by Amelia Jade
“Damn,” Gray whispered. “Damn, damn, damn.”
“Exactly. We need to find Andrew. This changes everything. It means that I’m not responsible for the fire starting.” He paused. “And it means that someone likely killed Corvin before they lit the fire.”
“But why Corvin?” Gray asked. “That’s the part that doesn’t make sense. What did he do? He’d been here barely a few days at that point.”
“We obviously missed something,” Hector replied. “Once we catch this asshole we’ll make sure we find out.”
“I always did think it weird that Corvin didn’t make it out. He didn’t seem like the alcoholic type.”
“He wasn’t drunk,” Hector said. “Just a little buzzed. Not even really slurry his words. There is no way he just passed out and didn’t try to escape. No, someone made sure he was dead, then lit the fire to cover their tracks and to blame me.”
“What do we do now?” Gray asked.
“I’m not sure. We need to tell Andrew, obviously, but since we can’t find him, that’ll have to wait until morning. We can obviously scent-test every shifter who comes back. Any of them that smell like either stinkbomb or a fresh shower are going to be under suspicion. But other than that, I’m not entirely sure,” he admitted, feeling stumped by the question. “In the morning I’m going over to the fire department. They’ve got a report on the fire. I guess we’ll find out for sure if it was set deliberately or not.”
The look between the two of them made it clear what they thought the report would indicate. Everything had been too coincidental to start, and now that there was evidence of shifter involvement, the whole thing was starting to come unraveled. All they needed now was their guilty party.
“I suppose I should tell Rachel too,” he said after a moment. “Let her know that there’s an inside track that maybe I’m not going to have to leave.”
Gray frowned. “Right, forgot to tell you. She was here not too long ago looking for you.”
“She was?” he asked, trying to keep the smile off his face.
“Yeah. Last I saw of her she was heading up to your room to look for you. Maybe she’s still there?”
Hector didn’t wait around. He was already moving for the stairs—the left-hand one this time—taking the steps in three bounds this time as he reached the top and rounded the corner, almost bowling over another shifter.
“Sorry!” he said as he dodged aside and continued down the hall to his room. “Rachel?” he asked, opening the door and walking inside. He called his bear and let it test the room. Her scent was immediately detectable, strong and recent at that. But she wasn’t in the room. Following the trail, he went outside the room again and back toward the staircase. The scent of her coming and going started to get intermingled and it was tough for him to track it, but he kept it up, down to the bottom of the stairs where it split again.
He followed her outside in the rear loading area. Almost immediately his arm started to ache as he remembered what had happened the last time he was out here. Angrily he tried to keep an eye out for approaching trouble as he crossed the paved lot, noting where her scent was going. The storage shed. She must have been looking for him in there. But why?
“Rachel?” he called, starting to get worried.
He reached the door to the storage shed, noting the dent in the wall that he’d put there not so long ago. Her scent ended at the door, where it mixed with—
Hector went rigid.
“Oh no,” he whispered as the horrible smell hit him. “No that’s not possible.”
He sucked in a breath. “GRAY!” he roared at the top of his lungs, the sound so loud it rattled windows and vibrated the metal walls. Windows popped open as several shifters yelled at him to keep it down because they were trying to sleep.
The nearest door opened and Gray emerged.
“Get Martin. Our mystery shifter has Rachel,” he said, his eyes pinpricks of blazing anger as he strode forward into the storage shed, muscles flexing in time with his fists. Hector wasn’t fooling around any longer.
He went into the room ready to tear apart anyone who would lay a hand on his mate.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Rachel
She’d expected to be knocked out, or even worse, killed.
The sudden looming presence combined with the horrific smell and sense of doom she felt all conspired to tell her that’s what she should expect. So when her captor did nothing of the like, she wasn’t entirely sure how to react. It wasn’t like he invited her in for tea and biscuits, but nor did he suddenly start ripping her limb from limb.
It most definitely was a he as well. The figure had only spoken twice, but unless they were an excellent voice actor, her captor was male. The first thing he’d said as she struggled to get away was to tell her that she shouldn’t have come back. Oddly enough, it was something that the two of them agreed upon completely. Rachel shouldn’t have come back. Not outside alone, at least. She definitely shouldn’t have gone and investigated the storage shed by herself.
She was kind of irked by her own stupidity there. How did she not see it coming? In the movies that was always how it started. Stupid person goes into the dark room without realizing that danger awaits. Then bad things happen. That was quite literally how it had played out for her. Rachel was playing the part of the stereotypical dumb blonde, and if anything that angered her even more. She was smarter than that.
But I didn’t expect any trouble.
Which probably explained the movies as well. Who expects there to be a seven-foot-tall crazy dude with an old-school hockey mask and chainsaw in their barn? Like come on, that only happens in the movies!
Stop it. You’re rambling. You’re freaking out and going off on any tangent you can think of. Stop doing that, and start paying attention. Got it?
Rachel shook her head, forcing her mind back on track. She recalled the second thing her captor had said as he wrapped a smelly hand around her neck and lifted her casually from the ground.
“Try to escape, or scream, and I will simply snap your neck. Nod if you understand.”
Obviously she’d nodded, at which point her captor had set her down, turned her around to face the exit, and clamped his hand on the back of her neck. With sharp, impertinent gestures he’d communicated that he wished for her to start walking. Which is what they were doing now, twenty minutes later. Walking through the streets of Cloud Lake with his hand on her neck, gripping so tightly she knew there would be bruises at a minimum.
What do I do now?
Escape was out of the picture, she knew that much. His grip around her neck was far too tight, and Rachel had other concerns to worry about. Like the unborn child in her stomach.
Panic flooded through her as she suddenly remembered that fact. It was tough to forget that she was pregnant, what with the bulging belly and all. Until then, it hadn’t truly hit home with her that if her captor killed her, not only would she die, but so would her child.
The fingers around her neck must have sensed her sudden change, for the fingers tightened, preventing her from choosing the “flight” option. Fighting was out of the question as well. He was obviously a shifter, and she’d seen before just how strong they could be. So what could she do then, to keep things from escalating?
Stall.
Okay. She could do that. What would be the best way to stall? Not resisting, that would simply earn her more trouble, and possibly a swift grave. Then again, she wasn’t positive what exactly it was she was resisting against, besides his grip on her neck. Her feet stumbled slightly, eyes going wide as she realized exactly what she could do to stall.
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, digging for more information, for answers. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“No, you haven’t,” her captor agreed, hissing his words to make them harder for her to understand.
The nagging feeling that she knew the voice persisted, but try as she might, her brain was too consumed with fea
r for her child and for herself to identify who it was. That could be important, maybe not to her, but to whoever came to rescue her. The only way she was going to find out who it was though, was to keep him talking.
Rachel carefully did not dwell on the idea of being rescued, lest she realize how unlikely that was to be the outcome.
“Why me then?” she pressed.
“Because.”
She couldn’t help it. She rolled her eyes, tossing her head back slightly as she sighed in exasperation. “Seriously? That’s your answer? Don’t I at least get an explanation before you kill me?”
The grip on her neck shifted slightly, putting pressure on her skull until she lowered her head again, at which point it lessened just slightly.
“Who said this was about you?”
“Hector…” she said in sudden understanding. “You’re doing this to get at Hector.”
There was no reply, but she didn’t need one to know she was right. Whoever he was, he had a grudge against Hector, and was using her to get at him.
“So, what’s the plan now? Use me as bait to get him to show up, and then kill us both?”
There was no reply besides some pressure on her neck that made Rachel turn to the right. Until then they had been heading on a steady westerly course, toward the far side of town, where the little bit of industrial works lay. Now they headed south. The buildings grew more ramshackle and the lack of upkeep was obvious. Windows were boarded over or covered in a thick metal mesh, disdaining bars for the more thorough coverage.
Underfoot the sidewalk was more chipped and uneven, and the road looked to be in desperate need of repair. Big warehouses loomed up on either side, some of them showing signs of occupancy, others not. Rachel knew where they were now. Every town had areas like this, places where the town’s occupants had abandoned it, leaving what little life there was to its own.
She shivered as they walked farther into the rundown buildings. Whoever he was, he obviously had a destination in mind, but she wasn’t sure where. All she could do was follow his directions.
“Why do you hate Hector so much?” she asked, trying a different tactic.
“Hate?” came the hissed reply. “No. Not hate.”
Then he fell silent once again, forcing her to turn right. They were heading up to a large rolling door on one of the warehouses. It was one of those loading docks where the ground was sunken in, so that the big tractor trailers could back up and be level with the building. They bypassed the rolling door and headed to a little person-sized door.
Her captor gave her neck a shake as she came to a halt in front of it. From that Rachel surmised he wanted her to open it. The door opened smoothly and they entered. Behind her the grate in the floor clanged as the shifter stepped on it, something rattling from his weight.
Ahead of them was a room devoid of light. Once the door closed behind them, even the little bit of ambient light from outside faded, leaving her in complete darkness.
“Um, I can’t see,” she said, coming to a halt.
The hand on her neck forced her forward and to her knees. She felt the cool dampness of concrete under her, pushing out her hands to hold herself still. To her surprise the hand vanished from her neck. Rachel sat on her rear, breathing in deeply in relief.
Something rattled in the darkness and abruptly the shifter returned, wrapping a chain tightly around her neck. Then he took the loose end and did something with it. Rachel tugged on both ends, but neither end moved. She could feel a weight pulling at it, keeping it secure.
Get up, you idiot. Just stand up and it’ll give you enough slack to undo it.
The chain was uncomfortably tight, but not so much that she couldn’t breathe. Rachel got her feet under her carefully, and then rose up onto her knees, trying to undo the chain. Something clanked once, then twice, and the chain went taut again. She yelped and pulled, trying to gain back the slack she’d had, but it didn’t budge.
“I wouldn’t keep doing that if I were you,” her captor hissed. “It’s weighted and wrapped on some non-reversing gears. You keep standing, you’ll lose all the slack and it’ll choke you.” There was barely constrained glee in his voice, which made her wonder about his earlier word about not hating Hector or her.
Rachel froze as she realized what he was talking about. The weight on her neck was never going to cease, and it was only going to get worse. But if she stood up, she’d never be able to sit back down. And once her legs gave out, the chain would choke her to death. It was devious.
The night chill began to seep in then as she remained motionless. The concrete started to suck all the warmth from her, and in very short order Rachel began to shiver. Rubbing her hands up and down her arms didn’t seem to help much. Hope began to fade as she realized that Hector wasn’t even likely to find her before she perished. At this rate she wasn’t likely to make it through the night. She tugged on the chain, trying to loosen its slow choke around her neck.
“Why are you doing this?” she called out, hearing the quaver in her voice. “Please. I have a child…” Her hand went unbidden to her stomach as she tried to force herself to stay calm, to not panic. That wouldn’t help her current situation.
No voice answered her question, or any other question she asked of it. Rachel was alone in the warehouse, without anyone to help her. The situation seemed grim.
Outside the door she heard a familiar-sounding clang.
“Hector?” she called instinctively.
Had he come? Was he here to save her?
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hector
He made his way through the storage shed, but two things became immediately clear to him.
One, that the shed was empty, devoid of anyone else, and two, that Rachel had never gotten very far inside the shed. Her scent ended at the doorway. Only Stinkboy’s scent remained.
“Follow my trail!” he yelled after Gray, hoping the other shifter would hear him as he tried to rouse some backup.
Then he found where the two scents intertwined, and raced off into the town, following it down main streets and side streets. Almost immediately the trail turned due west, skirting the downtown “core” itself in favor of heading toward the rougher industrial neighborhoods to the west. It wasn’t a place Hector had spent much time, though he’d tried to explore every section of the town at one point or another, so that he was always at least somewhat familiar with where he might end up.
“Where are you going?” he muttered to himself as he raced down the streets, his head lifted to the air like some sort of madman, inhaling deeply through his nose as he attempted to gain ground. While it could have been his imagination, he could have sworn that their scent was getting stronger, filling his nostrils more thoroughly with every breath as he gained ground.
I’m coming Rachel, just hold on.
Hector was angry. He was angry at himself for not trying to search out the mystery human beforehand, and he was mad at himself for not digging deeper into the coincidences that surrounded the fire in the embassy. But most of all, he was furious that he’d dragged Rachel into the middle of whatever was going on, putting her life, and the life of her baby, in mortal danger.
They were close now, he could tell. Hector slowed, not wanting to charge into a situation he wasn’t ready for. Hopefully Gray and anyone else he could round up would be close behind him, following even swifter through the streets as they came to help. When they arrived Hector intended to storm whatever building Rachel was in and kill anyone who got in his way. Nobody threatened his mate.
Nobody.
“That one,” he said softly, pinpointing the warehouse where she’d been taken. He crept forward. The scent seemed to point straight to a side door near one of the loading bays. The window itself was covered in boards, the thick wooden planks nailed into the thin metal frame of the door. There were no windows, nowhere that he could look inside to see what awaited him. It would be like charging in blind. Gray crouched down as he tried furiously to come up
with a plan, any plan, something that would allow him to act instead of simply sitting still and awaiting reinforcements.
His mind was drawn back to earlier, and what he’d done then. Smiling to himself, he crept forward, eager to put his ear to the door. This way he might be able to hear voices, and at least ascertain how many were in there. If it was just the one shifter then Hector knew he would stand a better than 50 percent shot of putting them down. He was no lightweight even in the shifter world, and his combat training skills had won him several awards, despite the beating he’d taken earlier that evening.
Whoever was in there had messed with the wrong bear, and it was about time they learned their lesson.
Hector ran hunched over along the little walkway that led to the door. It was sandwiched between the rolling bay doors, a steep slope on either side of it leading down into the sunken pits where the trucks would back into. The door was just twenty feet away.
Fifteen.
Ten.
CLANG!
Hector froze as the metal grate beneath him let out a noise that shattered the silence of the night. Birds shrieked as they took to the sky somewhere nearby, and an owl hooted from a tree across the parking lot. The noise died away and Hector swore to himself.
“So much for the element of surprise.”
“Hector?!”
He froze as the terrified voice emerged from within the warehouse. Rachel. He would recognize that voice anywhere. She was in there, and she was in trouble.
He stood up, bunched the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and drove them right through the planks. Wood shattered under his blow. Hector wasted no time. He withdrew his arm, got a grip on the door itself, and with a casual heave ripped it right from the frame. He chucked it into the parking lot with enough force to send it screeching across the asphalt, showering the area under it with sparks.
“Little pig, little pig. Let me in, or I’ll huff and I’ll puff, and I’ll rip your head off,” he growled as he stepped forward into the darkness. “Come on out. Daddy’s home.”