Hunted (Riley Cray) (33 page)

Having moved into the open space between the counter and closest table covered in merchandise, the two cats faced off like a couple of furry sumo wrestlers trying to decide which one of them was the bigger bad ass. Based on size alone, I was betting on Killian’s monster.

Taking a step towards them I froze when the yellow and white behemoth turned burning eyes on me. The air rushed out of me as if someone had delivered a crushing blow to my solar plexus, and I was filled with the need to put as much space between us as possible. Just as I was sure that Killian was not human, I had no doubt that the animal staring me down was not truly a cat. I had no idea what kind of creature it was, and was fairly certain that I didn’t want to find out.

Overcome with renewed concern for Loki, I swallowed the panic that fluttered in the back of my throat like a caged bird. Gritting my teeth against the fear that wanted to propel me out of the door, I stood my ground, but couldn’t summon the courage to step between them. Each was slunk low to the floor, legs spread wide and tails raised like slowly waving flags.

“Hey, Dumb and Dumber, you want to give me a hand before this turns into bloodshed?” I said.

Snapping out of his fascinated study of Loki, Killian glanced at his cat, or whatever the hell it was, and frowned.

“Ashiel. Knock it off.”

At first I wanted to laugh and ask him if that was all he had up his sleeve, but to my surprise, the tension in the air dissipated in the slow blink of gleaming yellow eyes. I could do nothing more than watch, mouth agape, as the large creature sat back on his haunches and proceeded to wash his face in a display of utter calm. Likewise, Loki assumed a stance of indifference by stretching out across the floor, only the occasional twitch of his tail belying his appearance of tranquility.

“Well, that was about as weird as an ogre in drag,” I muttered.

Together, Holbrook and Killian looked at me as if I had sprouted a second head, but I just ignored them and got back to the matter at hand.

“So, are you going to share that information about Shoup?”

Killian momentarily looked as though he’d like to sic his beast of a cat on me, but thankfully just crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“This woman could be associated with a raving lunatic, and you won’t pony up her address because you want to protect her privacy?” I asked, mirroring his stance.

Laying a hand on my shoulder, Holbrook pulled me around to face him. “You’re not helping the situation here. Maybe you should let me do the talking. I’m the one with the badge remember, and you do seem to lack a bit of...” he started to say, and noticing the sharpness of my gaze let the rest of his words die away.

“Lack a bit of, what?” I demanded, uncrossing my arms to curl my hands into loose fists at my sides.

“I simply meant that, perhaps it would be better if someone a little more...tactful...asked the questions.”

“More tactful?” I parroted, wincing at the shrill edge to my voice. He thought I was tactless? He wanted to quibble over manners while this jerk was acting all high and mighty, lording his precious intel over us? Didn’t Holbrook understand that Johnson was out there, waiting for the right moment to strike and finish what he’d started? He wouldn’t need to protect me from Samson if Johnson got to me first. “Why are you taking his side?”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m trying to do my job, and you’re throwing a hissy fit.”

“No, I’m not,” I snarled, though even I could hear the whine in my voice.

Gentling his voice, Holbrook asked, “Why don’t you go wait outside?”

“Wait outside?” I repeated, my voice fading into a faint croak. He was dismissing me like an errant child. The display cases on the counter shuddered when I slammed my fist down on the smooth wood, making both of the men jump while the cats barely batted an eyelash. “This is such horseshit!”

Not waiting for a response from Holbrook, sure that whatever he had to say would just piss me off me, I stomped over to where Loki was sprawled on the floor and picked him up. Turning on my heel, I stormed out of the shop, letting the door slam shut behind me. The merry tinkle of the bell above the door somewhat diminished the effect of my dramatic exit, riling my anger all the more.

Kicking at a clump of ice and road grime clinging to the wheel well of the SUV I narrowly avoided slipping on a patch of ice and falling on my ass. The sudden rush of adrenaline at my near fall worked to soothe my anger more than anything Holbrook could have done or said. Looking up, I spotted Collins and Hill watching me from inside their SUV, those damned smirks in place again.

Great. Everyone in the FBI is going to think I’m a bumbling idiot before the day is through. If they don’t already.

Hunching my shoulders up around my ears, as much to protect them from the chill wind as to hide my mortification, I opened the door of the SUV and let Loki down onto the seat before getting in after him. Closing the door with a slam, I propped my chin on my fist and waited for Holbrook to hurry up so we could get the hell out of there. By the time he joined me in the car my anger had cooled, leaving me fueled by my desire for vengeance rather than red hot fury. Buckling my seatbelt, I resolutely ignored the fine wrinkles around his dazzling eyes that meant he was desperately trying not to laugh.

I slouched down in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say a word,” he replied, his voice warm with amusement.

“Hillbilly ass.”

“Furry drama queen.”

Damn him.

I couldn’t help smiling at the mental picture his words produced, and regardless of my sour mood, I chuckled as I envisioned the wolf trotting down the street with a sparkly tiara perched on her head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“YOU HUNGRY?” HOLBROOK asked, startling me out of my thoughts.

I’d been thinking about my hallucination of Samson’s face in the window of the restaurant, and was trying to figure out if I was losing my mind. My nerves were stretched thin, like too little butter spread over bread. I wasn’t sure how many more surprises I could take, and was growing tired of the emotional roller coaster I was on.

Someone stop the ride. I want to get off.

Straightening in my seat, I rubbed my forehead to warm the skin that had been resting against the window as I watched the world zip by. “Sure.”

I glanced in the side mirror to watch our
Men in Black
watchdogs trailing behind us as Holbrook retrieved his phone from the holder on his belt. Their expressions remained as implacable as ever as he let them know that we were stopping for food, and I was glad when he told them to station themselves in the parking lot. I didn’t think I could have maintained an appetite with the Sunshine Twins breathing down my neck.

Turning off the highway, we pulled into a Denny’s lot, but it wasn’t until I slid down out of the car that my stomach rumbled with hunger. With stern instructions for him to stay put, I left Loki in the car and let the smell of hash browns, cheeseburgers and French fries make my mouth water and lighten my steps.

The restaurant was fairly empty, only a couple of booths and tables occupied with the last few stragglers from the lunch rush finishing up their food. A young hostess wearing far too much makeup showed us to a booth next to the large picture windows, the overtly floral scent of her perfume lingering long after she’d sauntered away.

A guy who barely looked old enough to drive, with a face covered in acne and shaggy hair falling in his eyes, ambled over after a few minutes to take our drink orders. Still irritated from our earlier trip to The Sage Brush, I decided to treat myself to what every cranky woman needs – a large chocolate milkshake topped with a mountain of whipped cream and a plump cherry. There was a chance it would come back to haunt me later, but at that moment I just wanted a giant vat of chocolate and sugar to soothe my bruised ego.

Drumming my fingers on the table as I waited for our server to return with our drinks, I looked around the restaurant, scoping out the rest of the people escaping the cold.

A pair of white haired women sipping coffee sat across the restaurant directly beneath one of the heat vents, bundled up in woolen cardigans and snow boots despite the hot air blowing down on them. The one furthest from me wore a pale lilac sweater with pearl buttons down the front, the sight of it sending a pang of longing deep into my middle. I couldn’t help thinking of my grandmother and her fondness for the color purple.

She’d owned at least a dozen sweaters, blouses and skirts in varying shades of purple, and whenever my grandfather had earned her ire he would leave a milk jug filled with fragrant lavender from the garden on the kitchen table. A wistful smile touched my lips as I remembered the strong and willful woman she had been.

Inevitably though, my thoughts turned maudlin when I thought of the empty place she had left in my life. Looking down at my hands on the table, I recalled how paper thin the skin on her hands had gotten in those last months when the cancer was ravaging her body. She hadn’t been particularly old, only in her early seventies, when cancer claimed her breasts, and eventually her life. Even after all these years her loss was a barely healed wound, raw and easily reopened.

Under the guise of rubbing my face, I wiped away the tears clinging to my eyelashes, and pushing thoughts of my departed grandmother from my mind, continued to check out the other occupants of the restaurant.

A woman in her late thirties sat at a table a few feet away, feeding small pieces of fried chicken to a happily babbling toddler while her other child tugged at her sleeve, asking her to look at his latest masterpiece that was a scribble of blue and red crayon on his paper placemat. Despite the bags under her eyes, she inspected his drawing and enthusiastically professed it to be the great work of art he presumed it was. Beaming from ear to ear the young Picasso went back to work, wielding a bright orange crayon in his small hand.

Beyond Holbrook’s shoulder, the guys at the next occupied booth had their heads bent close together as they talked in low, furtive voices. The one across from me wore a baseball cap emblazoned with the logo of a local towing company, the brim shadowing his face, giving him a menacing appearance. Something in his narrowed eyes made me squirm in my seat and sent a shudder down my spine. However, all concerns flew out of the window as soon as our server came back, depositing a large sundae glass oozing chocolate goodness in front of me.

Holbrook rolled his eyes and chuckled as he watched me spoon a giant dollop of whipped cream into my mouth.

“Want my cherry?” I asked with a salacious grin.

Choking on his iced tea, he glowered at me while wiping spilled tea off his chin and the table.

“I’m good,” he declined, shaking his head.

“Suit yourself.”

Popping the cherry in my mouth I moaned in contentment and made a show of licking its juice off my lips.

Holbrook practically sagged in relief when our server came back over to take our order, the act of ordering a bacon cheeseburger with extra crispy fries distracting me momentarily from making any more lewd insinuations. As our server walked away Holbrook dug his cell phone out of his pocket, putting a stop to any thoughts I might have had about picking up my previous line of conversation. Smirking, I took a long sip of my milkshake as he lifted the slim phone to his ear.

“Lloyd? It’s Holbrook. I need you to look up an address for me. It’s for an Elena Shoup. Yeah, I’ll wait.”

I swirled the straw through my glass of chocolaty deliciousness while Holbrook waited for the guy on the other end of the line to come up with Shoup’s address. Pulling a small notebook and pen out of his jacket he scribbled down the address.

“Thanks, Jim. I owe you one.”

“That Shoup’s address?” I asked, eyeing Holbrook’s almost indecipherable chicken scratch.

“Yeah,” he replied.

I growled internally as he slipped the notebook and his phone back into his jacket before I deciphered the address.

“So...” I drawled, swiping my finger through another dollop of whipped cream.

“No,” Holbrook replied.

“Aw, come on. You already took me along to The Sage Brush.”

“Yes, and I shouldn’t have done that. You’re a civilian, one that I’m supposed to be protecting, not dragging around on an investigation. If Santos finds out he’ll have my ass in a sling.”

“I was on my best behavior.”

“You nearly punched the guy.”

“Yes, but I
didn’t
punch him. See, I can restrain myself,” I said, flashing him the most sweet and innocent smile I could muster.

It didn’t appear to be working.

It looked like I needed to use another tactic if I was going to get Holbrook to take me along with him to question Shoup. “You know, I’ll be able to tell if Johnson has been in her apartment better than any CSI team. This nose knows,” I said, tapping the end of my nose for emphasis.

“Riley...” he warned, running a hand through his hair.

“Oh come on. You’re really going to waste time driving me back to your place knowing that Johnson might be hiding out at Shoup’s?” I asked, hoping the trace of logic in my words would win him over. The indecision was written all over his face, and hoping to seal the deal I added, “Besides, with Collins and Hill with us, how much trouble could I really get into?”