by Rebecca York
Raymond had been flush with success, and he’d bragged that he could get anyone to do anything he wanted—up to and including shooting their grandmother. Now he wished he hadn’t done such a good sales job. What if he couldn’t deliver?
Freemont was a dangerous man—as dangerous as Johnny Denato. And he was going to expect results for his retainer.
Raymond realized he had clamped his hand around the glass of Scotch. Deliberately relaxing his grip, he told himself that he wasn’t going to fail. Tory Robinson would tell him what he wanted to know, and Raymond would deliver the information to Freemont.
That is—if Tory had the information. Freemont had been sure she did. But what if he was wrong? Would that turn into a case of “shoot the messenger”?
Raymond swallowed the last of the Scotch in the glass, thinking he should have gotten better background information on the dancer’s relationship with Denato before jumping into this deal. Next time, he’d be more careful about accepting an assignment.
oOo
Brand stayed in the shadows under the trees, watching men crisscross the property, running around like rabid dogs. He wanted to stay and watch. No, that was only part of the truth. He wanted to stay because Tory was in there, and the thought of leaving her in the clutches of those bastards made his throat clog. Every werewolf instinct urged him to rush back to defend her. But the human brain inside the animal’s skull was better equipped to make decisions.
He knew he had to get back to his camp and make some plans. Too bad it was so far away. If he’d really known that he was coming to this place, he would have pitched his tent closer. On the other hand, if the camp were closer, the security staff might find it—and find him. Better to have some distance between them tonight.
Clouds had covered the moon, but he didn’t need moonlight to see. He moved through the woods with a wolf’s skill, all his senses sharp and probing. And always he was on the alert to make sure no man was following him. Earlier he’d taken a leisurely route, enjoying the forest and the hunt. This time he wanted to go directly back to his camp, but he forced himself to take a long detour through a stream, in case anyone was trying to follow him.
Then he was back on track, stopping just before he reached his tent, pausing in the shadows to make sure nobody was in the area before changing his form once more, wincing as the transformation hit the patch of skin that he’d torn as he’d wrenched himself under the fence. He pulled on his pants and carried his shirt inside. The change from wolf to man had made the wound bleed again. Getting out his first-aid kit, he put some antiseptic on the ripped places, then added a bandage which he could leave on only until his next change. But it would keep him from getting blood on his clothing.
After drinking from his water bottle, he lay down, thinking he would make plans for tomorrow. But the moment he got horizontal, he was transported back to the time when he’d been lying beside Tory in bed. He’d held her in his arms, kissed her, and longed to do a whole lot more. Now he felt his cock stiffen at the memory. It was tempting to go with the fantasy and take it to its logical conclusion. Instead he told himself he’d better focus on what he had to do tomorrow. It was too damn bad that the guard had stumbled on him inside the compound. Obviously the whole place was on alert now, and they were probably most interested in the spot where the large dog had clawed his way under the fence. The hole would be blocked up by now. And there would be extra patrols. But he’d have different considerations on his next visit. He’d tried to hide his presence because he couldn’t get Tory out immediately. When he left again, she was going with him, and it didn’t matter what he did to the guys who were in there guarding her.
He switched on his tablet and looked up Johnny Denato. The man was a big deal in the New York underworld, and Brand expected to see a detailed story about the murder in the New York Times. But there was nothing on the front page or any other page, as far as he could see.
It looked like someone had killed Denato and hushed it up—like it never even happened? Or what if everything Tory had told him was a lie? He didn’t want to believe it, but he should do some checking.
After an internal debate, he called the Midnight Club and asked for Tory Robinson.
“Who wants her?” a gruff voice asked.
“A friend.”
“Well, she didn’t come in to work the last two nights, and she didn’t bother to give us any warning. She left us in the lurch. If you see the bitch, tell her she’s fired.”
So she’d disappeared suddenly without giving notice. That squared with her story.
He wanted to ask if she’d been dating Johnny Denato, but he knew that was a bad idea. He was using his own phone. He didn’t want anyone associating him with the gangster.
The guy hung up, and Brand thought Tory would have been a lot better off if she’d called the cops while she was still in Denato’s apartment. But then Brand wouldn’t have met her. And maybe the killers would have been able to eliminate their chief witness.
It was like the fates had conspired to put her smack in his path. But the circumstances were a lot less than ideal. No matter what was really going on, she was in bad trouble, and he had to snatch her away from a terrifying and dangerous situation.
Brand turned off the phone to keep from running down the battery.
He grabbed a notepad and pen and started making a list of things he was going to need tomorrow—starting with a wire cutter. He already had a knife, his gun, rope. Too bad a wolf backpack couldn’t carry too much.
He’d have to bring only what was essential. Did he need clothing for Tory? Thinking back over their meeting, he remembered that she’d lain down on her bed fully dressed, and her shoes had been on the floor. That was good. He wouldn’t need clothing for her, but he’d better bring some food.
He switched on the tablet again and called up a geologic survey map of the area, looking for the closest route to civilization. Then he studied satellite photos, trying to find landmarks that might help him.
He was as ready as he could be when he laid down—preparing for sleep. But even as he closed his eyes, his mind would not shut off.
He was almost thirty, the age for werewolf bonding, and he’d been certain that the need to find a mate was stirring painfully inside him.
He’d tried to ignore it, but he’d felt the pressure building. Now that urgency was gone. He felt calm. And it was because he’d met his mate.
Although he’d fought his destiny tooth and claw, the feeling of inevitability was like a balm, and he wondered why he had resisted it so assiduously.
Finally calm, he felt himself drifting off, and he was grateful for the respite because he knew that if he didn’t get some sleep, he wouldn’t be in good enough shape to get Tory out of there.
A disturbing thought prodded him like a sharp stick into his side. Last time, he’d come into the compound as a wolf, and it would be convenient if he had that option again. But he couldn’t do it in front of Tory. She didn’t know that the wolf she’d seen and the man were one and the same. He’d have to find the right time and the right way to tell her, and that didn’t include a nasty surprise that would shock her to the core.
Chapter Twelve
A persistent buzzing like an alarm clock that wasn’t sure whether to go off or not woke Tory. It stopped, and she opened her eyes, looking around the unfamiliar room. For a frightening moment, she had no idea where she was. The fear expanded when it all came rushing back to her like a tidal wave ready to suck her out to sea. Finding Johnny Denato dead. Trying to get out of town. Being taken north and almost getting away.
She was a captive here, but Brand was coming for her today—if she hadn’t made him up. No, he was real. She had to believe that. And she had to keep herself sane until he came back.
She hated the feeling that she needed him to rescue her. Yet that appeared to be her only real means of escape from a man who seemed bent on destroying her mind.
Clenching her fists, she struggled for calm. Dr. Ray
mond was real, but so was Brand. He was not a figment of her imagination, and he was coming back tonight.
A knock at the door made her jerk up.
The door opened, and a man with short blond hair stuck his head inside. “Breakfast in twenty minutes,” he said, his tone upbeat. “I’ll be back to collect you.”
“Okay,” she answered, waiting until he closed the door again before she got up and looked at the sunlight streaming through the sliding glass door. It was broken up by the pattern of the grating that enclosed the balcony.
She turned away and headed for the bathroom where she used the facilities, then gave herself a long look in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, thinking that she looked drawn and defeated. Probably that was what Dr. Son of a Bitch wanted, and the more she looked beaten, the better. All she had to do was get through today, she told herself, praying it was true. And if it was just today, maybe she could take chances that would be dangerous on a long-term basis.
With a vague plan forming in her mind, she turned toward the shower. She didn’t really want to get undressed, but she did want to start off the day feeling fresh. Returning to the bedroom, she gathered a set of clean clothing and underwear and brought them into the bathroom, setting them on the edge of the sink while she took a hot shower. She wanted to stay under the spray for hours but got out after a few minutes, knowing she had a limited amount of time.
She dried off and dressed quickly, then looked for a hair dryer, which she didn’t find. Interesting. Hadn’t June said that Tory had complained about hers being broken? Maybe it still was. Or maybe there never had been one in here.
She towel-dried her hair, telling herself she wasn’t going on stage at the Midnight Club.
That thought stopped her for a second—as she considered what her hair had looked like before she showered. Actually, the same as it had when she’d finished her last performance and gone out with Johnny Denato.
That was another clue to Dr. Son of a Bitch’s veracity. He’d been so careful to build up a case for her having been here longer than overnight, but apparently coiffeurs were a detail he hadn’t thought about. She’d put some darker streaks into her hair to try something different. But if she’d been here for weeks, the streaks would have grown out—or gotten dull.
Unless he’d touched up her hair himself, he was lying about the time frame. It also reminded her of something else. Drugs. He’d given her a shot that knocked her out at the airport. And she’d felt disoriented after dinner—probably from something in her food. She’d better not eat too much, or maybe there was some other way she could avoid the secret medication.
She was dressed when the guy came back for her. He brought her down to the same dining room where she’d had dinner with the other patients—if they really were patients.
She looked at each of them in turn.
June was the one who’d said they were friends. But would she really have been waiting for Tory to finish a session with the doctor?
The balding man who looked like he was in his sixties was Ted. The younger guy was Arthur. And the woman in her twenties was Robin.
They all nodded to her as she came into the dining room.
Tory looked to the sideboard and saw that plates of eggs, bacon, fruit and cinnamon buns were laid out like a buffet, along with various kinds if cereal and yogurt. Coffee and tea urns were on a serving cart. The arrangement was a relief, because everybody would be eating the same thing—which meant they couldn’t be drugging her—unless they were drugging everybody.
She walked to the end of the line, watching Arthur take eggs, bacon, fruit and a bun. She made the same selections and noted what other people were taking. Everybody had bacon. June skipped the eggs and got a peach yogurt. Robin had two cinnamon buns.
“How did you sleep?” June asked as they sat down together along one side of the table.
“Okay—but something woke me up. Noise outside like firecrackers.” She looked around. “Did anybody else hear it?”
Nobody else had. Were they lying? Or in denial?
Worry and uncertainty were still affecting Tory’s appetite, but she tried to make herself eat a substantial meal, because it might be the only one today that wasn’t tainted.
She was still eating when the guy who had escorted her to the dining room came back.
“Group therapy time,” he announced.
Tory’s stomach clenched, and she was afraid she was going to throw up the food she’d just swallowed.
She looked at June. “Group therapy?”
The other woman nodded and stood.
Tory wanted to cling to the edges of her chair, but everybody else was standing, and she got the feeling that if she didn’t follow the crowd, she was going to end up being carried.
She let the group sweep her along to a room near Raymond’s office. Comfortable chairs were arranged in a circle, and all of the patients sat down. She and June took seats next to each other with a small table in between. Nobody spoke as they waited, but Tory could sense a feeling of expectation buzzing in the room, like at a play when the audience was waiting for the curtain to go up.
Finally Dr. Raymond came through the door, looking all business. He was carrying a tablet and sat down in a chair at the head of the room.
“How is everyone this morning,” he asked.
Everybody said that they were fine, which was really stupid. If they were mental patients, they obviously weren’t fine.
“Is there anything you want to share?” he asked.
Tory decided to try the question she’d asked at breakfast. “I heard something outside last night.”
“Yes?”
“It sounded like shots—or firecrackers. What happened?”
“I thought you were asleep when I came in to check on you,” he shot back.
“Was I? I don’t remember.” She looked around at the rest of the people in the room. “You all said at breakfast that you hadn’t heard anything.”
The doctor pulled an annoyed face, like they’d given the wrong answer—or he had.
“Let’s get down to business,” he said, looking at Robin. “You shared with us that your father molested you from the time you were eight until you left for college. And that you’d repressed the memories—until you found that you were having trouble being intimate with anyone you met on campus.”
Tory winced, and Raymond’s gaze shot to her.
“That upsets you?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t it upset anyone?”
The doctor looked around at the rest of the group. “Who else was upset?”
The others shifted in their seats. June raised her hand and put on a concerned face. The men looked like they could care less about what had happened to Robin. Which might just mean that they were too self-obsessed to care about anyone else.
“You were traumatized over time,” the therapist said.
“Yes.”
“But sometimes it only takes one incident to change the course of your life.” He looked at Tory. “You haven’t talked about witnessing Johnny Denato’s murder.”
She looked down at her hands, thinking that he’d finished with Robin’s problem pretty fast. And would a therapist who cared about his patient really bring up something like that in a group session? Wouldn’t he wait for the patient to make the first move when the subject was so sensitive? And was he saying that she’d been sitting here for weeks without opening up to the others? That didn’t exactly make sense, either.
“I’d like you to tell us about the murder,” he said.
She raised her head. “What if I don’t want to?”
“I think it’s time,” he said.
“Well, I didn’t see it.”
“That contradicts the reports in the papers.”
“It was in the papers?” she asked.
He smiled, a smile that made her wonder if he was lying. “Yes, you’re quite famous.”
She struggled not to react.
“Why don’t you tell us
what happened?”
“I was in his apartment,” she said in a flat voice. “He got a phone call and went out into the foyer to take it. I heard voices. Then I heard shots. I got up and hid behind the drapes while the killers searched the apartment. After they left, I ran away.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” June said, patting her on the shoulder. “Thank you,” Tory murmured, thinking that maybe she should string this out as long as she could. She might make Raymond mad, but so what? He wasn’t going to kill her. He wanted information from her. At least that was what she was counting on.
“Why are you here?” she asked June.
The woman’s gaze flicked to Raymond, and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
“We were talking about you,” June said. “Now that you’re finally told us about the murder, I hope you’ll tell us the rest of the story.”
Who were these people, Tory wondered. Had Raymond, if that was his name, gotten them from some acting company? Would actors have agreed to a nasty job like this? Or maybe they didn’t know the truth about what was going on here. Maybe they all thought she was a criminal, and they were aiding the authorities.
The doctor was looking at Tory. “Go on,” he said.
She licked her lips. “I made an error in judgment. I should have called 911 right then. But I was afraid, and I ran away.”
“You were really going to call the cops?” Ted asked.
“Not at first. Then I knew I’d made a mistake. I should have called them right away.”
“But weren’t you having a sexual relationship with Denato?” he pressed.
“No,” she shot back. “And what’s that got to do with anything?”
Before Ted could respond, Raymond answered. “Your relationship with him is important. It’s better not to lie about it. He had a reputation as a womanizer, and you were seeing him for several months.”
“More like several weeks.”
She saw Raymond react to her words and swung toward him.
“What?” she demanded.
“I was told you were with him longer than a few weeks. And that you got to know his men.”