He roared, knocking me back with the sound. Hunched, nostrils wide, lips curled to expose his teeth, he glared at me with wildly glowing eyes. “You do not underrrstand,” he seethed.
“What the—?” Wanda came crashing out the front door.
Pietr dodged around her, his feet pounding all the way up the stairs. A door slammed.
Wanda looked at me. “You okay?”
I nodded.
“Great.” Her eyes scoured my face and body, like she searched for physical wounds. “Time to go. The hunting issue’s resolved. They won’t starve now.”
“Good.”
She put a hand on my back and slowly guided me down the stairs and to the car. She opened my door, and I fell onto the seat. Wanda reached over, dragging my seat belt across my body. Watching me the whole time, she clicked it together before fixing her own.
She started the car and pulled it away from the curb. “Um. I—” Staring straight ahead at the road, she suggested, “Maybe you should step back from this. It’s a lot to handle. We’ll deal with the werewolves.”
“They have names,” I insisted.
“So? They’re werewolves.”
“But it’s … it’s like you’re…” I blew out a breath. “Like you’re dehumanizing them.”
Wanda glared at the road.
“Maybe it makes it all easier. Hunting them and throwing them in for testing. If you don’t use their names, don’t think of them as human … it’s gotta’ make it easier.”
“You’re too close to this,” Wanda accused me. She pounded the steering wheel and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Maybe I am, too.” Her fingers curled around the wheel. “Take a break, Jessie. Let me handle this. I’ll make sure they get a fair shake.”
“They don’t trust you, Wanda.”
“Yeah. But I think you need to be better protected.”
I turned. Looked at her.
“They’re monsters.”
“That’s what Edward thought.”
“Oh, yeah? He a friend of yours?” Wanda asked.
“No, Miss Librarian. Just a main character in a wildly popular vampire series.”
“Huh. And what did that series teach you?”
“A bunch. Partly that sometimes good people don’t get the chance they deserve to prove they’re good people.”
She sighed, reminding me suddenly of Dad. She was too rough to compare to Mom. “Your dad wants to protect you. That psychiatrist you were seeing wants to protect you. I think maybe I should consider protecting you, too.”
“Don’t do me any favors. There’s nothing to protect me from. Other than rampaging CIA agents. And the Russian Mafia.”
“Protecting your body’s one thing. Protecting your heart—you’re overlooking that. It’s easy to do first time out.”
I looked at her. Really looked at her. It was the first time I’d wondered about Wanda. What was her story, anyhow? No one just popped into existence as a CIA agent wading through old files the USSR dumped in an attempt to extend a hand of friendship to a Cold War enemy.
“I think I love him, Wanda.”
“That’s a very grown-up sentiment.”
“My mother’s dead. I’ve learned the world’s a hell—”
She shot me a look.
“The world’s a heck of a lot weirder than I ever dreamed. I’ve been shot at and I’ve killed a man in self-defense. Pardon me if I’m starting to feel I have the right to grown-up expressions of emotion.”
“Love’s big.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s why you were sent home sick.”
I didn’t bother answering.
“He’s dating your best friend.”
“One of my best friends,” I corrected.
“A little advice from someone who’s been there?”
“Why the heck not?” I shrugged.
“Go out with the football star. He’s really something. Just—look out for yourself first.”
“Is that what you’re doing with my dad?”
“Aw, crap, Jessie.” She shook her head.
“Because he needs protecting, too.” I focused my eyes straight out the windshield at the leaves bouncing across the blacktop. “Seems that’s my job. Jessie Gillmansen—protector of werewolves and grown men. Don’t screw with the people I love, Wanda.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dr. Jones peered up from her seat at the desk when I entered. “Miss Gillmansen. I didn’t expect you to come back.”
My shoulders rose in a shrug. “I figured you might have filled my appointment slot, but it was worth a try.”
“Really?” Her gaze threatened to level me.
“Yes. Those things I said last time…”
She crossed her arms and leaned back. “Yes. About the Russian Mafia, the CIA…”
“And werewolves.”
A smirk tugged at her lips. “Who could forget werewolves?”
“Those things I told you were—” The corner of my lips twitched.
“Lies,” she concluded.
At least I hadn’t needed to say it.
“Would you like to start again?” She glanced at the clock.
“Yes.”
“Shall we focus on your expression of grief at the loss of your mother?”
My throat tight, the words burned a trail toward my tongue and stopped. Dried up like dust and clogged my mouth. My eyes stung. But I nodded, pulled my hands from my pockets, and sat.
* * *
Dad was outside, the truck running. I’d made him agree to wait in the parking lot instead of suffering more of his rib-crushing bear hugs outside the doctor’s office. He was whistling.
“Ah, crap, Dad. Is Wanda coming over again?”
“Nope. She should already be over at this point.”
“Funny guy,” I said.
“Hey, who’s to say your imprisonment can’t at least be fun for one of us?”
“It would be fun if my friends could visit,” I sniffed.
“Tomorrow,” he promised. His fingers drummed on the dash. He backed the truck up. “Don’t even say his name,” he dared.
So I did. “Pietr’s my friend.” Dad didn’t know it wasn’t true anymore.
He white-knuckled the steering wheel at the mention of his name. “Leave that boy to Sarah. I know he seemed to be warmin’ to you, but you get round him and you do stupid things. And I know you say he didn’t hit you—what—you fell, right?”
I nodded. I had fallen. While being walloped by an attacker of the CIA variety.
“So you do stupid stuff and get clumsy? I don’t know. There’s somethin’ not quite right about that boy. He’s dangerous.”
“But Wanda, with her collection of firearms, is—”
“Well prepared and charmin’,” he quipped.
“Wow.” I’d thought about forcing her out of the picture, but I needed her to get me back and forth to the Rusakovas’. I just never thought … “Eeeww, Dad. Charming?”
He grinned. From ear to ear.
“Have you met Wanda?”
“I’ve done more than that,” he said, puffing his chest out.
I blushed for us both. “Daaad…”
“Kissin’—kissin’! Geez, Jessie. See what I mean? Even talkin’ about that boy gets you thinkin’ stupid stuff.”
In a blink we’d blown through Junction and I’d missed my favorite part of therapy: Main Street.
Dad parked the truck and looked at me. “Pietr’s trouble, Jessie. He’s the reason you lie—”
“No.” Pietr had been the most honest part of my life. Until I corrupted him.
Wanda stood on our front steps, pistol case in hand. I rolled down my window, looking her way. Our signal.
Dad shook his head. “He’s the reason you sneak around. And this last time…” Dad jumped, Wanda at his door, knocking.
Though I’d never thought I’d thank anyone for Wanda, I silently thanked God. Yes, she was too rough, too quick to jump, and knew
way too much, but that was all probably part of CIA job requirements. And she was my ride. I couldn’t risk losing that.
“Hey, handsome,” she said.
Dad unrolled his window to greet her.
I looked away as they kissed. It hadn’t even been six months since Mom died. I wanted Dad happy. I did. But happy was different from dating. And kissing. And dating and kissing—when I could wrap my mind around my Dad doing that—shouldn’t include Wanda.
“I was just tellin’ Jessie why she and that Rusakova boy shouldn’t be seein’ each other right now.”
Wanda’s expression went grave. “Still grounded?”
“Until tomorrow,” my father reported.
I wondered if Wanda playing chauffeur didn’t wear on her, too. The excuses she came up with to get me out of the house were very un-Wanda-like things to do. But Dad never batted an eye when Wanda suggested doing girl stuff with me.
He surely hoped it eased the pain of losing Mom. But shopping couldn’t do that. Maybe time would.
Eventually.
Wanda pushed the pistol case into my arms as soon as I climbed out of the truck. “Be a dear and carry that.”
I grunted, following them down the hill. I set up the safety flag to show the outdoor range was live. Stapling up two targets, I wondered if we shouldn’t stand under cover in case the heavens suddenly dumped; the sky stretched above our farm was heavy with clouds painted gunmetal blue.
The breeze kicked up, blinding me with my hair.
Wanda jerked a rubber band out of her pocket. “Tie it back,” she said, laughing at me.
“Safety glasses,” Dad reminded me, and I tucked their arms behind my ears, coloring my world glare-free amber. I plonked a pair of earmuffs on to drown out the eventual gunfire.
Opening the gun case I paused. The gloss of oil-slicked steel contrasted with the wood and bone of the two revolvers’ grips. Wanda leaned down and offered Dad the one in bone. “Model nineteen, four-inch barrel Smith & Wesson; .357 Magnum.”
He held it more like it was a baby bird fallen from the nest than a deadly mechanism born of fire and metal.
“I’ll take this.” Wanda picked up its mate.
Orders were abbreviated on the family range. I looked around before announcing, “Ready on the right? Ready on the left? All’s clear. Commence firing.”
They emptied their six-shooters quickly, Wanda finishing first. She stuck her hand out expectantly, and I shook six more rounds into her palm. She spun the cylinder, dropping bullets in with a speed that spoke of hard practice.
She snapped it shut. And handed it to me.
Dad watched, unwilling to hide his curiosity. He took the brick of ammo out of my other hand. “Wanda and I were talkin’ about you and your potential. We agree you should take up shootin’ again.”
I examined the pretty tool of death in my hand. “I don’t—”
“You never know when the skill could come in handy,” Wanda added. “Could save your life.”
“I don’t want to fall back into competition shooting. That was”—I glanced at Dad—“your dream, not mine.”
Dad’s face remained expressionless, but I knew wheels in his head were turning. He hated that I’d waste a gift—that I had an ability I didn’t take advantage of. Silent, he waited for me to break.
“Ugh. Maybe I’ll compete—a little. But only rapid-fire.” Rapid-fire would let me defend myself. My eyes locked on Wanda’s, forcing her to read them. She nodded, a silent agreement that medals meant little if you didn’t live to display them.
She winked over my head at Dad.
“Okay, Jessie,” he conceded. For now.
I faced the targets and chose the one that looked cleanest. Dad’s. Raising the revolver, I relaxed my shoulders and hands, and eased out my breath.… Found the sight picture and fired. The muzzle rocked up and when it drifted back down, I fired again.
The sky darkened, the target dissolved, replaced by Grigori as he advanced on us that night. I squeezed off another round. Again. Again. And again. The gun loose in my grip, I stared straight ahead, struggling with the fact there was no threat.
Just me, punching paper.
Wanda eased the revolver out of my hands. “You really cleaned out the center of that one.”
Dad grinned. “All clear?”
I nodded and he jogged forward to check what was left of the target. He let out a whoop of joy, and I forced a smile.
“Great shootin’, Jessie,” he congratulated from downrange. “It’s like you barely took time off.”
Wanda watched me. She grinned for Dad’s sake, but her soft words were full of warning. “You know you won’t get to take that much time in the field. It’ll be pop-pop-pop. No time to release that breath and settle, no time to let gravity pull the muzzle back down. You may have to muscle it.” She made a show of patting my back. “Great shot, this kid!” she yelled.
“I didn’t want any of this,” I hissed.
She looked at me, the dopey grin sliding away quick as lightning. “No one wants this, Jessie. But we handle what we’re dealt or we die.”
“Geez, you all looked real serious for a moment,” Dad said, jogging back to us.
“Wanda was reminding me that practice makes perfect and I still have a lot to learn.”
Her gaze hardened a moment. “Yes, we all still have a lot to learn,” she agreed. “Hey, I could arrange a match in a couple weeks. I’ll loan you the perfect piece.”
“Great,” Dad agreed, giving her a peck on the cheek. “What do you say, Jessie?”
I thrust the word through clamped teeth. “Great,” I conceded. “I have stuff to do in the barns.”
“Lunch at noon,” Dad called, meaning: What’re you cooking?
“Burgers,” I announced, heading back to the barns to fuss with the feed and tack I’d already rearranged twice in my boredom. I considered my new, new, new normal: regular therapy; no Mom; non-werewolf boyfriend; horse riding; farm chores; school; newspaper; and shooting competition.
Swell.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I was flipping burgers out of the sizzling pan and onto buns when Wanda’s phone blasted “Hungry Like the Wolf.” She set down a fry and snapped her cell open. “Wanda,” she said amiably.
Something about her had changed faintly—a narrowing of her eyes, the way her jaw slowed as she continued chewing. “Well, of course. I’ll pop right over and lend a hand. Mind if I bring Jessica?” There was the briefest of pauses. “Great! Yep. We’re on our way!”
I raced to the door with my jacket and purse, trying not to be obvious as I shifted from foot to foot. Wanda didn’t move this fast unless there was trouble. And the only trouble she welcomed me to was trouble at the Rusakova house.
“Gotta race off to the library—major research mishap. If we don’t reconcile it fast, the seniors at Junction will have a heck of a time with their projects.”
“Go, woman,” Dad chuckled.
Wanda dashed out the door I held. She sprinted to the car and I hopped in, barely buckling up before we launched forward.
“What’s going on?”
“Our bug picked up a huge fight at their place. Call your boyfriend. I need to know what’s up.”
Instead of protesting that Pietr wasn’t my boyfriend, I hit the number. The phone rang and rang. “No answer.” Something cold crawled along the base of my spine, climbing toward my stomach.
“Damn it.” She shot through stop signs.
“What do you think…?”
“You’ve studied wolves. What happens when the leader of the pack gets displaced?” She nailed the accelerator, and we sped through town. “Thought they were smarter.…”
I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose. A fight for dominance between wolves was brutal, but between Pietr, Catherine, Max, and one too-human Alexi…? It couldn’t end well. I tried to steel myself to the fact it could be Pietr and Max fighting. Max was older by nearly a year, broader in the shoulders a
nd heavier with muscle. Quicker to react, he was faster to let the wolf inside his skin leap out.
Pietr was more agile. Brighter. Fear set my nerves jangling. Imagining the full-blood brothers fighting, I shuddered.
We were in their driveway before I could consider all the possibilities. Wanda bolted out of the car with me beside her. Even outside the house the brutal noise of glass shattering and cursing shook us.
Onto the Queen Anne’s shadowed porch we flew. Wanda kicked the door open. Any other day I’d suggest she try the knob first.
The foyer was strewn with signs of battle—pictures torn from the wall, glass splintered across the ornate Oriental rugs that ran the hallway’s length. There was a crash in the sitting room. Pushing past Wanda I froze, mouth gaping.
Stunned.
Max had Alexi pinned to the floor, his hands on his elder brother’s neck. “Pretenderrr…” The word stretched from three to seven syllables under Max’s primal rage.
“Jee-ZUS!” Wanda sprang between them, throwing her weight at the choke hold Max had on Alexi, desperate to break his grip. “Dammit! Let him go!”
Eyes bulging, Alexi’s face reddened as Max choked the life out of him.
Alexi fought. His fingers, slow and clumsy, battled for their own grip on Max.
Helpless, I looked on. Where were Pietr and Catherine?
Wanda knelt beside the warring brothers. “Alexi, stop fighting.”
Alexi’s eyes rolled to Wanda.
“Stop fighting. Submit,” she said, so calm the words and tone seemed as opposed as the brothers she aimed them at. “I know. It’s counterintuitive. But I can’t stop him. You can’t stop him. The others aren’t here to save your sorry ass. And I don’t know if they would if they were.”
I stumbled forward, crouched beside her, hands struggling to peel away even one of Max’s fingers. My knuckles screamed with effort. Desperate to break his stranglehold, my attempts never rated a single glance from Max.
Alexi’s eyes rolled back in his head.
“MAX!” I shrieked.
Wanda’s voice stayed cool and even. Tempered and rational. “You know you have to trigger that part of the beast in him, Alexi. You did a great job triggering his attack instinct,” she commended with a sneer. “Now submit. Or die.”
Secrets and Shadows: A 13 to Life Novel Page 12