Savage Revenge (13 page)

“I need a room for one night, and I’ll be paying cash.” Jocelyn tried not touch anything as her gaze slid around the dusty, rundown motel.

“That will require a deposit.”

“Of course.” She pulled out three times the amount the room would cost and set the bills on the counter.

The teen behind the counter stopped chewing her gum for a moment to stare down at the handful of hundreds.

“M’kay. I think that’ll work.”

Of course it would. This place was lucky if it had a customer, let alone many. She bit back her snide reply and just answered the questions the woman needed to book her room.

When the time to hand over her ID came, she placed a fake one with her picture on the counter.

“Thanks, Mrs. Anderson. Here’s a key to your room and we hope you enjoy your stay.”

Doubtful. Pretty damn doubtful, actually. By the looks of it, she’d be lucky if she didn’t find bedbugs on the mattress.

Some might call this place quaint, but those people likely hadn’t stepped foot out of a barn in their life.

But she didn’t want a paper trail and needed to get to her destination without drawing too much attention to herself.

After days of not hearing from Bob, she’d received a message that it was vitally important she meet him here. In this small town, Podunk motel in Northern California.

That he should make such a demand was alone ridiculous. She’d initially told him to go fuck himself and he could just relay whatever information he had over the phone.

But then he’d made it clear he wasn’t above taking her money and walking away, and maybe dropping some hints to the P.I.A. about just how she was involved.

So she’d caved to the blatant blackmail and taken an unplanned road trip south.

But if the little piece of shit thought he was going to get away with such behavior, he had another thing coming. Once this little assignment of his was over…

Jocelyn entered her room and barely had time to set her suitcase on the floor near the door before the phone in the room rang.

Frowning, she moved to answer it. Before she could even finish saying hello, he’d cut her off.

“Meet me in the diner across the street in fifteen minutes.”

The call ended before she could reply.

Well. Fortunately she didn’t hire these types of thugs for their manners.

She took her time washing up and getting ready for the meeting. She made it a habit to call the shots, and she wasn’t about to change her standards on that anytime soon. 

The diner wasn’t the cheerful, bright type either, but more a seedy dive restaurant that had several burnt out lights and held the cloying smell of grease. 

Her gaze slid over the interior, but there was only one customer in the back, and it wasn’t Bob.

She started to glance away, but her focus snapped back to the man seated watching her.

For a moment she just stared, before blinking in fury and striding forward.

“I don’t suppose there’d be a logical explanation as to why you’re here?”

The attractive geek she’d met briefly at the dive bar in Seattle gave a wide smile. He was completely unfazed as he gestured to the empty chair across from him.

“Please, have a seat, Jocelyn.”

Her head reared back in shock, before she narrowed her eyes. How the hell did he know her name? She hadn’t given it to him in that brief run-in.

Driven more by curiosity than his request, she sat down across from him.

“So you went from hitting on me in a trashy bar in Seattle, to showing up at this shithole diner in Northern California.” She arched a brow. “I should warn you I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“Neither do I.” He leaned back in his chair and observed her. “Nor do I believe in luck or opportunity, but more importantly, creating your own.”

Despite her reluctance to be, she grew more fascinated by him. “Three questions, you strange man. Why have you followed me here? However did you learn my name? And who the hell are you?”

“My name is Frank. I made it my business to know your name. I didn’t follow you here, I’m the one who arranged for this meeting.”

He did what? “That’s impossible. Bob did.”

Frank chuckled and shook his head. “
Bob
. Not very creative with the name, was he?”

“Probably as creative as Frank.”

“Sadly, that
is
my true name. Passed down through the males in my family or some other kind of nonsense.”

“You mistake me for someone who gives two shits. Where is Bob?”

“He’s not coming. In fact, he’s no longer working for you. I am.”

“Are you now?” The smile she gave him in return was anything but warm. “Funny, because I don’t recall hiring you.”

Frank stared at her a moment, his expression thoughtful.

“Think back on what I said a moment ago, Jocelyn.”

Her mind raced backward, latching on something. “You create your own luck?”

“And opportunity.”

“Where is Bob,” she asked again, irritation starting to set in. “I didn’t hire you.”

“He’s not coming, and you won’t find him easily reachable.” Frank gave an amused little smile that should’ve scared most people. “I’m his replacement.”

“The hell you are.”

“I’m aware and up to date on everything you paid him to do.” He paused, obviously for drama. It worked. “Track and update you on a one Mr. Nathan Larson.”

Her heart froze for a moment, before rapidly speeding back up.

“Did you pay him off? Offer him more money that I did?” She managed to get out through nearly clenched teeth.

“Everyone has a price.” He seemed about to say more, but then closed his mouth.

No. Dammit this was not happening. “Bob had certain qualifications for this position—”

“As do I. I’m quite skilled at tracking.”

His words sank in. This Frank guy was a shifter? She hadn’t sensed it. Which meant it was pretty damn likely he was only half-blooded, like her.

It didn’t matter. He shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to replace Bob.

“Look,
Frank
—”

“Can I get you folks something to eat?” The waiter interrupted the rest of Jocelyn’s blistering reply.

“I’m not hungry,” she bit out, without taking her glare off of the man across from her.

“Well I certainly am. I’ll have a grilled chicken sandwich, no mayonnaise please. Also, cottage cheese instead of fries.” Frank handed the waiter his menu. “And actually, why don’t you bring the same thing for her?”

She was so stunned she didn’t even get a chance to stop the waiter before he went in to put in the order.

“You look like you make healthy choices in regards to diet, Jocelyn.” His gaze slid over her, more analytical than lustful. Though there was a glimmer of interest in his hazel eyes. “How else do you keep the type of body a twenty-year-old would have?”

Rather than acknowledge his flattery, she murmured, “You have no idea how tempted I am to remove your heart with one of these filthy spoons.”

He laughed, genuinely amused. “Look at you. A bit of violence under that pretty face.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Actually, I don’t think I would.” Frank folded his hand on the table. “Agent Larson fled the scene of the crime and made his way to California via the Washington and Oregon coastlines. Always staying close to trees and disguising his scent.”

She shrugged. “A nice guess. Especially since news has been released within the shifter community that he’s been spotted in Central California.”

“Several homes or summer cottages were broken into along the route I’ve described. I’ve collected hair samples as evidence, if you’d like to have it run.”

If he was speaking the truth, then this man was thorough.

“You can’t do this on your own, Jocelyn. I can help you.”

“I’m not sure I want your help.”

“You do, and you need it. And here I am willing to help you continue tracking Agent Larson.”

Apparently. Her lips curled into a hard smile. “How much would you want, should I decide to keep your unsolicited services?”

“Nothing. Just the pleasure of your company.”

Not very original. “You sure go to great means to get a girl’s attention.”

“Quite rare for me, I assure you.” He caught her hand as she reached for a creamer for her coffee.

“You’re not my type. You’re a little too…old.”

“That would make you old as well, seeing as I only have two years on you.”

She wasn’t even going to ask how he’d figured out her age. His party trick of knowing things about her was becoming less shocking.

“You’re attracted to me, Jocelyn Feloray.”

“Not really.” Actually, that was a lie. Frank did have something charming about him. Something she was drawn to. Despite his creepy persistence of her and the way he’d forced himself into working for her.

But then, who was she to judge on creepiness and determination? She’d likely taken those labels at least a couple times in her life.

Maybe that was the draw to this man. On the outside he seemed normal and a bit of the intellectual nerd type, but the personality was complex. Fascinating.

“You’re buying my lunch,” she said softly.

“Of course.”

“Tell me, Frank, what else have you learned about Agent Larson?”

“Quite a bit, actually. I’m not sure if you’re aware of the handful of women who’ve turned up dead lately?”

“People die every day.”

“Yes, but these women, oddly, are all along the same path Nathan Larson seems to have taken in his haste to escape.”

“Is that so?” Had the drug in his system stayed longer than intended? A spark of excitement lit inside her. “Please, do tell me more…”

Chapter Twelve

Sage woke up alone in her bed, and wanted to kick herself for being disappointed in the fact.

Nate had taken the spare room, insisting again that if she wanted to leave he wouldn’t stop her. Jeez. If he wanted her safe so badly, why didn’t he just leave her?

Clearly he struggled with the guilt of staying and putting her in danger, but she knew he was desperate. He literally had nowhere else to go.

And apparently he was up and about. The smell of coffee had her sliding out of bed and going to take a quick shower.

When she arrived downstairs fifteen minutes later she found Nate sitting at the computer, the screen up on a shifter website of sorts.

But when he turned to look at her, she realized he hadn’t been staring at the monitor, but instead the book in his hand.

Her book.

“You’re reading one of my books?” She gave him a quizzical glance.

“What? I was just checking it out.”

The speed of which he closed it had her eyebrows rising.

“There’s coffee if you want some.” He nodded his head toward the kitchen. “And I tried to make pancakes, but it didn’t really happen.”

“Oh. Okay, thanks.” She went to grab coffee, wondering what he’d meant by didn’t really happen.

But then a glance in the garbage can showed mushy and burnt chunks of pancakes and it made sense. Wow. It was like you really had to
try
to mess up pancakes.

“I’ll hard boil us some eggs and that’ll take us through a few days. Plus, there’s always toast.”

He was silent as she pulled the carton of eggs from the fridge.

“You’re a nice girl, Sage. Too nice.”

“I’m logical too. I know what you’re thinking. That you think I’m crazy to help you, but you’re grateful for my help.”

His gaze darkened. “You’re also pretty damn astute.”

She gave a self-conscious laugh. “I think that might be genetics. So what are you looking up online now?”

Nate glanced back at the computer. “I was trying to figure out if my fiancée’s cell phone was taken into evidence.”

“Any luck?”

“Not really. I can’t access the P.I.A. site with my login without getting flagged.

She filled a pot with water and set it on the burner, turning it to high. “Hmm, but one of your agents could.”

“They could, but it’s not an option.” His hard tone meant he wanted the subject dropped.

Wow, if he had any idea of the phone call she’d made yesterday to the Donovans… A shiver ran down her spine. Nope. Completely pointless thinking about it. That phone call was over and done with, and she had more faith in Nate because of it. So no point in even thinking about that
what if
.

“Well, I’m going to see what I can find out. I’ll ask my br—umm, check around with my pack. Do some digging to see if anything has changed.”

“Careful. We don’t want you raising any red flags.”

“I’m great at discretion.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate that. Look, I don’t want to take over your life any more than I have.” He grabbed the book off the desk and waved it toward her. “So if you’re supposed to be writing one of these or have work to do—”

Oh son of a biscuit. She’d totally forgotten about her deadline. A wave of dismay and panic rushed through her as she set the eggs into boiling water.

“I’ll probably do some work.” Did her voice crack from anxiety? “But if I can help you in any way—”

“You’re fine. I’ve got a few ideas of what to do next.”

“All right.”

Breakfast was quiet, but not uncomfortable, and when they were finished Nate insisted she go work while he did the dishes.

Sage grabbed her laptop and curled up on the couch, dreading the inevitable return to her writer’s block. A few minutes into writing, though, she discovered the words were flowing. Inspiration had hit hard, and she suspected it had to do with all the excitement that had entered her life.

She was so engrossed in her writing it took a few minutes to recognize the subtle shuffle of movement outside her window.

Had Nate slipped outside without her realizing it? He hadn’t, she realized, as he came out of the backroom, his brows drawn together.

He gestured toward the door and tilted his head in question. Clearly he’d heard the person’s approach too.

She shrugged and closed her laptop, mouthing, “I’ll check.”

As she approached the door, she faltered. Of course. It had to be the package of clothes Nate had overnighted.