by KH LeMoyne
“He’s lasted this long. Why call now?”
“Because it isn’t his existence at stake—he has family, children.” Deacon scooped up his cell phone and punched in a number. “Many years ago, he went by the name Barduc. I assume he still uses that name.”
As she quickly texted a message on her own phone, he ordered his plane readied within the hour. She pressed Send and slipped the phone back into her pocket. “So why didn’t Barduc give us his details?”
“The lion needs us.” Deacon’s brow rose as if the answer was obvious. “But an oath to any alpha would chafe his beloved freedom. This test, his gauntlet, decides my worthiness. If I can find him, he can reconcile the claim I will make on him and his brood.”
“A pissing contest? Since when do you have to prove anything?”
A full smile broke over Deacon’s face. But at the fierce gleam in his eyes, she shifted her feet uncomfortably. “Worthiness works both ways, Trim. Everyone who pledges an oath to me brings baggage and history, problems that become mine to own. I expect nothing less. Beneath our skins, we are a hierarchy of animals. I can bear the weight of his test. Loyalty is worth expending my energy.”
She snorted out a sigh. Please don’t let this circle back to me and my choices. Fortunately, he moved before the map while she considered her last territory-border briefing with Deacon’s lieutenants.
“Were he hiding within my territories, we’d have run across him by now.” Deacon paused, running his forefinger down the eastern coastline. “My contacts spotted him along the Sheridan’s territory. I doubt it’s his birthplace. The last sightings put him in the tip of Karndottir’s territory. We need to keep a very low profile. I don’t want Karndottir alerted to our presence or the lion’s.”
A low whistle escaped Trim’s lips before she could stop it. Peace among the continental alphas was conciliatory. Fighting over clan members was rare, though not unheard of. A lion Deacon valued had the potential to rise in the ranks. His worth could cause debate over his true affiliations and loyalties, ensuring a fight between alphas.
Then again, when her alpha pledged to defend the clan, his vow covered each and every person, full-blooded or not. Distant ties or not, once the lion pledged, Deacon would kill to keep him safe. However, that worried her less than their neighboring alpha. “Rumor has it Gauthier Karndottir’s mentally unstable. But he’d still attempt to take out every one of us over something petty.”
“Exactly. We avoid him. Tell Wharton I want a full workup on the name I just sent him. Police records, any surveillance footage, anything he can find from the whole family’s past.”
She tapped out another quick text. “Do you have any more information on Barduc?”
“Over the years, I’ve had updates. For the longest time, he remained off the grid. From all I’ve heard, he’s deadly but not prone to violence, or easily incited. And while he stays clear of shifter communities, he supports himself with honest work and raises his family alone. My father’s legacy left pitifully few good older male role models. The lion will be an asset, assuming we can all work together.”
Nothing for her to argue about there. Her life before Deacon had fought and claimed the alpha position wasn’t worth remembering. With any other dominant shifter, she and the other females would have been farmed out as mates and relegated to positions of servitude even in today’s liberated age. Her role as a second-in-command to the most powerful alpha on the North American continent wasn’t a position she took lightly. If Deacon wanted this lion, she’d make sure he and his troupe showed up. He’d take the knee for his oath if she had to hog-tie him and force the words out. Though that wouldn’t sit well with Deacon. “We track him and waltz into town for introductions?”
His expression darkened. “We go in dark. No notifications. I want only you and Wharton. Brindy will pilot.”
This time she whistled on purpose, a long, low pull through her teeth. “Damn, serious threat-level procedures for a new member?”
“Until I say otherwise. He’s waited to test us, but don’t mistake this for anything but his last recourse. Something is threatening him. We don’t interfere until we know the situation. My orders to everyone are to keep him and his family safe.”
“Where do you plan to put a lion pride in the stronghold anyway?”
“There’s a large house with plenty of land between the Romalds’ orchard and those three perky bakers.” He tapped his finger on his leg. “The Svenson sisters.”
Trim’s jaw dropped. “You’re going to put them between the rabbit triplets and the grizzlies? Are you crazy?” She swallowed hard and froze as a red-hot gaze turned her way. The color softened to milk chocolate as he took in her stance.
“I’m not my father, Trimbal. And it’s not as if anyone at the Black Haven Stronghold has a reason to worry. We’re civilized, yes?”
That remains to be seen. But Deacon was right. He was nothing like his son-of-a-bitch father, or she wouldn’t be working for him.
The call to the alpha had gone pretty much as Chisholm expected. The man hadn’t answered at the number given. That anyone answered surprised him, given how many years ago he’d received the number. And while sidelined in his request to speak with Deacon Black, Chisholm would bet his left incisor the alpha had been standing right there.
More unexpected was the authoritative female who’d answered. The command level was obvious in her husky voice, not one with the inflection of a mate or servant tasked with answering the phone. Deacon had women in his chain of command. That boded well for Margaret.
Now, he’d wait and see if the alpha was the hot shit he’d been led to believe so many years ago. Chisholm needed someone savvy, someone who understood working around difficulties, as well as familiarity with the back-alley practices that kept shifters alive. He needed a permanent safe home for his kids.
After working with the Federal Witness Protection program, Chisholm understood their quick responsiveness and first impulse to move his family every time a likely suspect wandered into town. But another move and forever looking over his shoulder wasn’t the way his beast wanted to raise his kids. No more moves. No more mistakes.
Not that he hadn’t made plenty of his own mistakes. Snagging work at the New York docks and butting heads with the unions, had gone both ways from his perspective. He’d almost died—not good. But he’d encountered the two best opportunities of his life—worth it.
Whether the Dock Workers Union knew of shifters or not, they’d certainly called forth a big enough herd of jackals, wolves, and one mean-ass tiger to make examples of the few desperate men who crossed their picket lines. Few available jobs and running on hungry didn’t leave a man many options. And while he was no slouch as a fighter, even lion brawn only stretched so far when opposing numbers grew out of proportion.
Twenty to one, death met him face-to-face on the picket line, staring down his throat. He’d been prepared to take his last breath as one after another of the union enforcers laid cuts and drew blood from the scabs who dared to breach union lines. To this day, he didn’t know where the guy who saved him had come from. He’d never even quite figured out what kind of shifter the beast was.
Not that it mattered. After one deafening growl, heads flew. Literally.
By the time the creature picked Chisholm out of his own pool of piss, blood, and broken bones, not another soul remained alive. He’d faded in and out of consciousness as the man mutated, for no shifter he’d ever met resembled this beast, and carried him for blocks before finally setting him down in a parking lot against a battered Chevy Camaro.
Minutes later, the man forced Chisholm to memorize a name and phone number, interlaced with a strong suggestion he relocate to the west coast. The new alliance would offer more than just survival. Then his comrade disappeared.
That first miracle of the night faded away with the dawning of a second one. The owner of the car he’d used as a recliner returned, delivering a swift kick from a glossy orange stiletto and wakin
g him from his uneasy stupor. The kick was more of a love tap. And, luckily for him, Mamie Baxter liked her men big and tough and was in synch enough with her leopard beast that she could handle herself. She wasn’t his type. Brash, flashy, and undiscriminating women had always been easy for him to pass up. But half-conscious, he’d hardly been in a position to be choosy.
She’d taken him home, prepared to feed him a meal and grab satisfaction in return. Then he’d met four-year-old Margaret Baxter and fallen in love. Before that night, fatherhood had never crossed his mind. Over the next few weeks, he worked on Mamie with fevered persistence, finally gaining the ring, the papers, and the right to claim his first child. Each of Mamie’s babies cinched his resolve tighter.
Evidently, family was everything to his beast.
Chisholm never looked back. He had also never considered calling the number his savior insisted he remember—until now.
He stacked the empty cereal bowls in the dishwasher, packed away the sandwich bread, then lifted Charlie from his high chair’s mess. His youngest son resisted the cleaning of his hands and face and finally escaped in a scurry across the floor. The nearest kitchen cabinet suffered the onslaught of destruction as a pile of pots and pans grew in an ear-numbing din of copper and aluminum.
At least one of them was having a good time.
Chisholm sat back down at the table. New red-oak pieces beckoned from his workshop, but they could wait a few more minutes. On any other day, the need to cut, scrape, and sand curves, forming angles and structure, calmed his mind and maintained focus.
Instead, the spice of honeysuckle and herbs scrambled his brain and stiffened parts of his anatomy that hadn’t seen action in years. Skin on fire and muscles tight at the mere thought of what hid beneath the prim detective’s starch and ponytail, he considered a second call. Passion lurked beneath the woman’s poised façade. A potent, long-lasting ember he could stoke for years if he could just get her to put down the police shield and give him a chance. A chance to seduce the mate he’d never believed existed.
He reached in his pocket and extracted DB Leggett’s business card. Palming the crisp, thick paper, he raised it to his nose. Erotic visions erupted in his head with the lingering scent. Cursing, he closed his eyes and growled. Would reality deliver different visions from the ones rushing like wildfire through his blood?
He glared at his cell phone. Inanimate object turned nemesis, it couldn’t have taunted him more if it sprouted stripes, fangs, and a rattling tail.
What the heck. He’d committed one reckless act of trust today. Certainly a second one couldn’t be worse. He might be a softhearted fool, but he was no coward.
The ringing seemed like it took years. Long enough to eat away at his resolve and allow doubt to rip tiny fissures in his ego—stinging, petty wounds worse than a thousand swift paper cuts.
“Mr. Barduc. Is Margaret ready to give a statement?”
“That isn’t why I called, Detective.” Annoyance, brittle and no-nonsense, registered over the cell phones’ tinny connection, but beneath Dani’s attitude was something warmer. Good heavens, he hated technology, but at least she was on the line. His beast snarled. Having her across the other end of the ether, tied to him through this pitiful piece of plastic and metal, didn’t really work for either of them.
Her prolonged sigh echoed across the connection, broken by intermittent static. “A shame. I hate to see these young men get away after what they planned.”
“I doubt they will.” Chisholm’s lack of faith in ultimate justice notwithstanding, his experience with human beings had proven they rarely changed their bad habits. Time would catch up with the two men. As much as he’d have enjoyed delivering their punishment himself, he had other priorities.
However, Leggett’s silence indicated she didn’t know him well enough to trust him. A wise woman. Twenty years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to track the men down and enact a permanent resolution. But a shifter father, guarding his family, didn’t have the luxury of spinning off half-cocked. “Not that I’ll be the one to teach them their lessons, Detective. My children can’t take care of themselves if I’m dead or in jail.”
“I’m glad we agree. I’d actually hate to have to take you into custody. What can I help you with?”
“We’re having a small barbeque this weekend. Would you consider joining us?”
“Mr. Barduc, I’m afraid I have other commitments. And while I do appreciate the invitation, it’s best if I didn’t become personally involved with people in an active case.”
“Ah, no getting-to-know-the-neighbors for police detectives?”
“I live two counties over. We’re not exactly neighbors.”
“Understood.” No matter what he’d scented on her, it was too late for him to go down the path of wooing a mate. Especially one whose personal sense of duty overruled her biological desires, for he hadn’t missed the delicate scent of arousal from her when she’d delivered Margaret home.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Barduc. But if you change your mind about allowing Margaret to give an official statement before we have to release these boys, please give me a call.”
Not a concession he would consider even for her presence at his table. He didn’t really believe she’d manipulate him that way. She didn’t have the guile to leverage his duty for her own purposes. “Have a good day, Detective.”
He placed the phone in his pocket and hoisted his son onto one shoulder. “Time for me to go to work and you to play, since you’re the only one who gets to believe in fairy tales in this house.”
“Chisholm, Stan Petrelli here. I received an alert that your daughter was in an altercation.”
Chisholm winced at the voice and wished he hadn’t answered his phone. He’d known this was coming. He’d expected his WITSEC handler’s call right after Margaret’s altercation. “You sound accusatory. Being slipped a date-rape drug in a soda at the library isn’t her fault. She’s only fourteen.”
“I can understand your concern, but it did put a spotlight on your situation.”
“She’s fine, thank you for asking. And you called me, not the other way around, so don’t push my buttons.”
A sigh echoed across the line. “I’m sorry, but you know this may mean another relocation.”
“I’m not onboard for relocation.”
“Under our agreement, you won’t have a choice.”
“Maybe I should rethink this agreement.”
“You don’t want to do that. Trust me.”
“Trust?” He ground his teeth, his incisors lengthening enough to cut the inside of his lip. “Poor choice of words, Stan. I trusted you to keep my family safe after Mamie was killed. Instead, your partners wasted time following and interrogating me. My kids barely made it out of our apartment before it blew up. I trusted you when you moved us to Gatorville in Florida, and yet Gambelli’s men appeared at the post office, the grocery store…oh, and yes, as a vetted security guard for our gated community. Sadly, I was the one to detect them.” And only because Chisholm didn’t feel at ease in alligator territory and never slept for fear of a long-jawed monster breaking in and taking his kids.
“Chisholm,” Stan tried to break in.
“I’m not done yet,” Chisholm growled. “I trusted you when you moved us to the recesses of Maine. And guess what happened? They showed up in the house next door. You’ll pardon me if I’m about done trusting the Feds to keep Gambelli’s men off our back.”
“These guys aren’t to be fooled with.”
“I’m painfully aware of that each day I look at my children and realize what this has cost them. But I’ll decide if continuing a life on the run is the answer. Maybe I just need better security, because I can’t be the only one wondering if your chain of command is compromised, not our lifestyle.”
“I’ve searched and found nothing,” Stan snapped. After a brief pause, he continued with a steady and subdued tone. “I agree this is too much of a coincidence. From here on out, I’m the only
one taking precautions to ensure your family’s safety.”
Chisholm exhaled and scrubbed his face. Sincerity laced Stan’s exasperated responses, but despite his respect for the man, his family wouldn’t survive another screwup. “I don’t think this will work.”
“Don’t—”
“Look, I’ll give it some thought and get back to you, but if we’re targeted here, I have no choice but to rule out relocation with you. I have to do what I consider best to keep us safe.” He didn’t add that neither Stan’s team nor Gambelli’s would ever find him if he sought the ultimate protection from a shifter alpha. The Barducs would fall off the grid in the human world. And while the option of living in an alpha’s hidden zone had never appealed to Chisholm’s nervous need to keep moving, it was time for a change. He could withstand any discomfort for his kids’ safety.
He ended the call. Stan at least had enough sense not to call back.
Staring at the phone, Chisholm ran through the few phone numbers listed. He felt the slow squeeze of time, the annoying pressure of a clock ticking away at his opportunity with the cool, composed detective. With enough time, he could persuade her to see the opportunities he had to offer. But between Stan’s call and Margaret’s unfortunate entry into the police system, he could feel the threat tightening around his neck and his need for a life-altering choice growing closer.
Dani stabbed at her computer keys, entering Tammy’s statement. Wasted effort on her part. But rules dictated protocol and, given the small office and open bull pen, everyone knew what she was doing. She could have worked from home, but the coincidental appearance of the two defendants to retrieve their belongings at the front desk reenergized her.
From the corner of her eye, she watched them leave and waited for a sign they felt remorse or even embarrassment. Their loud, forced laughter reflected neither. Tension rippled in the small squad office like an itchy pre-thunderstorm calm. Hank Baransky and everyone who worked for him prided themselves in guarding their community. Letting predators loose created collective anger and edginess.