Hunted (Riley Cray)

by A. J. Colby

  Seeing as I didn’t feel like adding possible death by firing squad to my plans for the day, I wrestled the wolf back under control and tried to put some distance between me and my new buddy. Thankfully, Holbrook had regained his balance by that point, and once again took up a position between me and Ted.

  “Big mistake, asshole,” Holbrook growled, the fury in his voice catching me off guard.

  Blood exploded from Ted’s nose in a scarlet spray, splattering the surrounding tables and carpet, before I even realized that Holbrook had lifted his hand to throw a punch. From the look of Ted’s wide eyes and the blood streaming over his mouth, he hadn’t seen the blow coming either. His moment of shock, however, was short-lived, and as Holbrook cocked his arm for another blow, Ted was on him, the two men tangled together in a blur of wildly punching fists and grunts.

  Distracted by the sight of Holbrook and Ted throwing punches at each other, I didn’t see Max regain his feet, or the fist that swung at my ribs. Pain exploded in my chest, ripping the breath out of my lungs in a strangled shout. Dark motes danced on the edges of my vision as I drew in a ragged breath, my ribs screaming with the effort of breathing. Rounding on my attacker, I found him already driving another fist towards me, this one aimed at my face, and was too slow to react. Stars burst in my vision as he struck me on the chin, the force of the blow snapping my jaws shut, and I thanked God that I didn’t bite off half my tongue.

  Blindly, I swung at him, and smiled viciously when I was rewarded with a pained grunt. Blinking away the dancing spots in my eyes, I side stepped my way towards the nearby service station, keeping my eyes locked on Max. Wiping blood from the fresh split in his lip, he tracked my movements without missing a beat, his bloody teeth bared in a soundless growl. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the situation was going to escalate quickly if I didn’t get things under control. I could only hope that Holbrook was faring better than I was.

  As predicted, it didn’t take long for Max to get over the shock that I’d succeeded in landing a blow. Letting out a bellow of rage, he came at me like an enraged bull who’d just gotten kicked in the balls. Ducking below his swinging meat hook of an arm, I snatched up the closest thing I could find, hefting a half empty coffee pot which I swung at his face. The coffee pot shattered upon impact, raining hot coffee and broken glass down around us. Max let out a roar of pain, falling to his knees as the coffee splashed across his face and shoulder.

  Taking advantage of his temporarily blinded state, I kicked out with as much strength as I could muster, the toe of my boot catching him on the side of his face. For a moment I thought he was going to get up and keep coming at me, and then I saw his eyes roll back until only the whites were showing. He slumped sideways, falling in a limp pile in the puddle of spilled coffee and shards of glass. I was grateful for the fact that he was still breathing simply because it meant I wasn’t likely to end up in jail. Self-defense or not, juries still tended to side with mundanes in the case of a supe on mundane killing.

  Letting the handle of the broken coffee pot slip from my trembling fingers, I sagged as exhaustion swept over me. The last of my adrenaline was quickly fading away, leaving me shaky, sweaty, and in serious need of a nap. Looking up, I was relieved to see Holbrook pinning Ted to the floor with a knee in his back. Pulling a couple of zip ties from his jacket, he secured Ted’s hands behind his back, and then levered himself up to his feet with a pained sigh to similarly bind Max’s hands. Ted ranted and snarled, filling the air with his venomous diatribe, but thankfully his buddy was still out cold with a puddle of drool collecting on the carpet beneath his cheek.

  “The cops are already on their way. I don’t want any trouble!” a balding, middle-aged man I assumed was the manager called out from where he had hunkered down behind a table, his fat sausage fingers clasping the edge in a death grip.

  “Great,” I huffed, easing myself back down into the booth, mindful of the new bruises blooming on my ribs and face.

  Righting my overturned glass, I slurped the remains of my milkshake and waited for the cavalry to arrive.

  “What was that you were saying about restraint?” Holbrook asked, smirking as he slid into the seat opposite me, dabbing at his swollen lip with a napkin.

  “Shut up,” I grumbled, slurping my milkshake.

  * * *

  By the time the cops arrived, our young server had regained consciousness and was seated at a nearby table with an ice pack pressed against the side of his head, while the hostess flitted around him dotingly. Apparently acting like a hero, however unsuccessfully, had made him quite attractive. Judging by his bewildered expression he found her sudden attentiveness rather odd, too. I, on the other hand, was receiving no such admiration for my heroics.

  Regardless of my charming smiles, the rest of the staff were giving me a wide berth leaving me feeling a little stung by their reaction. After all, Ted and Max were the whackos, and Holbrook and I were the ones who’d laid them out. Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to carry any weight, and rather than receiving praise all I got was suspicious sidelong glances and whispered suppositions.

  Collins and Hill had decided to grace us with their presence, giving Holbrook some nonsense about not realizing anything was amiss until it was already over. I wasn’t sure that I believed them, but I couldn’t fathom a reason why they’d let a fellow agent get his ass kicked by a couple of racist nut jobs. Reigning in his anger in an impressive display of self-control, Holbrook had sent them back outside to stand guard. I might have enjoyed watching them shivering in the wind just a little too much.

  The first officer through the door was tall, thin, and looked young enough to still be wet behind the ears; his partner, who followed a few seconds later, was another story. He looked like he’d stepped off of one of the pages of the fireman’s calendar my college roommate had bought me as a gag gift one year for my birthday. The standard issue dark blue shirt strained against the muscles of his chest and shoulders, emphasizing the flat plain of his abs. His dark auburn hair was combed back from a lightly bronzed face except for a single lock that curled against his forehead á la Superman.

  The younger officer went over to the server and his adoring fans to take their statements, while Officer Beefcake strode over to Holbrook and me.

  “Afternoon folks. I’m Officer Easton. What appears to be the problem?” he asked, eyeing the two men sprawled on the floor, groaning, while I sucked up the dregs of my milkshake, innocently tapping my foot.

  Holbrook already had his badge out and at the ready. “Afternoon, Officer. I’m Special Agent Holbrook and this is Ms. Cray. I’m not sure of the names of these two gentlemen, but it seems that they had a little bit of a misunderstanding.”

  The officer’s eyebrows rose in recognition at the mention of my name, but didn’t comment on it. Rather, all he said was, “I see.” Officer Easton’s expression turned sour when his bright blue eyes settled on me. It looked like I’d earned myself another fan.

  “S’up?” I greeted, nodding.

  Holbrook looked at me with the expression of frustrated parents the world over and said, “Behave” in warning. Baring my teeth in a facsimile of a smile, I batted my eyelashes at him and Officer Beefcake and then proceeded to ignore them as Holbrook explained what had happened.

  Every once in a while one of them would ask me a question, but for the most part Holbrook and the gorgeous, but surly, officer ignored me. That was just fine and dandy with me. I let my mind drift as I drummed my fingers on the edge of the table, sinking down into daydreams that didn’t include psychotic ex-boyfriends, crazed FBI agents, or anti-werewolf whackos.

  Eventually Officer Beefcake cleared us to leave, but not without giving me a sour look that let me know we wouldn’t become pen pals anytime soon.

  Fine with me. Bet he has terrible penmanship anyway.

  Pulling on my jacket and scarf, I watched Holbrook drop a few bills on the table. Passing the wide-eyed and slack-jawed hostess by the door he inclined his
head and said, “Sorry about the mess, Ma’am.”

  “Sure. No problem,” she murmured, shrinking back a step as I passed.

  The wolf, being a bit of a sadistic bitch, was sorely tempted to bare our teeth at her, but I managed to restrain myself, following Holbrook outside into the parking lot instead.

  Point for team Riley.

  “Can’t take you anywhere, huh?” he asked with a quirk of his lips, digging his keys out of his pocket.

  Shrugging noncommittally I stopped beside the SUV and watched the cop car begin to pull out of the parking lot, the idiot twins handcuffed in the back. Ted’s gaze bored into me with the ferocity of the truly vicious and dangerous. Plastering a saccharine smile on my face I wiggled my fingers at him in a farewell wave. I couldn’t make out his words, but the murderous look on his face needed no translation.

  “What can I say? I make friends wherever I go.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  SHOUP’S APARTMENT BUILDING was a non-descript, six story, brick building in the nearby Glendale neighborhood, and I had to wonder if she and Johnson had met at the Denny’s we had just left behind. Had they planned his attack on me while sipping coffee in one of those vinyl booths? Had they talked about slicing me open over a piece of pie? The number of people who wanted to see me hurt, or worse, was piling up fast, leaving me feeling adrift as if the world had shifted on its axis and no one had bothered to tell me.

  I was halted by Holbrook’s hand on my arm as I reached for the door handle of the SUV. Turning in my seat to face him, I found myself struck by the concern in his eyes. In the close quarters inside the vehicle, I couldn’t escape the smell of him, the hot air billowing out of the vents seeming to intensify his scent. I wanted to reach across the center console and crush his lips beneath mine, my fear making me crave the brush of his fingers against my skin, tugging at the zipper of my jeans, sliding into...

  Disrupting the fantasy that had flared up in my mind like wildfire, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Umm...getting out of the car?”

  “I don’t think so. Stay here.”

  “Are we really going to argue about this again?” I asked with a sigh. “How about I save us some time and explain how the conversation will go, and then we go nail Johnson?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, the fabric of his suit jacket straining against his shoulders, he looked menacing, and delicious. “And just how does this conversation go?”

  “You argue that I’m just a civilian and that I should wait here–”

  “Which you are, and you should.”

  “–and then I explain how I can detect if anyone is in the apartment, and if Johnson has been there. We’ll bicker back and forth for a few minutes before you eventually give in and let me tag along, by which time Johnson has already spotted us and escaped out the back.”

  “Is that so?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with the beginnings of a smile. “You some kind of tactical genius now?”

  “Yep.”

  “And if I handcuff you to the steering wheel?”

  “I’ll just rip it off and come after you,” I replied, shrugging. I wasn’t sure if I actually had the strength to rip the steering wheel off, but he didn’t know that, and as his shoulders began to slump in resignation I fought to keep the triumphant grin off my face.

  “Alright. Follow my lead, and don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, throwing him a mock salute.

  Pulling my hat down over my ears to protect them from the cold, I eased down to the pavement, once again telling Loki to stay put, and hurried along behind Holbrook. Collins and Hill were already waiting beside the building’s front entrance, and made no attempt to hide their surprise at seeing me standing there while Holbrook explained the plan to enter the building.

  “Collins, I want you to circle around back and see if there’s a rear entrance. If anyone in the apartment decides to make a break for it, they’re going to head for the back door. Hill, you’re with me.”

  “What about me? What do I do?” I asked.

  “Stay quiet, and out of the way.”

  Collins and Hill smirked at each other, their shark grins reflected in their sunglasses, while I huffed in irritation.

  Assholes.

  Although the building proclaimed to have a security system, the lock was broken and we encountered no resistance getting inside. There was a pervasive smell of boiled cabbage about the place, making me regret the milkshake I’d sucked down at Denny’s.

  “Why do these places always smell like my Great Aunt Ina?” I asked aloud.

  “What?” Holbrook asked, glancing at me over his shoulder as he pressed the button for the elevator.

  “My Great Aunt Ina. She was a weird one. She had one lazy eye, but I could never remember which one. You couldn’t tell if she was looking at you or something across the room. Damn unnerving,” I rambled.

  “Right,” Holbrook drawled, while Hill looked at me askance.

  “Never mind,” I said, rolling my eyes and shooing them into the elevator ahead of me.

  The cloying scent of air freshener filled the third floor hallway in a noxious cloud, smacking me in the face as soon as I stepped off the elevator, coating my tongue with an oily residue.

  “Christ, did someone set off a truck load of Lysol?” Holbrook asked, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering smell.

  “Something like that,” I replied distractedly, my steps slowing as we approached Shoup’s door. Beneath the overpowering stink of factory produced flowers was the all too familiar new penny scent of blood.

  The sounds of life were all around us – the bang and clatter of someone making dinner in the apartment to the left, the canned laughter of a TV in the one to the right, and somewhere down the hall a baby was crying. Shoup’s apartment however, was silent as the grave.

  “We’ve got a problem,” I warned when Holbrook stopped in front of the door.

  “What’s up?”

  “I smell blood. Lots of it.”

  His hand went automatically to the weapon at his hip, unsnapping his holster, while he motioned me to move behind him with the other hand. Silent communication passed between the agents, and with a nod from Holbrook, Hill moved into place on the other side of the doorway.

  Keeping one hand on his gun, Holbrook raised the other to knock on the door. His expression turned sour as he eyed the thick bandages swaddling his hand. Nodding at Hill, he waited for the other agent to knock.

  “Ms. Shoup, this is Special Agent Holbrook with the FBI. Can you open the door?”

  Silence persisted beyond the door for several heartbeats, almost long enough for me to believe that the apartment was empty. I was about to tell them to forget about it when a muffled thump sounded on the other side of the door. In front of me, Holbrook went stiff, his body all but vibrating with tension.

  “Ms. Shoup? Ms. Shoup, open the door,” he said in a loud and clear voice, while Hill pounded on the door so hard that it rattled in the doorframe.

  Another burst of frantic movement inside the apartment was the only answer we received. Scenting the air I mentally catalogued the odors I could detect beneath the chemical stink of air freshener. The scent of blood was strong, pervasive enough to let me know that whoever it had once belonged to was not likely to be up and walking about now. Beyond that was the smell of garbage, and the ammonia of a dirty litter box.

  “It’s her cat,” I said, letting the tension slip from my shoulders.

  Ignoring me, he gave Hill another silent command, and once the other agent had raised his gun to target the doorway, he took a couple steps back and delivered a powerful kick to the lock. For a second it didn’t look like the door would give, and then the doorframe buckled, raining splinters and chipped paint down on the carpet. Pushing the door open, he peered into the apartment, his gun drawn and held at the ready.

  “Stay here,” he told me as he stepped through the doorway.

  Yeah
, right, I thought, moving to follow him in, only to be stopped by Hill extending an arm across the doorway.

  I would have demanded what the hell he was doing if not for the dead stare he leveled at me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned a shoulder against the ruined doorframe and peered into the apartment. Shoup’s apartment was even smaller than the one I’d shared with my roommate in college. The door opened onto a sparsely furnished living room, the sagging couch and plywood coffee table looking to be thrift store finds. A single chair and TV stand looked like they’d at least been bought at IKEA, worldwide supplier of affordable furniture for college students and bachelors alike.

  Past the couch was a narrow kitchen, barely big enough for one person to navigate, and a small eat-in dinette, the rickety table and two chairs crammed into the space covered in junk mail and empty take-out boxes. A door to the left of the living room was cracked open, revealing the end of a bed, the rumpled covers spilled half onto the floor. The scent of blood radiated from the bedroom, and lurking beneath the rich coppery scent was the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke I’d come to associate with Johnson.

  If the extensiveness of his scent was anything to go by he’d spent a lot of time there. Once I had picked it out from the other scents, it was almost like a thread that I could see weaving back and forth across the room. I could all but see the path he had walked in front of the window, leaving trails of cigarette ash in his wake as his no-nonsense shoes wore a faint furrow in the dingy carpet. Given the amount of time he’d spent in Shoup’s apartment I had to wonder if he’d somehow been targeting me long before Samson escaped from prison, or if I’d just happened to be a handy victim. Had I conveniently fallen into his lap when any wolf would have done?

  I raised a shaking arm towards the bedroom. “She’s in there.”

  Holbrook turned to see me standing in the doorway, one foot inching over the threshold. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”