Have Lizard, Will Travel

by Eve Langlais

  It occurred to her then as she chatted to the cats, the ones slowly backing away, that they might be the shifters who’d kidnapped her father.

  Just in case… “You want this book? I’ll make a trade. Book for my dad.”

  Growr.

  “I don’t care if you don’t like it.” She didn’t stop to question the oddity of talking to animals. “I want my dad back.”

  They might not see each other often, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him.

  “Come on, Ricardo.” She kept the gun on the cats as she backed away. Ricardo held his final pose, then started back down again. Slowly.

  She couldn’t wait for him. She turned and bolted, belatedly realizing that without the gun to hold them off, the cats would chase. Holding the book in front of her like a shield, she ran hard, glancing behind her, expecting to see signs of pursuit.

  Nothing followed. Petunia did hear the grunts and yowling of a fight, though.

  She welcomed the distraction, still not entirely sure what she’d do once she reached the driveway. She didn’t have any car keys or money to call a cab.

  She only had to make it to the road. She could flag down someone there or find a neighbor with a phone. She’d yet to replace her cell. Something she’d have to rectify the moment she got out of this mess.

  The direction of her flight changed as she raced across the grass, expecting to hear a shout at any moment. In her mind’s eye, she could already hear barking dogs, sirens, and see the wild beam of lights.

  In reality?

  Nothing happened. She didn’t even appear to have anyone chasing her. Had Ricardo managed to hold them off?

  Was she, the inexperienced, newly recruited agent, about to escape? Hmmm. Kind of sounded like the plot of the last book she ghost-wrote. Turned out it wasn’t so farfetched, after all. Take that, one-star review!

  The wall to the property loomed, a thick stone thing around eight feet high. Just enough that she couldn’t scale it.

  Knowing that she’d need both hands, she threw the book over, trying not to wince as it landed. The tree growing against the stone block fence provided a huffing and puffing climb, made harder by her fancy dress. An outfit that didn’t completely survive the exertion. The widened slit in the leg was sexy. The torn gash that took the fluttering sleeves and turned them into tatters, less so.

  The lip of the wall proved wide enough for her to sit on, legs dangling. The ground still appeared much too far away. With the gown already ruined, she flipped to her stomach and lowered her legs, then part of her body, until only her forearms kept her aloft.

  Let go. Petunia tried to pep talk herself. But she was all too aware that she dangled.

  A distant cry and a strange animal-like sound spurred her.

  With a heave of her arms, she pushed away and plummeted, the landing jarring. For a moment, she lay flat on her back, staring at the starry sky. Her breathing huffed, and her heart raced. She was surprised to realize that nothing hurt. She’d not broken anything!

  As a matter of fact, she had been getting less clumsy of late. Feeling more energetic and sprier than ever. It was a welcome change. Perhaps she had a talent for this super-spy lark!

  I can do this! She rolled over, grabbed the cookbook, and sprang to her feet.

  Only to freeze as a huge guy shook his head at her. “I wouldn’t.”

  What? Run? Because every instinct in her screamed “danger.”

  “I’m going to leave now.” She went to move sideways.

  He shifted and rumbled, the sound distinctly canine, kind of like the scent of him—wet fur, the doggy kind left out in the damp who then spent some time rolling around in dead things.

  But more disturbing than his scent was the beefy hand he held out. The hairy knuckled fingers twitched. “Give it over.”

  “No.” She clutched the book tight, her brain locking up for a moment. Total brain-block as she tried to figure out what the hell to do.

  “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Guess which I prefer.” He rolled his shoulders, the bones in them cracking.

  Was it her imagination, or did his nose begin to protrude and his teeth extend?

  Run, you idiot. Self-preservation kicked in. Her feet dug into the ground, and she shoved.

  Her escape lasted all of two steps before she was tackled, hauled over a shoulder, and thrown into the trunk of a car.

  Fifteen

  The smells wafting from the pot were disturbing. The women who’d caught Simon were preparing some kind of stew. The knife sharpening proved especially hard-swallow worthy.

  Surely, they wouldn’t carve him to pieces. The old one knew he was an agent. Killing him would draw notice that they no doubt didn’t want.

  Using a ladle, the younger one, whose name he’d gleaned was Thistle, poured some of the stew into a shallow bowl.

  A bowl shoved into his cage.

  “Drink it,” ordered the old one with her shrewd gaze.

  He lifted his chin and gave her a look. Yeah, right. As if he’d cooperate with diabolical bad guys—er girls—who wanted to take over the world by getting rid of shifters.

  “Drink it unless you want to be a lizard for the rest of your life.”

  He stared.

  Licked an eyeball.

  An antidote?

  Suddenly, the bowl of soup appealed a hell of a lot more. He fell to it, lapping. Herb-infused, warm, salty too with a hint of—

  Gut-wrenching pain!

  He let out a squeal, then a squeak as hands grabbed him and tossed him to the floor. He writhed on the rug, tail thrashing, clawed digits in the air, getting rug burn on his skin.

  Skin?

  Simon sprang to his feet and stared at his mostly nude body.

  “I’m me.” He groped himself to be sure.

  “And you are?” the old lady inquired, her tone as sharp as her gaze.

  “The Honorable Simon Longwatton, at your service.” Best be polite until he’d gotten a better feel for the situation. Thus far, these women had done him no harm. He could discount the throwing him in a cage thing since they’d provided an antidote to his constipated shift situation. “And you are, dear madam?”

  “The one asking questions, Agent Longwatton. Why are you here?”

  “Just passing by.”

  “I hardly call spying in a window passing by. You were sent here. According to security footage, you arrived with a woman and another man.”

  “Merely covers for me to get in,” he explained with a dismissive shrug. He had to throw them off Petunia’s scent.

  “To steal the recipe book.”

  “What book?” He gave his most innocent look. Thistle fell for it.

  “Maybe he was just lurking about…?”

  The older of the pair snorted. “Don’t fall for his charm. I’ve met men like him before. Chameleons who can be anyone, make you think anything.”

  The compliment puffed his chest. At the old woman’s look, he quickly deflated. Didn’t want to give himself away.

  “He obviously doesn’t have the book.” Thistle pointed, remarking on his nudity and lack of hiding spots.

  “And neither do we since his companion stole it,” the old lady complained. “Has Juniper reported in yet? I want to understand how she, Jujube, and Holly managed to lose her.”

  “They said something about a sloth.”

  “A sloth?” Repeated more slowly.

  “That’s what they said.” Thistle shrugged, and Simon almost cheered. For once, Ricardo had been useful. It sounded as if Petunia had gotten away.

  A commotion at the door drew the two women’s attention, leaving Simon unfettered. He took that opportunity to palm a knife and send a signal to his agency, letting them know he lived but was in a bit of a bind.

  Then he dropped into a crouch as the old lady returned and barked, “What were you doing with my great-granddaughter?”

  Bollocks. The old biddy didn’t sound at all happy about it. Odd given in the brief conver
sations they’d had, Petunia seemed rather convinced that this side of her family wanted nothing to do with her.

  “I’ve been helping her on a missing person’s case.”

  “Who’s missing?” the woman barked.

  “Her father.”

  Petunia’s grandmother shook her head. “We had nothing to do with that.”

  “You confronted him for the book, though.”

  “Obviously. The upstart did steal it, but he was smart enough to hand it over when we asked him.”

  “Aha. So, you admit to having seen him recently!” Simon knew he’d crack this case. He’d surely win this year’s award for the best secret-agent-lizard in the world!

  “Alive. And despite our dislike of him and his crime, he was left unharmed. We won’t be doing the same for you. Involving my great-granddaughter in RI3 shenanigans!” The woman huffed. “The nerve.”

  Simon frowned, knife in his hand dangling, forgotten. “If you are telling the truth,”—and his reptile senses indicated she was—“and you don’t have him. Then who does?”

  Before she could reply, there was a commotion at the door.

  “We need to fuck up some TWATs!” Ricardo announced, pushing his way in, moving almost quickly. The clenched energy drink in his hand showed that he’d gone all out to bring the news.

  The sloth moving quickly wasn’t the most astonishing thing, though. It was the three women accompanying Ricardo that made Simon gape.

  Lionesses, to be exact.

  Sixteen

  The cell Petunia expected turned out to be more of a bedroom, one leftover from the seventies with the walls finished in fake wood paneling. The carpet was some brown and yellow mustard swirl, the trim a different tone of wood, and as for art? Paintings of wolves hunting in the forest.

  Hunting people to be exact.

  Her eyes widened. She had to admit that it went well with the red-and-black-plaid bed cover, the bearskin rug on the floor, and the best decoration of all…

  “Daddy!” Petunia threw herself at the gray-haired man who stood as she was shoved inside.

  Dr. Erwin appeared befuddled at the sight of her. “Petunia? What are you doing here?”

  “I was kidnapped.” She cast a glare over her shoulder at Loupy—what she’d taken to calling the wolfish character who had abducted her.

  Her father appeared stricken. “Oh, dear. I never expected that they’d go after you. I’m so sorry.”

  “You should be. Because if you don’t do as we say,”—the grizzly man leered—“then your daughter will pay!”

  Loupy disappointed when he didn’t add an evil villain laugh to the end, not even a howl. As if he weren’t even trying. As a writer, Petunia knew how these types of scenes were supposed to go.

  “Release us at once!” she demanded with a mighty heave of her bosom.

  “Only once he gives us what we want!” Loupy jabbed a stubby finger with a yellow nail at her before he left. The door clicked shut behind him. Locked in. No escape.

  Or was there?

  She flew to the window, yanking aside the plain, navy-blue curtain. Bars met her gaze. A door that gave at her tug led to a closet. Another door opened to a bathroom with a window not even big enough for Simon should he manage to find her.

  As if he could locate her. How would he? She’d been kidnapped. Stolen, along with the book. She tugged at the pendant around her neck. Ricardo had given it to her. Said she needed jewelry to look believable in her fine gown. For some reason, it’d caused lizard Simon to scowl something fierce.

  How she missed him.

  I should have gone back for him.

  Her father continued to lament the fact that she’d gotten caught. “If only I’d kept a spare copy of the recipe, I never would have had to resort to stealing the book.”

  “What are you talking about?” Petunia turned to face her father, her brow knitted in a frown.

  “Your medicine. The one you’ve had to take for your affliction since you were young. It’s a family recipe from your mother’s side.”

  That remedy came from the cookbook? She snapped her fingers. “That reminds me, I’m out. Do you have a new batch for me?” She only had to take it once a month, so it lasted a while.

  “I don’t, which is the problem. I haven’t made you a proper batch since the fire in my lab last Christmas.”

  “You’re not making any sense. I only just ran out.”

  “Because I’ve been trying to replicate the recipe, mixing it up by memory. Alas, the results have failed.”

  “What are you talking about? I haven’t had a single seizure.” Not that she ever remembered actually having one. She’d been taking her medicine for as long as she could remember. Which made her wonder if perhaps it was a placebo that she didn’t actually need at all.

  “It’s coming.” Spoken so grimly by her father. “I’ve been monitoring your status.”

  “How? We barely see each other.”

  “I have my ways. I’m afraid it won’t be long now.”

  “Long until what?”

  “Your mother hoped you’d never find out. Because if you did, then they might, and it wouldn’t be good at all.” He raked a hand through his hair, the gray and white spikes at the perfect wild angles for a mad professor.

  Her father’s ramblings made no sense. “Who can’t find out? What’s the secret?”

  He didn’t get a chance to say anything else. The door slammed open. The big bad wolf was back with a sneer this time.

  “All right, professor, time to get your ass in the lab to mix up some potions. Some of us are ready to rule the world!”

  “Never. I won’t help,” her father adamantly refused, folding his arms over his chest.

  Petunia’s heart swelled at his resolve.

  “Is that so?” The slow reply was accompanied by the brute turning his gaze on Petunia. A flat, cold stare. “Maybe you just need the right motivation. How loud do you think your daughter can scream?”

  She gaped.

  “Don’t you dare lay a hand on my girl.” Her father showed unexpected bravery as he thrust himself in front of her.

  The cruel thug laughed. A chilling sound as he reached out and batted her father aside. Her poor old dad hit the floor hard with a cry of pain.

  “How dare you!” Petunia seethed, hot anger coursing through her veins.

  Rather than reply, the big dude sniffed and turned his head. Ignoring her completely, he muttered, “How did a cat get in the house?”

  Petunia’s father pushed himself to his knees, his glasses askew. He held out his hands and pleaded. “Petunia, don’t. Control yourself. Think pleasant thoughts.”

  What was her father thinking? Asking her to go along with this thug and whatever torture he had planned?

  The rage in her thickened, and all the hair on her body stood, vibrating with agitation. She veritably pulsed. Hotly.

  The big dude frowned. Took a step forward. Reached out with his hand.

  Thought he could just grab her?

  With a howl of rage, Petunia erupted.

  Seventeen

  Beep. Beep.

  The signal kept him focused as it was his only connection to Petunia. Simon never should have left her side at the party.

  Should have done so many things…

  The chopper dipped low, the beacon on the screen picking up the signal from the amulet Ricardo had had the forethought to outfit her with. It indicated that Petunia was somewhere below. Probably in the sprawling bungalow set amidst a junkyard of cars and trucks, surrounded by a forest.

  TWAT territory. Bloody liars, as it turned out. They’d tried to use RI3 in their devious plot to get their dirty paws on the recipe book.

  But now, Simon and everyone else saw their perfidy. A crime they’d put a halt to. They arrived in matte black helicopters under cover of night.

  Simon had already transformed. His goggles were set over his eyes, and he had a parachute strapped to his back. There was no time to land the chopp
er. They had to go in hot and fast in order to maintain the element of surprise.

  Simon jumped first from the helicopter, arms and legs spread, catching a current and letting him glide. The goggles were the night vision kind, turning everything into lovely shades of green and black.

  A lot more green than expected. And moving, too. A handful of shapes at first, darting in different directions, then a stream that emerged from the house, doors and windows alike. All in a rush to escape.

  Most likely because of the terrible screaming coming from inside.

  Petunia! He arrowed himself into a bulleting lizard, sacrificing safety for speed. He only pulled the cord for his parachute at the last moment to gentle his landing.

  The damned lions beat him to the ground. The ladder they’d chosen to use dangled low enough that they could scamper down and leap off, changing skin in mid-air. They hit the ground with four paws and roared.

  Not that the wolves remained behind to act impressed. They scattered, and the screaming from inside the house stopped.

  Abruptly. Horribly.

  Simon floated gracefully to the ground, about to arrive in epic style.

  Only to have Ricardo ruin everything at the last instant as the sloth crashed into him after leaping from the dangling ladder.

  The slobbery lick caused him to evil glare at the sloth. Who gave him a slow—oh so very slow—smile.

  Simon might have retaliated, except in the silence, a terrible roar erupted. The kind that froze all limbs and roused a primal fear even in one as intrepid as Simon.

  No one had to say it because they were all thinking it. What was that?

  The front door gaped wide, and through it, a man ran out. A gray-haired man with glasses askew and his expression wild. He slid to a stop upon seeing the lions. Then blinked at the sight of Simon.

  One of the felines took a step forward and snarled.

  “Oh, dear.” The old fellow wrung his hands. “You have to understand, Rose insisted we do it.”