforcers to get on the ground efficiently. He wondered if they’d be dropped off six feet above the ground or if the pilot would land because of the civilians on board. He looked at the Enforcers, all clad in their tactical gear, holding on to straps on the ceiling instead of sitting down.

  Enforcer Abernathy hadn’t wanted Tate along, but Tate insisted. Harris was one of his closest friends, so Jackson understood. If the tables were turned and the Enforcers had ordered him to stay in New York while they launched a rescue mission, things would have gotten hairy fast. The way Tate had held his ground against an intimidating group had been admirable.

  In the end, they’d let him come because they didn’t have the time to waste arguing with him. Jackson hoped they didn’t regret it. Tate wasn’t trained in tracking or combat, so he’d be dead weight. Maybe he’d stay in the helicopter with the pilot. That would get him close to the action but keep him safe. Harris would never forgive him if he let Tate get killed.

  “Five minutes!”

  Everyone straightened at the pilot’s words. Jackson stood, gripping a strap from the ceiling. His tennis shoes weren’t ideal for jumping out of a helicopter, but they’d have to do.

  “We’ll be landing at a helipad at the airport. I want everyone strapped in!”

  The Enforcers moved with eerie grace and precision, taking seats and buckling themselves in. Jackson sat back down, his knees already shaky. He could feel Harris like a solid presence now, taking up room in his head. He’d be able to find him, but it might take hours. The bond didn’t give him a picture of where Harris was; it just gently tugged at him.

  “You gonna be able to do this, Berrings?”

  Jackson looked up at Enforcer Abernathy, who had settled into the seat across from his.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She didn’t look convinced but nodded. “I’ve got a Glock for you, and there are more weapons in the cache. Help yourself to whatever you’re comfortable using.” She offered Tate an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dr. Lewis, you’re here for transport only. You don’t have the training or experience to join us on the mission.”

  Thank fuck. That was one less thing for Jackson to worry about. He shot her a grateful smile, happy that she’d taken that off his plate. Jackson would have put his foot down, but it was better if Abernathy played the heavy in this.

  “I can—”

  She shook her head. “Negative. We don’t take civilians into the field with us. You’re welcome to stay with the helicopter. After the extr
action, we’ll be flying on to Camp H.O.W.L. Perhaps you can be of use with calming the victims.”

  Jackson bristled but forced himself to keep his mouth shut. It was such a cold, clinical way of viewing things. Harris and Candice weren’t just victims. They deserved to be named. But he’d been guilty of the same thing countless times as a cop. It was easier to distance yourself emotionally if you didn’t use names.

  “We’ve got intel that traces fae movement in the area. I think there’s a good chance that’s who has them.”

  Jackson had to look away, tears stinging his eyes. The fae were vicious. If they were the kidnappers, this was going to be messy. Not impossible, but not pretty.

  “Are you going to be able to separate yourself enough to help with this mission?”

  Jackson swallowed hard and looked Abernathy in the eye, nodding. “We’ll be able to use my mate bond to track them once we get close. You need me on the ground with you.”

  Abernathy’s eyes were hard as she stared him down. He wondered if she’d ever been in love or had anyone she cared about more than her own life. Probably not, or she wouldn’t be a top-level Enforcer.

  “I can do it,” he said, his eyes flashing at the unspoken challenge. “I’m a cop, first and foremost. I know how to compartmentalize. I realize protocol is to ban family members from working cases that involve a loved one, but there’s literally no one else who could help you on this.”

  She nodded grudgingly. “One false move and you’re gone. You’re lucky you have two Alphas speaking on your behalf on the Tribunal. I didn’t want to let you run the mission with us, but I was overruled.”

  That stunned Jackson. Two? His Alpha would, of course. But who was the second?

  The helicopter came to a jolting stop, and he jumped up, more than ready to get out there. Hours had been lost while they were in transit, and he wasn’t going to let another second slip by.

  “Bring them back,” Tate yelled over the noise of the rotors.

  Jackson gave him a brief hug before jumping out and dashing away with the Tribunal team. There were two black SUVs on the tarmac, and he followed Abernathy to them.