“How did you get so wet?” Ashton asked instead, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed her again.
“I, um, took an involuntary swim in the Mississippi River,” she muttered, a flush crossing her cheeks. “I was trying to run.” She looked up at them, and Ashton was surprised to see a thin sheen of tears swimming in her gold-colored eyes. “They got Scott.”
“Who is ‘they’?” Ashton prompted.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Some werewolves, this big bald guy, and a black-haired woman dressed all in red.”
Zachariah’s face paled.
“Wait, did you say ‘werewolves’?” Officer Tate spoke up.
“Welcome to reality,” Ashton snapped before turning back to Riley. “That sounds like the same woman who was involved in Zach’s apartment getting blown up back in D.C.,” he told her. “I don’t know who or what she is, but I can tell you one thing: she’s very dangerous.” Even as he said this, he felt that little pull, that tug at the back of his head that said he needed to go, needed to track down that woman at all costs, no matter what. And he had no idea why.
“Well, she may be very dangerous, but she’s got Scott,” Riley replied. She turned her back to them and went to the bed, her head moving like she was searching for something; she flinched and abruptly stopped her search. “Which means I have to go in and get him back,” she added.
“Riley, he’s probably dead,” Zachariah said cautiously.
She whirled back around, flinging her fist out like she wanted to hit him, but he stood too far away. “No,” she snapped. “He’s mine. My partner. And I’m not leaving him behind. He’s put his life on the line for me multiple times already, and I’m not going to stand by without attempting to return the favor.”
“Just how close have you two gotten over the past few weeks anyway?” Zachariah asked, but Ashton grabbed his arm and shook his head.
“Zach, don’t,” he warned. He’d already seen the look in Riley’s eyes just seconds before, when she’d turned around and declared Scott hers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had transpired between them in the time since they’d left Tuscaloosa.
“So,” Ashton started, not taking his eye off Riley, “do you have a plan?”
Damon dragged himself to consciousness with a tremendous amount of effort; it felt like he hadn’t slept in an eternity, and the last thing he wanted to do was cut it short when he didn’t need to. Since he was presently faking his death, he had nothing pressing to do—he couldn’t check email, make phone calls, follow up on assignments, or anything else he used to do as part of his daily routine—so there was no good reason to bother getting out of bed. He couldn’t even contact his children to make sure they were okay and to let them know that he was, too; Angelique had effectively pressed home the idea that he couldn’t contact anyone. Except for her, of course, since she’d apparently decided to abandon her own job in order to stay with him.
He appreciated her willingness to help him. Especially when, once he attempted to move, every muscle in his body screamed in protest. He struggled to stretch, desperate to loosen the muscles in his shoulders and back, and after several long, arduous minutes, he levered himself to a sitting position.
Angelique sat at the small table near the windows, working busily on a laptop, a legal pad beside it. A cup of coffee sat on the table above the legal pad. She barely looked up from whatever she was working on as he grunted and reclined back against the pillows with a sigh. She picked up her pen, wrote something down, then said, “Welcome back to the land of the living.”
“Was I sleeping that hard?” he asked, fighting back a yawn.
“You were,” she said. “You looked like you needed it, though, so I left you alone.”
“How long was I asleep?”
She checked her watch. “About five hours.” She tapped a few keys on her computer and added, “I’ve been doing research.”
“On what?”
“The Book of Revelation and everything that appears to be going on with Riley, Zachariah, Scott, and Ashton,” Angelique said.
“And?”
“And I’ve learned a hell of a lot,” she answered. She twisted in her chair to look at him. “Have you ever heard of the Watchers?”
“Some,” he said. “Judeo-Christian legend, if I recall correctly. Why?”
“There’s a little-known story about them,” she said. “I dug it up in Ashton’s files. Did you know there are always only two of them? And that they show up when the Witnesses make their grand appearances?”
“I’m aware,” Damon acknowledged. He sat up straighter, trying to get more comfortable, and added, “And I know where you’re going with this, and the answer to the question you haven’t asked yet is yes.”
“What question?” Angelique asked.
“Whether or not Scott and Ashton are the Watchers,” he clarified. “They are. The Watchers are essentially tasked with aiding and protecting the Witnesses. There’s always one for each of them, and the Witness and Watcher gravitate toward each other over time, some faster than others. They have to form some sort of attachment to each other, and I guess the cosmos or whoever or whatever controls this puts them in each other’s paths when it’s necessary.” He shrugged. “Or I just engineer it.”
Angelique was silent for a moment, like she was pondering what he’d said, then she glanced at her computer screen and added, “I’m a little worried about something I read. It says there has to be balance, sort of a yin/yang, where one is dark and the other light.”
“Yeah, that’s already there,” Damon assured her. “Riley’s the light side of the equation, and Zachariah is the dark.”
“I really want to insert a Jedi and Sith Lord joke here, but I’ll keep it to myself,” she said. She rocked back in her chair with a frown. “What I’m worried about is that the light and dark thing applies to the Watchers too.”
“What?”
Angelique stood, bringing her computer to him and practically dropping it into his lap. He skimmed the scanned document image she already had up on the screen then sat back, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“I had no idea…” he said, trailing off as he thought over the implications. None of them were any good. “This isn’t good,” he said. “This is really, really not good.”
“How so?”
Damon handed her the computer and struggled to stand, ignoring the pain in his leg. “Because it means something really bad is about to happen to either Ashton or Scott.”
Riley ignored Ashton’s request for a plan, mainly because she didn’t have one—yet. She was still assessing the puzzle pieces she had available to her, trying to figure out the best way to put them together. She needed more puzzle pieces, really; nothing she had formed a complete picture. Even if she dragged Tate into this, she didn’t know if she’d have enough people to take on werewolves, Brandon Hall, and whoever that woman in red was.
Her fingers closed around a folded business card in the depths of her wet jeans, and she smiled. She’d almost forgotten about the card Jax Tremblay had given her in the hotel gym the day before—had it really only been a day?—and she pulled it out. It was soaking wet, so she unfolded it carefully to look at the handwriting on the card. Should she risk calling him? She didn’t fully understand where he stood, and it might be dangerous pulling him in.
She didn’t see where she had a choice.
“Can I borrow someone’s phone?” she called, just loud enough to be heard over the sound of Tate and Zachariah having a conversation in the corner of the room, Zachariah’s version of a come-to-Jesus meeting about The Unnaturals and the things they hunted. It wasn’t a pleasant meeting to be in; she could attest to that personally.
“What for?” Ashton asked. He held his phone in his hand, not extended toward her—not yet, at least.
“I’m calling in some cavalry,” she said. I hope, she didn’t say.
“Anyone I know?”
She shrugged. “No idea. Pro
bably not. We’ll see.” She snatched the phone from his hand before he grilled her further then went out into the hall, dialing the number from the card as she walked in case she changed her mind on the trip downstairs.
The line rang five times too many, and Riley paced the store on the first floor as she waited for him to answer. She was about to hang up when someone answered and said, simply, “What?”
“Hey, uh, it’s…it’s Riley,” she said, suddenly hesitant. She didn’t know how to approach this man who was supposed to be dead, and she didn’t know if he would hang up on her the minute she said who she was.
The man’s voice on the line slid from brisk and businesslike to warm and almost sensual. “Riley Walker,” he greeted.
“Is this Jax?” she demanded, ignoring his tone.
“The one and only,” he said. “I’m glad you finally decided it was worth your while to call me. What can I help you with, Ms. Walker?”
“Just call me Riley, please. And I wouldn’t be calling if I didn’t have to.” She paused, drew in a breath, then said, “My partner has been kidnapped.”
“The guy you were with at the hotel?”
“Yeah, him,” she confirmed. “Look, what we’re facing…we don’t have enough people to deal with it. You mentioned something about an underground network?”
“Yeah, something like that,” he said evasively. “You said ‘we.’ Who is ‘we’?”
Riley hesitated, glancing back up the stairs. “My brother and his…well, I don’t know what they are. Significant other, I guess.” She looked toward the shop’s office at the back of the store, where the door was cracked; she could see Marie sitting at her desk, wading through paperwork like it was any normal day at her voodoo shop. A glance toward the front door revealed the New Orleans Police Department vehicle parked near the store. She decided it would be best to leave Tate and Marie out of the conversation for now. “They’re trained agents, too. They’ll be able to handle themselves. I just don’t know if the three of us will be able to handle them.”
“What exactly are we dealing with here?”
Riley made the spur-of-the-moment decision to leave the woman in red out of the equation. “The deputy director of the Agency and an unknown number of werewolves.”
There was silence on the line.
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?” she asked.
“Not at all,” he replied, and she raised an eyebrow. “It’s more that I’m shocked you’re aware of their existence.”
“You have no idea the things I’ve become aware of over the past several weeks,” she said. “Or the things I’ve dealt with. Trust me, I’m very well aware of their existence.” She leaned against the cash register and squeezed her eyes tightly closed. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “So are you willing to help us or not?”
Jax sighed. “I can try to round up a few of my guys,” he said.
“Only trustworthy ones.”
“Riley, all of my guys are trustworthy,” he said. “If anything, I’d be more worried about putting them around you.”
“I’m not the one you need to be worried about,” she retorted.
“Likewise.” She heard a thump on the other end of the line, the distinctive sound of a pistol being set on a table. “I’m going to give you an address. You and your two friends meet me there. Don’t bring anyone else. If you do, I’ll leave.”
“Understood,” she acknowledged. He gave her the address she needed, and she hung up. Once she had, she stuffed the phone in her pocket, buried her face in her hands, and growled in frustration.
“Bad news?” Marie asked, and Riley lifted her head to see the other woman come out of her office. She stopped nearby, a look of concern on her face.
“Not exactly,” Riley said. “More something on the level of uncertain.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help…” Marie trailed off, paced to her, and leaned against the counter beside her.
“Get Scott back without having to deal with all this werewolf shit?” Riley asked.
Marie hummed softly, almost to herself, then said, “You really care for him, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” she replied. “He’s my partner.”
Marie stared at her, and she felt the urge to squirm uncomfortably under the woman’s gaze. “Oh, Riley,” she said, her voice sympathetic. “You haven’t even let yourself realize it yet, have you?”
“Realize what?”
“That you’re in love with him.”
Riley didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she shoved off the edge of the counter and started for the stairs, Marie on her heels. Returning to the room where everyone waited for her was nerve-wracking, especially since she was bringing in yet another new person to the equation and Ashton wouldn’t like that at all. Hell, she wasn’t sure she liked it. She couldn’t say she knew Jax Tremblay; she only knew of his reputation—and his greatly exaggerated death—and said reputation was one of cold calculation. That was the extent of her knowledge, though. She didn’t know how she felt about bringing a largely unknown quantity into the mix, but she also knew that, at this point, she’d do anything to get Scott back.
Damn. Maybe Marie was closer to the mark than Riley thought she was.
“Who did you call?” Ashton asked once the door shut behind her and Marie.
“Somebody I’m acquainted with who happens to be in town and can help,” she said, trying to avoid saying the name but knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret. “We’re supposed to meet with him.”
“Who is he, Riley?” Ashton persisted.
She sighed and didn’t look at him, mumbling, “Jax Tremblay.”
“Jax Tremblay?” Ashton repeated incredulously.
At the same time, Zachariah said, “I thought he was dead.”
“He was supposed to be,” she admitted. “I thought I saw him get killed years ago, but it turns out he faked his death. He said something about being involved in a network of agents that went rogue—”
“Which is precisely why we shouldn’t be dealing with him!”
“We don’t have a choice!” she protested. “We need more help, and we don’t have anyone else to turn to. He’s the only one willing to step up to the plate.”
“He’s dangerous, Riley!” Ashton insisted.
“Yeah, well, so am I!”
Tate stepped up then, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, everybody, why don’t we take a moment and calm down?”
Riley glared at him. “I like you, so don’t get involved,” she snapped. “And Ashton,” she continued, “I don’t care where the help comes from, and I don’t care how trustworthy—or not—it happens to be. Scott’s my partner, and I’m getting him back, come Hell or high water. I don’t care if I have to do it alone.”
Ashton stared at her for a long minute, his bright blue eye boring into hers. She squared her shoulders and straightened her back, determined to not back down from his gaze. She wasn’t going to let this stop her. Not now. Not when the stakes were too high for her to ignore. Not after what had happened between the two of them.
Ashton broke his gaze from hers and sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll leave it to your judgment. But keep in mind that whatever outcome results from your decision is on you.”
“Understood,” she said, and she couldn’t deny that her heart lifted a fraction in the hope that she had the slightest possibility of a chance to get Scott back. She surveyed those present in the room—Ashton and Zachariah, who looked at her expectantly, as if waiting for orders; Marie, who leaned against the wall studying her nails; and Tate, who had his arms folded and just looked confused—and calculated her options. She wouldn’t consider asking Tate for his help. It wasn’t fair to drag him into something like this, especially when he had a potential conflict of interest with his work at the police department. Besides, he’d done enough to help her already.
“We have to meet with Jax,” she started, pacing to the nearby dresser and
leaning against it. “I wish we could do it on my terms, but considering we’re in desperate straits, we don’t have any options except to cater to his request to meet at the place of his choosing. The last thing I want to do is antagonize someone who’s willing to help us.”
“What can I do to help?” Tate asked.
Riley raised an eyebrow. “Why would you want to?” she replied. “I mean, you barely know me. You just met them.” She motioned to Ashton and Zachariah. “And you’re a cop. Helping us, well, that might be a conflict of interest. You could lose your job.”
“Probably,” Tate said. “But I’m off duty. And I can’t turn away when I see someone in need.”
“That’s really noble of you,” Ashton spoke up, and Riley could hear the sarcasm in his voice loud and clear. “But you have no idea what you’re really up against, and we’re not putting someone inexperienced in front of what we’re dealing with.”
Tate opened his mouth to reply, so Riley rushed in with, “You know, I think I have an idea for something you can do.” Ashton shot her a warning look, but she ignored it and continued. “You can stay here with Marie until we get back. That way, you’re being useful like you want to be and someone can be here with Marie in case we were followed.”
“I can do that,” Tate agreed almost eagerly.
Riley turned to Ashton and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if her solution was acceptable. He gave her a short nod, and she turned her attention to the coming meeting. “We need to get ready to go,” she said. “Do you guys have any extra guns or anything? I lost everything but one pistol, and it’s waterlogged.”
Zachariah grinned and moved forward, taking her by the elbow and leading her toward the door. “Come with me, dear sister, and the arsenal we brought with us shall be revealed.”
Brandon trooped up the basement stairs an hour after he’d started in on Scott, wiping his hands with a now-stained rag. His forehead had a fine sheen of sweat on it, and his arms ached, but it was worth it. He hadn’t gotten much that was worthwhile out of Scott, but he hadn’t expected to. Most of what he’d done to the other man had been out of pure anger and spite.
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