by Arthur, Keri
He instantly slowed, and I eased my death grip on the handle. The SUV crashed out onto the road, its rear end fishtailing dangerously for several seconds before the driver got it under control and sped off.
“Either he’s dragging a ton of fence line behind him, or he cut it earlier to get into the paddock.”
“It’s the latter,” Aiden said, and immediately called the Barnetts.
I concentrated on the thinning spool of magic and on providing directions. We were soon cruising back to Castle Rock.
“Left into Forest Street,” I said. “It feels like he’s stopped.”
“You want me to go slower?”
I hesitated. “Not yet. Turn down the third street on the right—it’s just beyond that park.”
We turned, the truck’s headlights briefly spotlighting a couple walking on the gravel path that followed the left edge of the road. “We’re almost on him now.”
Aiden immediately slowed. We swept around the next corner, and a number of buildings came into view. Directly ahead were several long tin sheds, and to our right was a single-story cream-and-red-brick pub that looked to have been around since the gold rush days. There were a number of cars parked out the front of it and at least six more in the vacant lot on the other side of the road. The SUV was nowhere in sight, but the tracking threads suggested our watcher had hightailed it into the pub.
“He’s probably parked around the back.” Aiden turned into a side street further up the road and then stopped.
“The minute either of us go in there,” I said. “He’s likely to run.”
Aiden nodded. “I’m actually counting on it.”
“How many exits are there?”
“Two aside from the kitchen, and he won’t chance being stopped by the chefs or owner. There’s an exit into the beer garden and another down the service hall, which contains the toilets.” His smile was brief and sharp. “He’ll no doubt take the latter the minute he spots you walking through the front door. Once I bring him down, you can make him talk.”
“Oh, you can bet I will.”
“Give me five minutes to get around the back without being seen, then head in.”
I nodded. He climbed out, then leapt over the nearby fence and disappeared. I watched the clock count down, then leaned across the seat to grab his keys and climbed out. The moon was once again free from clouds, which was never a good thing when you had crimson-colored hair that burned brightly under any sort of light.
I tugged the hood of my jacket over my hair and walked casually toward the pub. There were six old weatherboard houses between it and me, but thankfully, the pub was wedge-shaped and the closest end had no windows. Even if our target was keeping watch, he wouldn’t see me until I walked past the veranda.
The nearer I got, the more my heart raced. I flexed my fingers, trying to remain calm. At this point, we had no idea if this man was doing anything more than a bit of nefarious snooping. We had no idea yet if he was—in any way—connected to Clayton. Just because instinct was coming down on the affirmative didn’t mean it was right.
I went past the section of veranda protected by plastic roll-down blinds and then stepped up onto it. A small sign to the left of the double wooden doors said Railway Bistro. I grabbed the handle, took a deep, settling breath, and then stepped inside. It felt like I’d stepped back in time. The ceiling was dark wood, the walls warm amber dotted with old photographs and landscape paintings, and the antique furniture well-worn. There was a dining area on the left, a servery in the middle, and a bar area to the right. There were five couples and a family of six in the dining area, and half a dozen more people in the bar. The tracking thread led me to the right and, after a moment, I saw him. He was tall, rangy, with pock-marked skin—unusual in a werewolf—and dark gray hair. He definitely wasn’t from Aiden’s pack, as they ran the full gamut of blond; gray only set in once age had started taking its toll. This wolf looked to be in his mid-thirties.
I pushed the hood off and walked toward him. The movement obviously caught his attention, because his gaze rose and met mine. Surprise flickered across his expression, followed swiftly by consternation. He pushed away from the bar and strode to the left, quickly disappearing from my sight.
As I rounded the corner of the bar, I saw a slowly closing door that said Bathrooms and couldn’t help smiling. Aiden had picked it right.
By the time I got there, the hallway beyond was empty and the door at the far end open. I couldn’t see our suspect, but I could certainly hear him. He was cursing up a storm.
I stopped in the back doorway and watched Aiden drag the bound and handcuffed man closer.
“Told you it would work,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s go around to the beer garden—we can interrogate him there.”
“I haven’t been read my fucking rights,” the man bellowed. “This is an illegal arrest.”
There was a lilt to his voice that suggested he’d come from Ireland, but it was impossible to say how recently. Some people never lost their accent, no matter how long they stayed in another country.
“I’m head ranger and this is my reservation,” Aiden said. “You were not only following us, but rather stupidly threw a punch at me. You have no rights.”
“This is bullshit—”
“And it’s bullshit that’ll land you in a cell for several years if you’re not damn careful and start cooperating.”
“I demand you give me my phone call.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Aiden kicked a metal chair sideways, slung the stranger onto it, and then pulled one of the ever-present cable ties from his pocket, quickly connecting the stranger’s bound hands to the back of the chair.
“Help,” the stranger screamed. “Someone help me!”
Aiden rolled his eyes but strolled over to the double doors that led back into the bar and went inside.
I crossed my arms and glared at our captive. “I suggest you start cooperating, or you’ll be forced to.”
He snorted. “You don’t scare me, witch.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Really? I take it, then, that you’ve been given some form of protection against certain types of magic?”
This time, he controlled his emotions far better. There was barely a flicker to indicate my guess had hit the mark.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“That so? How, then, do you think we found you?”
He shrugged. “Your ranger friend is a wolf—they’re good trackers.”
“But not so good that they can follow someone in a speeding truck at a distance of several kilometers.”
“I can’t see your point—”
“The point,” Aiden said, as he came back out, “is that you’ve got a tracking spell on you.”
“That’s impossible—”
“Says who? Oh, and don’t bother with any more screams for help. The owner and patrons have been informed of the situation.”
“And they’ll be my witnesses when I sue your ass for false arrest and imprisonment.”
Aiden smiled. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll get to that. Liz, do you want to check him?”
“Check me for what?” the stranger said, his voice indignant. “What the hell do you think I’m carrying?”
“Protection.” I stepped to one side of the chair—out of feet range—and held my hand an inch or so above his body as I checked him from head to foot. It was only when I got to his boots that I felt the sting of magic. It wasn’t Clayton’s—aside from the fact it felt generic, it held none of his bite. I guess that was unsurprising—Clayton had been caught flat-footed once. I doubt he’d underestimate us a second time, and that meant he would not put his magical ‘mark’ on anything that could be traced back to him—not until he was ready to confront me, anyway.
It also explained why the tracker had stuck—the spell hadn’t been designed to ward off something so simple.
I stepped back. “It’s in his boot.”
“Left or
right?” Aiden said.
The stranger unwisely chose that moment to lash out with both tied feet. Aiden jumped back, then calmly grabbed the offending feet and upended him. As the stranger crashed back onto the grass and began uttering yet another string of curses, Aiden ripped off his boots and handed them to me.
I tipped them upside down; two small disks dropped onto the ground. The threads were pale and pulsed with a low-grade energy that definitely didn’t belong to any blueblood I knew.
Which didn’t actually make me feel any easier. As I crushed them under my boot, Aiden said, “Right, are you going to cooperate?”
“Give me my phone call and a damn lawyer, and I might consider it,” the stranger growled.
Aiden stepped back and waved elegantly toward our prisoner. “He’s all yours.”
I took a deep breath to center my energy and then began to spell as I slowly circled the prone stranger. I’d left the backpack—and my spell stones—back in the truck, and the metal chair wasn’t really an appropriate anchor. It left me with no choice but to keep the spell open-ended, even as I activated it. That was never an ideal situation, but in this case, with him moving around so much, it at least gave me the option of pushing more energy and ‘force’ into the truth spell.
“Right,” I said, as the spell’s force pulsed through me. “He’s ready to be questioned.”
“No, he’s fucking not,” the stranger growled. “This has gone far enough—”
“Give me your name and pack,” Aiden cut in.
The stranger’s mouth opened and then closed several times, but in the end he couldn’t escape the force of the spell.
“James O’Conner, Black Valley.”
I frowned. “Where the hell is the Black Valley?”
“Ireland,” Aiden said. “Why were you following us?”
Again he fought the press of the truth spell. Again he failed. “I was employed to follow the witch and photograph everyone she interacts with.”
My gut clenched. I’d been right to fear Clayton might well target everyone else to get to me. “How long have you been doing that?”
“Five days.”
Meaning a few days longer than I’d been sensing him. Fuck. “And have you been doing daily reports?”
“Yes, and being paid daily. You bastards will have no doubt cost me tonight’s fee.”
“Money will be the least of your problems when you’re in jail,” Aiden said, voice dry. “What’s the name of the man who employed you?”
He bared his teeth, fighting the compulsion to reply, but in the end had no choice. “I don’t know his full name. I was only given the first—Lawrence.”
My heart stuttered to a brief halt and then broke into a gallop.
It wasn’t only my husband here in the reservation. It was my goddamn father as well.
Chapter Six
My knees buckled, and I would have hit the ground if Aiden hadn’t lunged forward fast enough to catch me.
“Liz?” he said. “What’s wrong?”
I didn’t immediately answer. Couldn’t immediately answer. I just sucked in air and tried to get the panic and fear under control. But not all of it was mine. Some of it was Belle’s—her fuck, fuck, fuck, was a refrain that ran through the outer reaches of my mind, thick with the same fear that pulsed through me.
And with good reason—Clayton and my father were two of the strongest witches in Canberra. The combined might of Ashworth, Eli, and Monty might have been able to contain Clayton, but it was doubtful there’d be any such hope now that my father was also here.
You need to get out, Belle. You need to hide somewhere.
There is nowhere safe to run, Liz. Not now. Not when he’s had the time to track all our movements and now knows who we interact with.
So grab a taxi and disappear. The sooner the better.
Me leaving this reservation weakens you. I can’t and won’t do that.
“Lizzie?” Aiden repeated. “Speak to me.”
“My father’s name is Lawrence,” I croaked. “And that means he’s here with Clayton.”
“Are you sure?” Aiden said. “Lawrence isn’t exactly a rare name.”
“I’m sure.” Even so, I pushed away from his arms and said to James, “Describe this man to me.”
He shrugged. “Tall, broad shouldered, crimson hair and eyes like yours.”
“Has he a port wine stain here?” I asked, running my fingers down the left side of my neck.
“I saw some dark mottling near his ear, but I couldn’t say if it was a birth mark or something else. It’s not like I was interested in getting to know him better or anything.”
“How did he contact you?” Aiden said.
“He messaged me.”
“Text or Facebook?” Aiden said.
“Neither.”
I glanced at Aiden. “Meaning the messages were sent via magic.”
It was a simple enough spell and one taught in high school, though it wasn’t something I’d ever done. To be honest, I’d totally forgotten about it.
“And did you physically meet to hand over the information or did you electronically transfer?”
“Met. He didn’t want any sort of electronic trail left behind. He even took the damn memory card out of my camera.”
Aiden’s smile held little amusement. “And you didn’t have backups? I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t really care what you fucking believe. I had no choice but to hand everything over. He must have spelled me or something.”
“And you still worked for him, despite this?” I rubbed my arms and somehow resisted the growing urge to run into the pub, order the largest bottle of whiskey they had, and get absolutely and totally drunk. “He must have been paying you a pretty penny.”
“I’m not cheap.” He studied me critically for a moment. “How did you two spot me? You shouldn’t have been able to, given how far away I was.”
“Your employer obviously forgot to mention the convenient fact that I’m a psychic. I’ve been feeling your presence for days; I just wasn’t able to locate you until tonight.”
James snorted. “Typical of a blueblood to leave that sort of information out.”
It was actually typical, simply because to bluebloods psychic powers were of little consequence—which was why Belle had been able to overrun Clayton’s thoughts so thoroughly. He hadn’t believed her telepathy was strong enough to affect him.
He knew better now.
As Aiden continued to question James, I said, Belle—
I’m not leaving. Don’t ask me to.
I thrust down frustration and fear. Then at the very least we need to find you somewhere safe to hide.
Nowhere here is safe. Not from someone like him.
For no good reason, Maelle’s comment rose. A tiny spark of hope stirred.
No way, no how, Belle said.
You’ll be safe at Maelle’s. It’s the last place they’ll think to look, and it’s doubtful if either of them would dare attack a vampire’s abode.
Because only an insane person would willingly stay on the premises.
Maelle owes us a favor—this will fulfill that. It keeps you close while keeping you safe.
From Clayton and your father, maybe, but not from her bloodsucker tendencies.
She swore an oath, Belle. She won’t break that or her promise to help.
Are you sure of that?
Every instinctive bit of me is.
She swore softly. Let me think about it.
“I’ll go get the truck,” Aiden said, his gaze returning to me. “Will you be all right with the suspect?”
I nodded and dragged the keys out of my pocket. As he disappeared, I said, “When did Lawrence contact you?”
James shrugged. “A couple of weeks ago. He didn’t appear in any sort of hurry to chase you up though.”
He mightn’t have been, but I doubt the same could be said of Clayton. “Did you ever speak to another man?”
“No.”
So why, if my father had recently begun distancing himself from Clayton, was he now here helping to track down his escapee daughter? That really didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“How did he initially contact you?”
James shrugged. “I guess he got my details off my website and shot me a message. It was in-person from there.”
“In your office? Or elsewhere?”
“Generally out in the open and away from any possibility of being seen.”
“Where have you been meeting him here?”
James shrugged. “It varies—the last one was up at Jackson’s Lookout.”
Which wasn’t that far out of Argyle, if I remembered properly. “Were you supposed to meet him there tonight?”
“No. He said he had other plans but he’d be in contact with a new meet location.”
“How was he going to do that? Via messages magically transported to you again?”
He nodded. “They appear in my hotel room. And before you ask, they self-destruct two minutes after I’ve read them.”
I smiled. Of course they did. My father was nothing if not cautious. “What time do they usually appear?”
“Around ten.”
I glanced at my watch. It was just after nine now, but that still gave us plenty of time to get there if we left immediately. “Where were you staying?”
“At the Albion Motel.”
Which wasn’t a place I knew, but wouldn’t be hard to Google. “Key?”
He blew out a frustrated breath. “Top pocket.”
I stepped forward, carefully plucked the key free, and shoved it into my pocket.
Belle, you want to go for a drive?
It’s a toss-up between that or drink myself into a stupor, and we do have to work tomorrow. She paused. You don’t think this could be a trap?
There’s no magic on James except mine now, and the protection disks weren’t Clayton’s or my father’s, so neither of them would have felt their destruction. Presuming, of course, they’d been close enough to do so, and I doubted it.
And if, as I suspect, you find nothing there, why don’t we then go on up to the clearing and talk to Katie? The sooner you get some answers to those questions you raised, the better.