Winter Wolf

by RJ Blain

  Las Vegas was big, and the perfect place to get lost—and lose the stolen car and its passengers. If they were planning on staying in the city anyway, I wouldn’t feel bad about dumping them there. Once there, I could find my way back home on my own. “Las Vegas it is, then. Thanks.”

  “No problem at all, ma’am.”

  “Nicole,” I said, keeping my attention on the road. “He was going to shoot you, you know that, right? Because you interfered.”

  “I would have liked to see him try,” Richard replied, his tone light with amusement. He smiled smugly at me in the reflection of the rear view mirror. “But you weren’t having any of that, were you? Takes a lot of courage to go after someone you know has a gun.”

  “He would’ve killed you and not thought twice about it. I’m a coward.” For some reason, it didn’t hurt me to admit the truth to them. Despite the fact my passengers could have overpowered me if they desired, I somehow felt safe. I was in control of the car. I didn’t know how to use the gun, but it offered me the sense of security.

  “Cowards don’t jump on someone with a gun.” Like his brother, Alex had a smooth voice, though not quite as deep as Richard’s. “Cowards let someone else get killed without trying to do anything about it.”

  “I have, once.” I hadn’t killed Scott; plague had. But my doubt lingered. If I had known he was sick, could I have saved him? I cursed my over-enthusiastic, guilty conscious.

  I stopped the car on the side of the road and rested my forehead against the steering wheel. The anxiety and dread crashed down on me again and left me shaking. Tears burned my eyes, but I didn’t cry. I wanted to, though. I was tired—too tired to drive, but too afraid to stop for long.

  There was no way for me to know if my kidnappers would be able to get their car started and chase after us.

  “He can’t follow you. He broke his axle hitting the rocks,” Richard said. I stiffened at his comment.

  I drew a trembling breath and asked him, in a whisper-soft voice, “How’d you know what I was thinking?”

  “A guess,” Richard replied. “Why don’t you let me drive? I’ll go where you want. You’re the boss. Anywhere you want and I’ll get you there. Sound good? Let me drive. Alex can take a look at your hand before you bleed yourself out.”

  I bristled at his suggestion, but couldn’t fault him for it. With my blood dripping on the stick and steering wheel, he had a good point. Bleeding to death wouldn’t do me any good and would bring my illustrious new career as a kidnapper to an end. Under the influence of Richard’s soothing tones, the security and comfort of my competent, capable mask crumbled away. I should have worried about why the two had been following me, but I couldn’t force myself to care much about it.

  I could ask them later, when I was safe and far away from my kidnappers.

  “Okay,” I replied, swallowing back my apprehension. Where did I want to go?

  I wanted to go home, but I couldn’t. I had burned that bridge already.

  I sat in a dazed stupor, only partially aware of Alex getting out of the car and opening my door. He knelt next to me, reaching down to pop open the trunk. I knew I needed to unbuckle my seatbelt, but I couldn’t force myself to move. Richard hovered behind his brother, holding out a first aid kit. Armed with the box, Alex crouched next to me. He set it on the ground and opened it.

  “Let me see your hand.”

  It took me several tries to get my seatbelt off so I could twist in the seat and present my bloodied hand. Hissing in sympathy, he pulled out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. I held my hand out over the ground so he wouldn’t make more of a mess in the car.

  “This is going to hurt,” he warned.

  “Do you always help those who kidnap you?” I asked, closing my eyes so I wouldn’t have to watch him clean my hand.

  When the cold liquid hit my hand, it felt like someone was stabbing me with a knife and twisted the blade around in my skin. I shrieked, then clenched my teeth to keep from screaming again—or cursing out the man trying to help me.

  “What happened, anyway?” Richard asked. “It looks like you’ve been mauled.”

  Whatever Alex was doing, it felt like he was trying to rip my hand off. I couldn’t bring myself to look. If I did, I feared I would throw up. Although my memory was a bit hazy, I remembered beating at the window in my effort to escape the car. Shame kept me silent. If I told them the truth, that I had tried to claw my way out of a car, they’d write me off as insane—and maybe I was.

  “These need to be stitched,” Alex said with worry in his voice. “Some of these cuts are really deep, too. Did those men do this to you?”

  I shook my head.

  “Who did?” Richard asked.

  “It’s my fault,” I whispered.

  “What happened?”

  I fell prey to the soothing quality of Richard’s rumbling voice, the compulsion to answer him too strong to ignore. “I couldn’t get out of the car. I needed to get out. I had to, I couldn’t help it.”

  “You tore up your hand getting out of the car? After it hit the rocks?”

  I nodded, too ashamed of myself to speak.

  “Look, we have a nice room in Vegas. Let us take care of this there. Alex, do what you can for her. We’ll get her to a doctor once we’re in town.”

  I bowed my head and stayed still while Alex wrapped my hand. Once he finished, I got into the back seat, buckled up, and rested my forehead against the window, unable to bring myself to say another word. When Richard took the gun and shoved it in the glove box, I couldn’t bring myself to ask for it back.

  Control slipped out of my grasp, but at least I had chosen my fate. Compared to my kidnappers, Richard and Alex seemed like angels—even if I couldn’t shake the feeling they were stalking me and that their appearance in the middle of the desert hadn’t been a coincidence.

  But how had they known where I had gone? How had they followed?

  And how had they gotten ahead of my kidnappers?

  I was too tired and worn out to ask them, but when we were safely in Las Vegas, I would. Until then, I let myself fall prey to the comforting sense of security the two men offered.

  Chapter Eleven

  True to his word, Richard drove where I asked without question. I considered having him drive me right back to L.A., but Vegas was closer. The shame of being kidnapped didn’t encourage me to go home, either. Even if I made Richard turn around and drive back to L.A., it’d take hours, and the sun was already up.

  So I hoped someone found the dogs and made sure they were returned to their actual owner. Considering they were collared with tags, I had some hope that animal control wouldn’t put them down. I felt sick at the thought of abandoning them. As soon as the shepherds were found, Dominic would find out I was missing. I didn’t want to admit that he had been right, either. But why would anyone want me?

  “We have rooms at the Venetian,” Richard said, drawing me from my thoughts. I straightened in my seat, blinking at him with bleary eyes. “Is that okay or would you prefer a different hotel?”

  “That’s fine,” I mumbled, rubbing at my eyes with my left hand. After being doused with alcohol and wrapped, my right hand still ached. A few red splotches had seeped through the bandages.

  “The Venetian it is.”

  For so early in the morning, Las Vegas Boulevard was busy. Traffic crawled and I pressed against the door to get a better view of the hotels towering overhead. While I’d seen pictures of the Strip, the place was far larger than I had expected. Palm trees swayed in the wind and there was a surprising amount of green grass.

  “It’s not real,” Richard said with laughter in his voice. “The grass, that is. I wondered about it too when I first saw it. Guess they got tired of wasting water trying to keep real grass alive.”

  I stared at him and wondered how he had read my mind. “Huh. They’re worried about wasting water? That’s a lake in front of that hotel. Why is there a lake, then? I’d get fined in L.A. if I tried to build somet
hing like that in my front yard.” Wincing a little at my rambling, I shut my mouth.

  “The Bellagio Fountains,” Alex said. “Quite a sight when they turn the fountains on. Ever been to Vegas?”

  “No,” I said, wondering what sort of fountain lurked in the lake. It didn’t look like it held anything as marvelous as a fountain. It took up an entire block on the Strip. “I’d like to see them,” I mumbled wistfully.

  “Your wish is my command.” The amusement was still in Richard’s voice.

  I shook my head and failed to hide my smile. It was hard to imagine why the two brothers had been following me around L.A. and had gone so far to tail me into the middle of the desert. But unlike my kidnappers, I wasn’t afraid of either one of them. I wanted to know more about them—and why they had been following me.

  “I’ll need to get back to L.A. so I can find my dogs,” I said, unable to suppress the regret in my tone.

  “They’re fine. I made sure someone came for them when you got snatched. They’re safe, I promise.”

  Richard’s words jolted me from my easy acceptance of my situation. Alarm warred with satisfaction that I had learned a little more of the truth. “So you were following me! You two were at the theater, too, standing outside of the ladies’ room.” I straightened, glaring at the back of Richard’s head. Despite knowing they had been stalking me, the sense of safety and security didn’t fade.

  “Oops,” Alex said and then he laughed. “Busted. Told you she had noticed us, Richard.”

  “What’s the deal? Why were you following me?”

  “You weren’t supposed to notice us. Our job was to stop anyone from hurting you,” Richard replied, his tone rueful. “When we failed at that, we were going to rescue you. But it seems you were more than prepared to rescue yourself. I have to say, I’m impressed, ma’am.”

  “Nicole. Why are you protecting me?”

  “It’s our every intention to get you safely back to L.A., Nicole.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “That doesn’t answer my question. If you were supposed to be following me, why do you have a hotel room here in Las Vegas? Isn’t the Venetian supposed to be one of the most expensive hotels here? Why pay for a room you’re not using?”

  Richard drove into an underground lot and pulled up to the valet. Without answering me, he got out of the car and popped the trunk. Within moments, he opened my door and held out a long coat for me to put on. “It’ll be too big for you, but at least it’ll hide the stains and your bandages.”

  I scowled a bit at his evasion, but shrugged my way into the coat, hissing a little from the pain in my hand. The coat was warm and smelled faintly of cinnamon. It fell to my ankles and the sleeves swallowed my hands. Laughing a little, Richard rolled the cuffs a couple of times.

  Torn between my irritation and curiosity, I followed the brothers into the hotel.

  I was used to over-the-top grandeur in Hollywood; money-makers liked flaunting their wealth, but the types I worked with had nothing on the Venetian. Marble, gold-gilding, and old-fashioned decor merged to create breath-taking elegance. Richard and Alex hurried across the lobby. I followed after them, head bowed in the hopes I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. Thick crowds loitered in the lobby and the long length of the check-in line surprised me.

  Flushing from embarrassment at my rumpled attire among the wealthy, I hid in Richard and Alex’s shadow, unable to force myself to look up from the shining marble floor. They led me to the elevator, and I glanced up in time to watch Richard press the button for the top floor.

  The fact that Richard and Alex had a sports car said something about their wealth, though many Hollywood types bought cars they couldn’t afford to give the perception of being rich. But to have a room on the penthouse floor surprised me. What sort of money did they have?

  And if they were so wealthy, why were they watching me? I smothered my annoyance at my ignorance and their dodging of my questions.

  It was a long ride to the top floor, which I spent in uncomfortable silence. Hollywood types always gave me the same vibe; unobtainable wealth, flaunted so the world knew who had the real control and power—and it wasn’t me. When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, revealing antique opulence and elegance worthy of any Hollywood elite, I froze.

  Did Richard and Alex really think I belonged somewhere so beautiful? I would probably shed dried blood and dirt all over the ornate rugs and carpeting. I swallowed and considered hitting the down button and escaping while I could.

  Richard placed his hand on the middle of my back and gave a gentle push, forcing me out of the elevator. “Our room is this way.”

  “I can’t believe you pay for a room in a hotel like this without staying in it,” I stammered, staring at the carpet so I wouldn’t obsess over the decorations and over-the-top grandeur of the place.

  Richard’s laughter rumbled. “It’s not just any room, Mademoiselle, but one of the hotel’s penthouse suites.”

  Unlocking the door with a card, he pushed open the doubled doors leading into the room. Like the mansions of the Hollywood elite, the suite had a foyer. Marble gleamed in the light of a chandelier. The entry opened up to a sitting room larger than the entirety of my apartment. A couch and armchairs took up half of the main room, while a dining room table large enough to seat eight dominated the other. Tucked in the corner near the window was a grand piano, waiting for someone to play it.

  “This is insanity,” I stated, once again reaffirming to myself that I did not belong in such a place or with the people who could afford such luxury. “If you’re wealthy enough to afford this, what do you want with me? I’m a nobody.”

  “You lost your nobody status when you got a front-of-the-line audition for what will likely be a blockbuster,” Richard replied, firmly pushing me into the main room of the suite. “You’re completely oblivious, aren’t you? There are those who’d kill to have the role you’re being given. Kill you, that is, in hopes of becoming your replacement.”

  I opened my mouth, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. If I told him I didn’t know the name of the film, I’d probably be laughed right out of the hotel. So I snapped my mouth shut and stared at the floor. I assumed it was for Among Us, but Dominic liked his surprises and I hadn’t read enough of the book to know if the scene we had filmed matched the story or not.

  It was a bestseller, though, if the cover of the novel was to be believed.

  “Richard, stop being an ass,” Alex snapped. The two brothers glared at each other, and kept still and quiet so I wouldn’t draw attention to myself. When Richard didn’t say anything, Alex turned to me. “Nicole, why don’t you take a bath? You’ll feel better. There’s a bathrobe in there, too. While you’re doing that, I’ll teach my brother some manners. Just be careful with your hand, okay?”

  I didn’t know where the bathroom was, but I fled down the hallway, peeking through doors until I found it.

  The bathroom was larger than my bedroom in L.A., with mirrored walls casting my rumpled reflection at me. I looked like I had been dragged through hell; my hair was matted, and while the coat hid most of my clothes, dirt was smeared all over my face as well as the darker splotches of blood over bruises. I didn’t remember cutting my face.

  I could’ve modeled for an anti-abuse campaign without needing any makeup at all.

  White towels hung from gilded bars and I cringed at the thought of the bloodstains I’d leave on them if my injuries still bled by the time I finished showering.

  Presented with the choice of using a shower larger than my bathroom, or a bathtub large enough for two, complete with gold fixtures, I favored the tub. A shower was more practical, but I hoped I could soak away some of my aches and pains—and if they could afford the penthouse suite, I could afford to waste some water.

  I peeled out of my clothes, eyes down so I wouldn’t have to stare at my reflection. Seeing my reflection and my many bruises would only serve to make me feel more like a victim.

  I deci
ded to shower first to wash away the blood and grime. Then I’d soak away my aches and pains, watching TV on the ridiculous big screen hung across from the tub, until I found the courage to face Richard and Alex again.

  ~~*~~

  When I emerged from the bathroom wearing the hotel’s bathrobe, I almost felt human again. My awareness of electronics was back, although still weak. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of devices littering the suite and nearby rooms. I didn’t have an off switch, but I managed to assert some control over my reawakening powers.

  Alex and Richard were seated at the dining table, their heads ducked as they spoke to each other in low tones. A third man, blond-haired and wearing a ratty denim shirt, sat with them. I tightened the sash of the robe and joined them, leaning against the back of the neighboring couch. “What’s this? Your suite doesn’t have an office?”

  Alex pointed at one of the doors nearby and I leaned over to look. The office was large enough to easily fit half of my apartment. “Why are you using the table then?”

  They ignored my question. Richard spread papers over the table, and my eyes widened when I recognized the photos from Detective Harding’s files.

  I pointed at the picture of Scott and his friends. “Those are the kids who died at the mall,” I said in a breathless voice. There were other photos of men and women, but I didn’t know them.

  Richard’s head jerked up at my words. “What do you know about that?”

  “I was in the bookstore when he died. Two others died with him. But why do you have these?”

  All three men stared down at the table, heads bowed like they were guilty children. I resisted the urge to drum my fingers on the table. My right hand had stopped bleeding, but I didn’t want to push my luck, so I waited in silence.

  My throat tightened from the memory of my mother having used silence on me as a weapon. If she stayed quiet long enough, I’d confess my guilt—eventually. I’d gotten better at avoiding the lure of speaking for the sake of breaking the silence.