Runaway (Fox Ridge Shifters Book 1)

by Marianne Hull

  “Ask for an escort.”

  Hugh explained their situation to the deputy in urgent tones, and ten minutes later a squad car joined them, harsh flashing lights lurid in the dark. Santiago gunned his engine to slip past them, and for twenty miles they chased blue lights to the county line, Neal nearly eating the deputy’s bumper twice. At the bridge over Boundary Line Creek, Santiago slowed and pulled off to the side of the road, giving them a quick wave. They raced past.

  Seventy minutes of white-knuckle driving later, Neal turned off at a diner still open in the late hours of the night. A scattering of cars huddled in the diner’s lot amid piles of dirty snow, including one crew-cab truck carving a beam of light into the darkness. Headlight glare prevented him from seeing inside, but Luke recognized the vehicle. He pointed. “There.”

  Neal positioned his car so they could talk, driver to driver. “He with you?”

  Franz had to stick his head out and look down at the shorter vehicle. “Yes. You have Luke?”

  “He’s here.”

  “Do you have someone to keep him from killing my brother?”

  A deep chuckle came from the back seat. Luke glared at the world in general, but Neal, ever in control, simply said, “We do.”

  “Then we shall meet inside.”

  Luke pretended to himself that Crissy waited behind him in the car. It helped him keep his cool when Bernie sauntered up to the table and took a chair directly opposite, unzipping his blue down jacket and pulling his arms out of the sleeves. Hugh placed a warning hand on his arm. Luke shook it off. “Is she all right?”

  “Better than she was when she left you,” Bernie said.

  “Has she shifted yet?”

  Bernie’s expression could have cut glass. “No. Nor does she seem likely to. What did you do to her?”

  Luke stared down at the red Formica tabletop, unable to answer.

  They sat at a rectangular table, the two chiefs at each end, and the six men glared at each other in silence. The waitress’s voice faltered when she arrived and said, “Can I get you some drinks to start? Coffee?”

  “We’ll all take coffee,” Neal said, establishing himself as the person in charge at the table. Luke would have smiled if he could unclench his jaw.

  Then Hugh had to spoil it. “Could I have a pot of boiling water?” Luke wanted to kick him .

  Franz’s third man snickered. Luke vaguely thought his name might be Johann.

  They waited for their drinks. Snips of conversation reached them from the few people in the room. A woman complained her eggs were cooked too hard. A couple tried to comfort a toddler who was out way too late. At their table, hostile silence reigned.

  When the coffee came, they poured cream and stirred sugar. The diner served a rich, aromatic brew. Luke shoved his cup aside with the back of his hand. Hugh took one of his fancy imported tea bags from an inner pocket of his jacket. He made a production of removing the paper sleeve and pouring the hot water over it, selecting a tiny packet of cream.

  Luke kicked him under the table after all. Hugh merely smiled.

  He’s always amused at everything, the motherfucker.

  He locked gazes with Bernie. “Where are you keeping her?”

  Bernie sneered. “Some mate you are if you can’t find her on your own.”

  “I want you to admit you’re the one holding her.” Hugh’s hand settled on his arm.

  “Gentlemen,” Franz said, holding up one hand. “I assure you, your shifter is being cared for and is safe. She’s been given food appropriate for her species and kept in a warm place.”

  “Appropriate for her species?” Neal said.

  “Baumann, the woman is lost. Bernie has been trying for days to reach her, to no avail.”

  “She’d respond to me,” Luke whispered.

  Bernie raised his coffee cup to his mouth and smiled over the rim. “I’m not sure I’ll give her back to you. I don’t think you deserve her. She’s such a beautiful creature.”

  The roaring in Luke’s ears drowned out all sound. “She’s mine,” he snarled. “You took one mate from me. You won’t take this one.” He launched himself across the table only to have Hugh and Neal’s strong arms restrain him and shove him back in his seat.

  Bernie, unperturbed, settled his coffee cup back down, turning it to angle the handle just so. He folded his forearms on the table. “Your first mate was never yours, and it looks like this one won’t be, either.”

  Luke struggled against the hands pinning him down for a few more seconds before eventually relaxing.

  Neal sat. “What do you want, Franz?”

  “Redding.”

  Neal opened his mouth. Shut it. Hugh stirred, tapping his fingers on the tabletop.

  “Did you say Redding?”

  “Yes. We want Redding. In return, you get your uncle’s mate.”

  Clever. Reminding him of how close we are. This is bad. Very, very bad. He glanced at Neal and found him glancing back, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “Franz, Redding is our only city of any size.”

  “And we have none. Chico is twice as far.”

  “And so you want access to Redding.”

  Franz smiled faintly and shook his head. “Oh no, we want Redding itself and all the territory between here and there.”

  Neal no longer showed what he was thinking. He rose. “Let me speak to my uncle for a moment. Hugh, please stay here.”

  Hugh leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Placing his palms on the table, Luke pushed to his feet, and followed Neal out into the darkened parking lot. Their boots crunched on snow, the only sound until Neal said, “Luke ...”

  “She’s my mate, Neal. I can’t just abandon her.”

  Neal waved his hand in front of his face. “You made me promise, Luke. After Kansas, I promised to never give up territory again.”

  “But Neal—”

  “No, Luke. We can’t do this, and you know it. Half the clan has jobs in Redding. It would ruin us. The Schmitts would win, and we’d be done forever.”

  Luke turned away from his nephew and ran one hand back through his hair. “We could move.”

  “No, we can’t. There isn’t any more wild territory to run to. This is our last stand.” Neal’s hand fell on Luke’s shoulder; he couldn’t bring himself to face his nephew. “And you’re too kind to force these families to move again.”

  “So what then? We just leave her to them? Soon, she’ll be so lost, we’ll never get her back.”

  “People have come back from being lost much longer than this.” Neal pulled on Luke’s shoulder until they stood face to face. “We’ll have to get her back the hard way.”

  “It’s unlike you to suggest violence.”

  He nodded. “People could die.”

  “Would you ask the clan to do this for me?”

  “Would you do it for them?”

  He gazed up at the sky and the river of stars of the Milky Way. They shone down on Crissy, too, somewhere nearby. Is she in a place where she can see them? The mating bond pulsed, a message of longing, but it didn’t soothe his anguish. Until she arrived, his clan was everything to him.

  “Yes, I would, but first I’m going to have a go at doing it the really hard way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll see. Come inside.”

  Hugh still sipped his fragrant tea. The Schmitts talked among themselves under Hugh’s watchful eye. The conversation died the moment Luke and Neal approached the table. He collapsed into his chair.

  “Bernie.”

  Bernie raised his eyebrows. “Luke.”

  “You and I both lost mates violently. You’re the only one who understands what I’m going through.” Then he spoke the word he thought he would never, ever say to Bernie Schmitt. “Please. Please, give her back to me.”

  Franz leaned forward. “So you will not accept our terms?”

  “You know we cannot,” Neal said, not taking his eyes off of Luke.
<
br />   “You don’t deserve her, Baumann.” Bernie’s voice carried centuries of animosity. “She’s clearly traumatized by whatever you’ve done to her.” He shook his head. “No. I don’t think you’re getting her back.”

  “What? You’ll keep her caged for the rest of her life?”

  “Keep your voice down,” Neal told him. He turned his attention to Franz. “We will not cede territory. If you can think of a more reasonable request, you have my number.” He grabbed the collar of Luke’s flannel shirt and pulled him up as he rose. “Let’s go.”

  Luke gave one last imploring look at the men still seated around the table. Neal prodded him in the back. They passed by the other diners, the toddler now asleep, but the woman still complaining. All three sat in the car for a moment before Neal started the engine.

  “What was that all about?” His voice was heavy with disbelief. “You really thought begging would work?”

  “Not at all. I want them to think us weak before we go nuclear on their asses.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Bernie’s stories of the old west progressed to Kansas, where Clan Schmitt and Clan Baumann fought their last bloody war. He sat in the chilly basement corridor outside her cell, legs stretched before him, back against the wall, with his shoulder and the side of his head resting against the bars. He peered through them up at the hawk. Her wings lay smooth against her back as she perched on the branch, and her yellow eyes watched. Maybe she was even listening?

  “Have you been listening, little bird? I didn’t start this war.”

  “But you and I will end it.” Franz strode down the corridor dressed in a dark blue business suit. His black shoes gleamed in the light of the bulb hanging overhead. He’d been to the city. “Have you been here all day?”

  “No,” Bernie lied.

  “Have you eaten? You know what happens when you don’t take care of yourself.”

  On a sudden wave of hunger-driven dizziness, he realized he hadn’t. The bear didn’t need to eat as often as he did, particularly in the winter. Going without food indicated the beast asserted a measure of dominance that, if he knew, Franz would chastise him for. His body ached from sitting on the cold, hard floor hour after hour. His throat burned from talking. In his weakened state, the bear sought to care for and comfort him. It tempted him to take it, but the price would be his sanity.

  “I’m fit as a fiddle,” Bernie said and tried to prove it by jumping to his feet, but he had to use the bars to lift himself up.

  Franz snorted and turned to inspect the hawk. “Any progress?”

  Depression settled over him. “No.”

  “It’s been weeks.”

  “I think her eyes changed a little yesterday...”

  Franz raised his brows. “Are you sure?”

  He had to admit the truth. Lying to Franz never worked out well. “No.”

  “Her mate might be the only one who can reach her now.”

  “Then you’ll return her?” Bernie no longer knew what he wanted except what was best for Crissy. Some part of him thought she might be his salvation. Another part simply wanted a piece of what Luke had. All he knew for certain was whatever Franz did, it would be bad for her.

  “No, of course not. The Baumanns have rejected our offer. I will not rest until they are broken.”

  Bernie understood their relationship like never before. He wanted to end his own pain and had mistakenly thought for centuries that to destroy his mate’s killers, Luke and Neal, would ease his suffering. Franz wanted to coldly and ruthlessly destroy every last Baumann, and he fueled Bernie’s anger as a tool to contrive his own revenge.

  “You’re using me. I’m just your smokescreen.”

  Franz turned a condescending expression on his brother. “It took you how long to figure this out?”

  Bernie saw no profit in continuing the subject. “She’s not going to change here, Franz, and she can’t live in this cage forever.”

  Franz shrugged. “She’s a Baumann,” he said, as if it explained everything.

  Bernie said nothing. He loved his brother and hated him together in that same moment. “It must be dinner time,” was all he said.

  Franz was difficult to fool, and he wasn’t fooled now. Bernie could see by the way his brows lifted ever so slightly, a small crease forming between them. Nearly seven hundred years together gave plenty of opportunities to learn each other’s tells.

  “Ursula has been marinating sauerbraten for the last three days. I know how you like it. Come dine with us.”

  “I would like that. I’ll go upstairs and clean up and join you in an hour or so.”

  “Very well.” He strode off down the corridor but paused before turning toward the stairs. “Leave her be, Bernie. She’s too valuable to us to waste.”

  Bernie followed his brother up the corridor and took the stairs. He let his boots thud a little against the cement steps so Franz would hear. At the basement door they parted ways, Bernie heading for the second floor where the clan kept a bunk room for shifters who wanted to spend the night. He threaded through the racks of bunk beds and stood by a window facing the place where Franz normally parked his car. From this vantage point, he watched Franz walk from the building. For a minute, Franz paused, and Bernie hastily backed away from the window. Franz turned partway and raised his face in his direction. Bernie didn’t know what was going through his brother’s head, but whatever it was, he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. He proceeded to his truck, climbed inside, and drove away.

  Bernie waited until Franz’s truck passed through the gate and disappeared from sight in the trees. And then he waited for ten minutes more, shifting from foot to foot in impatience. At last, trusting his brother would not return, he went to the doorway and peeked into the upstairs hallway. Few shifters usually manned headquarters; however, expecting a Baumann attack, Franz asked a team to remain. Still, Bernie saw no one, and no one saw him as he made his silent way down the two flights of stairs to the basement. On his way down to the cell, he grabbed the sack they had used for Crissy before.

  Every noise echoed against the hard walls—the scrape of the lock, the creak of the hinges on the cell door, his own careful footsteps—yet, no one came. Crissy sat perched on her oak branch, surprisingly compliant as he thrust the sack over her body. He gathered her to his chest and carried her from the cell.

  At the top of the stairs, he heard voices, and Crissy struggled against his hold. “Shhhh,” he said in a low voice. She stilled, but he couldn’t count on her compliance for long. Two shifters, laughing and talking, passed through the kitchen beyond the doorway. When their voices receded, he headed for the back door. After a quick glance around, he strolled to his car. Once there, he placed Crissy on the passenger seat without removing the sack. He had no idea what she might do if freed.

  Bernie didn’t have much time. He drove fifteen minutes before turning onto a fire road. It hadn’t been plowed, but the snow from the last storm had mostly melted. After a few minutes, he parked in the shadows of the surrounding pines. Taking Crissy, he got out of his car and stood for a moment in the chilly, pine-scented forest. Something momentous was happening. He rarely defied his brother and never in such a profound way. He was changed inside, somehow.

  He wondered if he still preferred to see Luke Baumann dead, and he wondered what that would do to Crissy. Perhaps the human had softened, knowing the pain it would cause her. The bear never understood revenge. He saw Luke as a rival, an intruder. But Bernie knew deep in his heart Luke Baumann must have done something terrible to Crissy to make her flee him on her first shift.

  Crissy scolded as he drew the sack from over her body, but he held her to his chest a minute longer.

  “This isn’t what I wanted for you, Crissy. Maybe you’ll find your way back to him. Maybe you’ll be a bird forever. Anything is better than whatever Franz plans.” He pointed her west and thrust her into the air. “Fly free, little bird.”

  With moist eyes he watched her wing f
rom tree to tree until she found an open space and climbed into the sky.

  ###

  For the first time in over a century, the bunk room at the Baumann headquarters housed clan members. Men and women—some shifters, some spouses or lovers, even some grown children—poured in from the surrounding territory. Connie and Hugh drafted volunteers to make sandwiches and brew coffee. Others washed blankets and pillows that had been stored for decades. Many more cleaned and loaded rifles or shotguns.

  Moods ranged from angry to somber as they gathered in the front room. Luke sat in a recliner with his forearm over his eyes, pretending to be asleep so he wouldn’t murder the next person who expressed sympathy or tried to console him. Seven days had passed since the negotiation, twenty-four since the Schmitts captured Crissy, twenty-seven since she fled. Nearly a month. Luke tallied these numbers in his head over and over again, his frustration growing to unmanageable levels.

  He sensed someone at the arm of the recliner and peeked from beneath his forearm. Neal crouched there. “It’s almost time,” he said. Red rimmed his eyes, and his hair stood up in a shaggy mess. Only Luke, not Connie, not Hugh, knew how much this raid would cost him. Through the death of their parents and the flight from Germany, the disastrous colony in France, the persecution in England, and the ugly range wars in Kansas, Neal had held Clan Baumann together and had seen many good people die in the effort.

  Luke reached out and put his arm on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. This happened because of me and my insecurities.”

  “I allowed it, Lukas.” He stood. “Gather round, everybody. Connie, Hugh, would you get the others?”

  Five minutes later, fifty Baumanns—a quarter of the clan—crowded into the front room, some resorting to sitting on the stairs.

  Luke pushed himself out of the recliner and turned slowly in a full circle to catch the eyes of as many of his clan mates as possible. Santiago stood by the fire, his arm around his human wife. Also a police officer, and a former marine, she was tough and lethal, but Luke knew they had three children at home with San’s parents. How could Luke have earned such loyalty to have them take such a risk?