Hunted (Riley Cray) (10 page)

“For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together, woman,” Johnson said, evidently at the end of his patience.

“Fine...I’m fine,” I forced myself to say, hoping that if I could convince the agents maybe I’d be able to convince myself too. Swallowing hard, I pushed my hair back from my face and straightened. My knees were like Jell-O, but I was sure that I could at least make it a few more minutes without puking or fainting like a scared little girl. “Just give me a minute, okay?”

“We are not your servants, Ms. Cray. You are on our clock, and if you want to have any chance of surviving this shit storm, I suggest you get your act together,” Johnson said, his anger flaring like a match put to kerosene.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re my problem,” he said, stepping close enough for me to see each pore on his nose.

I was always a pretty private person. Even before Samson’s attack I had preferred my own company to that of others, and afterwards I had just retreated further into my little world. I wasn’t fond of unfamiliar people, and I sure as hell didn’t like people getting in my face.

“Hey, I’m not the one who called in the fucking circus!” Stepping back to a more comfortable distance, I waved a hand at the horde of reporters on the other side of the door. I couldn’t have cared less about the view I was giving him as my wild gestures flapped the tails of Holbrook’s shirt around my bare thighs.

At that moment the door swung open, a gust of cold wind billowing into the room, lifting the front of my shirt to flash my now not-so-private parts to the multitude of cameras. Squinting at the flood of lights I was just able to make out the shape of Chrismer through the white spots dancing across my vision.

Fuck a duck!

Johnson’s face flushed the worrying shade of purple again, and I winced, steeling myself for the impending splatter that would surely happen when his head exploded. While his head didn’t actually explode, I was pretty sure that something snapped inside his skull when he developed a rather prominent eye twitch.

Blinking rapidly to clear my watering eyes, the blur of shapes and colors solidified into the mass of reporters cramming themselves into the doorway. I wasn’t at all surprised to see Chrismer taking point, a smug smile curving her bright red lips.

“Great, it’s the queen bee and her lecherous cronies.” My lips pulled back in a snarl. Besides Samson, there wasn’t anyone else in the world that I hated with such a deep gut-wrenching passion as Chrismer.

With an exaggerated sway of her hips she stepped forward, standing apart from the other reporters who regarded her with a mixture of hatred and admiration.

“Riley Cray. What a
surprise
to find you here,” she purred, her eyes flashing a chilling silver for a heartbeat before fading back to their usual scrutinizing blue. The saccharine sweetness of her smile was enough to make the nausea rise again.

“Chrismer,” I replied, my voice rumbling just shy of a full out growl.

Yeah I bet you’re oh so shocked, bitch
, I snarled mentally, the wolf gnashing her teeth.

“Is it true that Samson Reed has escaped from White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary? There have been reports of several murders between here and New Mexico, all of them showing signs of a werewolf attack. Do you believe these are the acts of Reed?” she asked in rapid succession, barely giving me enough time to breath, let alone answer.

“Umm...” I floundered, words failing me.

“Tell me, Ms. Cray, do you fear for your life?” she asked, thrusting her microphone towards me. I recoiled from it as if it were a poisonous snake, her words stabbing into me with vicious precision.

“You have no shame do you?” I whispered, remembering all too clearly how she had hounded me during the trial, drawing out my suffering to increase her ratings.

“I’m simply trying to deliver the truth to my viewers,” she replied, her face the picture of innocence except for the cruelty shining in her eyes.

“You and your viewers can go to hell,” I hissed.

Ignoring me she pressed on. “Do you think Reed is coming to find you? That he wants to get revenge for your part in putting him away?”

I knew I shouldn’t goad her. No matter how much she pissed me off, a Day Servant was not someone to be trifled with. I wasn’t keen on finding myself on the receiving end of the wallop she could deliver with the power of her master behind it, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. Every fiber of my being hummed with the desire to wipe the smug smile off of her face with my fist, and seeing as punching her was likely to land my ass in jail, I lashed out with the only viable weapon at my disposal.

“How about I ask you a question? Does your master have to bite that pretty little neck before he can get a stiffy, or are they making Viagra for the undead these days?” I asked, stepping up to the threshold, the cold air sweeping across my bare toes.

“Filthy mutt,” she snarled through gritted teeth, eyes shimmering cold silver as she drew on her master’s power, the gathering energy lifting her perfectly coiffed hair off her shoulders. I wasn’t sure what she was getting ready to throw at me, but it was guaranteed to hurt.

“Coffin whore,” I shot back, figuring if she was going to take me out, I should at least get one good jab in first.

Her delicate features pinched together as if she tasted something sour. And then her beautiful mask settled back into place, hiding the cold savagery beneath.

“You’re going to pay for that, Cray.”

“Oh, bite me you overrated hooker.”

Johnson’s fingers were bands of hot iron when they clamped onto my upper arm, pulling me back from the doorway as if I were an errant child. Pushing me behind him he faced Chrismer and the other reporters clustered together in a shivering huddle.

“That’s enough out of you,” he hissed in my ear, hot breath blowing across my skin. Ignoring me for the moment, he turned back to Chrismer and plastered a tight, professional smile on his face. “We are not prepared to make a statement at this time, however we will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning at FBI headquarters in Denver,” Johnson said smoothly, for once looking like the Special Agent he was rather than a bitter has-been.

I was impressed until he rounded on me and the professional façade fell, replaced with a look of seething anger.

“You. Sit. Now,” he ground out, biting off each word sharply as he extended a single thick finger towards one of the beds.

Catching Holbrook’s warning look in the corner of my eye I turned and trudged over to the nearest bed, my shoulders slumping. I could feel the triumphant joy radiating off of Chrismer in waves.

Bitch
.

“What the hell was that?” Johnson asked as soon as the door closed, the deathly calm in his voice belying the rage burning just beneath the surface.

“Harry, give her a break,” Holbrook said, stepping in front of me as if to protect me from his partner’s wrath.

“Shut it, Darius. This is as much your fault as it is hers. If you were able to keep your dick in your pants for more than five seconds, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I could tell by the stiffening of Holbrook’s shoulders, and the sudden flush that crept up his neck, that his partner had hit a sore point. Protectiveness flared inside me, washing away my hurt feelings.

“Now hold on a second,” I interrupted, jumping up from the bed to move around in front of Holbrook, doing my own white knight impression.

“No. You don’t get to speak, mutt. You will sit down, you will be quiet, and you will not leave this room without my say so. I’ve been ordered to protect your furry ass, and I will do my job no matter how much I would like to see that maniac tear you to pieces.”

Stunned, I sank down to the edge of the bed in silence, unable to do anything but stare wide-eyed at Johnson. He didn’t just dislike me because of my winning personality, he despised me because of what I was. He’d just as soon see me dead, torn apart by Samson, as safely ensconced in FBI headquarters. The chilling realization made me shudder.

Without saying another word, Johnson spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the resounding thud of the door slamming shut behind him reverberating down my spine. For a long, silent minute, Holbrook and I stared slack-jawed at each other. Finally, licking my lips, I was able to mutter, “Well, that was about as much as fun as being ass raped with a dildo made out of rusty razor blades.”

CHAPTER NINE

SITTING ON THE end of the bed I idly ran my fingers through the soft, downy fur behind Loki’s ears, his answering purr doing little to ease the stiffness in my shoulders. The calmness I had garnered from letting the wolf out had dissipated, leaving me tired and cranky.

“So, is Johnson always this much of an asshole?” I asked, looking up at Holbrook where he paced back and forth in front of the muted TV, the screen showing the outside of the motel and Chrismer’s perfect, smiling face. Fantasies of pounding her face into a snow bank danced through my mind, lifting the corners of my mouth into a vicious smile.

“He’s not a bad guy, Riley,” he answered, interrupting my daydreams.

“Could have fooled me.”

Pausing in his tireless pacing he ran a hand over his hair and sighed. A curt knock on the door cut off whatever Holbrook had been about to say in reply. The door cracked open just wide enough for an agent bundled up in winter gear to pop his head into the room.

“We’re moving out in ten minutes, Sir.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Holbrook smiled weakly at the agent. “Thanks Tillman. It’ll be good to get back to Denver.”

“We’re not heading down to Denver. The Eisenhower Tunnel is closed due to the storm. We’re just moving over to Dillon until the roads clear.”

“Great,” Holbrook sighed. “Thanks again, Tillman. We’ll be ready.”

It took me a few minutes to gather up my belongings under Holbrook’s watchful eye, tossing my clothes and toiletries haphazardly into my duffel bag. Coercing Loki back into his carrier was another matter entirely, but eventually I was all packed and ready to go.

Turning to give Holbrook a brief nod to let him know that I was ready, I was struck by his transformation. He looked as though he had aged ten years in the span of just a few minutes, his shoulders slumped and his eyes lacking their usual brightness. Nodding, he opened the door and I braced myself for the barrage of cold wind and soulless journalists waiting just outside the door.

I thought being escorted to the SUV by a contingent of stoic agents was a bit much, but I wasn’t going to argue with the weary look on Holbrook’s face, and I did have to admit that they provided an effective barrier between me and the clamoring paparazzi. Not wanting to add to the strain weighing down Holbrook’s shoulders, I got into the back of the SUV without complaint, though I was surprised when two agents climbed in on either side of me, pinning me in the middle with Loki’s carrier perched on my lap. Neither of them so much as looked at me, leaving tense silence to reign inside the vehicle.

My relief was almost palpable when the front doors opened and Holbrook and Johnson got in, Johnson sliding into the driver’s seat without saying a word.

“All set?” Holbrook asked, twisting in his seat to look at me sandwiched between the agents in the back.

Loki yowled in reply, one fluffy paw extending through the bars of his carrier, reaching towards Holbrook.

“As we’ll ever be.”

The drive from Breckenridge to Dillon shouldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes, but with the roads mired by the drifting snow and increased traffic from Chrismer’s soul-sucking ilk, it took us well over an hour to make the short trip. By the time we pulled up in front of the Motel 6, I was desperate to get out of the car, a line of sweat running down my sides where the agents had been pressed against me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given enough time to catch my breath, let alone cool off a little, before Holbrook and the other agents were ushering me inside. Their vigilance was reassuring, but grated nonetheless.

A harried looking clerk was already waiting for us in the lobby when we entered, trailing snow and malcontent behind us. The clerk handed over our room keys to Johnson, his hands shaking so much that he almost dropped the little plastic cards. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was nervous – the stink of pot hovering around him in a noxious cloud.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was as tense and silent as the drive from Breckenridge had been, even Loki remained quiet and still in his carrier. When the doors slid open on the empty hallway Johnson pulled one of the door keys from the stack and thrust the rest at Holbrook before stalking down the hall in search of his room. Apparently, I was still on his shit list.

“You guys are with me,” Holbrook said to the other agents, leading us down the hallway.

My room was a step above the one I’d had at The Knotty Pine, but the garish bedspreads and manufactured feel of the room still left me with a sense of apathy.

“Collins and Hill will be stationed outside, and I’ll be next door if you need anything,” Holbrook said as he swept the room, checking the window and peering into the bathroom. “Do you need anything?”