Hunted (Riley Cray) (28 page)

“Sit your ass down,” Santos commanded, the inscrutable force behind his words striking me between the shoulders like a physical blow. I flinched, sending a flesh wave of pain through my battered body.

“Fuck you!” I snarled, my voice coming out sounding more wolf than human even though the wolf was still painfully out of reach.

“Sit. Now.”

I waited for the span of several heartbeats, before turning on my heel to face him. Red-faced and seething, he presented an imposing figure, and my fury flagged a little beneath the intensity of his stare. Not wanting to let him see how easily I had bent to his will, I made him wait another moment or two and then stomped back towards his desk, slumping down into one of the visitor’s chairs.

“We’ll straighten this out,” Holbrook tried to reassure me, though he looked as confused as I was.

The sour look I shot back at him told him that as far as I was concerned he could burn in hell with his boss and the rest of the FBI. A small glimmer of guilt fluttered in my chest at the hurt that passed over his face, but I quickly quashed it with the anger that warmed my blood and roiled in the pit of my stomach. From the corner of my eye I watched him retreat several paces, distancing himself from me and Santos, but didn’t have time to dwell on the maelstrom of emotions struggling for purchase beneath my fury.

A headache was forming just behind my eyes and weariness was swelling in my limbs, making every inch of my body feel leaden and bruised. I was nearing the limits of my body and mind, hovering precariously on the edge of utter exhaustion, floating somewhere between delirium and hysteria.

Santos pressed a button on his phone and waited a moment before saying “Marge, will you send Agent Johnson in here?”

Sinking down further into the chair, shifting fitfully in an attempt to find a comfortable position, I lost track of time. I drifted in the fog of painkillers that were no longer working, but still managed to make my brain as useful as a bowl of porridge. The sound of Holbrook pacing back and forth jolted me out of my daze, and made me wonder if I’d fallen asleep. Glancing up to make sure that neither of the men were watching me, I raised a hand to wipe a small trail of drool from my chin.

Brilliant. I’ve been reduced to slobbering on myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

PUSHING MYSELF UP in my chair, I was about to stand up, thinking that maybe pacing like Holbrook would help to keep me awake when I recognized the sound of Johnson’s ponderous footsteps advancing down the hallway. A moment later the familiar stench of cigarettes hit me, the faint undercurrent of alcohol dredging up a deluge of memories from three night spent in his care. My gorge rose at the memory of his alcohol soaked breath sickly sweet in my face while he pummeled his fists into my midsection.

The spike of panic that lanced through me made me tremble, my fingers curling into reflexive fists where they were crossed over my stomach. Squeezing my eyes shut I concentrated on drawing several deep breaths in through my nose while fighting against the need to flee. Deep inside I felt the wolf move for the first time since the attack. Evidently, she didn’t want to be in close quarters with Johnson unless it was to rip out his lying tongue.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Johnson asked from the doorway, his voice smooth and full of simpering subservience.

I sensed Holbrook’s stillness more than saw it. A burst of emotion radiated from him, burning bright and hot on the edge of my awareness like a flare in the dark. The room was suddenly filled with the earthy scent of his anger, the faint traces of his confusion coming across as something muddy and bitter. Turning in the chair I looked at Johnson and went still as Holbrook had a moment before.

There wasn’t a single mark on him.

What the fuck?
My lips silently formed the words as my brain raced to understand what I was seeing.

While much of that night was still a blur, there was no way I was wrong about acquainting his face with my fists. He should have at least come away from the ordeal with a broken nose. Scenting the air I thought I could detect the faintest tang of blood, but as I tried to focus on it the scent became muddled and faded, like a memory just out of reach. My senses were still dulled and weak, barely more effective than those of a mundane.

“Yes, come on in Harry.”

I watched Johnson step into the room, expecting to see a hitch in his gait from where I had driven the screwdriver into his thigh, but his steps were smooth and fluid. Sluggish thoughts churned, trying to make sense of what was happening. He should have been limping, his face should have been bruised and swollen. Instead he looked the same as ever all the way down to the arrogance that curled his upper lip into the beginning of a smirk.

What the fuck is going on?

“Nice of you to join us, Cray,” Johnson said, his beady eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction and a hint of something else I couldn’t pinpoint.

Looking to Holbrook for some kind of explanation, I found him staring back at me, his brows pinched in confusion.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed wasting the bureau’s time,” Johnson said. “We’ve had men traipsing all over the city looking for your arrogant ass.”

“You son of a bitch!” I growled, leaping up from my chair despite the stab of pain that seared through my middle.

My fingers barely grazed the front of his shirt before Holbrook was there, wrapping muscled arms around me. I hadn’t even seen him move. One moment he was across the room, and the next he was curling me against the hardness of his chest, enveloping me in the scent of his skin.

“Let go of me!” I shouted, trying to reach around him to get my hands on Johnson. I struggled in his arms, pushing ineffectually at his shoulders, too weak to move him.

“Get a handle on your pet, Holbrook,” Johnson said.

“I should have fucking killed you!”

“Calm down, Riley,” Holbrook pleaded, his eyes alight with worry.

“No! He has to pay for what he did,” I said, growing still in the circle of his arms. My lower lip began to tremble, my eyes hot with unshed tears. “He has to pay,” I whimpered, tucking my face into the crook of his neck to hide the tears that tracked down my cheeks.

“You crazy bitch,” Johnson said in feigned amazement.

“That’s enough. Everybody take a breath.” The iciness in Santos’s voice cut through the tension in the room, making me shrink further into Holbrook’s embrace.

“You saw her Santos, that psycho tried to attack me. I want her arrested.”

“Hang on a minute. That’s not necessary. Let’s all just–” Holbrook began to interject.

“The hell it’s not! She’s nuts.”

“She’s not–”

“Silence!” Santos thundered, his voice filling the room with the force of a wave crashing into a cliff side. For a moment it seemed to suck all the air out of the room, blanketing it in silence except for the faint ringing in my ears. “Everyone just settle down.”

“I want that crazy bitch arrested, Santos. She’s dangerous,” Johnson fumed, pointing a thick finger in my direction. The motion made the cuff of his shirt ride up to show a brief flash of a thick braided band around his wrist, the skin around it pink as though he’d been twisting it around his wrist over and over.

“Is that really necessary?” Holbrook asked, releasing his grip on me while maintaining his position between me and the rest of the room.

“Defending your little pet, Holbrook? How surprising. After all, you do seem to have a thing for freaks.”

I couldn’t see Holbrook’s face from where I stood behind him, but there was no missing the way his shoulders tensed and the tips of his ears flushed crimson.

“Which one fucks better? The wolf, or the bitch?”

I saw Holbrook’s hand clench at his side, the muscles in his arm bunching beneath his shirt as he started to swing. As much as I’d have liked to see him lay that asshole out, I knew he’d regret it later. He was too much of a white knight to sink to that level.

I, on the other hand, had no such problem.

Ducking under his arm I launched myself at Johnson, my fist connecting with his jaw. High as a kite on painkillers and still feeling the effects of the Wolfsbane, I wasn’t swinging with my usual force, but I’m sure he was seeing stars.

Strong arms wrapped around me, lifting me off my feet and compressing my ribs, forcing an agonized cry from my lips. I saw Johnson stagger backwards through the pained tears that rose in my eyes, his face turning purple with rage.

“You fucking cunt!” Johnson hissed, wiping blood off his lip. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“Riley, stop,” Holbrook soothed, but I had already gone limp in his arms, my breath lodged in my throat.

One of his hands slipped beneath my shirt, his palm warm against the skin of my stomach. If I’d been able to breathe, my breath would have hitched at the shock of energy that arced through his touch, sinking down into my middle. I thought I caught the scent of cool summer rain and freshly turned earth, but dismissed it as impossible.

Whoa, these must be some really good drugs.

Yet, as Holbrook eased me down into my chair my ribs didn’t hurt quite so much as before, and the pounding in my head had receded to a faint ringing in my ears.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, Ms. Cray,” Santos said with a sigh.

“Best thing I’ve done all day,” I said triumphantly, cocky now that I could draw a full breath without feeling like my ribs were about to puncture a lung.

“You know I’m going to have to detain you now,” Santos said, though he at least had the good grace to look apologetic.

“Seriously?
He’s
the one that tried to kill
me
.”

“An event of which you have no evidence or corroboration. It’s your word against his.”

“Have you looked at my face? Do you want me to show you my broken ribs? Or my stitches? They didn’t just show up on their own you know.”

A crease appeared on Santos’s brow for an instant as though he was trying to puzzle through something, his eyes looking glazed and distant. His gaze locked on me again, his eyes widening as if he was seeing my injuries for the first time, and then the expression of surprise was gone, and the angry frown fell back into place.

Pressing the intercom button on his phone Santos leaned in and said, “Marge, we’re going to need security in here.”

Rounding on Holbrook I found him looking at me with confusion etched into the lines of his face. He’d seen it too, and was as stumped as I was. Something was going on, but I had no idea what, and wasn’t sure that I was going to get the chance to figure it out.

The two guys that walked through the door looked like rejects from Goons ‘R Us, their matching Men’s Warehouse XXL suits silently screaming at the seams. I wondered if the FBI had started cloning agents to save on resources.

“Arrest that bitch!” Johnson instructed, wagging his thick sausage finger in my direction.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I snorted, throwing my hands in the air.

I caught another glimpse of the braided band circling his wrist, there was something about it that niggled at the back of my mind. I was sure I’d seen something like it before, but couldn’t put my finger on it. The sight of Goon #1 advancing on me, unhooking a pair of cuffs from his belt, swept all other thoughts from my mind.

“You’re serious about this?” I asked, leaning around the bulky agent to glare at Santos. Avoiding my gaze, he waved a hand at the agents to proceed. “You’re as much of an asshat as Johnson,” I muttered, extending my wrists towards Goon #1.

“You’re gonna have to stand up,” he rumbled, his voice sounding like a rockslide.

I was about to protest when Holbrook sighed, “Just do it, Riley.” Looking up at him in disbelief, I was struck by the weariness that etched deep lines around his eyes. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for days, or was in serious pain.

Was everyone around me going insane?

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Standing, I turned my back on them, wincing and sucking in a sharp breath when Goon #1 pulled my hands behind me, snapping the cuffs over my wrists. My skin began to itch and tingle beneath the cool metal, not a full on allergic reaction to the trace amounts of silver they imbued into the metal to detain people like me, but enough to make me uncomfortable. I suppose I should give them credit for having done their homework, though the fact that they were using it against me didn’t leave me feeling very magnanimous.

“You couldn’t at least put the cuffs in front?” I managed through clenched teeth as he turned me around and pushed me back down into the chair.

“Sit.”

“Assholes,” I muttered, squirming in a futile attempt to find a position that didn’t irritate my injuries.

Across the room Johnson regarded me, his mouth curved into a smug grin and his beady eyes full of triumphant glee. Rocking back and forth on his heels he clasped his hands in front of his bulging belly. He absently toyed with the braided band, running his thick fingers over the ridges of the weave again and again, the oils from his skin leaving a dark smear on the fibers. Something in the back of my brain clicked and I finally made the connection.