Semi-Twisted:

by Isabel Jordan

  Giving her head a hard shake, she shifted her focus to the call and said through gritted teeth, “Leon, I realize you’re busy and don’t work for me, but this is really more a favor for Harper.”

  After listening for another moment, she muttered, “Yeah, of course you immediately agree in that case. I could probably ask you to spit-shine her toilets with your toothbrush and you’d agree. Fucker.”

  More silence as Leon snapped back with some reply. “Whatever. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Right now I need you to cross-reference the names of only the men on the list you gave Harper against who might have a green house or nursery here or within driving distance of Whispering Hope.”

  While Leon worked, Mischa explained, “If the stalker really did kidnap Michael and Emily, he’d need someplace safe and quiet to take them. And maybe he doesn’t transport the flowers, but grows them close by? I don’t know.” Her posture slumped. “I’m reaching, here. I’m not a detective, for Christ’s sake. I track down bail jumpers! Harper and Riddick usually figure this shit out.”

  Hunter ran his hand over her back in slow circles. “No, it makes sense. It’s worth checking out.”

  Tina stopped chewing through her nails long enough to add, “I don’t want Harper to know anything about this yet. Riddick’s having a hard enough time keeping her at home. If she found this out, she’d be out of that bed and down here before you could spit. It wouldn’t be good for her or the baby.”

  On that they could all agree.

  “Yeah, Leon,” Mischa said, then listened for a moment. “OK, can you text me the addresses? Thanks.”

  When she disconnected, she looked back at him. “There’s a nursery about two hours from here that grows Kadupul flowers.”

  “It’s…possible, I suppose.” Although, he couldn’t imagine a kidnapper grabbing two people, tossing them in a car, and driving two hours to his hideout.

  Mischa rubbed the back of her neck with a weary sigh. “Yeah, I thought it seemed implausible, too.”

  He blinked at her. “I didn’t say that. Not out loud anyway.”

  Her eyes widened. “Holy shit! I read your mind without even trying?”

  It would appear so.

  “It would appear so,” she murmured, looking horrified.

  Tina held up a placating hand. “OK, calm down. We’ll work…” she gestured between them dismissively “…all that out later. Right now, we need to focus on finding my son.”

  “Right,” Mischa said, seeming to get ahold of herself. “Right. So, the nursery, while implausible, should probably still be checked out. I’ll let Lucas know. Maybe he can send some of his guys out there. The other name on the list doesn’t make much sense, either.”

  “Why not?” Tina asked.

  “Well, it’s an old farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. Leon said it hasn’t been inhabited for years, but back in the day, the owners had a floral shop in town. They grew some of their more exotic flowers on the farm, then sold them in their shop. The owners died years ago, though.”

  “The Millers,” Tina said. “Missy and Ellis Miller. There was a fire. Faulty wiring or something. The place was gutted. Missy and Ellis died in the fire. Their son survived, though. He went to live with his uncle in Utah in one of those crazy Mormon communities. His name was something unusual…something with an r, maybe.” She pursed her lips and her brow furrowed. “Oh, shoot, why can’t I remember it? It was almost British sounding. Missy was obsessed with Princess Di. Regal, maybe? No, that’s not it…”

  “Royal,” Mischa whispered.

  “Yes!” Tina exclaimed. “That’s it. Wait…how did you know that?”

  “Royal Janitorial is the name of the company Barbie hired to clean up before and after each event. We checked out all the janitors who came in, but we never checked out the owner. He could’ve borrowed any of his guys’ credentials to get in and out of here as he pleased.” She met Hunter’s gaze with a wide-eyed one of her own. “This is it. He’s probably got Michael and Emily out at the old farmhouse. And if we’re lucky, maybe the former Miss New York and Miss New Jersey are there, too.”

  Hunter stood up and set her back on her feet. “I’ll go. You stay here with Tina.”

  Her eyes immediately narrowed slightly, letting him know he’d inadvertently stepped in some shit. “There’s no way I’m not going with you,” she said, her calm voice belying the rising heat in her eyes.

  Tina straightened to her full height and adjusted her little hat. “Me, too.”

  There were so many reasons why they shouldn’t go with him. Tina was human, for God’s sake, and wearing a ridiculous getup that would make moving quickly or quietly impossible for her. Mischa was strong, but she had little to no control over her powers, and any number of things could go horribly awry if she was scared or seriously stressed out in any way. He was best suited to handle this situation, and he could damn well do it efficiently on his own.

  But something told him Tina and Mischa weren’t interested in listening to reason on this one.

  Mischa grabbed his arm and lifted big, beautiful, pleading brown eyes to his. “Michael’s like a brother to me. I have to try and help. Please.”

  And just like that, he was a goner.

  Pathetic.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Short of tying them up and tossing them in the broom closet—then facing Hell’s fire and retribution when he finally let them out, which was a wholly unappealing idea—he saw no way to keep them out of this.

  “So,” he began, “there’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay here, safe and out of danger, while I go and check out this farmhouse?”

  “That’s right,” they said in stereo.

  He muttered a foul curse under his breath before sweeping a hand out to let them pass. “Then lead the way, ladies. This should be fun.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  From the looks of the old farmhouse, there was little more than flaking lead paint and memories holding the place together.

  Nature was waging war on the two-story house, fighting to take back the very land on which it was built. Poison ivy vines twined in and out of the cedar siding, wrapping around the crumbling stone of the chimney like a noose. Tiny saplings from the hundred-year-old maple trees in the front yard had taken root in the gutters, dragging them right off the house and to the ground in some spots.

  Half the house had obviously been gutted by the fire that had killed the Millers, but it would appear the flames had spared the basement and at least part of the first and second floors.

  The greenhouse behind what was left of the barn looked relatively untouched by the fire and nature. It looked perfectly capable of sustaining Royal’s metaphor flowers of choice.

  Mischa sniffed delicately. The scent of fear and desperation clung to the place like grim Death. They were definitely here.

  Just off the main road, at the end of the quarter-mile long gravel driveway, Mischa sat in her car with Hunter and Tina, watching for any signs of movement in the house. “They’re definitely in there,” she murmured. “Michael and Emily for sure. And…” she sniffed the air delicately, then cringed at the one-two punch of mold and rotting vegetation she received for her efforts “…maybe someone else in the basement?”

  Hunter nodded. “Two in the basement. Female. Vampire.”

  Well, hot damn, she thought. She’d found the missing contestants after all. Harper would be so proud of her.

  If she also managed to save her brother from the sicko stalker, that is.

  Tina squinted in the darkness toward the house. “I can’t see a damn thing! How can you tell who’s in there?”

  Mischa lifted her upper lip a fraction to give Tina a glimpse of her fangs, then tapped her nose with her index finger.

  “Oh, yeah,” Tina muttered. “So, what do we do now? Storm the place?”

  Typical response she’d expect from someone who’d given birth to Harper Hall. “No,” Mischa said. “Not yet. I don’t want
to spook the guy, or take a chance that he’d have time to hurt one of them before we got there. Hunter, is anyone else in the basement?”

  He closed his eyes for a moment, then answered, “No. Michael is on the main floor, in the living room. Emily and Royal are on the second floor.”

  Tina’s voice wavered as she asked, “Is Michael…OK?”

  “His heartbeat is strong.”

  For now.

  Mischa gulped. Hunter hadn’t said that part out loud, but she’d heard it clear as crystal. Michael was hurt. She glanced at the basement windows, then back at Hunter. “I’m pretty sure I can fit through those windows.” She sent silent thanks to Tina for having the foresight to bring Mischa a change of clothes. The jeans, T-shirt, and ass-kicking boots were much better suited to breaking and entering than her pageant dress had been. “I can get the girls out while you go in after Michael. If we’re quiet and fast, Royal won’t even know we’re in there.”

  He looked like he dearly wanted to object, but knew at this point, there really wasn’t a better option. “All right. As long as we’re quiet…”

  But quiet—along with any hope they had of getting out of this mess with minimal bloodshed—went out the window when three police cars, sirens blaring, came screaming down the street. Maybe they were just driving by, she thought, fingers crossed.

  Her heart sank as they one by one pulled into the gravel driveway. Uniformed officers popped out of the vehicles and drew their weapons…aiming at their car.

  “Get out of the car with your hands up!” one of the officers barked.

  “So much for quiet,” Hunter muttered darkly.

  “Oh, Christ on a donkey,” Tina added. “What a complete clusterfuck.”

  Mischa couldn’t have said it better herself.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Clusterfuck didn’t even begin to describe the sequence of events that occurred after the cops arrived on the scene.

  The three officers, who Mischa now thought of as Larry, Curly, and Moe, were almost comical in their zeal to apprehend “the perp.” She’d tried explaining the situation to them multiple times only to be screamed at and told to shut up, all with guns trained on them. At one point, Larry, who looked to be about twelve years old, said “Shut up, bitch,” and roughly shoved her against the car to cuff her, to which Hunter took great exception.

  And by exception, Mischa meant he flew into a terrifying rage the likes of which the young cops had never seen.

  With an inhuman roar and a blast of power that crackled in the air around them like static electricity on steroids, he disarmed Curly and Moe, twisted their guns into pretzels—and in a particularly inspired move, he forced Larry to pistol-whip himself across the face. Then Hunter twisted his gun into a pretzel as well. And the really scary part?

  He hadn’t raised a hand to any of them. It’d all been done with nothing but the power of his mind and a few sweeping hand gestures.

  Now, with Larry, Curly, and Moe on their knees with their fingers laced behind their heads, Mischa looked over at Hunter and whispered, “That was the coolest fucking thing I have ever seen in my life.”

  He gave her the crooked half-smile that never failed to weaken her knees. When this was all over, she was going to take him home, tie him to her bed and—

  Tina batted at the air between them, nose wrinkling. “Oh, for God’s sake, enough of that! This is a crisis!”

  She was saved from making an embarrassed apology by Lucas’s arrival. He got out of his car and took in the site of the officers at Hunter’s feet, features tight with barely concealed rage.

  Vi climbed out of the passenger’s side, eyes wide behind her glasses and bouncing from Mischa to Hunter, then to Larry, Curly, and Moe.

  “Vi, what the hell are you doing here?” Mischa asked.

  Tina piped up with, “I asked Lucas to pick her up on his way here. He said WHPD doesn’t have a hostage negotiator, and since we’re dealing with a sicko vampire stalker and kidnapper, I immediately thought of Violet.”

  Violet pushed up her glasses with her index finger. “Yes,” she said, tone dry as Sahara sand, “I’m your girl for sicko vampire stalkers and kidnappers.”

  Lucas paced in front of his officers, cussing and muttering under his breath like Yosemite Sam. “God damn it, you stupid motherfuckers. I specifically said to hang back. No lights. No sirens.” He shoved both hands through his hair. “And instead, you come in hot, guns waving. It’s like the fucking Keystone Kops.”

  The officers, still on their knees, grumbled apologetically, but Lucas wasn’t having it. “If anything happens to Michael or the girls, I’ll have every one of your fucking badges for this colossal fuck-up.”

  “Lucas, you might want to calm down,” Mischa advised.

  And it wasn’t a suggestion based on the fact that he’d used some variation of the word “fuck” four times in two statements. Or the fact that scary veins were bulging out of his neck as he spoke. It was really more about his eyes.

  They were glowing yellow.

  He was about to lose control of his temper and shift into his wolf. In front of Larry, Curly, and Moe.

  No one outside the paranormal world knew werewolves and shifters existed. Sure, lots of people suspected. After all, since vampires came out of the coffin, people’s minds had certainly opened up to all manner of paranormal possibilities. But werewolves and shifters hadn’t come out publicly yet, and their communities might not appreciate it if Lucas outed them.

  And last she heard, there were no other known paranormals on the WHPD payroll. It was likely that none of his co-workers knew he wasn’t human. She suspected he’d like to keep it that way.

  But he was apparently beyond rational thought, because his gaze shot to hers and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

  Oh, no, he did not just growl at me. Mischa growled back and took a step toward him.

  Hunter moved in front of her and held a hand up to Lucas. “I’d rather not kill you,” he said calmly, “but I will.”

  A wet stain slowly spread across the front of Larry’s pants as power—Hunter’s and Lucas’s—filled the air around them. Mischa couldn’t blame the guy. There was a time when the sight of an angry ancient vampire would’ve made her pee herself, too.

  “Leave now,” Mischa said to Larry, Curly, and Moe in her most persuasive tone. They just blinked owlishly at her.

  “You do better when you’re frustrated or angry,” Hunter said, eyes still on Lucas, who paced restlessly in front of them like, well, a wolf in a cage at the zoo. “Think about something that frustrates you and try again.”

  Honestly, that shouldn’t be too hard, she thought. Mostly because the mere fact that they were here dealing with a sicko vampire stalker and kidnapper rather than at home, in bed, making up for lost time frustrated the holy hell out of her. Channeling that into her voice, she hissed, “Leave. Now.”

  The Three Stooges scrambled to their feet, piled into their cars, and tore out of there like someone had pushed a cosmic fast-forward button.

  “Well done,” Hunter said when they’d left, a hint of a smile in his voice.

  “Thanks,” she said, feeling rather proud of herself. “Now, Lucas, do you have control of yourself? Or do I need to tell you to leave, too?”

  His eyes were slowly starting to shift back to their normal watery blue color, but his voice was still rough and grumbly as he said, “Your mind tricks won’t work on me, Bartone.”

  Tina stalked over and swatted him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. “No,” she said sternly, pointing a finger in his face. “Bad…werewolf.”

  Not even crickets could be heard in the stifling silence that followed.

  The last traces of yellow bled from Lucas’s eyes as he shifted his gaze down to Tina, who was still standing in front of him, clutching the newspaper in one hand, and tapping one dainty, high-heeled foot impatiently in the dirt and gravel beneath her.

  “You hit me…with a newspaper,” Lucas said, slowly, del
iberately, like one might address a two year old.

  “We don’t have time for werewolf crap, Lucas Cooper. We’re going to get my boy back, with or without your help. So you can either lead, follow, or get the hell out of the way.” Tina punctuated her point by poking him in the chest. Hard.

  “You. Hit. Me. With. A. Newspaper.”

  Tina narrowed her eyes on him. “Suck it up, Buttercup. Are you with us or not?”

  Lucas rubbed his chest where she’d poked him. “Where did you even get a rolled-up newspaper?”

  Vi blurted, “Well, it certainly didn’t come from me. From my purse. If that’s what you were thinking.”

  As all eyes turned to her, she gulped and leaned against Lucas’s car as if hoping she could blend into the paint and disappear.

  “I mean, why would I even have a rolled-up newspaper in my purse?” A high-pitched giggle seemed to claw its way out of her throat before she was able to choke it back. “It’s not like I’d ever use it in my practice. If that’s what you’re thinking. I don’t advocate…” she swallowed … “violence of any kind.”

  Lucas snatched the newspaper out of Tina’s hand and stalked to where Vi was cowering against the car. He stopped directly in front of her, but she kept her gaze stubbornly straight ahead, refusing (or unable) to meet his gaze, which put her eyes right about chest level.

  “If I ever see this again, I’ll assume its owner wants me to bend her over my knee and spank her with it,” he said silkily. “In case that’s what you were thinking.”

  The crazy hyena giggle escaped Vi’s lips once again before she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. She cleared her throat, still not meeting his gaze. “I’ll just take this and dispose of it for you.”

  “That would be best,” he said dryly.

  Hunter chuckled and Mischa elbowed him in the ribs, fighting back a chuckle of her own.

  Lucas turned back toward them, hands on hips, suddenly all business again. “OK, I’m with you. What do we know?”

  “Michael on the first floor, the two missing girls in the basement, Emily and Royal on the second floor,” Mischa summed up. “Oh, and our element of surprise? Yeah, that’s pretty much fucked. Everyone for three counties knows we’re here now.”