Deceived By the Others (17 page)

Well, this was a peachy development. I swept the paper aside and made my java, considering the implications of this latest note. I couldn’t recall seeing it when we came back from the woods, so someone had put it in the cabin between the time we left to pick up the pizza and when Chaz got shot with the arrow. Whoever this was either had access to the cabins or was among the group that had joined us after Chaz fought Seth, possibly leaving it on the counter on his or her way out. Could it be we had two separate threats to deal with—in addition to Seth and his lackeys? It was possible that one person or group was writing the childish, hostile notes, and another was resorting to violence using the silver-tipped arrow.

By the time I finished my coffee, put on a jacket, and crept outside, only one other cabin nearby still had lights on. I waited a few feet from the door, listening carefully for any large predator, or fifty, rustling through the underbrush, but there was nothing out of the ordinary I could detect other than the tentative chirp of a few late season crickets.

The lodge was a dark blur against the reflected lights from the parking lot on the other side, and I kept to the trail as I worked my way toward it. The tiny solar-powered lights that rimmed the trail didn’t do a lot to steady my nerves. The lights and moonlight flashing through the clouds above kept me from tripping on roots or walking into trees in the dark, but they made for deep, ominous shadows in which any beast of legend might crouch unseen in the underbrush.

I knew I really shouldn’t be doing this. I could get hurt by Ethan. I could get hurt by that Hawk guy. Hell, I could get hurt by falling and breaking my ass in the mud. However, I was worried about Chaz, and would do anything in my power to prevent anything else bad from happening to him. To accomplish that, we needed to find Hawk, track him down, and confront whatever his issue was so he’d leave us the hell alone.

So I crept out into the night, feeling like I was playing “secret agent man” all over again. I prayed this time I wouldn’t stumble into one of the pack, that I’d go unnoticed. So far, so good. There was nothing but the low burble of the creek and the smell of herbs and wood smoke on the chill night air. The boards of the bridge groaned a little under my weight, but otherwise I was pretty proud of my stealth.

When I tugged the lodge door, it opened easily. All of the lights in the lodge had been dimmed. Everyone but the shifters in the family must have gone to bed. There was enough light to make my way by, and I crept along as quietly as I could, straining to detect signs of anyone awake and moving around. Nothing.

When I reached the end of the hall, the dining area to my left was empty and dark. I peered very, very slowly and quietly around the edge of the doorway to my right, checking for anyone at the front desk. That room was also empty, only one light glowing by the front door. Somebody could’ve been hiding in the shadows, I suppose, but unless they were practicing their Navy SEAL moves, I’m pretty sure I was the only one creeping around like a dork in the dark.

There was a sign set up on the desk that directed RING BELL FOR ASSISTANCE, THANKS!—THE MANAGEMENT. No, thank you, I’ll just help myself.

I straightened and moved over to the desk, pleased to see that there was no computer, only a registry book under some papers. Thank God for technophobes. I opened it up and skimmed through the most recent entries. Mr. Cassidy must have put Chaz’s name down at some point after we’d first showed up, as I found his name neatly scrawled as the last guest to arrive. I was grateful to see the Cassidys meticulously filled in the name of one guest per cabin, probably the one paying the bill, followed by how many people were sharing the room, the date of arrival, and the date of departure. I skimmed over the list, noting the ones marked as having checked out.

After scanning over the columns, I came across the only one noted as having left the lodge yesterday. The writing was neat and concise, unmistakable. Howard Thomas + 2 guests, Cabin 3. Great. So our culprit was Howard Thomas or one of his guests. The registry didn’t make note of any addresses or phone numbers, and the records for whatever payment was accepted must have been kept somewhere else.

I put the book back and pulled open the desk drawers to see if they kept receipts or anything else up here. The only things I could find in the drawers were a lot of pens, Post-it Notes, manila folders with inventories and order forms for stuff in the dining hall and cabins, and lots of dust. Yuck. Nothing useful, nothing that gave me any more clues how to track down Howard Thomas.

Damn. It had been a long shot—most people aren’t trusting enough to leave anything related to business finances out in the open—but I’d really been hoping to find something up here. The full name was better than nothing. I’d call Sara in the morning and ask her to run a trace.

Just as I had carefully tidied up so nothing would look disturbed when the Cassidys came out in the morning, George’s voice drifted from the hallway opposite the dining area. As quietly as I could, I ducked back down, squeezing under the desk in hopes of going overlooked.

“… and they don’t know who you are. No, Pops kept quiet; he’s just really concerned you’re going to pull that cowboy shit again. Stay away until they’re gone, okay?”

What the hell was this?

“No, genius, they already suspect he’s covering for you. Stay out of sight until they’ve gone back to the city, okay?”

He listened to whatever the response was on the other end of the line and walked off somewhere, the sound of his voice fading and leaving me sitting on pins and needles waiting to see if he had stopped somewhere that he might spot me when I came out of hiding. He’d gone quiet, listening to the other end of the conversation, so I wasn’t sure exactly where he was.

Just as I was edging my way out from under the desk, I had to stifle a scream as something slammed down on the counter right above my head. George was right behind me, on the other side of the counter.

“What the hell do you think we’ve been doing? Look, that girl he’s dating—she said she was a P.I. Pops didn’t give your real name, but it’s only a matter of time before she starts nosing around and figures it out. Enough with this high school shit. Either stop dicking around and kill him or go back to the city until they’re gone.”

My heart was pounding so hard, I was positive George must be able to hear it echoing through the cavernous room. He laughed at whatever the response was, and the wood above me creaked as he put his weight on it, maybe leaning against it.

“Nah, I don’t want to go out there with that new blood they dragged with them. I’m going to bed in a few minutes. You coming over for the game next weekend?”

The rest of the conversation couldn’t have taken more than ten minutes but felt a lot longer, and had nothing to do with me, the Sunstrikers, or anything to do with the lodge. My heart gradually eased in my chest as they discussed mundane matters like the upcoming World Series. My money was on the Yankees, of course.

They talked long enough for cramps to settle into the arches of my feet and my lower back from staying crammed under the desk so long. Fear of discovery was enough to keep me absolutely still. After an age, George finally said good-bye and tossed the cordless phone on the counter. I had to stifle a gasp as it thunked across the wood over my head. He yawned and wandered off, his footsteps echoing in the quiet dark.

I waited longer than was probably necessary to make sure George wasn’t coming back. Staying low, I crept out from behind the desk, scanning the dimly lit room and hallways for any sign of company. Without taking the time to stretch out my cramped muscles, I rushed to the doors and ran out into the night, fleeing to my cabin.

Chapter 16

On my way back to the cabin, shortly after I crossed the bridge, something growled at me from the bushes.

The tendons in my neck creaked as I caught movement, and twisted to see what it was. My blood turned to ice water as what I’d taken to be a tree trunk shifted—against the wind. It was too dark to really see the shape of the thing, other than that it was big.
Very
big. Bigger than Chaz when he was Were. It was growling at me, a lone human in the dark with no weapon and no hope of outrunning a predator this big.

My knees trembled as I backed away, slowly so as not to invite it—whatever it was—to charge. The thing growled again, deeper this time, and I froze in panic.

My gaze shifted upward to focus on the source of the low rumbling. Large yellow eyes gleamed out of the shadows briefly before that great, huge
something
moved. At first, I thought it was coming after me, and rapidly backpedalled, slipping in the mud. The thing wasn’t after me, though; it pulled away, disappearing between the trees.

Knees weak with relief, I stumbled along until I reached my cabin. My hands shook as I worked the lock, dropping the key in my haste to get inside. Cursing, I scattered dirt and wood chips as I searched for it by feel. Once I found the damned thing, it took longer than it should have for me to get inside, as I kept twisting around and flattening against the door at every rustling bush or crackling of a tree branch behind me.

Once I wrestled the lock open, I slammed and locked the door behind me.

Coffee and paranoia were my companions for the rest of the evening. I dead-bolted the cabin door and stuck a chair under the knob. It wouldn’t do much to stop a determined, rampaging Were, but it should give me enough time and warning to slip out a window or grab a makeshift weapon. I found myself wishing for a power cable or something to get the laptop up and running; this place was horribly claustrophobic without a phone or computer to connect to the outside world. If you needed to make a call, they had a bank of antiquated pay phones in the lobby of the lodge. Being cut off from technology was supposed to be part of the charm of the place. With my luck, I should’ve known better.

The caffeine infusions I took to stay alert helped, but also made me jittery and didn’t make it any easier to concentrate on the notes I was scribbling down of what I knew about our enemies thus far.

The Cassidy family was involved somehow. I wouldn’t approach them without the Sunstrikers at my back. Mr. Cassidy was a Were of some kind; some of the others in his household could be Were, too. Despite the location of his home, he might belong to a pack, which meant other shifters could be hiding somewhere in the town or elsewhere on the property. If they were in on whatever was planned to hurt Chaz, they could have made an attempt on his life before now—if they had the numbers to stand up against the rest of the pack. I was guessing they didn’t, or they would’ve been more open about their attacks. Whatever had growled at me out there hadn’t been part of the Sunstriker pack, lending credence to my suspicions that while there might be other shifters on the property backing the Cassidys and whoever George had been talking to, there weren’t enough of them to make a concerted effort against the Sunstrikers.

That, or they only wanted Chaz.

Everything Mr. Cassidy had said now came into question. It was possible he was covering for whoever had trashed our first cabin, and shot Chaz, and that he was deliberately covering for whoever this Howard Thomas person was. Keeping track of all the possible connections and consequences (or maybe the caffeine overdose) was making my head hurt.

I watched through a gap in the curtains as the first rays of the sun crested over the mountaintops, chasing away some of the mist creeping along the path between the cabins and heralding the coming of Sunday morning. I also had to stifle a scream as the door shook in the frame.

“Shia? What the hell! Open up!” Chaz sounded grumpier than he had been before he left last night.

Embarrassed by my reaction, I blotted up the few drops of coffee I’d spilled on my notes and rushed to the door, shoving the chair out of the way and yanking it open.

Chaz was clearly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes, which were bloodshot and hooded. He hadn’t buttoned his jeans, and there was a bit of mud spattered on his arms. He slid past me, dropping some clothing on the chair and collapsing facedown on the bed. A few of the other Sunstrikers were sluggishly wandering from the tree line, some with jeans or sweatpants on, but most with clothes tucked under their arms. I slammed and bolted the door shut, returning the chair to its place under the knob.

Chaz regarded my antics with one eye, his voice gravelly and exhausted. “What are you doing?”

Rubbing my arms for warmth, I skittered over to the fireplace and poked at the log I’d tossed on there earlier, willing the flames to chase away the bone-deep chill I was feeling. “We’ve got a real problem here. I know you didn’t want me to leave the cabin, but—”

“Jesus, Shia, you could have been killed! What did you do?”

“I’m sorry!” I crept over to the bed, easing down onto the edge as he twisted to face me. I kept my eyes averted, not wanting to meet his tired, angry glare. “Look, I knew you’d be worried if I told you I was going out. I went up to the lodge while you were out so I could get some information on that guy Mr. Cassidy mentioned.”

“Hawk?”

“Yeah. I think his real name is Howard Thomas. I know what cabin he was staying in and that there were two other people with him. That’s not the interesting part, though.”

Chaz rubbed at his eyes, levering himself to sit up and wrapping his arms around me when he saw my expression. I gratefully leaned into his warmth, though I was worried what he’d have to say by the time I was done telling my tale.