Flameout (9 page)

“Whether we offer you the use of them,” he continued, “very much depends on your reasons for being here.”

“Well, we didn't fucking come here to be blindsided,” Jackson growled.

“You are well aware of Hunt's passion to kill you both.” Baker's expression and tone were mild, but the gleam in his eyes was animalistic. The alpha was ready to defend his pack, and he'd do it with teeth and claws if necessary. “So you're either foolish or desperate to come here unannounced.”

Anger flashed through Jackson, so fierce it just about blew my senses. I placed a hand on his knee in warning. His gaze shot to mine, and though the anger didn't recede any, his tone was polite as he said, “We came here to ask you some questions.”

“About what?”

“Not what,” I said. “Who.”

Baker half raised an eyebrow. “Information costs. We are a business organization, not a library.”

I smiled, but it was every bit as cool as his expression. “As long as your prices are not exorbitant, we are more than willing to pay for what we need.”

Jackson shot me a look that suggested he wasn't exactly on board with
that
sentiment, but he didn't dispute my statement.

“Fine. If you'll follow me, I'll take you upstairs to see the doctor; then we can discuss terms.”

“If we follow you,” Jackson growled, “will you guarantee our safety?”

“It's a bit late to be worrying about that now.” Though Baker's voice was still cool, a hint of amusement creased the corners of his eyes. It didn't really soften the fierceness of his expression. “However, no further harm will come to you in this place.”

With that, Baker spun on his heels and headed for the elevators.

Jackson rose and offered me a hand. I pressed one hand against my side in an effort to give it some support, then placed my other hand in his and nodded.

“Ready?” he said softly.

I nodded. Though Jackson was as gentle as he could be, getting up was every bit as bad as I'd thought. For several seconds I did nothing more than stand there, swallowing bile as I waited for the red mist to leave my vision once more. More blood trickled down the side of my face, but this time I didn't swipe at it. My head wasn't hurting anywhere near as much as the rest of me, and besides, I didn't have a free hand.

I moved forward tentatively. It hurt, but the mere fact that everything seemed to be working suggested the only thing I might have broken was my head. And
even then, the amount of blood suggested the wound wasn't that deep. Jackson kept hold of my hand, his body humming with a tension that was part readiness to catch me and part the need to hit someone. I was damn glad he was resisting the latter—we had enough enemies. We didn't need to add the wolves to that list.

But he'd obviously done some damage to Hunt, because there was a whole lot of blood and gore splattered across the wall Hunt had hit. With any sort of luck, it'd be enough to at least stop him for a while. Of course, it would undoubtedly have made him even
more
determined to get us.

Baker and two security guards were waiting for us at the elevator. He waved us in, and then all three of them followed. The two guards faced us, both of them exuding a fury that suggested they'd rather be beating us to a bloody pulp than escorting us up to medical services. I wasn't sure if their restraint was due to Baker's presence, or because he'd informed them they'd be burned to crisps the minute they tried. Baker might or might not know I was a phoenix, but he'd know from Hunt that both Jackson and I could produce and control fire at will.

The elevator came to a bouncy stop on the sixth floor. I winced but otherwise didn't say anything. While I couldn't heal my body with a simple shift of shape like werewolves—the burn scars decorating my back were evidence enough of that—I certainly
did
heal faster than most humans. If I hadn't actually broken something, then a hot bath and a good night's sleep would probably take care of most of the aches and pains.

Baker led the way down a long, wide corridor. The two guards fell in step behind us. My skin crawled at their closeness, and sparks flickered briefly across my fingertips. I'd never had much to do with wolves, but I'd certainly been in situations similar to this—situations where I'd been guaranteed safety only to find my trust had been badly misplaced. I didn't think that would be the case here, but I couldn't help the unease and the memories that rose every time something like this happened.

I took a somewhat shuddery breath and studied our surroundings. This place wasn't what I'd been expecting. The thick carpet that swallowed the sounds of our footsteps was a soft gray, as were the walls. The corridor was empty of all adornment, and there were no windows to add a much-needed feeling of space. It reminded me of something you'd see in a military ship rather than the main headquarters of a large wolf pack. It was also very quiet, but I guess that wasn't surprising given it was barely morning. Most sensible souls would still be in bed.

At the far end of the corridor was a metal door, but this one was open. Above it was a red cross. The medical center, obviously. Standing in the middle of the doorway with his arms crossed was a big man with more hair around his chin than on his head.

“This the patient?” Even though his expression gave little away, it wasn't hard to imagine he was less than pleased about having to treat someone at this early hour of the morning.

Or maybe he just wasn't happy about treating
me
.

“Yes.” Baker stopped and glanced at me. “We'll wait out here while the doctor examines you.”

I sent Jackson a silent warning to behave—though whether he'd hear it or not was anyone's guess given the somewhat hit-and-miss nature of our link—then followed the doctor into the room. It was not only big, but also fully equipped and—given who the wolves dealt with on a daily basis—probably well used. I was betting the staff here saw more than their fair share of cut and broken bodies.

The doctor motioned me across to the examination table then walked over to the sink and sterilized his hands.

“I believe you're the one who downed Theodore Hunt,” he said.

“Not this time, I'm afraid. I was too busy bouncing off the wall to even know what had hit me.”

“Most people who are hit by Hunt stay down.” His gaze swept me briefly. “I suspect you're more resilient than you look, young lady.”

“Young I'm not, and I'm afraid most wouldn't call me a lady, either.”

He didn't smile. Maybe it had been a very long night. Or maybe he simply had no sense of humor. “Take off your sweater and shirt, please.”

I did so. He pulled on some gloves, then began examining my head. “No headache or feeling of pressure?”

I winced. Though his touch was light, it still damn well hurt. “Nope.”

“Did you lose consciousness, feel nauseous or dizzy?”

“I saw plenty of stars when I hit that wall, but I didn't black out or anything.”

He grunted, changed gloves, and then checked my pupils. Another grunt followed, after which he began prodding my upper body. More winces followed.

After thoroughly examining the rest of me, he stepped back and said, “You've a rather nasty lump on your head, but the cut isn't too bad. I'll clean it up and stick a butterfly bandage on it. There's nothing broken anywhere else. You're just bruised.” His gaze met mine as he pulled off his gloves. “As I said, a surprisingly resilient young woman.”

“Which is just polite way of saying I've a hard head, isn't it?”

A brief smile touched his lips, but he didn't otherwise acknowledge the comment. “I'll give you some pain relief that'll help ease the aches, and try not to do anything too energetic for a few days.”

Which would be easier said than done, given all the shit going on in my life at the moment. “Thanks, Doc.”

He nodded and moved across the room to a locked cabinet. “I also feel obliged to warn you that Hunt has a dangerously obsessive nature that's gotten much worse over the years. The wise would avoid him.”

“Believe me, I have no desire to be either in his face
or
his path. Unfortunately, fate seems to have other ideas.” I pulled my shirt and sweater back on, and tried to ignore the pain and the instinct to breathe shallowly. No matter how much breathing normally might hurt, it supposedly kept the chest clear from mucus and infections. Or so past doctors had informed
me. “And if you're aware of the fact he's becoming unstable, why is he even allowed out on the street?”

“Because he is still very good at what he does, and he hasn't stepped over the edge.” He paused and grimaced. “Yet.”

If Hunt
did
step over the edge, would they deal with him then? And what would he have to do before they considered it “stepping over the edge”? I'd seen what he and his vampire mate had done to Amanda Wilson, and that certainly went beyond anything I would have called reasonable behavior, even for someone who'd taken the contract to kill her.

And the thought that he'd do something even worse to me . . . I shivered and silently cursed the luck that had thrown him in our path. Although I guess if our paths
hadn't
crossed, Amanda Wilson would now be dead and we wouldn't have gotten hold of her USBs. And while we now had only one of them, her notes had at least thrown some light on the sindicati and their operations.

Of course, she could
actually
be dead now, for all I knew. The last time I'd seen her was in the passenger seat of Jackson's truck just after the sindicati goons had rammed us, and she hadn't exactly looked well at that point. And I had only De Luca's word that she'd survived the crash.

But he'd also said that his “colleague” had decided he could use her talents, and that, I suddenly realized, could be another possible explanation for the leak at PIT. Because Amanda was a powerful telepath, and it was a pretty good bet that De Luca's colleague—and
the other man who'd been in that room that day—had been none other than Luke himself.

I carefully eased off the table. “Trust me, Doc, I'll avoid him if I can.”

“Good.” He gave me two painkillers and a plastic cup of water. “Take these now, and I'll write you a prescription for some more. And if you get any of the symptoms I mentioned earlier, get yourself to a doctor.”

I nodded and took the pills. He quickly wrote out the prescription then handed it to me. I shoved it into my pocket. “Thanks, Doc.”

He nodded. “Good luck.”

I grimaced. “I'm probably going to need it.”

“Probably.” Once again his smile held little in the way of humor. “But if you can't avoid Hunt, then keep to his left side.”

I raised my eyebrows as the doctor reached for the door handle. “Why?”

“Because he has little vision left in that eye, and he's broken his nose too many times to have good olfactory input.”

Surprise rippled through me. I obviously didn't do a good job at hiding it, because he added, “Some of us would not be to saddened to see him put down—especially by a snippet of a woman. It would be an odd kind of justice, given the many he's abused over the years.”

And with that, he opened the door and ushered me out. Baker's gaze swept me. “Better?”

“Cut head and bruised all over, so no,” I replied. “But thank you for allowing the doc to see me.”

He nodded then spun on his heels and led the way
back down the corridor. After another short trip in the elevator, we were led into a wide office lined with windows that offered views not over Melbourne but directly into treetops. It gave the room a “foresty” feel, and the soft green walls and the many planters added to that. But that greenness was juxtaposed against bright splashes of color in the form of modernist artwork, both in paintings and freestanding sculptures. It was an odd combination that hinted there was more to this wolf than first appeared.

Hunt dismissed the two guards then moved around the huge mahogany desk and sat down. “So,” he said, steepling his fingers. “What is it you wish?”

“Information, as I said.” He didn't offer us a seat. I walked across the room and took one anyway. But sitting was just as uncomfortable as standing; hopefully the damn painkillers would kick in sooner rather than later.

“On whom?”

“This man.” Jackson showed him Rinaldo's business card.

Baker raised an eyebrow. “And what is your involvement with this man?”

“He's blackmailing us,” I said. “We send in a report on our progress daily, or people die.”

“From what I know of him, that is very much his style.” Baker leaned back in his chair and contemplated us for several seconds. His expression gave very little away. “What information does he wish?”

“Meaning you will help us?” I countered.

“Perhaps. For a fee, of course, as I have already mentioned.”

“Of course.” Jackson's voice was dry. “I take it, then, that he's not currently doing business with the city pack?”

“No, but he has certainly approached us. We have something of a standoff currently happening.” His smile barely touched the fierceness in his brown eyes. “I do not expect it to last.”

Meaning, no doubt, blood
would
be shed. Blackmail might have worked on us, but I doubted Baker and his pack would put up with any such threat—not when they saw the city as theirs to rule.

But would Rinaldo be foolish enough to even do that? So far, he'd played his cards very cleverly, and I wouldn't have thought making an enemy of the wolves to be a wise move. Especially if he was planning to take over both sindicati territory
and
operations.

“Then maybe we should wait,” I said. “If you wipe him out, our problem would be solved.”

Baker smiled. “The fact that you are here seeking information suggests you cannot or will not wait for such an event to occur.”