Bengal's Heart (42 page)

She didn’t know how she had touched him, and that was his fault. She didn’t know how important she was to his life. Hell, he hadn’t known himself until he had heard the countdown to that explosive and realized he could lose her.

She was his mate. She was his heart.

“Cabal, tell me you’re using the comm link.” Jonas’s voice came over the secure link he had placed at his ear.

“I’m watching,” he replied almost silently. “There are three unregistered Breeds taking silent direction from Lacey. James is in sight, for the moment watching only.”

“We have eyes on them as well,” Jonas reported. “Were you detected leaving?”

“Negative.”

“I have two enforcers that didn’t show themselves during the explosion. Mordecai and Tarek Jordan. What’s your location?”

“Close” was all he revealed.

Jonas cursed bitterly. “I need more than this, Cabal.”

“Fuck what you need,” Cabal stated bitterly. “I know what I’m doing. I don’t need direction or orders from you, Director.”

He’d had enough. For ten years he’d followed Jonas, worked with him, and though he highly respected the man, he didn’t trust his mate’s life in anyone’s hands but his own.

“We don’t know who has her, Cabal,” Jonas reminded him softly.

“No, we don’t,” he agreed. “But I sure as fucking hell know how to find out.”

And he knew where to go. Who to wait on.

Disconnecting the link, he moved from his position and began his trek up the mountain. The sheriff’s house was about twenty miles away. An easy run for a Bengal Breed. An easy run for a man racing to save his own soul.

His mate.

◆ CHAPTER 24
◆

“I don’t want to have to touch you. I know you’ve mated the Bengal and I know that would be painful. So I’m going to ask you to cooperate and walk into the cabin yourself.”

Cassa stared at Patrick Wallace for long moments after he made his request. There was nothing dead about him. He was living, breathing, a man tortured and playing a very dangerous game.

“I hate to see you die for this,” she said softly. “Let me go now. I’ll call Cabal and he’ll come for me. He’ll tear through this mountain like an avenging angel.”

His lips quirked mockingly. “Nothing’s going to stay St. Laurents’s hand at this point.” There was the faintest shrug of his shoulders. “I may as well continue with my plan.”

“And that plan is?” She was curious about this part. She hadn’t figured that out quite yet.

He reached past her and threw the van door open, exposing her to the cold mountain air and the front of a rough log cabin.

“Don’t make me force you inside the cabin,” he requested again. “Neither of us would enjoy your pain.”

Breathing in roughly, she stared at the opened door.

“Are you going to kill me?” She stared into his eyes, eyes that flickered first with ice, then with regret.

“I won’t harm you, Ms. Hawkins,” he told her quietly. “That was never my intention.”

“Then why kidnap me?” she asked.

She hated to admit that she was actually afraid to leave the confines of the van and enter the unfamiliar territory of the cabin waiting just outside its doors.

He sighed deeply as he stared back at her knowingly. “I’ll make a deal with you. Get out of the van and come into the cabin. We’ll discuss it over decaf coffee and chocolate cake.”

She almost smiled. Breeds did love their chocolate. Somehow it almost made it seem less threatening. Not quite, but almost.

He was lethally dangerous. She could see it in his face, in his eyes, in the resignation in his voice. He was a man who didn’t care if he died, and that made him more dangerous than any other.

Hiding the shaking of her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she moved slowly from the van. Gravel crunched beneath the heels of her boots as she moved slowly along the walk to the opened cabin door. Damn, she felt like she was going to the gallows rather than the warm confines of a cabin.

Drawing in courage with a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold and entered a rather homey, spotless kitchen. There was a pot steaming on the stove. Chili if she wasn’t mistaken. A long table sat in the middle of the room, a checkered cloth covering it. The windows were covered with dark blinds, but the modern appliances and well-waxed wood floors assured her it was a well-cared-for room. Most likely a home.

“Come on in, Ms. Hawkins.”

She jumped, startled, as Walt Jameson stepped in from another room, his somber expression heavy as he moved into the kitchen.

“Let me guess, Myron and Sheriff Lacey aren’t far behind?” she asked as she did as he’d suggested and moved into the room.

Behind her, Patrick stepped in as well as the young Breed that had driven the van. The door closed and locked behind them, sealing them into the warmth of a home that suddenly seemed more sinister.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Walt answered as he moved to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, before turning back to her.

Dressed in a checkered shirt, jeans and boots, he looked just as friendly, just as unassuming as he had that morning in Glen Ferris. In his case, looks were definitely deceiving.

“I see you’ve met Patrick.” There was a wealth of affection in his voice as he nodded at her kidnapper. “Behind him is Keith. I trust they took good care of you.”

“Don’t place too much trust in them,” she suggested. “They’re severely inconveniencing me.”

Walt glanced behind her in surprise before a light chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah, they have that small habit.”

“It’s going to be a fatal habit in this case,” she informed him. “You know Cabal, Walt. He’ll kill them both.”

Walt shook his head, though his face was lined with resignation. “He’ll be killing us all then.” He sighed heavily as he waved his hand to the table. “Sit. I’ll get you some food, maybe some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

She moved to the table and sat down, though she ignored the food and coffee set before her. She instead watched warily as Patrick and Keith each took a seat, then Walt. They had no problem digging into the chili or drinking the coffee as she watched them silently.

“Watts is in Virginia.” Patrick’s head lifted from the steady concentration he had been giving his food. “He’s been held in a prison in the Middle East since he was captured at that facility in Germany. One of Jonas Wyatt’s pet prisoners.”

Her brows lifted. Did everyone but her know about this prison?

“So I just learned.” Her hands clenched in her lap. She was almost shaking with nerves, with fear. The murders that had been committed in this small town had begun here. Perhaps all three men had been involved in them. They had been cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. Without mercy.

Patrick shook his head. “We’re not going to harm you, Ms. Hawkins, unless we have no choice.” His eyes were hard now. He would, if he had to, that was the message he was giving her. If she didn’t cooperate.

“Cabal’s going to start with Myron or Danna,” she said softly. “He’s going to hurt them, Mr. Wallace. Myron was a friend of mine; I’d hate to see that happen to him. But unless you let me go, nothing is going to stop it.”

“Myron knew the risks involved in this plan,” he told her quietly. “I just hope your Bengal knows that harming either of them will come with a price.”

She would be harmed. She was getting real damned good at reading between Breed lines here.

“So why don’t you just tell me what this genius plan of yours is?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at the three of them. “Don’t tell me you actually think Douglas is going to come for me?”

Patrick’s smile turned thin and cruel. “Do you think he will?”

She rolled her eyes at that thought before staring back at him steadily.

“You’re just a distraction,” he finally admitted. “And a bit of insurance. Jonas has a leash on Watts in the form of a Coyote Breed on the team that helped him escape. I just want to make certain he loosens that leash and gives Watts his head a bit.”

She shook her head. “It’s not going to work. Cabal won’t be distracted.”

“He’s not looking for Watts; he’s looking for you.” Patrick shrugged. “Jonas is trying to cover Cabal’s ass as well as keep up with Watts and look for the Dozen’s killer.” His grin was self-depreciating. “That would be me of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured as she sat back in her chair and watched him. “And you just want to be the one to kill Watts.”

“No, Ms. Hawkins, he wants to be the one to rip the identities of the last of the Deadly Dozen right out of Watts’s lying throat.”

She whirled around, eyes widening, lips parting in shock at the sight of the former mayor of Glen Ferris as he limped into the room.

David Banks had a bandage extending from his thigh to his ankle. There were healing wounds on his face, bandages were obvious beneath the loose T-shirt he wore, and as he limped forward on crutches, it was easy to see that whatever had happened to him had nearly been fatal.

She jerked around in her seat to face Patrick. “He was part of the Dozen.”

Patrick nodded slowly. “He was.”

“And he’s here? Why don’t you stop making me guess what the hell is going on here and just tell me? Because I’m getting damned sick of coming up with the questions and getting none of the answers.”

“That’s possibly my fault.” David eased himself into the chair at the other end of the table, wincing as he stretched his leg out in front of him.

Walt rose from his seat and collected another bowl of chili and cup of coffee before setting it in front of David.

“That’s Walt,” he sighed before looking back to Cassa. “The Deadly Dozen were real bastards. I was a part of a small group of FBI agents tracking down information on the Council and the Breeds. I managed to infiltrate the Dozen when it first formed. Brandenmore and Engalls funded the group at first, because they wanted Breeds for research. The Council allowed the Dozen a certain number of live specimens on the condition that they returned either the live Breeds or their heads as proof that they were no longer free.”

Cassa covered her mouth with a hand, staring back at him in horror.

“I couldn’t tell anyone here what I was doing, because I never knew who I could trust. At that time, there was someone in the Breed Freedom Society sending information to the Council. I didn’t know if it was a human or Breed, so I kept my mouth shut and did my job. However, my interests always lay with protecting the Breeds.”

His expression twisted in pain, in grief.

“What happened Valentine’s night?” she asked.

David shook his head. “There was a Coyote Breed. A young one. He’d managed to escape his lab in Yugoslavia and he made it here. But he had Council soldiers on his ass the whole way. He was wounded, feverish. The kid was next to dead when he finally made it to Glen Ferris and managed to contact Walt.” He nodded to Walt. “He was a new genetic design. That was all the information we were given. The Council was desperate to get him back. The Dozen was called in when they received word from their spy that he was here.”

He looked up at Walt and Patrick. “I tried to send them a warning, but it was intercepted.”

Patrick rose from his seat and moved to the window. Bracing his hands on the window, he stared outside as David continued.

“They were ambushed. I didn’t even know the hunt was on that night. They’d gotten word at the last minute and I wasn’t in town. If I had been . . .” He swallowed tightly. “So much would have changed.”

“Your husband raped and killed Myron’s mate.” Patrick’s voice was toneless. “Before the hunt they found my cabin. They killed my mate and cut our child from her body as we were trying to escort the Coyote through the mountains. She was in labor. She and the midwife both were killed.” His shoulders were tense, his voice thick with emotion. When he turned back to her, his eyes were like brandy flames in the depths of his sun-darkened flesh. “Your husband knows where my child was taken. He wasn’t taken to a lab. He wasn’t even reported as being alive. Brandenmore and Engalls didn’t have him. Watts and three others of the Dozen hid him. I want to know where my son is. If he’s alive or dead. Ms. Hawkins, I will know, or Douglas Watts will know pain as he’s never imagined it.”

Fury throbbed in his voice. An icy sharp rage that sent shivers racing down her back.

“Why didn’t you contact Jonas Wyatt?” she asked, her voice thick. “Why didn’t you tell him? He would have helped you.”

Walt shook his head. “This ain’t Wyatt’s fight. It’s ours. The Dozen killed our people. Patrick’s mate and his younger brother. His brother was Danna’s mate. Friends and loved ones, Ms. Hawkins. This ain’t Sanctuary. And by God, we take vengeance for our own.”

Anger lined Walt’s face now, anger and grief. He shook his head and sniffed back his emotion. There were no tears; the burning rage inside him would have dried any moisture, Cassa thought. There was nothing left now but the need for blood.

“What happened to you?” she asked David.

A bitter little laugh escaped his throat. “I made the mistake of asking the wrong person about the child that was taken that night. About six months ago, the Dozen came after me. Ryan Damron had managed to get the names of a few of the members. He was bringing the information and the proof of it to me. But he didn’t come alone. Elam March was with him as well as a Coyote soldier. They were going to kill me, Ms. Hawkins. Damron had betrayed me.”

“David was smarter than he used to be though,” Walt grunted. “He came to me. I called Patrick, and he and Keith shadowed that meeting.”

“That’s when I decided I liked the feel of their blood on my hands.” Patrick’s smile was hard, cruel. “I’d been searching for their identities for years. I’ll have them when I find Watts. I’ll find my kid, and I’ll finish killing the rest of them once I do. This isn’t Wyatt’s or St. Laurents’s fight, nor is it yours, Ms. Hawkins.”