Destiny and Deception (15 page)

I held my breath, hoping Perlson did the same thing in his loafers.

For once we got lucky.

Soph and I let out sighs of relief. “Wow,” I said. “Who’d have guessed that she’d stand up to him to protect us? I mean, I like her, but…”

Soph nodded slowly, her voice going soft again. “Yeah. Who’d have guessed?”

“So where do you think they’re being kept?”

“Who?”

“The kids Harnek’s training? Can you imagine? Training a group of kids to use special powers?”

Sophie shrugged. “What are the odds? In Junction?” She grabbed her book bag and headed to the library.

I caught up to her. “I’m going to find them.”

“Who? Perlson and Harnek? They went thatta’way,” she said with point and a roll of her eyes.

“No. The kids.”

“I wouldn’t bother if I were you.”

“Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing you aren’t me. Because I’m going to bother. Someone should look out for these kids.”

“Yes,” Sophie agreed. “Someone should.”

Marlaena

It wasn’t a big store, but then again, it wasn’t a big town. The parking lot was the most remarkable thing about the little strip mall—all sleek and recently poured macadam, black as a new moon night and smooth as satin. Snow fluttered down, only showing briefly in sharp contrast to the blacktop before it vanished, white absorbed by the black. The buildings were standard fare—something new filling the façade of a franchise store that stood here earlier—its architecture proclaiming its original intent, but its strange choice of colors showing new ownership.

Judging the space I guessed the mall had been started in the nineties, hit its heyday then, and soon started to tumble into the faint signs of disrepair and a failing economy that still marred it now. A few roof shingles hung awkwardly, some mismatched from more recent repairs. The sidewalk rose up at an odd angle where a tree’s root worked to reclaim the earth beneath it, and the brick face, its corners chipped at bumper level, was in need of a good powerwash.

Gareth tugged at my hood, tucking a stray wisp of my hair back into its dark depths. “If you’d take my advice and dye it,” he whispered—his breath so close I fought a shiver—“we’d all be safer. Brunettes are a dime a dozen. But redheads—ya’ll are memorable.”

“Aren’t I memorable for something more than my hair color?” I asked, feeling the alpha in me slip away as I searched for his eyes in the falling gray of dusk.

He rolled them, his lips pressing into a long, firm line. “Come on, Princess,” he drawled in that slow Southern way of his that always seemed to say no matter how fast our lives rushed by—no matter how hard we bled out—that
this
was the only moment that mattered and it needed to be savored. Gareth sucked the marrow out of life without even trying—just by
being
. I envied him that. He looped one arm around mine. “Stroll with me.”

“I’m not the strolling type.” But with Gareth beside me, I couldn’t imagine anything else. “You’re brunette and you’re far from forgettable.”

“I’m as brunette as they come,” he said, flashing a smile full of white teeth that contrasted beautifully with his rich skin tone—so much like freshly made cocoa, and capable of warming a person just as much. An ebony curl danced near one of his pale lavender eyes and I resisted the urge to brush it back as he’d tucked mine away.

His mama was a white girl with freckles dappling her face and shoulders and his daddy was a dog as dark as midnight, he’d once said as we all had huddled together, sharing tales around a campfire beneath a bridge in some now-forgotten city miles away.

They may have been in sharp contrast to each other, but when they’d come together they’d bred one amazing wolf, in my opinion. So Gareth carried her cheekbones, pale eyes, and freckles and his father’s dark skin, broad shoulders, and amazing lips. He coughed. “Focus, Princess.”

But I
was
focused. On
him
. The heat of his body matching mine, the way my breathing fell into a perfect rhythm with his.…

“We’re here to do a job,” he reminded.

Caught
. “I am
very
well aware of that,” I sniped, turning my head away from him to look at the stores, observe the people, and note the time. Things appeared to be winding down. More people were leaving the store than entering it. And thanks to my ever-present internal clock, I knew it was nine twenty-five. According to the handwritten sign hanging on the store’s door, they closed at ten.

Gareth stiffened slightly beside me, and I followed his gaze, noting the video cameras.

“What are the odds they’re actually on?” He knew as well as I did that some stores used fakes to try and keep people honest—just empty shells or dead cameras no longer capable of recording anything their blind eyes were turned toward.

“I don’t like taking the chance that they are…”

Ever since Mississippi, Gareth had become cautious. A werewolf caged was no werewolf, he still occasionally mumbled. He hadn’t spent much time imprisoned—but some was much more than he ever intended to see again. So now, no matter how hungry or desperate we were, we plotted and planned.
How can I protect the pack if I’m kept from them?
he’d asked me once.

And so he’d become the cautious one, keeping my impulses—
all
of them—firmly in check. Sometimes I wanted to kill him for it.

But most of the time I just wanted to rub up against him and make him focus on nothing but me. “We have a can of spray paint,” I reminded him.

“True, true,” he agreed. “We can give it a nice ol’ black eye.…”

I shivered, the breeze turning and cutting into me suddenly.

Gareth pulled me close, slipping his arm away from mine to encircle me with it instead. And although my heart sped at the move, my mind knew it meant nothing. Gareth would have wrapped
any
of the pack members—male or female—into his warmth if it meant making them comfortable or happy. Besides, we were playing a part—pretending to be a couple. And as much as I wished it weren’t pretend, I knew better.

It only had to be believable as we scoped out the place.

Gareth didn’t want me. He followed me to protect the others
from
me.

“Let’s go that direction,” he said, pointing with his chin. “We don’t wanna hang too long in front of one store and draw attention to ourselves.”

So we strolled away, I clinging to the side of him and enjoying his strength, his warmth, and the solid power of his body, and he? Too cautious and careful to notice the way I fell into beta mode around him.

Because even if he didn’t always agree with my style of leadership, Gareth was the first to admit our group needed a firm leader. And since he didn’t want to be an alpha …

That left
me
.

And Gabe sniffing around the pack’s edges, hoping for a way in—a way to lead at my side. As my equal.

My mate.

Gareth led me down the sidewalk to the Blockbuster and opened the door, holding it for me like a true Southern gentleman should. It had taken me months to get used to his little courtesies—and the fact that he held on to them so tightly after so much discourtesy had been done to him.

Together we wandered down the aisles of DVDs and Blu-ray discs, my finger trailing lightly along the shelves.

He paused in the horror section.

“They always mislabel these,” I remarked, picking up a few favorites. “
Ginger Snaps
isn’t horror, it’s drama.” I set it down again.

“And
Blood and Chocolate
?”

“Romance,” I stated.

He released me and drifted farther down the row to where the foreign films began. “
Brotherhood of the Wolf
?”

“Tragedy.”

“
The Twilight Saga
?”

I shivered. “That’s horror. Stark and terrifying horror.”

His full, dark lips slid into a generous smile. “I sort of liked them,” he admitted. “Using a minority to represent the wolves. That was clever.” He winked at me, and I pursed my lips in reply.

“You’re such a dork sometimes.”

He shrugged. “A dork … a romantic…?” He shrugged again.

“What’s romantic about the girl choosing the wrong guy? Jacob should’ve totally won Bella. He deserved to get what he wanted. He was passionate, protective…”

“The boy had abs of steel,” Gareth remarked.

“Nothing wrong with that,” I agreed, reaching out to pat Gareth’s tight stomach. I fought down the tremble that launched through my bones at such simple contact.

A gentleman, he said nothing, but his eyes darkened slightly in warning, and I pulled my hand away.

“Besides, ‘truth is stranger than fiction,’” I quipped.

His smile was fleeting, but it was better than nothing. “We’d better go back out and finish watching. The pups are probably starting to miss us,” I added, leading him from the store. “You know how crazed they can get when they’re this hungry.”

He nodded, the darkness still staining his eyes. Did he remember the time they broke into a fight over the last piece of beef jerky and Tembe nearly lost an eye? I blanched at the memory of Tembe’s eye hanging from its socket. Nearly
lost
an eye was exactly what I meant.

We did fine if everything remained in its place—damage was often fixable by our natural means and occasionally a splint or brace. But a part gone was … a part gone. Forever.

We weren’t starfish—we couldn’t regrow parts.

I shook my head, clearing it. That had been an unpleasant night. I rolled my shoulder, feeling the pain still nestled deep in it.

Gareth caught me and looked at me, his eyes full of concern.

I ignored him. Doing our job here and returning promptly to the pups was important when hunger stalked so close behind.

“There’s still the homeless shelter,” I reminded him.

He nodded grimly. “We may have to split the pack and try it. Let’s hope we find another way, though.”

“Yeah. Homeless shelters don’t seem to suit our type.”

He blinked at me, waiting for me to continue.

“But petty theft and larceny does.” I shrugged. “It’s the system that works.”

His silence spoke volumes.

“You’re judging me again,” I hissed.

He raised his hands, palms out. “I do not judge.”

Damn him, he was right. He was the least judgmental person I knew. He made Christ look hypocritical. “It’s our system.” I sighed.

“You do not need to justify it to me. It keeps them alive and gives them a family and hope.”

“But you wish things were different, don’t you?”

“Don’t
you?
”

I turned back to the store we’d been watching and let him pull me against him, wrapping me in his powerful arms as he acted the part of the snuggling lover and carefully kept us just beyond the view of the camera.

A slender man followed a final customer to the entrance and waved her out before turning the sign to read
CLOSED
in the door and clicking a single dead bolt into place.

10:02.

“Here we go,” I whispered, leaning into Gareth so that our two hearts pounded impossibly close together.

10:03. Lights flickered off in a pattern running the length of the store, so fast there had to be a bank of switches that could be flipped quickly and leave only one set of lights glowing. Near what we knew to be the office.

And the safe.

10:04. Faint movement near the office. If Skipper’s was like most smaller businesses, now would be the time for counting out, evening out the cash register drawers and prepping the deposit for the bank.

The curious thing would be to see if the money sat in the store’s safe overnight or if the owner stepped out to his car to drive it to the nearby bank and make a late-night deposit. If it stayed in the safe, we’d need to adjust our slowly forming plan on how to get access to it. But if the owner headed to the car with it … I held my breath, noted the time, and kept watch.

At 10:12 the same man approached the door again, key in hand and something tucked up beneath his arm. Taking a long look at the parking lot, he undid the bolt, opened the door, and snapped it shut again, sliding the key in and twisting with a well-practiced move. The store locked behind him, he headed across the parking lot, clicking a button on his keys so that the lights on a nearby car flashed in response. Then he slid the hand holding the keys up to grasp the zippered cash bag—a plump one—under his arm.

I watched him climb into the little car, heard the locks activate, and the engine start as we slowly walked to the car Gabe had recently obtained for us.

Sliding into the passenger’s seat, I let Gareth drive. Stealthily, we followed the man’s car until we knew what bank he was using and what roads and hiding places there were between the store and it.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jessie

We paused between classes—I’d finally succeeded in luring Pietr to a stairwell where we’d spent some time in the past. Kissing. Reaching up, I tugged his hair forward, pulling it across his right eye like he used to always wear it.

He looked at me, puzzled, and swept it back so both his eyes were clear.

I sighed and, looking up into his pale blue eyes, I said, “I love you.”

“I think you say that too lightly,” Pietr complained.

“What? What am I saying too lightly?”

“
Nyet.
Ugh. Don’t get me wrong. I love to hear it, but you say ‘I love you’ all the time.”

“I do not.…”

“Every time you hang up the phone with your sister or father—no matter how good or bad the call—‘I love you.’ Every time I head to a different class, or the bathroom,” he griped, “‘I love you.’”

“So?”

“At what point is it habitual and less meaningful?”

“Never,” I protested.

He looked away.

“You don’t believe me.”

“You developed quite a reputation for lying,” he pointed out.

“Yes, Captain Obvious,” I growled. “But I don’t lie when I say ‘I love you.’ Ever.”

“Do you need to say it so often? Doesn’t that—cheapen—the effect?”