Lost Library: An Urban Fantasy Romance (17 page)

John grimaced slightly. “For a few reasons, not the least of which that I paid him generously. Texas now owes the Idaho
Pack a rather large favor.”

Max looked very surprised by John’s response
, but he skirted around the issue of pack politics and stuck with the topic of transportation. “John and I already came up with a plan we’d like to run by you both. There’s no train or commercial flight out of Boise this late, although it looks like a commercial flight is out either way, since any appearance at the airport will be flagged by the Austrians’ inside man. Another charter plane is possible, but we can’t get one on short notice. I’m guessing a minimum of two to three days to get a plane in from another city or to find one locally. The bus is also an option, and there is probably a late night bus out of town. But John and I agree. We’d be trapped on a bus. It’s highly visible, no privacy, and nowhere to go if we’re stopped.”

Kenna piped up.
“So rental car? That seems simple enough. We drive back. We haul ass and just pay any tickets along the way. We can take turns driving and get to Texas in no time. Or at least to a major city that we can fly out of.”

John replied, “That’s half the plan. We’d like to split up and give them an easier target to follow. Max and Kenna would be the decoys, driving by rental car back to Texas. Since you
’d be traveling as Lizzie and me and we don’t have time for ID…driving is really the only option.”

Kenna looked thoughtful. “And how do you and Lizzie get back?”

Max said, “We’re headed to Mountain Home now. I have a buddy out that way who has a pop-up camper. We purchase a beater truck with cash, hook up the camper, and you have instant tourist camouflage. While the Austrians chase Kenna and me, John and Lizzie will be taking an obscure route via state parks. For all intents, invisible.”

Lizzie had been silent during the whole discussion. So when she did speak up, it was a surprise.

“No.” Lizzie said. One word, but with force and determination.

Kenna took her hand and squeezed it. “I know what you’re thinking
,” she said, “but first, Max won’t let us get caught. Right, Max?” At Max’s emphatic nod, she continued. “And second, they don’t actually want me. Once they pick up our trail, we make it clear that I’m not you. We’re just trying to give you a clean head start. That’s all.”

After a protracted discussion,
Lizzie finally agreed to the plan. It came down to one simple fact. Once Kenna agreed to the scheme, there was simply no changing her mind.

Not only had Max’s buddy been fine with the loan of his camper, he introduced them to an acquaintance who was happy to off
-load a battered old Chevy pick-up truck for a sizeable, given the state of the truck, cash sum. The truck was generally sound, but the interior was torn up, covered in dog hair, and smelled of smoke. They made arrangements to pick it up after the banks were open, then they were on their way.

After adding a ball cap and a fake ponytail of dark brown, almost black, hair, Kenna superficially resembled Lizzie. Bulky winter clothes helped to mask her slighter frame. No change was made to Max, as he was close in height, build, and hair color to John. A fact Lizzie hadn’t noticed until now. Why was she so attracted to John, but Max—practically John’s body double, she was now realizing—didn’t interest her at all? Lizzie didn’t analyze that question too closely. She was already contemplating her reaction to John in an enclosed camper. A small camper. Overnight.
Crap.
Werewolves had keen noses. What if he could smell how attracted she was to him? Too embarrassing to contemplate that she might be walking around in a lustful haze, and he was ready to pass out from exhaustion due to the Lizzie-rescuing he’d been forced into. 

After John updated
Chris with the new plan, they were ready to roll. Chris had also provided John with news of Ben and James. They were still involved in a local pack matter in Arkansas, which seemed to surprise John. Lizzie was betting they had a good story, because John didn’t seem the type to have flakey, unreliable friends. Before long, Lizzie was bundled up in the passenger seat of the smoky, dog-hair-covered truck, and John was behind the wheel. Lizzie realized that aside from the awkwardness surrounding her potentially one-sided lustful feelings, she was looking forward to spending several days alone in a pickup cab and a small camper with John.

John knew spending several days alone with Lizzie would be challenging. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so difficult within the first hour. As he drove, his mind drifted back to the first time she’d touched his wolf. He could still feel the tiny shiver that had run across his body at her touch. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

He must have made some small movement, because Lizzie asked,
“Are you cold? I can crank the heater up a bit if you’re uncomfortable. Most guys are warmer natured than me, so I figured if I was good, you were probably roasting.”

Lizzie’s speech rambled a little. But heck, John was sit
ting there saying nothing. He probably made her feel a little self-conscious.

“No.” At her odd look, John realized he’d allowed a little too much time to lapse before he answered. “No, I’m not cold,” he clarified.

“You shivered. I just assumed—”

John interrupted her.
“Nope. I’m good. Thanks.” He thought her rambling was cute. What the hell was wrong with him? He was a numbers guy. He wasn’t particularly into cute women. And to be honest, Lizzie was a little scattered. It was hard not to notice. Maybe he’d just gone too long without getting laid. He was seeing romance, when what he really needed was—well, not romance. He refused to ride in this trashed out heap with a hard dick for the next two-and-a-half days. He started thinking about numbers, pack politics, alternative driving routes. Anything to keep from imagining the feel of Lizzie’s hand running down his back, grabbing his ass, rubbing his
—dammit.

Mr. Grumpy pants, thought Lizzie. It wasn’t her fault they were stuck in this stinky truck together. He could try to be a little less cranky. Lizzie cast a side-long glance at him. John was shifting uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. He looked like a little boy who had been told he’d get no dessert. Disgruntled, bad tempered.

“Do you want me to drive?” Lizzie offered. Maybe the driver’s seat was uncomfortable. Lizzie was game. Anything was better than riding in the trunk of
a car. This kidnapping thing had really lowered her standards of comfort.

“What? No.” John replied. After a lengthy pause,
he said, “I thought you told me earlier that you’d never hauled a trailer before?”

“It can’t be that hard.” He just frowned at her.
Okay, maybe it was that hard. “What are you thinking about?” Lizzie asked.

Something had him in a rotten mood.
Or distracted, at least. But she couldn’t believe she just asked that question. The totally verboten, taboo question. Never ask a guy what he’s thinking. He might just tell you. Or, so her mother had always teased.

“Nothing
.” John’s eyes shifted briefly over to her and quickly returned to the road. “Why do you ask?”

“You just seem crabby.
Sorry—I don’t mean to be rude.” Before Lizzie could finish her apology, John had let out a sharp bark of laughter. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”
John stretched his neck from side to side. “I’m probably just a little tired. I was up late last night,” he said wryly. With a more apologetic tone, he continued, “I didn’t realize I was being such a bear.”

“About that…
.Thank you. I mean, really—thank you. I’m not your responsibility, not a member of your pack, but you still dropped everything to come get me. I know you have some interest in the book. But you’ve obviously been much more reasonable than Clark. Or the Austrian guys.”

John was silent through her recitation. He kept looking straight ahead at the road. So
Lizzie continued. “Even after I arrived in Idaho and saw that they didn’t want to hurt me, I was still terrified. Apparently, the Austrians provided the background about my location—and my lack of affiliation with a pack. Clark agreed to discuss an offer to join the Idaho pack. If I agreed, he promised the Austrians he wouldn’t restrict me to the Idaho territory. Basically, that I could consult with them on some important project they’re working on. He said there was a misunderstanding. The Austrians were supposed to deliver an invitation and not just grab me. So he claimed, anyway. I don’t buy that part.”

John just responded with a noncommittal, “Hmm.”

That sorry
fucker
, was all John could think. His hands were tense on the wheel, so he slowly loosened his grip.
My ass, Clark didn’t know about the kidnapping.
John suspected Clark had always intended to spin the story that best suited the situation and his ends. Lizzie shows up terrified, and he offers her a safe haven from similar kidnapping attempts. Or she shows up pissed, and he apologizes for the confusion, then wines and dines her.

He reached down and flicked on the radio to fill the silence.

The information about the Austrians was interesting. What did they want Lizzie for? Didn’t they have Record Keepers in Europe? If they were pack members, wouldn’t the Austrian pack approach assets locally, even a pack with whom they had diplomatic ties, and negotiate for the services of a Record Keeper? But that raised a few questions. Why come to the US? Why ally themselves with Idaho?

The events seemed extreme if their purpose was similar to John’s
—acquisition of a tool to allow their spelled text to be read. He grimaced at that thought. His original purpose. In such a short time, Lizzie had become so much more to him than a simple translator for a magical text. Her quirky sense of humor, bravery, common sense—even when she sometimes seemed flighty—and the attraction, all of these traits were little pieces of the puzzle that was Lizzie. He found her fascinating. He shook his head. He needed to focus on the Austrian problem, not daydream about Lizzie like an adolescent.

The answer to the
first question, what did they want, seemed clear—secrecy. The Austrians wanted to keep what they were doing from local European packs. But that circled him back to—what were they doing? He doubted it was as simple as a pack needing a new Record Keeper.

Lizzie interrupted his thoughts. “You like
Tejano music?”

“Huh?” He listened to the radio. Oh.

“Not particularly. Sorry.” He flipped the station. Static and one oompah band.

“You like polka music?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

He flicked the radio off, returning to his own thoughts.

His next course of action was clearly going to involve digging up some background on those Austrians. Were they representing the Austrian pack, or loners? It happened rarely, but it certainly occurred. And that would be a good reason for secrecy. “Austrian” could be a pack designation or a country of origin. Having a geographic location for them—assuming they all came from the same place—might be an important piece of the puzzle. 

He’d call Chris
in a little while and get her started on it. But he still had a few hours of driving to stew over these questions before their next stop.

Damn, he
was
a bear. He hadn’t said a word in the last fifteen minutes, at least. He didn’t have any answers to the seemingly endless questions. He was uncomfortable with the thought that he might not be able to protect her. He felt a stronger sense of loyalty to her and responsibility for her, than he had a right to. But in his mind, she was his to protect. With all of those thoughts in his head, he didn’t particularly want to talk to her.

When he turned to look at her,
and maybe apologize for his silence, he saw she had drifted into a fitful slumber. The silence left him alone with his own thoughts again. And he found he preferred the ache of a hard dick to the tight feeling growing in his chest.

Okay. That went really well.
Right.
Lizzie mentally chided herself for expecting more out of their conversation. Maybe it was time for a nap—real or faked. She felt like she was over-sharing, maybe sounding a little like a drama queen. But if ever a girl was allowed to sound like a drama queen, it was definitely after surviving a kidnapping.

She thought riding together would be an opportunity to get a little info, but no
. He was inscrutable, and it was annoying as heck. She could tell he was thinking about something. He had that look, like he was solving the world’s problems. Or maybe he was just doing complex math of some kind in his head.

She wouldn’t be annoyed.
No, instead, she was going to fake a nap. She was really good at it. Maybe not fool-a-Lycan good, but it was a definite skill in her toolbox. She got lots of practice back when she was traveling frequently. Creepy guy sitting next to you? Fake a nap. Talkative grandma showing you pics of her five grandchildren and ten cats? Fake a nap.

As she was settling into her corner, her eyes rested
on his profile. Strong capable hands wrapped around the wheel. She found the very correct positioning of his hands at 10 and 2 to be at odds with her impression of his wolfy self—and cute. His T-shirt hugged his biceps and was a little tight across the chest and shoulders. A very different look from the button-down shirts he frequently wore. She’d only seen him in a T-shirt once before this trip. The first day he’d been to her house, in fact.