Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (11 page)

“As I’m sure Lizzie told you, she and her book may be of help to my pack. I made the first step by introducing myself, and I hoped she’d be interested in learning more about us. It’s also my hope that we—the pack and Lizzie—can work together to learn more about the contents of the book.”

She
bobbed her head in acknowledgment. “What’s next? I assume you’re not booting me out or you already would have shoved me out the door.”

John narrowed his eyes and gave her a hard look. “Thank Max. On his advice, you’re getting the basic plan, and then it’s up to you to decide if you’re coming.”

“And the plan is?”
She had a number of questions. About these men, about Lycan. But now wasn’t the time. She didn’t want to push for too much and have John change his mind. She looked around the room at the men assembled. Then she tried not to dwell on how frightened her best friend must be. No question. Kenna was in.

John answered.
“We suspect two packs of having interest in Lizzie. Both would be very concerned with keeping her safe, well, and cooperative. We plan to split into two groups, leaving immediately. Unfortunately, it’s not possible to travel as representatives of the Texas Pack. Officially, we’re visiting in the area. Tourists, basically.”

“And once we arrive?”
Kenna didn’t emphasize the “we.” She knew John wouldn’t miss it.

“Speak with the locals.
Once we’re in the area, we should find information confirming Lizzie’s presence very quickly, if she’s there. Packs can be incredibly close-mouthed about issues of governance or tradition, but the locals shouldn’t be reluctant to talk about visitors.”

What John had told Kenna wasn’t entirely true. Or at least, it was unrealistically optimistic. In fact, John hoped to cash in on his status and the
Texas Pack’s reputation, even if he was visiting unofficially. Because it was unlikely a local pack would share any information. And if status failed, he’d exert some pressure.

Lizzie’s cooperation was necessary, so it was in the best interest of her captors to keep her happy.
But if her kidnappers lost patience? Then what methods would they use to assure her cooperation? Given his concerns about Lizzie’s safety, exerting some pressure wasn’t out of the question.

“And if they’re reluctant, we’ll adapt our strategy
,” Max replied. John and Max exchanged a significant look. Apparently, they were of a like mind. Enter the pack territory to investigate. Try for negotiation and a little leverage. If that didn’t work, so be it—they’d use force.

After further discussion
, John announced, “Max and I will take Idaho. We’ll charter a private plane. It’s too bad Max’s little helicopter can’t make such a long trip.”

Max snorted. “Ben and James
were happy enough to avoid traffic on the way here in my ‘little helicopter.’ So save the snarky comments.”

John knew how much Max loved that expensive hunk of metal and couldn’t resist poking fun at it occasionally.

All business again, John said, “You can make last minute arrangements for a flight, Max?”

Max affirmed he could with a single brisk nod.

“That leaves Arkansas for James and me.” Ben jerked his thumb in Kenna’s direction. “We’re not taking that one, though.”

“Sometimes you can be an ass, Ben.” Max said. “That’s fine. She’s with us.” 

“Watch who you’re calling an ass, Mr. Sensitive
,” Ben replied.

At the Mr. Sensitive comment
, Max punched him in the kidney. Without even a puff of exhaled breath, Ben turned and had Max in a headlock.

James apologized
to Kenna. “They really do get how important this is. They just haven’t seen each other in a while. The ten-year-old boy in them tends to come out whenever they get together.”

Head still locked under Ben’s arm, Max said, “Sorry.” Ben dropped his arm, and mumbled, “Sorry,” too. Once free, Max headed immediately in the direction of the phone.

As Max was on the phone making arrangements for a plane, John, Ben, and James were discussing check-in protocols, routes, and other details. That left
Kenna sitting on the edge of the bed, overwhelmed by the situation in general, her worry for Lizzie etched across her face.

Kenna
was good at details. She’d called her boss earlier today and told her she had a family emergency and needed at least a week off. In a busy boutique firm, the lawyers relied heavily upon their legal secretaries. So leaving for a lengthy period without notice was simply not done.

Even so,
her boss hadn’t hesitated in approving her request and sending along the well wishes of the office.

Kenna was reliable, detail-oriented, and very observant. She kept up with her assigned attorneys’ professional and personal lives, which went well beyond any expectations. No missed anniversaries, blown filing deadlines, or belated birthday gifts on her watch. She
liked
her assigned attorneys. She liked making their work easier. And she enjoyed the work itself. Being highly organized and detail-oriented was helpful, but she also enjoyed the language of legal writing. Especially its precision and predictable forms and phrases. Details made the world go round. And when you were aware of the details, it went that much more smoothly.

Then Lizzie had revealed the existence of
the book. It seemed like an adventure. A detail that didn’t fit in with all the rest. A puzzle that they could solve. But the puzzle turned out to be too difficult to solve, and the book had introduced a ream of messy, complicated details that didn’t fit with life as Kenna understood it. Werewolves, or Lycan, magic, secret societies.

And to think,
Kenna had encouraged Lizzie in her mad involvement with this unknown world. It had seemed a good idea at the time. Lizzie lived a somewhat secluded life. She didn’t date, so Kenna tried to encourage her to at least look at the men around her. Lizzie had a small group of very close friends. And the nature of her job as a contract web designer meant she had no consistent work environment, moving from client to client.

Kenna
had intended to engage Lizzie in a puzzle and get her out of the house. And there must be a reason that book landed with Lizzie, right? But in retrospect, Kenna felt like she should have been the responsible one. Had Lizzie made choices she otherwise wouldn’t have, based upon Kenna’s quick acceptance of magic and werewolves? Had her eagerness to see her friend break out of an isolated slump put her in jeopardy? Had her teasing push to meet new, attractive men, whoever/whatever they were, landed Lizzie with her kidnappers?

These were the questions that were racing through her head when Max approached and sat down across from her on one of the hotel chairs. “This isn’t your fault. And it’s not your responsibility to fix it.”

Max held up a hand as Kenna frowned and began to protest. “Of course you want—maybe need—to help your friend. I’m just saying it’s not your fault or your responsibility. If there is blame here, it’s with whoever took your friend.” 

This was met by a thoughtful silence from
Kenna.

Max asked,
“How much do you know about Record Keepers?”

“
They have some kind of magic that lets them read spelled books like Lizzie’s. But Lizzie can’t. Read her book, I mean.”

Kenna
hadn’t allowed herself to stop and consider exactly why someone would want Lizzie so badly. She was worried and afraid, but she’d pushed the “why” aside—as well as a number of other questions she couldn’t immediately answer—so she could do what was necessary. But now, sitting here, waiting … “Why do these people—or werewolves…Lycans—want her? It’s whatever lets her read these books, right? That’s what made her a target?”

Max shrugged noncommittally. “We can’t know until we find her. But the best theory is that it’s either a pack that has a record book and
no Keeper, or a pack with neither. There are any number of packs like Texas who have neither a book, nor a person holding the position of Record Keeper. Traditions change, the books are lost through time. I suspect Record Keeper is a ceremonial or figurehead position in most packs, based on what I know of the Texas Pack’s structure.

“
The reason Texas is so interested is because Lizzie has
their
book. And even the Texas Pack isn’t that motivated—John is the impetus behind Texas’ interest. It’s surprising to me a pack would risk damaging their relationship with Texas. The Texas Pack is powerful.”

And as an afterthought,
Max added, “And it’s Lycan—the word is singular and plural—or collective? I’m not really big on grammar. But there’s no s. And don’t get started on that whole werewolf thing. I would recommend not using that word”—at which point Max grinned—“Or, go ahead, just make sure I’m there so I can watch them squirm. They hate that word.”

“Did you just commit
Lycan treason by telling me so much?” Kenna asked. “I feel like we’ve gotten tiny little bits of information parceled out sparingly. Like a greedy kid who doesn’t want to share his goodies. It’s annoying as hell.”

Max grinned. “Th
at’s not solely a Lycan issue. That’s just the natural reticence of men in general, Lycan or human.”

John, James, and Ben had finished their planning session and
caught Max’s last comment. Ben aimed his response at Kenna. “Max, of all people, isn’t allowed to speak for the male gender.”

Looking at Max,
she saw he had a slight pink stain under his tan, and he was shooting  Ben an annoyed look. Max didn’t appear to be the kind of guy to blush much. He was definitely being teased. Interesting.

Ben caught the look, and muttered, “Sorry.” And then he quickly changed the subject to transportation. He and James would take the rental car
the three men had driven from the landing zone to the hotel and head out to Jonesboro, Arkansas, the seat of the Arkansas Pack. John, Max, and Kenna would take John’s truck to the airstrip. John turned to Kenna and asked, “How long for you to pack a bag?”

Kenna
responded, “You’re kidding, right? I have a bag in the car. I wasn’t taking the chance that you would leave without me while I was grabbing my toothbrush. I also packed a bag for Lizzie.”

Leave it to the men
, and Lizzie would have to wear cotton underwear straight out of the package from Target on the way home. And Kenna was absolutely certain Lizzie would be coming home. To think anything else would mean uncontrollable tears and panic. She wasn’t an optimist, but she would do what was needed to stay focused on the here and now. She would do anything she could to help Lizzie, even placing a small amount of trust in a group of strange men and trying to adopt some version of Lizzie’s glass-half-full outlook.

Lizzie was tired of wearing other people’s clothes. She drew the line at
panties—she didn’t see a package, so no thanks—when she was offered her first change of clothes. She had washed and rinsed her underclothes in the sink more often than during her brief backpacking trip through Europe. She was ready for some freshly-laundered underwear. A girl needed to maintain some standards. She had complained—nicely, politely, quietly—but complained. And she had received a packet of cotton underwear from a local chain, still in the plastic. What she wouldn’t give for a washing machine. Lizzie told herself things were going well if clothes were her main complaint. If she could just believe it.

Lizzie was
being held on the second floor of an older farmhouse. At least she thought it was a farmhouse. It was located on a large parcel of bare land. The fields looked empty, but when Lizzie looked closer she guessed maybe the fields were just recently planted rather than completely empty. No other houses were within visible distance. Her room had a connecting bath and toilet—maybe the master suite? It was clean, but sparse. She remembered seeing very little furniture on the first floor when she’d been brought upstairs from the car.

She had arrived early that morning. Monday early, she thought. And surprisingly, she had immediately slept. All she’d been doing was sleeping, thinking, and worrying since she’d been grabbed. So when Goon #1 showed her up to her room and told her to get some rest, she almost laughed out loud. But he had been right. She was exhausted. Whether the trip had worn her out, the
stress, or the lack of deep sleep—she’d only caught naps in the trunk of the sedan—she didn’t know. Likely all three. But when she’d climbed into a full-sized bed with crisp, clean sheets, she’d immediately fallen asleep.

When Lizzie woke a number of
hours later, she had found clothes piled neatly on a dresser. Disoriented, eyes scratchy with sleep, she tried to get her bearings. Peering out of the window, Lizzie guessed it was early afternoon. Not quite forty-eight hours since she’d been missing from home. Factor in the delay in discovering her gone, and she’d likely been missed only a little over twenty-four hours. Wasn’t there some requirement that an adult had to be missing twenty-four hours before being reported? Oh gosh—was it forty-eight hours? Lizzie didn’t know.

She hoped
Kenna, John, or someone was looking for her. Even without a broken door, a clearly abandoned car—the Goons had probably moved her car—or some other signs of foul play, Lizzie knew Kenna would recognize her predicament. Less certain was how Kenna would find her.