Chosen by Fate (11 page)

Mahone didn’t reply. He simply stared at Caleb, waiting for him to break. But Caleb didn’t break easily. He turned and had actually made it to the door when Mahone said, “If you want me to beg, that’s not going to happen.” He paused, then said somewhat reluctantly, “But we need Wraith. This next op is sensitive, and having two females who are already familiar with each other is key to its success. So I won’t beg, but I’m willing to offer an incentive.”

Disbelief whipped Caleb around. “Incentive?” he snorted. “You mean you’re trying your hand at bribery again? You did that to get me to join the team, and I still haven’t collected.”

“Yes, but I didn’t have a name for you then. I do now.”

Caleb sucked in his breath. “
Now
you have a name for me? Why should I believe you?”

“Who else are you going to believe, O’Flare?”

Caleb paced, cursing under his breath. Whatever name Mahone had, it was the name of someone high up. Well protected. His statements to Mahone aside, Caleb hadn’t overlooked the possibility that Elijah’s death might have been intentional. In following that theory, Caleb had pulled every string and used every advantage and connection he had to get a name, but it hadn’t mattered. People had closed up. Gathered close. Shut the vault. No amount of money or threat of bodily harm had made a difference. For the sake of his peace of mind, he needed that name. He finally paused and stared Mahone down. “Who is it?”

Mahone shook his head. “After you bring back Wraith.”

Caleb was on him in a second, pushing him against the wall. “You promised me if I joined the team—”

“I promised I’d help you find the truth. And I will. But first you need to get Wraith. After all, you’re the one who chased her off in the first place.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Caleb released Mahone and stepped back. “She left when you told her you were sending us on a different mission.”

“She left when
you
came back into the room. You guys have another fight or something?”

“Or something,” he mumbled. His mind raced back to that moment when he’d seen her. The lust. Then the fear. Right before Bianca and Jacques had stopped him. Could Mahone be right? Had she made up an excuse to leave because she’d been afraid? Of him? But that didn’t make any sense, given the way she’d propositioned him.

Mahone stared at him, waiting patiently.

“Tell me,” Caleb ground out.

“Drugging and raping the feline leader’s daughter and getting away with it? Untenable. We need to find the bastards, and fast, before the felines decide to take matters into their own hands. To do that, we need two Otherborn females, at least one of them disguised as a feline. They need to be comfortable with each other, able to pose as friends out for some fun on the town. Wraith and Lucy fit the bill.”

Of course they did, Caleb thought. Only, he didn’t see how they were going to convince Wraith she needed to come along, or for that matter, why it was so important she did. Caleb took a deep breath, keeping his gaze fixed on Mahone. “Why do you really need Wraith? And don’t tell me it’s so Lucy can feel comfortable. You know Lucy’ll get the job done regardless, and that’s all you care about.”

Mahone studied him, then said, “Wraith has previous experience with the type of club we’ll be targeting, as well as a prior history with one of the suspects we’ve identified. Her reappearance might be surprising, but it won’t be overly suspicious. It can also give us an advantage.”

Caleb formed his hands into fists. He knew what kind of clubs they were talking about. Sex clubs. Kinky-ass shit with private rooms, sex toys, and even an audience, if that’s what someone wanted. When wraiths were involved, kink became synonymous with pain, and lots of it. Picturing Wraith involved in that made him sick.

Picturing her coming face-to-face with yet another lover, one Caleb seriously suspected had gotten off on hurting her, made him want to kill the unknown son of a bitch.

“So what’s it to be?” Mahone prompted. “Because a certain name’s drifting from my memory even as we speak.”

“You’re a fucking bastard, Mahone,” Caleb snarled.

“So I’ve been told.”

Caleb wanted to tell him to go to hell, but Mahone had planned well. Caleb wanted that name. He also wanted Wraith.

“Where is she?”

“I’ve got men tailing her. She got her stuff from the hotel and right now is on a bus headed for Maine.”

He blinked, then slowly shook his head. “Public transportation? What the hell is she thinking?”

“She’s thinking she doesn’t want anything to do with us, and that goes double for any type of transportation we offered her.”

“Yes, she’s also pissed and wanting to fight. And what better way to pick one than on a bus? Shit.”

“My thoughts exactly. Now, if you’re done dancing here, go after her and bring her back.”

Caleb winced, thinking of how he must have looked when he’d thrown his jacket to the ground. “Saw that, did you?”

“No worries, O’Flare. I’ll keep your little secret. Believe me, I’ve done quite a bit of my own tantrum-throwing lately. So, do we have a deal?”

Caleb knew he should tell Mahone to go to hell and walk away, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Things weren’t over between him and Wraith. Not this easily.

Not until he decided they were over.

“Fine.” He nodded curtly. “But first I need to check on . . . a friend.” He hesitated, not wanting to say Natia’s name out loud for some reason.

Mahone nodded, understanding in his eyes.

Caleb continued, “I want the name the instant I get back, whether Wraith stays or not. She’s too—”

“Yeah, I get it. Whether she stays or not.” Mahone looked over Caleb’s shoulder toward the reception room from which music was still merrily blasting. His gaze clouded. Caleb assumed it was because he’d caught sight of Bianca. Mahone’s jaw firmed as he turned around. Striding toward the entrance, he spoke without turning around. “Get her, O’Flare. And get her to L.A. in the next two days.”

O
utside the Devereaux compound, Dex Hunt took a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it out on the rock he was sitting on. He stared at the butt, raised a brow, then stuffed the damn thing into his jacket pocket. Knox would kick his ass for littering, especially on his wedding day. The dharmire was even more fastidious than most vamps, and that was saying something.

Dex’s eyes narrowed when he saw Lucy Talbot, the Para-Ops team’s mage, slip onto the patio outside the ballroom. He’d seen Wraith’s furious exit. O’Flare had left about twenty minutes ago, followed not long after by a grim-faced Mahone. Having gotten wind of the situation in L.A., it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Wraith was royally pissed and that Mahone had just sent O’Flare to bring her back.

Snorting, he shook his head. He had to admit, O’Flare had balls. Going after Wraith after what he’d done to her? Well, he for one looked forward to seeing what kind of condition O’Flare returned in.

Glancing at the heavy steel watch on his wrist, Dex told himself he should’ve driven off hours ago. Hell, he should never have come. He’d known he was never going to make it to the ceremony, let alone the reception. But once he’d gotten here, he’d waited, compelled for some reason to see each of the team members.

Now that he’d seen Lucy, he knew he should leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he studied her. Seeing her all dolled up in a floaty golden dress and strappy high heels, he imagined he felt the way a big brother would feel seeing his little sister dressed for the prom. Proud. Protective.

He grinned, thinking it was a good thing Lucy couldn’t hear his thoughts.

She’d probably be pissed. Insulted. Spout something about being a woman, not a young girl. That’s what she’d been trying to prove when she and Felicia had climbed into that extreme wrestling ring months ago. The fact that she’d stripped off her shirt and worn nothing but jeans and a bra had certainly helped prove her point.

Leaning against a column, Lucy stared out into the night, her expression almost wistful. He wondered if she was thinking of Knox and Felicia or of Caleb O’Flare. Maybe both. If she was thinking of O’Flare, she was probably thinking of Wraith, too.

But that was Lucy. Compassionate to a fault. She could consider herself in love with a man and still feel sorry that he wasn’t getting together with the woman he really wanted. In this case, the woman was Wraith.

Dex cursed when Lucy straightened all of a sudden, her eyes scanning the trees where Dex sat. He knew she couldn’t see him there, but for a half second, he wondered if she sensed him with some of her weird mage powers or something. He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. He still didn’t know enough about her. Didn’t know enough about any of the Para-Ops team members. But he liked Lucy. Hell, he was beginning to like all of them. Even that cocky human, Caleb O’Flare.

And that’s why Dex hadn’t gone to Knox and Felicia’s wedding. He knew from experience that the closer you got to others, the more distracted you became. The more vulnerable.

And he couldn’t afford to be vulnerable.

He couldn’t forget that he had his own plan, one he couldn’t waver from, even if it might eventually pit him against the very people he worked with.

After one final glance in his direction, Lucy turned and strode back toward the house. When she was about five feet from the doors, she faltered and doubled over, causing Dex to curse. He threw his leg over his bike, prepared to haul ass to get to her. But when he glanced at her again, she was slowly straightening and then seemed to take several deep breaths before smoothing out her dress. She walked back inside as if nothing unusual had happened.

What the hell?

She’d been in severe pain, but it hadn’t lasted long. Maybe it had been one of those female things? A cramp she wouldn’t take too kindly to him asking about?

He stayed there, undecided, until he felt ridiculous. If she needed help, she had plenty of it inside. She didn’t need him watching over her like an overprotective parent.

He swung his Harley onto the road that would take him out of the Dome.

Lucy was fine. He had a few days until he met up with the team in Los Angeles. Until then, he had his own intel to do.

“
S
altine?”

Behind her sunglasses, Wraith squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and struggled to remain completely still. Holding her nonexistent breath, she remained curled into a ball, huddled beneath the layers of her concealing poncho and hood, her body swaying with the twists and turns of the moving bus. After several seconds, she sensed the woman standing in the aisle give up and walk away. Maybe this time, Wraith thought desperately, they’d get the hint and leave her alone.

For the past half hour, despite her best efforts to feign sleep, someone had been offering her something every five minutes. First it had been a pillow. Then a book to read.

Then a fucking lollipop.

Everything but what she wanted.

Wraith shifted slightly, her weight causing the tattered seat beneath her to squeak. What had the world come to, she thought querulously, when you couldn’t even pick a fight on a Greyhound bus?

And Essenia knows she’d tried. For all of two minutes.

After leaving Knox’s reception, she’d been hoping for some relief. But no, she’d boarded the only tin can on wheels that, instead of providing her with the poor, desperate, and depraved, was transporting a group of Goody Two-shoes who looked at her as if she was a bedraggled puppy in need of nurturing.

That was the last thing she wanted.

She wanted—no, needed—to let off steam. To release the pent-up frustration and resentment and fury that was threatening to eat her from the inside out. Scream out her fear before it overwhelmed her. Pummel her despair so it remained undetected by those who would capitalize on her weakness. Slam away her thoughts of what and whom she was leaving behind in order to dive headfirst into a wasteland of nothingness—the same nothingness she’d endured for over a decade.

When she hadn’t gotten the fight she’d wanted, she’d spotted the poncho someone had abandoned on the bus hours earlier and figured she could at least hide herself and get some peace and quiet. Wrong again.

Swallowing hard, she involuntarily jerked at the feeling of moisture behind her lids. She hated it, but at least Caleb wasn’t here to witness her making a damn fool of herself again.

Still, she was so disgusted with herself that when she sensed someone else approaching, she bolted upright and jerked her sunglasses off. “Damn it, will you—”

She stopped at the sight before her. It was a little boy, probably about nine years old, with eyes that reminded her of Caleb’s. She cleared her throat and struggled to appear annoyed. “What?”

The boy didn’t smile. He continued to look at her solemnly, then held his hand out. Wraith sighed and looked down, expecting to see a piece of gum or a tattered toy. Instead, what she saw made her suck in her breath and instinctively cringe away. It was a kitten. Small. Fragile. Weak-looking. “What . . . ?”

The boy took a step closer, his hand still outstretched, his near-frantic gaze pleading. Although he remained silent, his breaths heaved in and out of him in panicked bursts, making his hand shake.

A quick look around told her no one was paying attention to her for once.

“Please. Take him.”

She turned back to the boy. His eyes were flooded with tears now, and the sight made her gasp. “Okay, okay. Take it easy. I’ll . . . I can hold it for a minute.”

With a trembling hand, she reached out, her hand hovering over the boy’s. She glanced up, confirming he indeed wanted her to take it.

The boy nodded.

Wraith gingerly picked up the small kitten that was only slightly bigger than the boy’s palm. She waited for the pain, but none came.