The Keeping (47 page)

Lazily, the door
swung open about a foot, squeaking on the partially broken hinges
that were evidence of his earlier break-in.

“Hello?” He called
out the greeting in a casual tone as if unaware of any problem.

There was no
response. Somehow he wasn’t surprised.

Muscles tensed and
ready to respond, he pushed the door open wider and stepped inside.
The door responded quickly to his shove until the presence of
something unexpectedly stopped its inward motion. As it bounced
back towards him, Ryne swiftly turned to see what was impeding its
movement. There was nothing at eye level and his gaze immediately
dropped to the ground.

There was a
heartbeat of silence, then a savage growl erupted from his throat
at the sight before him.

“Lucy!” He
breathed her name out in shock.

The woman was
lying in a crumpled heap surrounded by a pool of blood. He dropped
to his knees to check for a pulse. Pressing trembling fingers to
her throat, he detected the faintest hint of a throb. It was weak,
but offered some hope.

Grabbing the
phone, Ryne dialled 911 while visually searching the apartment for
signs of Melody. When the operator came on the line, he rattled off
the needed information, hanging up without answering the
superfluous questions peppered at him. He had no time to talk.

Swiftly, he
completed a circuit of the apartment, confirming what he already
suspected; Melody was indeed gone.

“Damn! I shouldn’t
have left...” Muttering self-retributions, Ryne returned to Lucy’s
side. He knelt beside her, feeling more ineffectual than he had
ever felt before. He was Alpha, his job was to protect, to nurture
and defend, yet despite his desperate wish to do something for his
dying friend, he was helpless. As his hands hovered uselessly over
her body, he noted a partial message written on the floor; Greys.
What could that mean? Ryne furrowed his brow and stared unseeing
across the room. Greys... The word niggled at his memory, but why?
His gaze lighted on Melody’s laptop. Greys...Greyson! The name was
in one of the files he’d found. Shit! Whoever had injured Lucy must
have something to do with that damned report she’d written.

A change in Lucy’s
breathing caught his attention; it had been shallow before but now
it seemed uneven. His heart thumped heavily as he stared at her
pale face and blood soaked blonde hair. With trembling fingers, he
brushed her cheek, leaning forward and softly calling her name.
There was no response. He swore vilely. It wasn’t right that she
was hurt and possibly dying. This wasn’t her problem. She’d never
done anything mean or hurtful. Lucy was warm and giving to a fault,
always happy... The backs of his eyes pricked as he recalled her
teasing, the way she’d sashay across the room with a tray of drinks
in her hand and a smart comment on her lips. He blinked rapidly.
Compressing his lips, he wished he could do something for her; that
he could stay and hold her hand, but the lives of so many hung in
the balance. He needed to find the truth on the off-chance that he
could halt the Keeping before Kane took the final steps.

Reluctantly, he
rose to his feet, moving to the sofa and sniffing where the smell
of the unknown male lingered. A scent and a probable name; he
tightened his mouth at the meagre clues he had to go on. In a city
this size the scent would be impossible to track and the name
Greyson meant nothing to him. What the hell was he supposed to do
now?

The sound of
approaching sirens filled the apartment and he started, realizing
he had to leave quickly or risk being caught at the scene of the
crime. He felt like a cold-blooded bastard leaving Lucy alone, but
staying was too risky. Time was of the essence and his presence
would do nothing to help her. Quickly scanning the room for any
last minute evidence, he grabbed the laptop just in case there was
pertinent information still stored there.

He crouched one
last time beside Lucy’s body. She was still breathing, though
barely. “I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m so sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”
He pressed a brief kiss to her cheek, and then stood up. With one
final backwards glance, he slipped out of the apartment and down
the back stairs.

*****

Melody’s scent and
that of the unknown male were inextricably blended, so Ryne could
only assume she and the man were together. Whether or not she’d
gone willingly he didn’t know, but right now it was a moot point.
The trail disappeared at street level, lost in the myriad of other
smells that filled the city’s air. Ryne really hadn’t expected
otherwise; tracking in Chicago wasn’t like running through the
woods in Stump River. Working on his only other clue, he went to a
phone booth and looked up Greyson Inc. Of course, the phone call
got him nothing but a tape recorded message asking what extension
he wanted. Taking a stab in the dark, he chose public
relations.

The woman he spoke
with gave him a nice overview of the company; Greyson Inc. was
involved in a wide variety of industries both at home and abroad.
It was public minded, hosted several charitable events and the
owner was Anthony Greyson. Mr. Greyson was an extremely private
person who never granted personal interviews.

As he hung up,
Ryne smirked. It wasn’t much, but at least he had a full name to
work with now. Narrowing his eyes, he considered his options. He
could try to find out where Greyson lived or he could try to locate
this Aldrich person who was supposedly Melody’s boss. How were
Greyson and Aldrich connected? Ryne couldn’t imagine a man of
Greyson’s public stature being personally involved in abducting
Melody from her apartment; there was too much chance of scandal and
Greyson didn’t seem like the type to get his hands dirty. If that
was the case, was Aldrich his flunky?

Ryne stared at his
surroundings trying to determine his next step. He was on a busy
corner with traffic whizzing past him. Music blared out of open car
windows, snatches of conversations barely audible as masses of
humanity surged across busy streets. Some were power walking, their
minds probably intent on making a deadline while others stopped at
a trendy coffee house. A sudden idea had Ryne’s eyes narrowing.

At one point
Melody had told him how she liked to sit in coffee houses, sipping
her favourite brew and surfing the net. Giving a half smile, he
decided to use that glimpse of big city life to his benefit. It was
time to call in the reserves and spread the work out.

In less than half
an hour, Ryne was settled anonymously in the back corner of an
upscale coffee shop, exchanging information with Daniel over
Melody’s laptop. The boy was only too pleased to have a reason to
attempt hacking into the Greyson Inc. website. While Daniel did his
part, Ryne used the address for Aldrich that he’d copied down
earlier to obtain a phone number for the man’s office. A phone call
there might reveal something useful.

Aldrich wasn’t in,
but his paralegal was. Using his sexiest voice and some well placed
flattery, he charmed the woman into sharing several interesting
pieces of information. Apparently, Aldrich had been scheduled to
meet with Melody and had unexpectedly left shortly afterwards.
Since then, the lawyer had called in to cancel the rest of the
day’s appointments. Hmm... A bit too coincidental, Ryne
decided.

The computer
chimed; Daniel had information for him. He bent over the laptop and
they began to compare notes, piecing together a plausible theory.
Aldrich was Greyson’s lawyer, his name appearing in several court
documents as a legal representative. His duties also appeared to
include carrying out a variety of odd jobs for the wealthy man.
Greyson was reported to be an art connoisseur, with a special
interest in wolves. Connecting the dots, they concluded Greyson had
Ryne’s photo, and knew—or at least strongly suspected—that it
wasn’t an ordinary wolf. Melody had been hired through Aldrich to
do the leg work. But did Melody know why? Right now, Ryne didn’t
really care. Finding her was more important; she was the key to
plugging the information leak.

*****

Aldrich slowly
drove to the back of the Greyson estate, keeping a watchful eye out
that none of the employees were wandering the grounds or peeking
out windows. No one should be about. When Greyson was absent—or
incommunicado as he liked to call it—most of the employees were
given an extended holiday. Still, Aldrich believed in caution and
so he made his way along the twisting driveway at a leisurely speed
more suited to checking the general condition of the estate, which
was the story he was using if anyone dared question his presence.
The unconscious woman on the floor in the back was covered with a
light blanket, so prying eyes would have no clear idea as to what
he was transporting.

The far back
corner of the expansive grounds contained a seldom used shed that
had once housed garden tools. Several years back, Aldrich had
suggested a newer building be constructed in a more convenient
location. The gardener hadn’t protested abandoning the ramshackle
hut in the least. A new home for his gardening tools,
re-landscaping being done; the fellow was ecstatic.

No one noticed or
seemed to care that the old abandoned shed was repaired rather than
being torn down. Doors and windows were reinforced and the walls
were strengthened from the inside to form an impenetrable
structure. While vines and long grass grew around the building,
almost hiding it from sight, the interior was fitted with a small
generator and wireless communications, all cleverly concealed by
old potting tables, benches, and tool hooks. The rough wooden floor
hid a trap door leading to a secondary underground safe room. It
even had an escape route that led through the sewers before
emerging in a drainage ditch near the edge of the nearby woods. As
Aldrich had explained to Greyson, one should always be prepared for
the unexpected and a conveniently located hideaway might be useful
at some point.

Greyson had liked
the idea immensely. In fact, it was this little hideaway that had
secured Aldrich’s present spot as one of Greyson’s closest
confidants. As far as Aldrich knew, only he and Mr. Greyson knew of
the shed’s secret purpose, which was why it was perfect for his
present purpose.

Ms. Greene had to
be kept somewhere. Aldrich wasn’t stupid enough to take her back to
his office or even to his own home. There was too great a chance of
someone seeing her, and he wanted no link between the two of them.
Snatching the woman had been impulsive on his part, but the
presence of her feisty friend had thrown him off. Why hadn’t the
woman cowered and cried in the corner? If she hadn’t swung at him
when he wasn’t expecting it, he wouldn’t be in this mess.

He’d come to
Greene’s apartment with the express purpose of using intimidation
to gain access to the Taylor report. When the other woman had
attacked him, he’d reacted instinctively, old habits from his youth
springing forward. Few knew that Leon Aldrich had grown up on the
‘wrong’ side of the tracks. His average size frame, bland
appearance, even the way he conducted himself, led others to
believe he was merely an intellectual—no one realized he knew how
to handle a street fight. Yes, he’d been tough in his younger years
but he was also smart; smart enough to know he’d end up dead if he
didn’t get out of the hell-hole he grew up in. So he’d studied, got
a scholarship and a degree, then carefully buried that past with a
name change and a few forged documents. His present persona was
staid, pompous and gave no indication of ever having known what it
was like to claw one’s way up out of the gutter. Aldrich liked the
image and intended to keep it.

Unfortunately, he
now had to do some quick work to ensure no stain of wrongdoing
touched him. The frying pan wielding woman wasn’t going to make
it—Aldrich knew that much blood wasn’t a good sign—and so he’d been
forced to scoop up the Greene woman, rather than brow-beating her
where she lay. Leaving the scene of the crime before anyone noticed
his presence had taken precedence.

So here he was,
thankful Greyson was away and that he had a nice safe place to stow
this uncooperative person. He was sure he’d be able to get the
report from her and have it ready for Greyson’s return. She didn’t
look like the kind to hold out against persuasion for an extended
period of time. Once the report was in his hands, well... Ms.
Greene would likely be ‘leaving town’ just as the former lawyer
had. It was regrettable, but in the grand scheme of things, the
woman was expendable.

Parking the car,
Aldrich double checked that there was no one about before quickly
lifting the unconscious woman from the back seat and carrying her
into the shed-turned-safe-room. She murmured as he moved her,
lashes fluttering and muscles twitching. Good, she was waking up.
He could begin to question her about the report and its
contents.

Not for the first
time, did Aldrich wonder why the old man was so interested in
wolves. It went beyond a mere hobby, more like an obsession and
lately he’d latched onto Taylor and the wolf picture he’d taken.
Aldrich had spent more than a little time trying to determine his
employer’s motivation. As yet, he’d been unsuccessful. Perhaps,
something in Ms. Greene’s report would provide some illumination.
He didn’t like not knowing what drove the people around him.

He set the woman
on one of the low slung benches. There was no need to use the
hidden room below. Once he had the outer door shut, he proceeded to
gently slap her cheek.

“Come now, Ms.
Greene. Enough of this. You need to wake up and hand over the
information on Mr. Taylor.”

“Hmm?” Her eyes
partially opened and she stared at him blearily before closing them
again. “G’way...tired.”

“No, Ms. Greene, I
will not go away. Not until you cooperate.” He grabbed her
shoulders and forced her into a sitting position. Obviously
realizing he wasn’t going away, she opened her eyes completely and
frowned at him.