The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (11 page)

Mike knocked rather than use his key. George had a quick trigger finger. He didn’t want to surprise his employee.

“Got room for a buddy?” Mike asked as he pointed to his duffel.

Opening the door wider, George motioned him inside. “She boot you out of the house?”

“Gave me a choice. I thought it safer to bunk with you.” A smile quirked George’s cheek. Mike scowled at him. “It’s not what you think.”

Raising his hands in the air, George said, “Hey, I don’t think. I just watch and interpret. I call a spark a spark when I see one. She’s got one for you.”

Mike tried to keep the pleasure off his face. “What do you interpret about her date, Kyle?”

George’s smile broadened. “You got one for her, too.”

Mike pulled his mouth into a scowl. “Her date, George.”

“He’s filthy rich. CEO of Morrison Shipping. Recently took over from his old man, who’s dying.”

“Playboy?”

“Nah, the old man’s happily married.”

Mike dropped his duffel on the floor with a bang. “Don’t screw with me, George. It’s been a long, hard two days—or is it three? I’m jet lagged. I can’t think straight.” Maybe exhaustion was why he reacted so strongly to Fiona and Kyle’s kiss.

“He’s no more playboy than other red-blooded American boys,” George said.

Mike didn’t care for that answer much, either.

“But he appears to be clean. I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary on him. Not even a ticket or college tank time. Now you’re here, I’ll be going in the morning.”

“Stay. There are some loose ends on the Scotland thing I have to finish. I might need you to keep an eye on Fiona.” He yawned, jet lag catching up to him. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Sure thing, boss.” George pointed in the direction of a door. “You can take that room.” He poured a cup of coffee, sat at the table, and opened a computer.

“You staying up?” Mike asked.

“I got a perimeter sweep in a few minutes, and I want to check the surveillance tapes before I hit the sack. Everything’s been quiet since you left, but I want one more round.”

“Good man, George,” Mike said as he headed for his room. He’d left Fiona in reliable hands.

For a second, he considered turning the entire job over to George and making a run for it before he got in deeper. Then he remembered the jolt of electricity that shot through him the first time Fiona touched him.

Weren’t feelings like that worth staying around for?

Chapter 16

Falhman paced the living room of his country compound. Ewan was late. He checked his cell for the tenth time. No messages. What the hell had happened to him?

Pete, his head of security, entered the all-white room. “Someone’s at the front gate, sir. Should we let them in?”

“I’m expecting a delivery. Let’s see who it is.”

Falhman turned the TV on to view the front gate camera feed. “See if they can get a tighter shot of the backseat.”

Pete relayed Falhman’s instructions on his walkie-talkie. Two children appeared on the screen.

“Let them in.” Falhman watched the vehicle wind through the snaking road toward the semi-circle drive at the front of the main compound.

As the car rounded a bend in the road, Falhman pointed at a screen. “You need to reposition that camera. The vehicle disappeared from view for a minute.”

“Will do, sir,” Pete said.

When the car arrived at the front door, two men, carrying children, got out.

“The delivery?” Pete asked.

“Yes. Fetch the new nanny,” he instructed, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice as he left the living room.

Maintaining a sedate pace, to project composure as he passed his guards and household staff, nearly killed him as he headed toward the children. His son and his grandson—the future of his kingdom—were in his grasp. He put on what he hoped was his most compassionate face as he entered the foyer where the children lay sleepy-eyed in the Scottish rogues’ arms.

“You’re late,” he whispered to his underlings so he wouldn’t startle the children.

Ewan opened his mouth, but Falhman cut him off. “Pete will show you to my office.” He lifted one of the boys into his arms. “As soon as I’ve settled them, we’ll discuss it.”

The nanny appeared, and he indicated she should take the other child. As Pete led Ewan and his helper to the office, Falhman and the nanny carried the children to the nursery in the farthest pod building of the compound.

The windows in the nursery looked out at the lake. Nanny had dimmed the light and the blue walls made it seem as if they were underwater. Brightly colored fish swam in the blue paint, and an aquatic mobile hung over one of the two cribs in the room. As soon as he’d found out LJ’s child was his, Falhman had meticulously planned his son’s bedroom in anticipation of getting him from the man who’d stolen him. Since he had both boys, he’d have to create a second room, but not until he knew they were safe from Eli, Rhys, and Alexi. Until then the boys would stay together where they could be more easily guarded.

Nanny laid her child on the changing table and swiftly diapered him. “They need baths,” she said, “but not tonight. First thing in the morning I’ll get them freshened up for you, sir.” She stripped the tot and put clean pajamas on him.

As she moved toward a crib, Falhman reached for the child. “I’ll hold him while you take care of this one.” They exchanged babies, and he hugged the boy to his chest.

“I’m going to do right by you,” he whispered into the child’s hair. “We’ll be a team. You, me, and him.”

He laid the toddler in his crib. “Bring them to me tomorrow morning at breakfast. Nine sharp. We’ll discuss a schedule for them.”

He brushed the baby’s hair from his forehead. The child looked at him and smiled, and Falhman’s heart melted. He was not going to let these boys go. Ever.

And the only way to keep them was to kill their parents.

Ewan and his helper jumped from their chairs the second Falhman entered. “We had car trouble.” The words burst from Ewan. “I couldnae ring through tae yer mobile, so I rang the penthouse. Someone was there, sir, and it wasnae ye.”

“Who?”

“He identified himself as ye, but I weren’t fooled. I hung up on him.”

“What message did you leave?”

“We had car trouble, and we would be late bringing the lads to ye.”

“Shit!” The expletive exploded from Falhman. The two men jumped as he slammed his hand on the wall, causing the priceless Picasso hanging nearby to shimmy dangerously.

The men stared bug-eyed at him, their ruddy complexions paling. Falhman reigned in his anger, moving to the massive desk in his office. He indicated the men should sit in the two chairs lined across from the front of the desk. Taking a stance in front of them, he steepled his fingers together. Channeling his anger, he towered over his underlings while he got his rage under control. The silence in the room grew thick as a dark muddy gray aura of fear rolled from the two rogues.

“Gentlemen,” Falhman finally said, “I’m not certain if I should commend you or kill you.”

The two men gulped loudly.

“On the one hand, you delivered my package safely. On the other hand, you left a message my enemies could find.”

“We dinna leave an address they could follow,” Ewan’s cohort said. “I’d swear by my life ye’ll be safe.”

“Funny you put it that way, because if I’m not, your life will be payment.”

“Sir,” Ewan said, “how can we serve ye tae prove our loyalty?”

“Did you kill the boy’s mother?”

“As I said afore, I canna be certain,” Ewan said. “We dinna see who was left standing.”

“Then find her and eliminate her. While you’re at it, take down Alexi and Rhys Temple.”

“Where will we find them?”

“If you didn’t kill them, they’re probably in Cleveland by now.” He retrieved a small notebook from his desk, thumbed through it, and scribbled on a piece of paper. “Here’s the last known address of the Temples. They’ll need a place to stay. I expect this is where they will land. LJ Allen will no doubt be with them, if she’s alive.

“I’ll let my men in the Cleveland Police Department know you’re after them. All the department’s assets will be at your disposal.” He glared at the two men. “Do this without screwing up, and I’ll consider forgiving your sin. If not . . .”

He let his threat settle in silence, the words pressing on the men until he could smell their fear in the air. Then he punched a button on his desk, and Pete entered the office.

“In the meantime, follow Pete. He’ll take you to the guards’ quarters. You can start your mission in the morning.”

As the door closed behind the men, Falhman sank onto the edge of the desk. When he had his plans in motion for the best use of the anthrax he’d obtained and started the training of his presidential look-a-like candidates, he and the boys needed to get out of the country to some place safer. But first he needed proof the boys were his blood. His and McCraigen’s. Then he’d be set to take over and finally end Eli McCraigen’s do-gooder rule of the shifter world.

Nanny brought the boys to breakfast at nine sharp, freshly bathed, smelling sweet, and dressed like little men. She placed them in their high chairs. Both boys banged the flats of their hands on the trays and started kicking their feet.

“Are they going to make noise the entire meal?” Falhman asked, frowning.

“Probably,” Nanny said. “They are boys, you know. Be glad they’re only banging and not crying, sir.”

“Did they cry last night?” His bedroom was on the other side of the complex, and he hadn’t heard a peep from them.

“A bit,” she said. “But separation anxiety is normal at their age. They’ll calm down as they get used to the new surroundings . . . and you, sir.”

He put down his coffee cup and looked directly at Nanny. “I don’t know much about children,” he confessed. “But I want to do right by these boys.”

She smiled at him, her cheeks rounding in her plump face. “You’ll do fine, sir. All it takes to win a child’s heart is love.”

Love. Is that so hard?
Surely he could love.

He had loved once, but she failed him. Ran away from the love he had to give her. Their children, Roc and Rhys, had also run away from him. But he had another chance with these boys.

Fiona Kayler’s face flashed through his mind. He might have another chance with his one true love’s daughter. Maybe the four of them could be a family. Him, Fiona, and the boys. All that Falhman and McCraigen blood in one family. How strong would they be?

A raspberry sound broke through his thoughts as a gob of oatmeal landed close to his hand on the white silk tablecloth. Nanny hastened to wipe up the mess.

“Sorry, sir,” she said as she dragged the highchair farther away from the table.

Falhman glanced at the floor, the expensive, pale blue wool carpet now spotted with lumps of white. “I suppose they will be messy as well as loud?”

Anxiety creased Nanny’s face. “Shall I feed them in the nursery, sir?”

For a split second he considered her suggestion. Then dismissed it as quickly as she had cleaned the tablecloth. Fathering these boys, so they would be bound to him, meant learning to live with the inconveniences that came with children. Something he hadn’t done with Roc and Rhys.

“They will breakfast with me every morning. I’ll order a plastic covering placed beneath their highchairs. Here is the rest of the schedule to which they need to adhere.” He passed the sheet of paper to Nanny and waited to see if she had any questions.

“When are they supposed to play, sir? You didn’t leave any playtime.”

“They need to play? Training is more important than play.”

“Begging your pardon, sir, but play is the most important thing children can do. Especially with their parents.”

Searching his memory he found no recollection of his parents playing with him . . . and he hated his parents. He snatched the paper back and scribbled in playtime with the boys.

“Be sure this is added to my schedule.” No way would he have his boys hating him like he hated his parents.

Rising, he handed the paper to Nanny and headed for his office. He would get a rush job to test the boys’ DNA at his lab. He couldn’t wait a minute longer to know if the tikes were his son and grandson. When he was certain, he’d reel Fiona in.

Chapter 17

The phone awakened Fiona. She fumbled around on the nightstand for her cell and mumbled a sleepy, “Hello?”

“Are you asleep, Fiona?” Falhman said. “We’re supposed to have a training session today. I’m sending my helicopter to get you. How soon can you get to the Cuyahoga County airport?”

“Helicopter? Why can’t I drive there?”

“Too far. I’ll text instructions. Be there by seven a.m. I’ll have you home by midnight.”

“Midnight?” she sputtered. The line went dead. Fiona stared at the screen. Who the heck did he think he was ordering her around?

Then she remembered.
Oh, yeah, he’s the kingpin of the rogues, and you’re his stooge.

She threw off the covers and headed for the closet. What did one wear to a shape shifter training session? She settled on a pair of loose yoga pants and a knit shirt. Her experience experimenting with mimic shifting taught her tight jeans were not a good choice. More than once she’d morphed into three sizes larger than her normal self and nearly split her jeans. Briefly, she wondered about animal shifting and whether she’d have to be naked. If so, she’d skip that part of the training. No one was seeing her naked body but the man she planned to marry.

Unbidden, an image of her and Mike cavorting naked in the bed, flashed through her mind. She shook her head to clear the picture. More than likely her groom would be Kyle. Not Mike. Mike did not have what she needed to survive the jam she’d put herself in with the rogues. Her only consolation was the fact that Kyle was a nice guy and life with him wouldn’t be bad. Once she’d settled in with Kyle she’d forget all about Mike anyway. At least she hoped so.

She grabbed a quick shower and threw on her clothes. Then she dashed off a note to Mike to let him know she was leaving. If she left without telling him he’d probably send the entire police force after her.

The garage door rose with a loud rumble, and she prayed Mike and George wouldn’t hear it. When they didn’t appear, she roared out of the garage. Punching the close button as soon as she cleared the door, she raced down the driveway.

A very expensive helicopter waited for her at the destination Falhman had texted. When the pilot saw her approach, he started the engine. The chopper blades whirled, sending air toward the ground. Fiona grabbed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, holding it against the wind sweeping the tarmac. As she neared the helicopter, she ducked and climbed into the aircraft.

“Fiona Kayler?” the pilot shouted over the noise of the rotating blades.

She nodded, and he handed her a headset with an attached microphone. She put it over her ears and settled onto the passenger seat.

“Buckle up,” the pilot’s voice said in her ears. When she’d done as he asked, he handed her a helmet with a blackened visor. “Put this on, please.”

She settled the gear over her headset. The pilot reached over the seat and flipped down the visor, blocking her vision.

“I can’t see,” she protested as she raised the visor.

“That’s the idea. Mr. Falhman wants to keep his location secret.”

“What if I get airsick because I can’t see?”

He returned the visor to its original position. “Can you see the floor of the chopper?”

She nodded.

“Then you won’t get airsick. But if you do, here’s a bag.” He shoved a paper sack into her hands.

She tipped up the visor and glared at him. “I’m not flying blind.”

“Then you won’t see Mr. Falhman.” He jerked his thumb toward the door. “I’ve got my orders. You fly blind, or you don’t fly at all.” When she didn’t move, he added, “He doesn’t give second chances, Miss. Make up your mind. Fast.”

She flipped down the visor, crossed her arms, and flung herself against the seat. “Mr. Falhman is going to get a piece of my mind when I see him.”

“Not a good idea,” the pilot said as they lifted off. “You might not get it back.”

The aircraft circled as it reached altitude, and Fiona grabbed the barf bag. Leaning sideways, she tried to peek out the window, but the pilot straightened the craft. Then they flew over the clouds.

So much for trying to figure out where they were going. She settled against the seat and glanced at her watch beneath the visor. At least she would be able to tell how long they were in the air. The pilot banked again, completely disorienting her. If he kept flying in circles she’d never figure out where she was.

But did it really matter? She was getting what she wanted—a training session. If he flew her to Timbuktu she shouldn’t care.

Forty-five minutes later, they descended.

“Can I look now?” she asked.

“Sure,” the pilot replied as he cut the engine.

She slipped off her helmet and gasped. The chopper sat inside a helicopter hangar, with an open roof. A rumble overhead drew her attention as she exited, and the ceiling closed.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” asked the pilot as he patted the side of the chopper.

She ran her hand along the side of the helicopter as her gaze swept over the hangar and the crew of men working there. “This must cost a fortune to maintain.”

“Mr. Falhman likes his air toys and gadgets. Twin turboshaft engine with a cruising speed of 190 mph and a 450-nautical-mile range. The best money can buy.”

“I didn’t know he was this rich.”

The pilot laughed. “Wait until you see the house.”

He led her through a series of glass-walled halls connecting dozens of freestanding buildings snaking across the green, manicured landscape. Every building was white, from the roof peaks to the foundations.

“It’s a maze in here,” she commented. “How do you find your way around?”

“You get used to it.” He led her through another glassed hallway into a larger building. “This is the main house. Mr. Falhman will be waiting through there.” He pointed to a wide doorway off a massive entry. “Good luck, Ms. Kayler.” He spun on his heel and strode off in the direction they had come.

Fiona crossed the entry, her sneakers squeaking on the highly polished marble floors. Falhman must have heard her, because he appeared just inside the arched entrance.

“Fiona, my dear,” he said as he approached. “I trust you had an uneventful trip.”

“Except for being sightless. Was cutting off my vision really necessary, considering your mentor-mentee trust issues? Trust is a two-way street, you know.”

“I’m certain as our relationship progresses we will reach that position. In the meantime, I truly hope you’ll forgive me. One in my position can’t be too careful.”

He sounded so sincere she found it hard not to believe him. “I suppose a man as wealthy as you must have to keep his whereabouts secret for many reasons.”

“Exactly, my dear. Wealth is not only a privilege, but a burden at times.” He smiled, but the expression seemed strained. “I’m glad you understand.” His gaze swept over her. “I see you came ready to work.”

“I didn’t know what to wear. I went for comfort.”

“Excellent choice, my dear. Shall we go to the ballet room to begin our session?”

“Ballet room? Are we planning to dance?”

He laughed, the sound more genuine than his smile had been. “The walls are lined with mirrors to help you see your transformations better.” He laid the palm of his hand on the small of her back and guided her out of the room toward a set of spiral stairs in the corner of the expansive foyer.

At his touch, buzzing shot up her spine to her head, dizzying her. She stepped away. Falhman kept pace with her, his hand firmly planted on her back.

“The first thing you must learn is to get used to the shifter sensations, my dear.”

She stopped and faced him. “How did you know?”

“I have been a shifter for many, many years. Your knowledge and abilities will never match mine.”

“An avoidance answer if I ever heard one.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Are you a mind reader?”

A smile crept up the side of his mouth, making her uneasy.

“Of a sort,” he replied. “But don’t worry, I can’t read all your thoughts. Only some of them.”

Some was way too many. She blanked out the expletive that came to mind, replacing it with a picture of flowers and bunnies.
See what he does with that.

Falhman threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing against the stone walls. “I won’t be reading your mind today, my dear. I need you to concentrate on the task at hand, not worry I will ferret out some secret.”

She opened her mouth to protest that she had no secrets.

“Ah, ah, ah, my dear. We all have secrets.”

She clamped her mouth and her mind shut. He would not get anything from her today.

Multiples of Fiona reflected in the ballet room mirrors, extending into infinity. The sight disconcerted her, and she searched for a spot in the room that only replicated a single image. When she found it, she planted herself in that location.

“We’ll start today by showing me how well you can mimic shift. You do have the basics, don’t you?”

Nodding, Fiona shifted into Falhman’s image, her bones and sinew stretching for his height. Her mahogany hair shortened and silvered. She smoothed it with the same motion she’d seen her mentor use. Glancing down, she saw two skinny legs protruding from her yoga pants. Falhman stepped beside her, and they gazed at themselves in the mirror.

“Impressive,” he said. “Rather quick for someone who hasn’t had formal training.”

“I’ve had six months to practice, since OmniWorld didn’t provide me with a mentor right away.”

“You have some innate talent, my dear. It must be from your McCraigen bloodline.”

Pride swelled in her. Knowing she had a talent for shifting made her believe she was on the right track.

“However, if you look closely, you will see you missed something.”

She stared at the two images in the mirror, concentrating on every detail. “My eyes are still green.”

She squinted in concentration, willing her irises to transform to silver, as she had willed the rest of her body to copy Falhman. When staring didn’t help, she closed her eyelids and flooded her mind with the color silver until even the black floaters in her vision grayed. When she checked the mirror again, two green orbs shone from her face. Falhman no longer stood next to her. Her double did, dressed in her mentor’s clothes, her green eyes piercing the mirror.

At her startled expression, he morphed into himself.

“I’ll try again,” she said.

Falhman’s touch buzzed through her. “Don’t bother. Changing eye color is very hard. Mimic shifters rarely accomplish it. I merely wanted to see what you had learned on your own.”

So that’s how these sessions were going to play out. Her mentor was a show-me kind of fellow. He didn’t trust her word. “Teach me,” she said. “I’m a fast study.”

“Let’s see how good a study you are.” Falhman rang a buzzer on the wall. The ballet door opened, admitting a crew of male and females. As they entered, the buzzing shifter tingles increased. She rotated her neck and scrubbed the skin on her forearms.

“Are you uncomfortable, my dear?”

“A little. I’m not used to shifter sensations yet.”

He hit the buzzer again, and a second crew of shifters entered, elevating the sensation.

Fiona struggled to keep her hands off her skin. The tingling raced across her like insects crawling on her body.

“How do you feel?” Falhman asked.

She raised her chin to him defiantly. “Fine,” she lied.

He grinned and admitted even more shifters.

No longer able to resist, Fiona clenched her fists and rubbed her arms manically.

“Now, we’re ready.” He pointed at the mats on the opposite side of the room. “Choose one rogue to mimic and one to fight.”

“Fight?” Her voice chimed up the scale in fear. “You never said anything about fighting.”

“A rogue shifter must be ready to fight at a moment’s notice.”

The shaking in her belly must have translated to her body, because Falhman said gently, “Don’t worry, my dear. They’re under orders to go easy. I promise you’ll suffer no injuries.”

“I don’t understand. What does fighting mimic shifted have to do with learning how to shift to my alter ego?”

“Concentration. Holding a shift is a matter of concentration. When you can do it without thinking, you’ll be ready to discover your alter ego.” He gave her a gentle shove toward the mat. “Choose your mimic and opponent. When I say ‘shift,’ choose a new set.”

She chose a burly man for her mimic and a smaller woman to fight. They circled each other on the mat like wary cats. Then the woman charged and pinned her to the floor in one quick motion. Fiona lost her mimic form as the breath whooshed out of her.

Falhman shouted, “Shift!”

Every rogue in the room changed shape. The buzzing intensified, sending her into a near frenzy. She pointed at another woman and mimicked a second man. It took longer for the second woman to drop her to the mat. This time, Fiona leapt up and flipped the woman on her backside. Bone and sinew and muscles twisted and turned as she resumed her normal persona.

Falhman shouted, “Shift!”

The rogues stayed the same, but pressed closer to her. The buzzing reached new heights. Fiona chose her opponent and mimic without thinking, concentrating instead on blocking out the fierce tingling racing through her entire body. Her opponent took her out easily. When she hit the floor, she lost her mimic.

Frustrated at her failures, Fiona changed tactics at Falhman’s next command, using the pain of the shifter sensations to fuel her. Channeling them instead of fighting them. She ran at her opponent like a raging bull and knocked her to the ground. They fell in a jumble of limbs. Fiona rolled to the top and straddled the rogue. She glanced in the mirrors. She had retained her shift. Her gaze cut to Falhman who wore a broad grin.