Fiona
––––––––
Fiona awoke standing up, with someone slapping her face. This time her memories flooded back immediately.
She was being held up by someone’s firm grip on her shoulders. Her hands were still bound behind her back, but her ankles were no longer tied. Her hopes rose. It was looking like she now had a better chance to escape than she’d had in the office.
She opened her eyes, and her heart sank. She was unsurprised to see that Kurson was the one who was slapping her. But the man holding her up was new, and so were the men beside him. She was no longer facing three men with guns, but six. The odds, which had already been against her, were now even worse.
I shouldn’t have waited, she thought, angry at herself. I should have taken my chances and shifted in the office.
Fiona was in a clearing in the middle of a dark, dense forest. She didn’t recognize the exact location, but from the general look of the area, they’d driven her a bit north of Santa Martina. Those forests stretched out for miles. Nobody would hear her if she screamed. Her teammates would have no idea where she was and no way of tracking her there.
Fear gripped her at the thought that she might die there. Then it was replaced by an overwhelming loneliness. All but one of her teammates had found their mates, and surely Destiny would find hers soon. Only Fiona, whose ice-cold heart had ensured that she’d always live alone, would also die alone. She just hadn’t thought it would be this soon.
You will survive, hissed her snow leopard.
Kurson had noticed her looking around. “Don’t get any ideas about running. We’ll shoot you down in a second. This is a good place to dispose of a body.”
It is also a good place for a snow leopard, hissed her inner cat.
It was true. If she shifted—and she had no other choice, now—she could leap into the trees and vanish into the foliage. From there, she’d have the advantage, and could either escape or stalk her kidnappers. She just had to find the best opportunity to do it without getting shot first. How she’d engineer that, she didn’t know. But it never hurt to poke at people to see what made them tick.
She got her feet under her, then jeered, “It takes six of you to kidnap one woman? I had no idea I was that scary.”
She saw anger flicker in the eyes of the man who still gripped her shoulders, and felt his fingers tense.
But Kurson said evenly, “You carried two military-grade concealed weapons, and you claim to be a federal agent with a team backing you up. I’d say we’re taking reasonable precautions.”
Fiona looked him in the eyes. “I was under surveillance. My team is on their way right now. Only six of you? Should’ve brought twenty.”
“Actually, there’s seven,” said a new voice.
A strange man stepped out of the shadows. While the kidnapper holding her shoulders didn’t release her, she felt him give a start. The other four spun around, bringing their guns to bear on him. Only Kurson kept his gun trained on her.
Now! Fiona thought, and tensed to shift.
Cold steel jammed into her forehead. She froze. Kurson had the barrel of his gun pressed to her head.
“Stop!” Kurson barked. “Whatever you were about to do, I can put a bullet in your head faster than you can do it.”
Fiona was so angry and frustrated that she nearly shifted anyway. But she forced her snarling snow leopard down. Kurson was right. There was no point throwing her life away.
“Easy,” said the stranger. He was tall and lean, with black hair and dark eyes and handsome, angular features. His empty hands were raised in the air, but his voice was perfectly calm. “I’m with you.”
“The hell you are,” snapped one of the kidnappers. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I’ve never seen you before,” the stranger pointed out. “But I’m not questioning who you work for. Mr. Abrams sent me.”
All the kidnappers seemed to relax a little at that, though their guns didn’t budge.
Ah-ha, Fiona thought. So that’s who’s behind the whole thing.
Like Wallace Nagle, whom Ellie had put behind bars, Mr. Abrams was known to be an organized crime boss. But, as had also been the case with Nagle, knowing was one thing and proving was another. The Santa Martina police had been trying to get charges to stick on Abrams for a long time, but it was difficult when witnesses were too intimidated to cooperate.
“I’m an interrogation specialist,” the stranger went on. His tone was even more frightening than his words—not sadistic, but cold as ice. As if he was dead inside. And a man who felt nothing might do anything.
That seemed to convince Kurson. “Fine. Have at her. We’re staying, though.”
“Yes, do. I’ll need you afterward. I didn’t bring a shovel.” With those unnerving words, delivered in the same flat tone, the stranger stepped toward her. He moved with an oddly familiar predatory grace, like a stalking cat.
Fiona knew she should be frightened at his approach, but instead she felt a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. He reminded her of someone...
Your packmate, hissed her snow leopard.
That was it: the stranger moved with something like Shane’s coiled power. He’d even emerged from shadows, though when Shane did that, he gave the impression of materializing from thin air, while this man had simply seemed to be well-concealed.
He stopped in front of her. This close, she could see that his eyes were black as engine oil, so dark that she couldn’t distinguish iris from pupil. The instant their gazes locked, a jolt went through her body, like she’d stuck her finger in a light socket.
The man gave a start, almost as if he’d felt it too.
Her snow leopard made a sound Fiona had never heard before, a low rumble halfway between a growl and a purr.
What was that? Fiona asked, uncertain even to herself whether she meant the jolt she’d felt or her snow leopard’s reaction.
I... I don’t know. Her inner cat seemed puzzled. There is something about him... Something strange.
And that in itself was strange. Her snow leopard was never confused or hesitant, even when she probably should be. The big cat had no understanding of ambiguity or gray areas. Why was she perplexed by this man?
The stranger stood in front of her, looking her over silently. Fiona wished she could read his expression, but his eyes were black mirrors, reflecting everything and giving away nothing. She needed to be able to understand him if she had a chance of defeating him. So she studied what she could of him.
He wore black jeans and a black leather jacket. She didn’t see any weapons, but his clothes were baggy enough to conceal anything. Though maybe that wasn’t why they were loosely fitted. Now that he was closer, she could see that his cheekbones and collarbones jutted harshly, as if he’d lost too much weight. His skin was very pale, almost translucent, and the shadows beneath his eyes were dark as bruises. A network of faint lines traced across his face, though otherwise he didn’t look any older than she was.
Shane had looked like that in the hospital, when he’d just gotten out of surgery.
Maybe this guy’s just recovered from an injury, she thought. Or an illness.
He has not recovered, hissed her snow leopard unexpectedly. Whatever is wrong with him is not over.
How can you tell? Fiona asked. He doesn’t move like he’s weak or in pain.
Her snow leopard gave a frustrated snort. I don’t know.
Fiona believed the big cat, but even so, she didn’t think he would be easy to fight. Not a man who moved like Shane.
The stranger turned his head to the men holding her. “Can I have some room to work?”
“Yeah.” Kurson stepped away, to Fiona’s relief. Not that the threat of being tortured was any better than the threat of being shot, but she was glad to have the gun barrel off her forehead. The man holding her shoulders also moved away.
She let her field of vision widen, so she could see what all the gangsters were doing without letting them see she was checking them out. They had their guns ready, but not aimed directly at her; the stranger was standing too close for them to be able to easily shoot her without hitting him. If she had her hands free, she could use him as a human shield. If she shifted, though, she’d be much bigger than him, and they could hit her easily. Still, this might be her best chance...
Wait, hissed her snow leopard.
That was strange too. Normally her snow leopard was the one urging her to leap into action, and Fiona was the one holding back.
The stranger laid one hand on her shoulder and reached behind her with his other hand to grasp her bound wrists. Another odd shock went through her at his touch, and she couldn’t repress a start.
The stranger seemed to have felt it too: his hands had closed convulsively over her shoulder and wrists, then relaxed.
What the hell is going on?
He backed her up, putting his body between her and the other men. She could feel the heat of his body and smell his clean masculine scent.
He’s placed himself perfectly to block the gangsters’ view of both our faces, she realized. If I’d done that, it would’ve been on purpose, so we could—
In the barest whisper of sound, he murmured, “I’m on your side. If I give you a gun, can you shoot?”
A multitude of doubts and questions leaped into her mind—Is this a trick? Is he an undercover cop? Is he a criminal using me to take out the competition, and he’ll kill me once he’s done with them?—but she pushed them aside. Going along with him couldn’t possibly be worse than not going along.
And though she had absolutely no reason to trust him, she did.
Fiona nodded.
“You a lefty?” he whispered.
She gave the tiniest shake of her head.
“Hit your head,” he murmured.
He shoved her against a tree. Fiona let her head snap back and gave a cry of pain. A few malicious laughs arose from the watching gangsters. The distraction had worked.
The stranger bent over her, as if menacing her, and whispered, “I’m going to cut the cords and pass you a gun. Then I’ll step to your left. You take the three on the right. I’ll take the three on the left. Got it?”
“Got it,” she breathed.
Behind her back, his wrist twisted against hers. She felt the cold touch of metal as he sliced the cords that bound her, holding them so they wouldn’t fall. Then he pushed the knife into her left hand and a very small pistol into her right. He waited until she’d gotten a good grip on them both. Then he moved smoothly to her left.
Now! Her snow leopard’s snarl seemed as loud as the gunshots already sounding from her left as Fiona whipped up her gun hand and fired.
Gunshots echoed through the forest.
Then silence.
As fast as the battle had begun, it was over. Six men lay crumpled on the forest floor. They’d been taken so completely by surprise, she didn’t think they’d had time to fire a single shot.
She and the stranger moved quickly to check the gangsters, and to disarm and tie up the ones who were only wounded. Then Fiona beckoned him across the clearing, where they could speak quietly without being overheard.
“Who—” The question died on her lips as she saw that the gangsters had gotten off at least one shot, after all. Blood was trickling out of the stranger’s left jacket sleeve and on to the back of his gun hand.
Irrelevantly, she thought, No wonder he asked if I was left-handed. He’s used to the world not being made for him.
“You’re hit,” she said.
“I am?” He sounded no more than mildly curious as he glanced down at himself. “Oh.”
“Don’t you feel it?”
He shook his head.
Fiona was alarmed. Not feeling pain might be because of an adrenaline rush, or it might mean he’d been so badly wounded that he’d already gone into shock, and would collapse at any moment. “Take off your jacket.”
“It’s all right. I’ll take a look later.”
He sounded so bizarrely unconcerned that he’d been shot that it made her worry even more. She ordered, “Take off your jacket, or I’ll take it off for you!”
His eyebrows arched in something like amusement. “Don’t trouble yourself.”
He slipped off his jacket. The bullet had dug a gouge into his upper arm, but to her relief, it didn’t look serious.
He glanced at the wound, then replaced his gun in its shoulder holster, which was strapped over a white T-shirt. Without the jacket to conceal his body, she could see that though he had enough muscle to look strong, he seemed too thin for his frame.
“Let me help you bandage that,” she said. “I can rip up some clothes—”
“It’s fine.” He pulled his jacket back on. “I have to get going.”
“Who are you? An undercover cop? FBI?”
He shook his head. “Just a passerby.”
That was ridiculous, obviously, but if he was law enforcement, he should have said so. She wondered if he was a criminal after all—maybe even one Abrams’ gang, just like he’d said, having a crisis of conscience. “If this is on your way, you’re on a hell of a long walk. Why did you help me?”
He shrugged. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Do I look like her?”
His lips twitched into something resembling a smile, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Hardly. He’s a guy.”
The more he said, the more at sea Fiona felt. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on?”
He was silent, studying her with his strange black eyes, then said, “We’ll never see each other again, so I guess it doesn’t matter. I thought a friend of mine was in danger, so I came to rescue him. He wasn’t here, but you were. I spied on those gangsters and overheard them say their boss’s name—and what they were going to do to you.”
Fiona made a face. “Concluding with shovels, huh?”
“Yeah. You obviously needed a hand, so I gave you one. That’s all.”
“All? You saved my life.” Fiona paused, frustrated. She wanted to give him something in return—help him in exchange, even in some tiny token way—but he obviously wanted nothing more than to get out of there. Since it was all she could do, she said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Listen, if you want to return the favor, don’t tell anyone I helped you out. Don’t tell anyone I exist. You’re obviously capable of taking out six of those thugs, so just say you did.”
“What about what the thugs say?”
“Tell them not to mention me, either. I’m sure you’re capable of being persuasive, too.” For the first time since he’d slipped her the gun, he reached out and touched her. There was no shock this time, just the pressure of his fingers on her shoulder, strong and warm. “Don’t even tell whoever you normally tell your secrets to. Keep this one to yourself. Promise?”
He’s on the run, she thought. So is he a criminal? Or just a man in deep, deep trouble?
He sounded terribly tired. Not just physically, which made sense after a gunfight, but weary down to the heart and soul. Like he was living a life that was eating away at him and had been for a very long time, but he didn’t know how to stop.
Or maybe Fiona was just projecting that on him because once upon a time, she’d been there herself.
“I promise,” she said. It seemed like the least that she could do. Though maybe there was something else she could help with. “Hey, what made you think they were doing something to your friend? Is he in trouble with them? Could they be holding him somewhere else?”
“No. He’s fine. I know that now. I... I was wrong. I was wrong before, too. I...” He trailed off into a deep sigh. Very quietly, as if he wasn’t even talking to her, he said, “Something’s wrong with me.”
Blood was dripping from his fingertips to the grass, but he still made no move to staunch the bleeding. Fiona began to rethink how badly injured he was. His weary tone, his pallor, the things he was saying, and the way he was behaving all made her wonder if either his wound was more serious than it had looked, or if he had another one that he didn’t feel and she hadn’t seen.
“I think so too,” she said. “Let me take you to a hospital.”
Instantly, he backed away, all the way up to the shadowy edge of the woods. “No. I’m fine.”
Could he be a shifter, afraid to go to a hospital in case the doctors would notice that he was healing too quickly? Or, more likely, he just had an outstanding warrant. “I could take you to a doctor I know. A discreet doctor.”
“I don’t like doctors.” From his tone, that was the understatement of the year. He went on, “You’re in law enforcement, right? Go back to the city. Get the police or FBI or whoever you’re with to clean up. The gangsters’ cars are that way.” He pointed.
Automatically, she turned to look. When she turned back, he was gone.
Catch him, hissed her snow leopard, but Fiona didn’t need any encouragement.
“Wait!” She ran into the woods. “Wait...”
But he was nowhere to be seen. He’d vanished as easily as he’d appeared.
She wished he hadn’t run away. She’d wanted to help him, and now she couldn’t. He’d saved her life, and she’d barely even thanked him. She didn’t even know his name.
She wished, too, that he hadn’t made her promise not to tell anyone about him. Now she couldn’t even tell Hal or Shane or Destiny.
Well, Fiona had so many secrets, what did one more matter? Anyway, she’d never see him again.
That knowledge made an odd pang go through her heart. But she shrugged it off. The important thing was that she’d found out who was behind the attacks on Mars: The Musical. Now she could keep Rafa and his mate safe.
Fiona returned to the wounded gangsters. Kurson gave her a furious glare as she crouched down beside him and slipped his car keys out of his pocket. To her annoyance, he didn’t have a cell phone. Neither did any of the other gangsters.
“Nobody knows I’m here,” Fiona said. “You don’t even know who I am, so neither does your boss. So I’ve got two options. I could finish you off, and no one would ever know it was me. Or I could drive into town, get a phone, and call an ambulance. You’d all go to jail, but you’d survive. Up to you.”
Kurson shot her a murderous glare, but he was helpless. Sullenly, he said, “What do you want?”
“Just two things. First, don’t mention that guy who helped me. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the only one who was ever here.” She turned to stare at the rest of the gangsters. “Got it?”
“Yeah, fine,” said Kurson. The other gangsters nodded. That part was obviously no skin off their teeth.
“Second thing. Who’s sabotaging Mars: The Musical?”
Kurson scowled. Fiona kept her expression blank, but she was relieved to see that he obviously knew. That had been a gamble; the hit man could have just as easily have had no idea.
“What’ll it be?” Fiona prompted. “Ambulance? Or shallow grave?”
“This guy Mr. Abrams hired special for the job. An undercover specialist. Like you. Only better. He didn’t get caught.” Kurson gave a nasty snicker.
“Sure he did,” Fiona retorted. “I caught him just now. What’s his name?”
“Jason Lindstrom.”
“There’s nobody by that name on the show.”
“That’s because he stole the identity of some theatre guy who’s working in France right now.”
“Who’s that?” Fiona demanded.
“Carl...” Kurson shrugged. “I forget. Carl something.”
That was all Fiona needed to know. She jumped up, car keys in hand.
With a sneer, Kurson added, “Too late. That show is already over. Permanently.”
Cold fear crept up Fiona’s spine. “What do you mean?”
“I guess you know Mr. Abrams hired someone else to take a shot at the stage manager a while back. Long distance assassination isn’t Lindstrom’s style. He likes to work close up, but Mr. Abrams thought that was too risky. Anyway, it didn’t work. Some bodyguard protected her. So Mr. Abrams asked Lindstrom if he could work double duty and finish the job.”
Kurson laughed again, even more nastily. “Mr. Abrams told him to lay off the sabotage. Told him to wait till opening night, when everyone would have figured he’d given up, and finish the job. It’s opening night right now, so the stage manager’s already dead. And if that bodyguard got in the way, so is he.”
Fiona spun around and bolted in the direction the stranger had pointed. Sure enough, a couple cars were parked on a rough dirt road. Fiona unlocked one with the keys she’d taken from Kurson. She jumped in and stepped on the gas, praying she wasn’t too late.