Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) (19 page)

the net of men contract. They planned to grab her in the middle of town? Damn.

She was moving fast as she went into the bookstore.

Thorson looked up. ―Forgot someth—?‖

―Where‘s your back exit?‖

His brows lifted. ―Rear of the storeroom.‖ He pointed to a door behind the counter.

―Stay out of this,‖ she snapped, darting behind the counter and through the door.

Darkness. She tripped over something. Dammit. She fumbled for the penlight on her key

ring. The tiny beam showed her a huge room filled with boxes and a winding path to the exit.

She‘d just reached the exit when shouts broke out in the store. A yell of pain. A growl. Oh,

fuck, why had she picked Thorson‘s place instead of somewhere else? That junk-yard dog

wouldn‘t sit quietly while thugs tried to follow her. She yanked the knife from her calf sheath

and dashed back across the storeroom.

The knob was already turning, so she waited until the door opened a crack, and then gave it

a hard kick. The heavy oak slammed into the guy‘s face with a thud she felt in her bones.

He dropped like a rock, a tranq gun clattering to the floor. One down.

She whipped through, jumped over the body, then paused to map out the situation. One

bastard just entering. One had closed on Thorson, and she grinned. Joe would take the poor

sucker apart.

The third rushed her, saving her time. She sidestepped, then kicked him and took his knee

out. As he fell, she used his greasy hair to whack his head against the counter and winced as his

skull fractured. Two down. Nice of Thorson to use solid oak for his door and counters. She

glanced at him.

His opponent had pulled a knife. Thorson knocked aside his arm, plucked the blade from his

hand, and jammed it into his chest. The man crumbled into a heap. A gleeful grin appeared on

the old man‘s face, then the sharp retort of a pistol split the air, and Thorson staggered backward

against his desk. The splattering blood turned his paperwork a garish red.

No! Vic spun around. The gunman stood just inside the door. With a snarl, she flung her

knife.

With a choking sound, he dropped his weapon to grab frantically at the blade in his throat.

Blood sprayed across the wooden floor as he went down to his knees. Spasming, he fell forward.

―You play rough, little female.‖ Thorson was standing, one hand pressed to his shoulder.

Blood streamed between his fingers.

―Jesus, I thought he‘d killed you!‖ Giddy relief soared through Vic, and she grabbed his

grizzled head to plant a kiss. One second of joy, then she dropped her jacket on the floor to strip

off her T-shirt.

Wadding it up, she shoved the makeshift bandage against the bullet hole. ―Does nine-one-

one work here? Are you allowed to go to the hospital?‖

―Yes and I am.‖ Thorson‘s knees buckled, and he dropped into his chair.

―Stay,‖ she ordered like he was a dog, which was just wrong. She pulled her jacket on over

her bra before grabbing the desk phone. As she punched buttons, she watched the door. If she‘d

have planned this, she‘d have someone designated as a backup. More bad guys might be coming.

―What is the nature of your emergency?‖ came the voice.

―A robbery at the bookstore in Cold Creek. The owner got shot.‖

The operator gasped—were they allowed to do that?—and then returned to her monotone,

―I‘m sending the police and ambulance. Please stay on the line until they arrive.‖

Near the storeroom, the man she‘d hit with the door groaned and tried to roll over. She

dropped the phone long enough to walk over and slam his head against the floor.

A grin appeared on Joe‘s face, pushing aside the lines of pain. ―You were pulling your

punches during our bar fight. I knew it.‖

How could a guy remind her of her father, a drill sergeant, and her teammates all in one?

Ignoring the ache in her chest, she scowled and snapped, ―Just shut up and keep pressure on that

wound.‖

When a siren wailed its approach, she almost cheered. The cavalry had arrived.

A second later, the young deputy burst into the store and stopped dead at the carnage.

With adrenaline still pumping in her veins, and relief threatening to choke her up, she took it

out on him. ―You fucking idiot! I told nine-one-one the owner was shot. Have you ever heard of

checking things out first?‖

In the corner of her eye, she saw Alec doing just that, standing to one side, looking through

the window. He entered silently and gently pushed his deputy aside before kicking the pistol

away from the dead guy. His dark green eyes flickered over Vic and the downed men. When he

looked at Thorson, his mouth tightened. ―You‘re getting‘ slow, Joe. Is it bad?‖

―Nah, missed the good stuff.‖ Thorson moved his shoulder and grimaced. ―Hurts less than a

clawing.‖

―Oh, sure it does.‖ Alec looked around again, his face impassive, so coldly competent that

Vic wanted to fling herself into his arms, and how wrong was that?

His gaze returned to Thorson. ―What‘re they after? They don‘t have the scent of druggies.‖

Thorson tilted his head. ―Her.‖

She‘d already begun edging toward the storeroom door when Alec‘s eyes pinned her to the

spot. ―Talk to me, Vixen.‖

Looking out the window past him, she saw a dark car crawl down the street. One man. The

backup. She retreated another step. ―I need to get out of here.‖

Alec turned, spotted the car.

An ambulance passed it and screeched to a stop with two wheels on the sidewalk. Joe would

be okay. Thank you, God.

Frowning at her, Thorson jerked his head at the back. ―Git.‖

―Jenkins, take Thorson outside. I‘ll lock the store behind you,‖ Alec ordered and elaborated,

―If they ask, say a guy attacked Thorson, trying to get money, and escaped as you arrived.‖ He

flashed a grin. ―No need to mention the dead bodies or the short, skinny female.‖

―Got it.‖ The deputy nodded, raised his eyebrows at Vic. ―Thanks for the advice on

reconnoitering. Now get out of here, short, skinny female.‖

They seemed awfully blasé about dead people.

With a sigh, she pulled the body blocking the storeroom away, then opened the door.

Alec stepped up behind her, tucking his fingers under her belt to halt her. ―I‘ll bring the car

around to the park. Wait for me by the big oak.‖ He handed over her knife, then strolled out the

front.

Indecision gnawed at her as she hurried through the back door. Make for the trees or let him

help? Everything in her said go it alone. Teammates only got in the way or got hurt. If anything

should happen to Alec… The thought stole her breath.

But as she crossed the park, the tall, wet grass flattened beneath her feet, leaving an indelible

trail. They‘d know exactly where she went. But she could manage. She‘d almost reached the tree

line when she spotted the big oak.

Guilt tightened her jaw. However Swane had found her, she‘d targeted this town for him.

Even worse, if she left a trail to the forest, his men would comb the mountain and might run into

unprepared shifters.

Dammit. She‘d have to do this the hard way—and accept help. Forcing herself to turn, she

walked over to the oak and watched Alec‘s car slide around the corner and up to her.

* * *

Less than an hour later, Alec stood in the tunnel entrance with his brother and Vicki. He

frowned. The rain had turned to sleet. Up higher, it would be snowing heavily, and there wasn‘t

much daylight left.

Vicki shook her head. ―I still think I should just let them trail me out of town.‖

―No,‖ Calum said flatly. He turned to Alec, ―I‘ll join you in a couple of days. Will you be all

right?‖

In other words, could he manage hiking with a human up the mountain rather than running

in cat form? Alec grinned and patted Vicki on the head. ―We‘ll be fine. She‘s a tad on the short

side, but she‘s got heart.‖

Her golden-brown eyes shot sparks, and he choked on a laugh. If she‘d been a werecat, he‘d

be drawing back a mangled hand about now. After buttoning his heavy coat, he shouldered the

pack of emergency supplies and clapped Calum on the shoulder. ―Check on Thorson before you

come up, would you? He was pretty hard hit.‖

―Aye.‖ Calum ran a finger down Vicki‘s cheek and murmured, ―Little human, you‘ve

shortened my life by several years.‖ He gave Alec a brief smile. ―Be safe, you two,‖ he said and

headed up the steps.

As if mesmerized, Vicki stared after him, and Alec grinned. His brother had that effect on

females. ―Let‘s go, Vixen. This isn‘t an easy climb.‖

She turned and looked at the mountain, her big eyes filling with misery. ―I brought this mess

on you all.‖

―True. Of course, Lachlan shouldn‘t have let himself be caught. Or he shouldn‘t have run

away in the first place. And Joe should have been more understanding so he wouldn‘t have run

away, and—‖

―Okay, okay, I get the point.‖ She hefted her pack and followed him as he took the most

direct path upward. ―Where is this cabin anyway?‖

He pointed toward the mountaintop. ―Straight up there.‖

―Oh, God,‖ she said resignedly. ―Mountain climbing in a blizzard at night. You cat-people

sure know how to show a girl a good time.‖

* * *

―What do you mean, you lost her?‖ Vidal scowled and pressed the cell phone closer to his

ear.

―Four of my men walked into that bookstore. None came out. Gotta figure they‘re dead.‖

Swane‘s cold voice could barely be heard through the static. ―The old fart—the owner of the

store—went to the hospital. Cops are saying a man tried to rob the bookstore and escaped after

shooting the owner. No mention of Morgan or anyone else. Definitely a cover up.‖

Incompetent bastards. Vidal swore under his breath. ―Go on.‖

―I asked around quietly, and she works at the town tavern, only she‘s using the name

Waverly.‖

―Check out the bar,‖ Vidal agreed. ―Is she at her place?‖

―No. Her house is empty, but her car is still parked there. She‘s not at the tavern either.‖

Worse and worse. Morgan would be a fool to return to the town. And they‘d alerted the

werecreatures.

However, their target area was obviously Cold Creek. Dammit. ―How could one old man

and a woman kill off four men?‖ Bungling fuckups. Vidal kicked his wastebasket across the

room and halted, shocked at his own actions. He never lost control. Ever.

―I‘m not sure,‖ Swane said. ―But I got an idea. I want to grab someone who can tell us about

the town. Not a creature—just a person who‘d know what‘s going on. About the shifters…and

their families.‖

Vidal sat down in his chair. Carefully. ―What good would that do?‖

―Leverage, boss.‖ Swane‘s laugh made Vidal‘s skin crawl. ―Beastie-boy sure as fuck

would‘ve talked if I‘d been skinning pieces off his sister.‖

―Do it.‖

* * *

Fuckin‟ A. Vic was freezing. She hadn‘t been this cold since a mission in the mountains of

Afghanistan. She shivered so hard her bones hurt. But that was good. When a person stopped

shivering, death was right behind.

And she knew some of the shivering was from what she‘d done. She‘d killed. The feeling of

shattering bone, the sound of the man choking on his own blood, the blank look of death—she

swallowed as nausea rose again. Wiped the tears from her face…again.

The snow increased the higher they went, sometimes whipping into her face like sand and

sometimes falling straight down, piling up so she could no longer see the tree roots and obstacles

underneath. She had the bruises to show for it, having flattened her length out on the trail a few

times. Grace incarnate, that‟s me.

The sun was gone, the moon wasn‘t up, and even if it was, nothing would penetrate the dark

clouds overhead. Her wimpy-ass penlight had died an hour ago.

Why the hell am I here? She should have stayed in Cold Creek, taken out the backup people,

then found Swane and the business-guy and wiped them out. Then—maybe—she wouldn‘t feel

so guilty. Her mouth tightened as she remembered Thorson‘s wound, the blood on the desk, his

pain. God, so stupid. Why had she ever tried to escape through his store?

Too late to do anything now. The bad guys would be long gone. She‘d have to wait for

Wells to give her the information on Swane she needed—and then, no matter what, she‘d finish

this.

Wells. Oh fuck. She was due in Washington D.C. She felt like hitting her head against a tree.

Could her life get any more screwed up?

―We‘re almost there.‖ Alec‘s voice reached her.

Oh, sure, and he‘d been saying that for over an hour. That fine body of his had moved

steadily up the mountain—never faltering, never tripping, never falling. If she‘d had the energy,

she would have planted a boot right where the sun don‘t shine.

―Ah. There we go,‖ he said.

Concentrating on the lousy footing, she ran into his stationary figure. ―Oomph.‖

―Sorry.‖ He pointed to something undistinguishable in the darkness. ―We‘re here.‖

She squinted. Nothing. ―How can you tell?‖

―Cat eyes, baby, cat eyes.‖ Wrapping an arm around her waist, he urged her across a small

clearing to a building.

―There is a god,‖ she breathed, and Alec chuckled.

―Hold on a minute.‖ He shoved open the door and went in. A lantern flickered alight.

Taking that as an invite, she pulled the door shut behind her. There was no heat, but the

escape from the wind made the place seem almost warm. Teeth chattering, she looked around.