Timber Valley Pack: Lynx On The Loose( A Paranormal Romance With Shifters) (3 page)

              “My men have alerted all the agencies in the territory and in all surrounding states. We’ll find her,” Connors said confidently.

              “We’ll see.” Warden Redthorne sounded less enthused.  “In the meantime, I’m here to update you on the investigation into Colonel Bradwell. We’ve found out some disturbing information.”

              More disturbing than knowing that a rogue army colonel knew of their existence and viewed shifters as disposable lab rats to be experimented on? Dash thought.  It was hard to imagine. 

              “What have you found out?” Jordan Fleetfoot leaned forward anxiously.  He was an older shifter, with silver hair, recently elected as Chief Elder.  He’d be reporting back to the other Elders, who lived in various parts of the country supervising their territories. 

              “We found the arms dealer that he’d been working with,” Redthorne said. “Then we managed to hack into the arms dealer’s cell phone and listen in on some of his conversations. Bradwell definitely plans to rebuild the laboratory and continue his work. We don’t know where or when.”

              Dash felt rage boiling up inside him, and he stifled a low growl.  He could see fur bristling on the faces of the other people in the room.

              He thought of the tortures that the kidnapped shifters had endured.  They’d been zapped with electricity to force them to shift.  Some of them had been dissected alive, while others were forced to watch.  The attempt of Colonel Bradwell to abduct a group of children attending a summer camp on the Battle pack’s property had been most horrifying of all. What would they have done with those children and young teens? Would they have treated them any better than the adults that they’d tortured?

              “As long as those bastards are out there, every shifter cub and kitten in the country is in danger,” Dash growled.

              “I haven’t even gotten to the most disturbing part yet,” Redthorne said.

              Well, this day just kept getting better and better.

              “During one of the arms dealers’ conversations, he talked about Bradwell working with a scientist from Korslovia, a man named Zador Horvath. The arms dealer had introduced Bradwell to Zador.  It turns out that they had a similar laboratory in Korslovia for many years, located at a remote labor camp for political prisoners.  Scientists in Korslovia had stumbled on the existence of our kind, and have been experimenting on them for more than a decade.”

              “Korslovia is a dictatorship, isn’t it?” Connors asked. “In the Middle East?”

              “They are in Eastern Europe, and their dictatorship was overthrown and replaced by a democracy two years ago,” Dash said.  Korslovia was a war torn country which had been having military coups for years. They had suffered under dictator after dictator; hopefully the new democratic government would succeed where the previous governments had failed.

              He saw Connors shoot him a dirty look. Dash had just showed him up in front of everyone. Dash exchanged a glance with Warden Redthorne, who scowled and looked away.  He knew what Redthorne was thinking; he was holding Connors up in comparison to the former sheriff, and finding him wanting. Redthorne had been the one to order Steele’s exile, however, and now they were all living with the consequences.

              In some ways, Dash could understand it. Colonel Bradwell was the living embodiment of why shifters didn’t want their existence revealed to humans; the fear was that most humans might react the same way that he did, looking on shifters as less than human and treating them as such.  Steele had risked revealing the existence of shifters to the world; shifter law said he had to pay the price.

              Still, Dash kept wondering if they could have taken less extreme measures.

              Well, they didn’t have time to worry about that now.

              “So, here’s what’s really alarming,” Redthorne said. “It appears that the reason Bradwell was so obsessed with this project, so determined to carry on with it no matter what, is that the scientists in Korslovia actually succeeded in their mission. They’d succeeded in turning humans into shifters.”

              There were exclamations of shock and anger in the room. Could that even be possible? In all of shifter’s known history, going back thousands of years, there had never been a case of someone being born human and then turning shifter.

              “Where are these human shifters?” Fleetfoot demanded.             

“Dead. When the dictatorship was overthrown,  Zador blew up the lab and killed them, along with the other scientists and most of the test subjects.  According to our contacts in Korslovia, we now believe that Zador fled the country and came to America on a fake visa shortly afterwards.”

“We originally were told that Colonel Bradwell accidentally stumbled on the existence of shifters when he came across one during a military training exercise,” Chief Elder Fleetfoot said.

Loren nodded. “That is what we were led to believe at the time. We now think that the exercise was a cover, and he was out there looking for a shifter to capture,” Loren said. “Horvath somehow knew where communities of shifters live in the United States, and told him where to look.  That’s the information that we’re picking up from the arms dealer’s conversations, anyway.”

“Do we have a way to find this scientist?” Fleetfoot asked. “It sounds as if he’s as big a danger to us as Colonel Bradwell is. We need to find out how he knows about the location of our shifter communities.”

“Unfortunately, no known photographs of him exist,” Redthorne said. “We have descriptions of him from the few people who managed to escape his lab.  He’s a white male in his fifties, but that’s all that we have.”

“Hair color? Eye color? Facial characteristics?” Connors persisted.

“Those can be, and most likely have been, changed.  Hair dye, contact lenses, cosmetic surgery.”

“So where does this leave us?” Chief Elder Fleetfoot asked.

“With far too many unanswered questions. We’re continuing to talk to the Korslovian shifters, to see what information we can get from them. They’re as eager to find this scientist as we are,” Warden Redthorne said.

He glanced at Connors. “I’d like Dash to work with the Wardens in searching for Isadora. They have a history, he knows her, he may be able to aid us in tracking her down faster than we would without him.”

“Thank you,” Dash said fervently, and then, at Sheriff Connor’s angry look, finished up quickly “for trusting me with this important assignment, Warden Redthorne.”

As everyone got up to file out of the room, he found himself wondering if a transfer to the Wardens department might be in order for the near future.

First things first, however.  He had to help them find Isadora before she got hurt – that is, before she could hurt anyone.

Damn that lynx, he thought unhappily as he headed out to his patrol car.  The sooner she was in custody, the sooner he’d be able to stop thinking about her night and day – wouldn’t he?

Isadora pulled her minivan into the far end of a parking lot by a small convenience store, yawned heavily, and gulped the last of her large coffee. She’d driven for a dozen hours to a spot two hours outside of Lonesome Pine, Montana. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t stop now. The end-game was almost in sight.

“I need a catnap,” she muttered to herself. “Ha ha. Catnap. I’m hilarious.”

She was parked near a small rural store with a faded sign that proclaimed that it was “Raymond’s Gas N Gulp.”  The parking lot was hemmed in by pine trees swaying in the cool fall breeze. The delightful pine scents of the forest swirled in her nostrils, along with the reek of gasoline and the bitter scent of burnt coffee drifting from the store.

She glanced at the other cars parked in the lot.  She didn’t smell any other shifters.  Maybe she’d really given everybody the slip.

Even if she ran into any other shifters who knew about the APB on her, they wouldn’t recognize her at a glance.  She didn’t look like herself any more.

She’d been prepared for this day; she’d stashed bags with disguises in various hiding spots throughout Timber Valley, in case the time came that she had to run.

Once she’d shimmied out of the jail cell window, she’d shifted into lynx form, fetched the bag, and started running with the bag dangling from her mouth.  About fifty miles outside of Timber Valley, she’d shifted back to human form, pulled on a blond wig, taken off her nose stud and skull earrings, and pulled on a floral pastel dress with tights and pink Ugg boots.  She wore a pink cable knit sweater hiding the tattoos on her arms.  Then she’d climbed into the minivan that she’d stashed outside of town in case of emergency, and hightailed it north.

Goth girl had disappeared, to be replaced by a respectable preppie girl who would – she shuddered at the thought – have met with her parents full approval.

She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror, and grimaced. She looked like she should be on the cover of “Career Girl” magazine.

“Of all the indignities that I’m suffering, this is the worst,” she grumbled.

Then she climbed out of the car and looked around the parking lot.

Were Warriordemon1 and Savageslayer even going to show up? Hobos weren’t always the most reliable of shifters. There were usually reasons that they weren’t members of prides or packs. Some were free spirits, some were anti-social, and some were downright crazy. Just like human Hobos.  Isadora had always enjoyed staying at Hobo camps when she’d travelled in the past, and now that she had a mission, the Hobo network was turning out to be especially useful.

She wished she knew what Warriordemon1 and Savageslayer looked like.  There was a code phrase they were supposed to use when they walked up; it was “I hear the weather’s going to turn nasty later.” Anyway, it gave her time to buy some more coffee and maybe a six pack of highly caffeinated soda. She was dying here.

As she walked across the parking lot towards the store, a blue station wagon pulled in, and she glanced over to see who it was. The doors opened, and four men climbed out.  They moved like cops, and smelled like shifters. 

They were in a human area, so of course the car was unmarked and the men were plainclothes.  Most shifter towns officially didn’t exist, so when the shifter law enforcement left their own area, they never drove their police vehicles or wore their uniforms; it would cause too many questions. However, they still had legal jurisdiction over shifters everywhere.

She knew she didn’t look suspicious, but the problem was, they were wolves, with an amazing sense of smell, and she was a lynx shifter.  They were already tilting their heads in the air, sniffing, looking around…

The fact that she was a lynx shifter in a human town wasn’t a big deal by itself. Shifters travelled through human areas all of the time.  However, since they were looking for a lynx, she knew they were going to come over and question her, and who knew where that would end up.  She was sure that photographs of her had been circulated to shifters all over the country.  She was suddenly self-conscious. Was her wig convincing enough? Could she pull this off?

She started casually strolling back to the minivan.  As she did, the shifters started walking towards her.  She couldn’t avoid their gaze; shifter etiquette called for her to at least acknowledge their presence.

She glanced up and nodded at them and then looked away.  Running would only attract attention, and there were a couple of humans filling up their tanks with gas, so she didn’t have the option of shifting and bolting for the woods.  That was a pity, because if she could make it to the tree line, she’d be all set.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” one of them said firmly. Big guy with a crew cut.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Warden Neil Lawrence, of the Rushing River Pack.  I need to see your identification.”

She shot him an annoyed look, fishing in her purse.

“What’s all this about? I’m running late.”

“It’s a matter of Shifter national security. ID” His tone was a little less friendly now.

Acting put upon, she pulled her wallet out of her purse and handed her fake ID to him. Her picture matched the disguise she was wearing.

“Name and date of birth?”

“Laura Isles. January 10, 1990.”

“Pride affiliation?”

“I don’t have one. I’m a Hobo.” If she claimed a particular pride affiliation, they’d check, and see through her story.

He exchanged glances with the other shifters. They were gathered around her now; there was nowhere for her to run.

“What pride were you born into?”

“My parents were also Hobos.” He glanced at her minivan. It was actually a pretty nice minivan. It suddenly occurred to her that most Hobos weren’t that well off. She’d screwed up by having a nice vehicle and respectable outfit. Most Hobos lived on the outskirts of society, doing odd jobs, just getting by.

“Hey! Aunt Laura! Are we ready to go yet?” a cheerful voice called out to her.

“What?” she spun around, startled.

A rather grimy young hyena shifter trotted up to them. He’d come from behind the store. Isadora guessed his age at around fourteen.  He’d scrubbed his face, but she could see grime on his neck and hands.  His clothing was worn and patched. Now, he looked like a Hobo.

He was accompanied by a mountain lion female of around ten years of age, who wore a filthy dress.

Aunt Laura? Who were these crazy kids? They couldn’t possibly have mistaken her for somebody else…could they have?

“It looks like the weather’s going to turn nasty later,” he added. “We should get going.”

Freaking great. WarriorDemon1 had sent kids to meet her.

“I saw that same weather report,” she said, and he gave the tiniest nod of acknowledgement at her correct response.

“Who are you?” the warden asked him suspiciously.

“My name is Raymond. This is my aunt. We need to go, I have a doctor’s appointment.” He frowned at them impatiently.

“What’s your aunt’s date of birth?” the Warden persisted.  The young interloper recited it, shifting from one foot to another.

The warden still looked skeptical.  “She’s your aunt? You’re a hyena. And she’s a mountain lion,” he protested. He glanced at the young girl.

The hyena shifter looked at him indignantly.  “Our family is very open-minded. Don’t judge.” And he yanked open the door to the minivan without a second glance, and the girl followed him.

Isadora suspected that, with his superior canine hearing, he’d overheard her fake name and the birth date and repeated it back. However, the wardens seemed to be buying it.

“How…” Warden Lawrence asked, his gaze darting from her to them.

She managed a pained smile. “Their parents were troubled. I took them in.”

He looked at the van and her clean clothing, and nodded approvingly.  “Well, it looks like you’ve done well for yourself. They’re in good paws now.” He pulled out his wallet, fished out a few twenties, and handed them to her. “That’s for some new clothes for them.”

Well, now Isadora just felt bad. She’d find a way to get the money back to him.

“We’re looking for a female lynx shifter about your age,” he continued. “Black hair, tattoos, nose ring, kind of Goth appearance. She’s collaborating with that group of humans who kidnapped shifters.”

“I thought that group of humans had all been caught.” Isadora pretended to look horrified and concerned.

“Most of them. Unfortunately, some of them are still on the loose, and she’s been cooperating with them.” His tone was contemptuous, his lip curling as he said it.

Awesome. So that’s what she was now. The girl who’d betrayed every shifter in the land. Well, she’d known what she was signing up for.

She nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Her heart still racing, she climbed in the van and drove off.

“Thanks for saving my furry hide back there, kid,” Isadora said, once they were a couple of miles down the road. “Did WarriorDemon1 send you?”

He straightened up and puffed out his narrow chest. “I am WarriorDemon1,” he said proudly.

She shot him a startled glance.

“You are WarriorDemon1? Seriously?”

She looked at the little girl. “Who are you?”

“Savageslayer.” The girl flashed a cheerful grin at her. “My real name’s Sally.”

“I’m Thomas,” the hyena said.

These were the Hobos she’d talked with in the chat room?

“You sounded completely different online!” she protested. “You talked about getting in fights and ripping out the throats of your Challengers!”

“Of course I did.” He rolled his eyes, and his tone indicated extreme impatience with stupid grownups. “If anyone knew I was a kid they might try to rob me and Sally, or kill us. You have to sound tough. It’s Internet Survival 101.”

              “Duh,” Sally added helpfully.

“You knew all the Hobo code words!” she protested.

“My parents were Hobos. Or they are Hobos. They might be dead.”

“But…” her voice trailed off. “What happened? How long has it been since you’ve seen them?”

He shrugged indifferently. “I’ve been on my own since I was ten.  They took off for different parts of the country.” At Isadora’s horrified look, he added “My uncle’s coming to get us. I’ve stayed with him before. I don’t mind being alone, but with Sally here, I was thinking it might be a good idea to have a grownup around for a while.”

“What happened the last time you stayed with him?”

“He left for a week to take a construction job.  After he left, some humans set up camp near where our group was hanging out, so we left, and I couldn’t get in touch with him again. He’s kind of a technophobe. He stays off grid, never goes in the chat rooms.”

Isadora didn’t think that the uncle sounded that great, but who was she to interfere?  And what better options could she offer? She was on the run from every shifter law enforcement agency in existence.

“What about you?” Isadora asked the young girl, with dismay.

“My father’s dead, and my stepfather’s a stupid asshole who hit me all the time,” the girl shrugged.

“Language!” Then Isadora nearly fell over. Dear God, she’d actually just sounded a tiny bit like her mother when she said that, which was literally a fate worse than death.

“Sorry. He’s a jerk. Last year we were at a camp with a bunch of other Hobos and my stepfather hit me in the head because I tripped and spilled his can of beer, and Thomas had just come to the camp, and he jumped on him and bit his shoulder, and my stepfather threw him across the clearing, so I stabbed him with a spear.”

“Oh. Good for you.” Isadora’s eyes widened with surprise and a new respect.

“I was going to kill him before that, but my mom kept begging me not to,” Sally shrugged.

Apparently Savageslayer was not an inaccurate internet handle for Sally. “Did he die when you speared him?”

“I don’t know.  Me and Thomas ran for it. We never heard from him again. My mother didn’t try to find me.” Her voice sounded wistful when she said that.

“Well, at least you’ve got Thomas.” Isadora found herself blinking hard. Allergies. Damn it, it was allergies! She didn’t have a soft or sentimental bone in her body.

“Yeah, he’s better than any mother,” Sally said, cheering up.

“So, is Pyotr at the camp?” Isadora had wanted to join up with this specific group of Hobos because of information that her superiors had passed down to her – information about a man from Korslovia.

They’d had Isadora looking all over the country for any shifters from that country.  By asking around on all the Hobo boards, she’d finally tracked him down – and was surprised to find that he frequently hung out at the Hobo camp that was located only a couple of hours from Lonesome Pine.

“He doesn’t live at the camp.  He stays in some caves nearby.  He’s kind of paranoid and crazy. Something happened to him in some war, or something,” Thomas said.

A science laboratory, actually, but Thomas didn’t need to know about that, or all the things that had been done to the shifters there.  From what Isadora had heard about the laboratory, it was amazing that he had any scraps of sanity left.