by Renee Rose
The tightness in my chest gives way to relief, followed quickly by anger. A wedge of stubbornness rises in me. He doesn’t get to flip-flop so quickly. I flip him a mental bird. He’s not my knight in shining armor. I’m the one saving his ass. I’m going to stick to my plan of reversing the money trail and refunding the millions in transactions and getting the hell out of Dodge.
If Jackson wants to beg for my forgiveness when that’s all complete, I might consider it. We’ll see.
“Give me the address where to find you, Mémé.”
She must hand the phone back to its owner because the young man returns and rattles off the address of one of the few Tucson high-rise apartments downtown. He clears his throat. “Your grandmother needs some fresh clothes when you come, too.”
I hate the icy spines that needle up my arms at hearing that. “I’ll get her some clothes,” I promise.
I consider my options. I’m without a vehicle, since I already ditched Sam’s motorcycle. I could wait for a cab. I could hack Uber and set up with a credit card with one of my new ID names. But, for some reason, I want to do this without breaking the law. I don’t know, maybe I need to prove I’m not the criminal the entire world thinks I am.
My house is a few miles away. Mémé’s clothes are right inside. The FBI will be watching. What about the supposed Mr. X? Probably.
Damn. I have a bag packed on my bed already. It’d be so great to run in and grab it and some things for Mémé. Maybe what I need is a diversion.
I call for a cab and wait for it to arrive. Then I call in a violent robbery in progress at the house across the street from mine.
I lose the cab a block away from my place and head through the back alley, sticking to the shadows in the cover of night. Sirens screech in from several directions at my neighbor’s house. I creep up my back steps and use the key hidden in the mouth of a ceramic frog in the garden.
Inside, the house feels wrong. People have been inside. I don’t know how I can tell, but I know it without a doubt. But that’s no surprise. Surely the police have already searched the place. I move through the dark without turning on any lights. I grab my suitcase and move to my grandmother’s room. I hear the gun cock just before a hand claps over my mouth and hard metal prods the back of my head.
~.~
Jackson
I’ve never felt so impotent in my life. I fucked up with Kylie, my company’s in the gutter, and I’m pacing my office after midnight, unable to come up with a strategy to fix things.
I told Special Agent Douglas about my suspicions of Stu, although I didn’t want to tell him about the meeting with Kylie. I couldn’t very well tell him about Kylie’s grandmother, either. Somehow I doubt, “I saw the old lady, but it turns out she’s a shifter so the bullets didn’t hurt her a bit,” would fly.
My cell phone rings.
Garrett.
I take the call, biting out, “This is King.”
“Jacqueline expected her granddaughter to pick her up here hours ago. The old cat thinks something happened.”
Ice washes over me, and I curse loud enough to shake the windows.
“I know, bro.”
“Where was she coming from? What was the plan?” I demand.
“She didn’t say where she was. I’ve tried the number she called from, but it just rings and disconnects. She said she was on her way over and asked for the address. I told her to bring some clothes for Jaqueline because hers were ruined with blood. That was around seven p.m.”
I partially transform, my wolf wanting out to kill. I fight to bring my human side back, but my voice comes out pure growl. “I’m going to sniff around her house. Keep in touch.” I hang up without waiting for his response.
I curse my office building for being so far from Kylie’s house. I want to shift immediately and run there, but I dare not waste precious time. I drive, hands nearly tearing the steering wheel in pieces. Two feds are sitting across the street in a van, staking out the house. I knock on the door of the van as I go by and walk up to the front door. I catch a variety of scents, human males. Nothing fresh. I walk around the house, wishing to fates I could shift, but I don’t dare. It’s okay. My human nose still works better than most other humans’ olfactory senses. I catch a whiff of Kylie at the back door. Her fresh scent. I try the handle and find it open.
Her scent is easy to follow—into a bedroom, but what terrifies me is the aroma of a human male. Not Stu—some other man. And gunpowder.
Fuck.
Kylie ran into trouble. Damn her. Why in the hell had she risked coming back here? She should know better.
I slam back out the door, sniffing the breeze, trying to find out where he’s taken her. It wasn’t out the front door—I would’ve smelled it there. Besides, the feds would’ve seen. I catch a trace of both their scents in the alleyway and then it disappears. There must have been a car waiting.
Christ on a stick, this couldn’t be worse. I pick up my phone, then dial Garrett, communicating with him what I’ve found.
Jesus fuck. If anything happens to her, I am going to tear the throat out of every man I even suspect of knowing about it.
For the hundredth time, I curse myself for mistrusting her. For sending her into danger on her own.
Kylie. My kitten. Out there on her own in mortal danger.
I lift my mouth to the moon, barely holding back a howl of rage and anguish.
~.~
Kylie
I’m in the trunk of a car, my hands duct taped behind my back, another strip covering my mouth. I’m choking to death on my own spit. My breath sucks in and out with frantic, tearing attempts, but my nostrils seal closed, keeping me from succeeding.
Stars dance before my eyes. The trunk spins.
Don’t make me grope you again.
I must’ve passed out, because I hear Jackson speaking to me. I conjure the feel of his hands pressing firmly against my sternum.
My breath eases off its frantic, suffocating pace.
I imagine Jackson lying behind me in the trunk, his huge arms banded around me, palms pinning the center of my chest.
I’m triggering your calm reflex.
I let the relief flow over me the way it had in the elevator. The sense of security being near Jackson brought me. The sense of belonging, of home.
Of course, I know that is best forgotten, but if deluding myself in this moment with the memory of Jackson King helps, I’m doing it.
The car pulls onto gravel and then slows to a stop. I tense, preparing to fight. My foot shoots out the minute the trunk opens, but the asshole dodges out of the way and punches me in the face. Pain explodes in my cheek, shatters the little concentration I’d gathered.
I wilt, sickness rising in my belly, desperation bleeding in.
The guy hauls me out. We’re at some kind of warehouse. He drags me inside where several other men are gathered, including Stu who sits bent over a computer set up on a card table. “Look who showed up at her house,” my captor drawls.
I glare at Stu, who has the nerve to look sickened by my appearance.
“The first fucking thing that’s gone right all day,” a guy answers in a crisp British accent. “Sit her down here.” He kicks out the chair beside Stu. “Someone reversed the money trail on the hijacked cards. I’ve got Stu working on it, but how much you want to bet this little hack had something to do with it?”
I want to say damn straight, but I’m not suicidal.
I’m thrown down in chair, and I look over Stu’s shoulder at his screen. He splits a glance between me and the screen. Desperation is present in his face. And fear.
Looks like Stu bit off way more than he can chew. I should be gloating, but I’m not happy for his misery. Having the one villain who’s half an ally to me be in trouble with the rest of them doesn’t help me much.
“How about we cut off her fingers? Permanently stop her from hacking?” This comes from the peanut gallery, one of four men leaning against crates, smoking cigars and tal
king.
“Shut up. You cut off her fingers, she can’t fix this.” British Accent walks over to me.
“Too bad we already killed the old lady. She would’ve been good leverage, now,” another from the peanut gallery declares.
I attempt to look casual despite the terrible throbbing in my cheek where the guy punched me. Like it’s my first day on the job, not like I’ve just been kidnapped and threatened. I cross one leg over the other and lean close to Stu. “So, what’s going on?”
British Accent grabs a handful of hair and yanks my head back so hard my teeth rattle. “Did you reverse the money trail?”
I give him my most mulish look. “Why would I help SeCure? Jackson King thinks I’m responsible for all this.”
He slaps me, reigniting the wicked pain of my bruise. “Get him back into the system,” he commands.
I wiggle the fingers taped behind my back. “I’ll need my fingers free,” I sing out.
“No fingers. Talk him through it.”
Damn.
I ignore British Accent and direct my attention to Stu. “Okay, where are you?”
He’s attempting a straightforward hack into SeCure, which we both know isn’t going to work. It occurs to me he might not be trying that hard. Maybe he’s seen the writing on the wall. They’re probably going to get rid of him as soon as he finishes the deal.
British Accent yanks my hair again. “Help him.”
I allow my anger to show. “Okay asshole. Do you know anything about hacking? No one ever knows the way in. It’s about experimentation. You just keep trying things until you make some headway. If I’m going to help Stu, I need my own computer and my fingers. Me looking over his shoulder just slows us both down.”
British Accent—I’ll call him BA, looks at Stu, who shrugs. “She’s right.”
It’s too much to hope they’ll give me my computer, but he does slide the tape off my wrists and shove another laptop in my face. Despite the fact that I’m still wearing the mini skirt from days before, I prop one ankle on my knee to make a desk and flip open the laptop.
I’ve been in Jackson’s system all week through his computer, but I left an open door for myself, which is how I transferred the funds back today. I don’t go in through the door, now. I go at the firewall, same as Stu.
“Is she doing it?” BA demands.
Stu looks over my shoulder. “Yeah.”
I ignore them all, my fingers flying over the keys as I set up automatic password reveal programs.
As soon as they look away, I start a hack into Verizon, which was how I made my phone call to Mémé before. Stu looks over, and I flick to the open window behind it, keeping my fingers moving. I hold my breath.
He looks a moment too long, and I know he’s seen me. I wait for the hammer to come down.
Nothing happens.
“You know, with Kylie working on this, you don’t even need me. I’ll just slow her down.” Stu closes his laptop and stands up.
The sound of a gun cocking makes both of us freeze. BA—who, by now, I believe must be Mr. X—holds the muzzle of a pistol to the side of Stu’s head. “Are you sure you want me to believe we don’t need you?” His icy tone sends shivers up my spine.
I think it made Stu nearly pee his pants because he lets out a weird squeak, sits down and opens his laptop. Still, I gotta hand it to him because he really brings it back. “You’re threatening me? You have nothing without me. Zero.”
“You just told me all I need is her.”
“And who’s going to know if she’s hacking SeCure or into your mother’s IRA?”
Mr. X palms the pistol and smacks Stu on the side of the head with it, hard enough to make him fall to the floor with a groan.
I wince, mostly at the sound of metal on bone, but also at the pathetic crumpled heap that Stu became.
Reminder to self—I am on my own, here. Nothing new, though.
I switch screens again, enter the number I’d memorized for Mémé, and send a text message.
Need help. In warehouse, 10-15 minute drive from my house. Red Toyota Corolla parked in front. Lic. DCR 583.
I close it out and flick back to the main screen.
Mémé would get help to me. I’d been stupid to go back to the house, but I might still survive this. Especially since now they need me alive.
All I have to do is stall for time…
~.~
Jackson
I wear a hole in the floor pacing at Garrett’s apartment. Sam is there, too. It’s two in the morning, but no one’s asleep. Jacqueline appears paler and more worn than this afternoon, her fear over Kylie aging her another ten years. I’d comfort her, but I’m ready to tear the building down.
The ding of Garrett’s phone makes everyone look. He reads the text aloud. Instantly, all his men stand, a unified force. It’s the first time I’ve had a warm feeling about a pack in years, maybe ever. But this solidarity, this support, is something I’ve cut myself off from.
I don’t fool myself into thinking they’re doing it for me. It’s clear they all love the old lady. Plus, they’re natural bred heroes. Garrett has an army of young, fierce twenty-somethings. Warriors, ready to defend their pack.
“That can’t mean too many places. There are warehouses on South Kino, and some south of downtown, on the other side of the train tracks.” He pulls a map up on his phone and holds it flat for everyone to see. “We’ll divide up, take drive-throughs. If you spot something, you call in. No one goes in on their own, understood?” Garrett barks the orders, and, for once, the alpha in me doesn’t even bristle. His head is way more level than mine right now. I’m grateful for his leadership.
“Jackson and Sam, take these square blocks east of Kino.”
I nod and head out the door, not even waiting for him to finish divvying up the areas.
Kylie needs help, and I’m sure as hell going to find her. We drive to the warehouse district and drive slowly up and down the streets and alleyways, looking for the Corolla. Thirty minutes slip by. Forty-five. The knot in my stomach is so tight, it’s twisted up to my throat.
My phone rings.
“We found it. 738 North Toole.”
I don’t bother answering Garrett, just step on the gas, peeling around the alley corner with a spray of gravel. I’m there in two point five minutes. I cut the engine before I reach the building and pull into the shadows. A motorcycle with one of Garrett’s soldiers already stands there. Three more pull in behind me, all equally silent and cautious. Smart boys, Garrett’s men.
We pull off our clothing and shift.
~.~
Kylie
I hear something outside, but no one else seems to notice. I hope it’s the cavalry but don’t dare let myself believe. Metal scrapes near the door, and all five men reach for their weapons.
“Shh—what was that?” Mr. X hisses.
I surge to my feet. “Hey, I gotta pee,” I announce in a loud voice. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“Sit the fuck down.”
I walk forward. Maybe I took stupid pills, I don’t know. Maybe I was just so sure help was coming. I underestimated how trigger-happy and dangerous these men were.
Guy points his pistol at my chest. Stu—like a crazy man—jumps in front of me and takes the bullet just as the blast rings in my ears. I watch him fall, see the life slip from his eyes.
Damn. Stu just died for me.
Chaos erupts everywhere as the metal garage door shoves open and a pack of giant wolves flood in.
Guns fire. Bullets fly. Above the terrible ringing in my ears, I hear the whine of wolves being struck and the scream of men attacked by the beasts’ snapping jaws.
Though there are many silver wolves, there’s no mistaking mine. Huge. Majestic. Ferocious. He sees me at the same time, and it costs him a moment of distraction. One of the assholes aims and fires.
“No!” I scream and dive in front of him. Pain sears through me, through the front, out the back. White hot flames of heat. I tr
y to keep running toward Jackson, but my body crumples into a heap. Satisfaction rises up and licks my face. For once I didn’t stand there and watch someone I loved die. Stu saved me. And, now, I’ve saved Jackson.
And yes, I love Jackson. I know it with absolute clarity. He is my safety. My home. He is my past and my future. My now.
Jackson leaps over me in a fifteen foot graceful arc, and a gurgling sound fills my ears. I don’t look, because I know he’s just taken my shooter’s throat out.
Then he’s here, beside me. He stands over me, protecting my fallen body with his own. Licking my face, whining.
A terribly prickling comes over my entire body. Flashes of heat strike me like lightening. My vision narrows to a tunnel, yet seems to sharpen. Sounds grow louder, smells stronger. My vision flashes to black at the same time my cells seem to split apart. I am nothingness and everything at once.
Holy afterlife, Batman. I just died.
It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve only just found Jackson. Allowed myself to admit my love for him. Believed we could be together.
My vision clears and, with it, all my pain returns with brutal intensity. I try to groan, but the only sound that comes from my mouth is a low growl.
Growl?
Jackson shimmers and shifts, his human face looming before mine. He blinks back tears, but he doesn’t look sad. His face is full of wonder. “That’s it, kitten. You shifted. You showed me your panther self.”
Panther self?
I look down at giant black paws. Holy shift, Catgirl.
Jackson strokes my muzzle. Smooths my fur. “You’re going to be okay, baby. Shifters can heal from bullet wounds.” He manages a watery smile. “Thank the fates. You shifted. You did it, baby.”
A beautiful rumbling sound comes from my chest. Purring. It increases the bite of the bullet wound, yet I instinctively know that’s good. It’s healing me.
Jackson continues to stroke my face and ears, staring down at me with fierce attentiveness.