INVISIBLE FATE BOOK THREE: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (7 page)

Chapter Eleven

After their hotel room meeting broke up and Kelly was heading out the door, Stone caught up with her and murmured, “Meet me around the corner. Coffee shop next to the main entrance of the
Louvre
. Ten minutes. Alone”

Then he disappeared, leaving Kelly rubbing goose bumps along her arms. It wasn’t that she was cold, more like wary. If she lost her position on the team, then
… no, she wouldn’t go there because the other alternative was just as bad. Someone had kidnapped Alex’s brother. Now they might have kidnapped Alex, only she was terribly wounded. The team, or someone with more clout than Kelly alone, had to make sure Alex was okay. If she were still alive.

She told Jaylene she’d meet her back at their own hotel, the Campanile, which was
nowhere near as nice as Ling Mai’s place, but that was okay because Kelly felt more comfortable there. The team was moving from there into the safe house that was a fallback in case anyone was separated from the group. They should have had someone stationed there on the chance Alex hadn’t been killed, but Ling Mai had been so sure there had been no question about stationing someone from their overtaxed team there. Now? If Alex
was
alive, she’d find her way to the safe house. If she could. A whole lot of ifs going on.

Maybe Stone had been right. What if Alex had made it to the safe house already and found no one there?
Kelly’s stomach in knots at the thought she’d already sacrificed her friend. If she had, then Stone didn’t have to kick her off the team; it might be for the best if she left on her own. But then the truth would come out and it’d kill her parents, a lethal blow they’d never recover from.

Jaylene gave Kelly one of her knowing gazes
, which helped the downward spiral of her thoughts, and said, “The cards speak of unexpected dangers.”

“Not unexpected given what we do.” Kelly tried to keep the
duh
tone out of her voice, but didn’t think she was too successful. Jaylene used tarot cards to help see the future, a practice Kelly’s parents would disapprove of in the extreme. The devil’s work in idle hands, they’d have said.

“The dangers are to you,” Jaylene shot back.
“You’re the one who needs to be careful.”

Wonderful, as if Kelly’s stom
ach wasn’t roiling enough. She knew Jaylene meant well. Too bad most of her future visions were so vague they were less than helpful.

“I’ll be careful.
” Kelly reassured her with a pat on the arm for extra emphasis. “I’ll meet you back at the hotel, have a few things to do first.”

“I can come with you.
” Her look was one Kelly was used to, sort of a cross between worry that Kelly couldn’t take care of herself or would screw up if left on her own.

If she was going to be axed from the team
, though, it was something she had to face alone. “Thanks, but not this time. I’ll see you in a bit.” She started walking away with a small backwards wave to take any sting out of her words.

Just to make sur
e that Jaylene or anyone else didn’t know where she was headed, Kelly started out toward the opera house, which was in the opposite direction of the coffee house. Then she caught the
Avenue de l’Opera
that cut diagonally back toward the Louvre and jogged the last half block to reach the small bistro, which served coffee, too. Stone was already seated inside, away from prying eyes.

She was out of breath by the time she reached him.

“Someone chasing you?” he asked, looking behind her. As usual, he’d taken the seat with his back to a wall, facing the main exit and windows.

“No. Dodging Parisian traffic,” she mumbled as she pulled up a chair and waved off the waiter. “
Non, merci
.”

Stone
eyed her as she bought a few spare seconds catching her breath, before he jumped in. “Tell me exactly what you saw the other day. In detail.”

So he wasn’t going to cut her from the team. Yet. With Stone
, it could mean only one thing. He’d wring every piece of intel from her before he released the guillotine.

W
ith more calmness than she felt, she repeated what she’d shared with Jaylene earlier. Stone let her talk until she was finished.

“That’s all?” he asked. “You’re sure
?”

Kelly nodded. “Of course I’m sure.”

“Bran left with Jeb Noziak and Van?”

“Yes. Van, if that’s who it was, was unconscious
, and Bran was bleeding, but they all left together.”

Stone leaned back in his chair, all stillness and concentration.

Kelly now wished she had ordered something to keep her hands, and mind, busy, instead of just pleating her napkin.

When Stone remained silent she asked, “You thin
k there’s something wrong?” What she wanted to ask was if she were still an IR agent or not, but that stuck in her throat.

He glanced at her as if he’d been a long ways away, then gave a quick chuckle that held no mirth. “I know there’s something wrong. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s certainly something wrong.”

Kelly swallowed. If Stone thought there was a problem, that wasn’t good news. It’d be real easy to avoid the other question pushing at her but her parents hadn’t raised her to take the easy way out. She had to ask. “Does this mean we’re not going to look for Alex?”

He eyed her as if she’d asked him if the team would be dancing in the streets. “We’ll do more than that, we’ll find her
…”

“I hear a
but
,” she countered, her napkin now wadded in her lap.

“It’s not going to be easy.” Stone never did
sugarcoat the truth. “You okay with that?”

She chewed her bottom lip before giving a reply, making sure she could back up her words. Another thing her parents drilled into her. Don’t lie, don’t hide from the truth and if you commit to do something
, then you’d better be prepared to do it.

“I didn’t figure it’d be easy,” she admitted, looking Stone in the eye. “That’s not what I’m concerned about.”

He arched a brow, which was the same as a shout from someone else.

Taking the look as a go ahead
, she added, “Am I going to still be on the team?”

His forehead creased as if she’d thrown him with her question. “You want out?”

“No. No.” She scooted forward, leaning her arms on the table. “I just assumed … you know, with the way I screwed up, that you wouldn’t want me around anymore.”

He eased back in his chair, eyeing her. “You learn your lesson?”

Kelly nodded, hoping he didn’t see that she’d crossed her fingers. That made the big lie into a more manageable gulp.

“Then you’re on the team.”
Kelly released a breath of air, even as Stone added, “Still in the same situation though. You ready for the hard stuff?”

“I’m more wo
rried about what we will find.”

“Such as?”

“Deceit. Betrayal. Evil.”

Stone canted his lips before saying
. “Yet each man kills the thing he loves. Some do it with a bitter look. Some with a flattering word. The coward does it with a kiss. The brave man with a sword.”

“Sounds like poetry.”

“Oscar Wilde.
The Ballad of Reading Gaol
.” He nodded to the waiter to bring the check before he speared Kelly with a hard glance. “You ready to be the brave man?”

The one with the sword? She straightened her shoulders.
She’d been given a second chance and she wasn’t going to blow it. She might be keeping her doubts to herself, for now. “If being brave is what it’s going to take, I’ll do it.”

“
Count on it.” His look matched his tone. “The only thing I can guarantee.”

Kelly didn’t say anything. What could she say? Oh, good? Or maybe, bring it on, as Alex would
have said? That wasn’t Kelly’s way. Slow, sure, and avoiding risk. That was more Kelly’s style even as she knew that was all about to change.

“You heading up to meet with the team?” Stone asked
a few moments later as they stood shoulder to shoulder on the busy sidewalk. An island of stillness among the swarms of tourists brushing past them.

Kelly nodded.

“Then watch your back,” he murmured, moving off before Kelly could ask him what he meant.

Chapter Twelve

Bran woke with a start, not realizing he’d dozed off. He pulled himself forward on the sofa, aware of the tug of muscles irritating his shoulder, but that was better than it had been. With a tentative finger, he pressed the area surrounding the gunshot wound, glad to see the healing spell he’d cast late last night was working.

As a mage he knew magic but normally didn’t use spell casting, not like a certain witch/shaman he knew. No, he preferred the human way of hard work and sweat. If he earned something
, he wanted to make sure it was because of his efforts and not enchantment.

The wound wasn’t completely healed but better, good enough he could gently raise and stretch his arm. Yes, a
definite improvement.

A quick glance around reassured him he was the only one in the warehouse.
Willie must still be at Versailles
. Francois was gone.

What now?

First step, something to eat. It’d been a full day yesterday without food and his body wasn’t happy about it. Next step, plan what to do to find Alex. Her father and brother were best kept in the tunnels for now. If Jeb Noziak needed to leave the safe house, his shifter abilities could follow his own scent, backtracking until they came topside.

Bran would have to deal with both Jeb and Van soon but his first priority was to find the other Noziak. The one who drove him crazy.

So, best way to locate Alex?

As if conjured his cell phone buzzed, the number not familiar. He answered anyway, having been away from business long enough to expect a flood of calls needing his attention.

What he didn’t expect was the man called Stone on the other end, Alex’s instructor from the IR Agency.

“This Bran?” came the abrupt voice.

“
Oui.”

“M.T. Stone here. We need to meet.”

“Because?”

“Because I want your help locating Alex Noziak.” Before Bran could tell him where to take his suggestion and shove it,
her team had royally messed with her once, why should he trust them now, until Stone added,  “And you just might need our help in avoiding the Council.”

There was something to be said for blunt, straight-forwardness. The Americans took it to a new level but Bran could work with it. First
, he wanted to make sure he wasn’t walking into a trap. “What makes you think I know something about Alex’s whereabouts?”

“We have an eye witness
who said she might not be dead.”

“You sure?” The words escaped before he could pull them back. That and the increase of his heart rate. Alive? But why hadn’t she notified anyone? Or maybe she had, only it wasn’t him, in spite of what he’d done to safe
guard her brother and father.

Why wasn’t he surprised
? He and Alex had a few trust issues. More than a few, but now wasn’t the time to linger on them.

The pause on the other end of the line told him Stone caught the mixed emotions simmering beneath
Bran’s words. Still, Stone was all business as he answered, “I trust my source.”

“So where is
Miss Noziak?” Bran demanded. Stone wasn’t the only one who could be abrupt.

“Let’s talk.” Then before Bran could point out they were talking, the other man lowered his voice. “I don’t trust the phones.”

Valid point. Bran wondered if the issues were on Stone’s end or Bran’s. Focus on what mattered now. “Tulieres, near the
Café de Pomone
. One hour.”

“I’ll be there.”

So would Bran, in spite of the fact he’d seen the IR Agency break faith with Alex by revealing her father’s role in her imprisonment a year ago. Now they wanted to find her? Why? And why hadn’t she sought them out?

Only one way to find
answers. Bran had less than thirty minutes to clean up, eat and get to one of Paris’ busiest parks. A location he hoped would keep him safe long enough to discover what he needed to know.

Which was where the h
ades was Alex? And if she was hiding, from whom? And why?

Chapter Thirteen

The voices woke me, though I don’t think it was intentional
. Two men arguing made a rumbling sound that was enough to wake the dead. Which is what I felt like.

I was still on the flat metal gurney,
but the bright lights above warned me I was in a different place. My main focus, though, was on the pain exploding from within. I swear my neck was on fire, an acid-burning blaze running from neck to head and neck to body. This wasn’t a mass of bruises complaining, this was full-body screaming to shut down.

Then there was the other
problem as I glanced to my left. The two men who were arguing looked back at me. One seemed familiar, as if I’d seen him somewhere before, but I wasn’t sure where. The other? He was the problem. Even woozy I knew what he was if not who he was. He was Were, through and through, and pissed off to boot. At me.

What had I done to him?

I slipped my fingers against the table I was on to raise myself to a sitting position. No way did I want to face an angry Were flat on my back, even if sitting meant I wanted to puke.

“Who are you?” I squawked. I was trying for forceful but my throat was too raw for that.

Were Guy didn’t seem to mind though, as he grinned, and not a nice one, more a nasty, see-my-sharp-incisors kind of grin. A lot like the Were who’d tried to kill my brother had done. The Were I’d killed in return and ended up in prison almost two years ago. Then I’d thought things couldn’t get worse. As if!

“
Where’s Van? Where’s my brother?” I asked, hope forcing the question past desert-dry lips.

The doctor shook his head. “The
wolf shifter? The other killed him.”

I’d known that. Known and avoided, hoping somehow I’d been wrong. But once the words confirmed what I thought I knew, I could no longer hide from the truth.

A scream welled up from within.
Not Van. Please not Van. Who killed him?
Even as I asked, my gut told me I wouldn’t like the answer.

“Who?”

The doctor chuckled, one of those break-your-heart sounds. “The warlock, of course.”

There was no course about it.
I’d hoped I’d made up the nightmare. Bran. How could he? He’d come to help me save Van. Like flashbacks from a grainy, silent era movie, images roared against me. Fighting. Weres converging on me. Shouting at Bran to save my brother.

Instead
, he’d killed him. Didn’t know why. Warlocks were enemies to witches. I knew that, and yet I had trusted him.

My fault. My fault and Bran’s that Van was dead.

When I got out of here, wherever here was, I’d make sure Bran paid. Tit for tat. I’d been involved in killing his cousin and now he’d killed my brother. But it wasn’t going to stop there. Bran wouldn’t know what hit him.

First things first. Angry Were eyeing me.

“Don’t do anything foolish, Paul,” the doctor
-looking guy said. At last I recognized the voice. Frenchie. The one who wanted me dead last time I woke up. And he was the only one holding back an angry Were? So not my day.

Were
Guy didn’t seem to be listening. Then he growled, “She killed my twin.”

Better and better. I had no idea who his
twin was, but did remember fighting against a lot of Weres and my brother Van. And Bran. Weres died. So did my brother, but that was at Bran’s hands. So I guess I couldn’t call even-steven to this Were.

I slid my legs
over the edge of the gurney until my toes touched the floor. Thank the Great Spirits, the gurney wasn’t the kind on wheels because that was the only thing holding me upright.

Until the Were attacked. He lunged in one swift, powerful burst of speed. Out of instinct
, I dropped to the floor, so my body mass hit him at his thighs, his own momentum toppling him over me and the gurney.

First round to me, but tripping a raging Were wasn’t the same as winning a battle against one. At least he was still in his human form, which helped me a smidge. No telling what kind of beast he could morph into. That
, and the fact his attack sent a burst of adrenaline rushing through me that gave me enough energy to scramble away. Closer to the doctor but he was human. My brothers had always taught me to keep the biggest threat front and center. That’d be the Were who was even now half-morphing into what looked like a bear.

Seriously? I had to fight a bear?

Defense or offence? It wasn’t like there was a lot of room to run and even less to hide. Attack it was.

Even before I’d thought through the logic of that decision
, I had rocked to my feet and sailed through the air, hitting Were-bear in his broad chest with my shoulder. I don’t know who was more shocked, him or me when the blow sent him reeling backwards into the nearest wall.

Yeah, me!

Except I’d ended flat on my back on the hard floor. Not an easily defensible position.

The Were had
barely dented the wall when he pivoted and shot himself forward. I tucked my knees to my chest and used my legs as a fulcrum, catching his stomach and arching him over my head and beyond me.

The shock of my bare feet hitting him ricocheted through me like an electrical jolt. I wanted to curl up and hide.

Maybe later. Now I wanted to live.

With a curse for idiots who—
like myself,—had death wishes, I scrambled to my hands and knees before stumbling upright. I expected to be hit before I could catch my bearings as I twisted to see where the Were was.

The Mother Goddess or Great Spirits must have heard my pleas as the Were, half-human, half-bear, lay crumpled on the c
oncrete floor, not moving. The doctor was at his side. I could have told him it probably wasn’t a smart idea because Weres, like my Shifter brothers, weren’t always aware of who they were lashing out at if they’d been knocked unconscious.

My hand rose to my neck where I could feel
the bandage over what happened when my brother Van had attacked me while out of his mind in pain and on drugs. Man, I must have been out of things a lot longer than I thought to have healed as well as I did. Days? Weeks?

The doctor’s voice roused and focused me like cold water on heated skin. “He’s dead.”

“Don’t be stupid,” I said, not really thinking. “I can’t kill a Were.” At least not without calling Echo demons or using dark magic.

The doctor rose to his feet, his eyes showing way too much white. Too much for my peace of mind. The man was afraid. Terrified. I could tell because I could hear the kabooming of his heart, sense his rapid pulse rate
, and even smell the taint of his sweat.

Except I couldn’t do any of those things.

What was happening?

I stepped back, but the
doctor was inching toward me, one hand gripping a syringe.

I had no idea what was in that thing but I didn’t care. This man had wanted me dead earlier and I had no doubts that hadn’t changed.

“It was an accident,” I said past dry lips. “You saw him. He attacked me.”

“You are too dangerous to live, Miss Noziak
.” the doctor breathed, a sound so low and so intense goose bumps ran down my back. Why did he know my name when I’d never met him before?

That’s when I remembered where I’d seen him before. Next to the body of
Philippe Cheverill, the head of the Preternatural Council. Who had been murdered.

My skin went cold as I shook my head. “Did you kill Cheverill?” I asked before I could catch the words. Not a smart move.

The doc must have thought I’d never survive as he answered, “No, but I didn’t stop who did.”

Then he jumped toward me, syringe extended.

I didn’t think, I acted and the next thing I knew my fingers were squeezed around the man’s throat, his head dangling at a crooked angle as I held him a good foot off the floor.

What the—dead?

He couldn’t be. I didn’t have that kind of strength. And yet I held him upright, all his weight pulling at my arm, barely registering. His face blue, his neck at an impossible angle. I didn’t even know what his name was. I wasn’t even sure what had been in the syringe he’d held that was now rolling on the floor. Could I have killed a total stranger for no reason?

Sweet Mother Goddess
, help me.

Someone screamed in the background. Followed by a barked order. All in French. A hand grabbed my free arm and before I could swivel my head to see who was tugging at me a sharp prick jabbed my arm.

What was—

“
Sacre bleu
,” another voice, male this time, called out, “Notify Byrne. Now. Now. Now!”

“Byrne?” I tried to ask but even to me the word sounded muffled. Warped.

“She’s going under.”

“Grab him.”

The weight I held eased. Shapes of people moving in and out … the pain dulled. Not a lot, but enough that I didn’t want to fight the tide tugging me under.

“
Monsieur
Byrne. He comes.”

Good news? The voice sounded relieved. Less frantic. I must have tottered backwards because I could feel the gurney against me. Holding me mostly upright.

Footsteps pounded against concrete. Far away but coming closer. Slap. Slap. Slap.

Nothing made sense. Not the smell. Antiseptic, but sharper. Or the scent of fear
. My own. The sweat coating my skin, warmed by an elevated heart rate, sounding like a tympani drum booming in my ears.

Another cry
broke in, “By the fourth virtue …”

Why did that voice ring a bell? Like a child’s rhyme once memorized.

“You two, take him away. Now.”

Irish. I recognized that accent.
Colin Farrell. I cracked open one eye. That didn’t hurt as much as I’d expected. Another face hovered in front of me. Nice face. Boyish. Charming. Something familiar, but I was so tired I couldn’t put my finger on it. Besides, last guy who looked familiar I’d just killed.

“Miss Noziak,” he said. “Alex.” I expected anger, because I could hear the pounding of his heart. But instead
, I scented excitement. Smelled it. Which didn’t track.

“Hmmmm.”

“Lovely to have you back with us.”

I’d just killed a man, two men if the accident with the Were counted, and Colin Farrell voice was happy to see me? How many levels of a nightmare was I in?

I found myself lying flat, squirming against a hard surface, the gurney, but now straps were holding me, binding me as my muscles fought, then eased.

Not what I needed. Time to fight.

Except I was too damn tired.“Hmmmm.” The only sound that I could manage. Wasn’t much but I guess it kept me from getting myself into too much more trouble.

“She killed
Jean Claude,” cried one near-hysterical woman.

They were talking about me. But I didn’t know anyone named Jean Claude.

“Broke his neck.”

The snap? The weight? I didn’t kill people. Okay, maybe just a few. And all bad guys. As far as I knew.

The floaty feeling intensified.

“What should we do?” the female voice shouted.

If that woman didn’t shut up soon I was going to have to bitch-slap her.

“Get rid of the body,” came the reply. The Irish accent. I liked the way he thought. Hadn’t Jaylene told me once that you could tell your friends by the ones willing to help you hide the bodies? I wish she were here now. And the rest of the team. Even sharp-tongued Mandy.

But they weren’t. I was alone. And scared.

“But—”screaming woman protested.

“Now.” Irish Guy was pissed. But not at me. That was good. Usually everyone was upset with me.

Take that! And that!

Only no words would come. I was too tired.

“You rest now,” Irish
Guy soothed. Someone else had soothed like that once. Bran. Yeah, right, probably laughing the whole time, waiting for his chance for revenge.

A hand smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “Shhh. No worries. We’ll talk soon.
Very soon.”

Needed to talk. Needed to understand.

My eyelids drooped closed, though I could still hear the voices around me growing more and more muted.

“We’ll have to
keep her restrained,” Irish Voice said. “So there will be no more accidents.”

He called killing a man an accident?

“She killed him,” Female Voice said. Not sure I liked agreeing with her.

“These things happen.” A pause. “Move her to the lower wing. Find Doctor
Regore. Bring her here.”

Scurried steps. A door opening and closing. A car far away. Voices whispering. Most in French. One in English. “We should kill her as Jean Claude wished. Or she will murder us all.”

The woman speaking had that right. I could feel it coursing through my veins, mingling with the pain, with the fogginess. These were humans. That’s all. Meat.