Hunted (Riley Cray) (29 page)

The bastard was using a glamour charm to conceal his injuries. I couldn’t help wondering how he’d gotten through security without setting off the magical detectors, or how no one would have noticed the inevitable bruises and broken nose I’d likely left him with. Glamour charms were easy enough to come by, and easier still to activate, requiring a single drop of blood from the wearer, but they’re damned expensive, and I doubted Johnson had that kind of money lying around. I was willing to bet that he was wearing a pain amulet underneath his shirt too.

Looking up, I caught Holbrook’s eyes as they rose to meet mine, wide in surprise. He’d seen the charm too. A flood of anger darkened his face all the way up to the roots of his hair and down into the collar of his shirt.

“Son of a bitch!” he cursed, leaping across the room to tackle his partner.

Johnson had just enough time to look up in bewilderment before Holbrook slammed into him, the younger man’s momentum carrying them back into the metal filing cabinets against the wall. A second later pandemonium broke out in the crowded room, the Goon Twins tripping over one another in confusion as they tried to figure out whether they should be guarding me or separating the two agents taking swings at each other. Behind his desk Santos was demanding that everyone “settle the fuck down,” but no one was paying him any mind.

The scent of burnt ozone and a loud pop filled the air a second before Holbrook let out a startled shout, releasing Johnson’s wrist as if burned. He staggered back from Johnson and tossed something away into the corner of the room.

“Arrest him! Arrest that wolf loving prick!” Johnson shouted, his eyes dancing wildly from the Goon Twins to Santos and back again, but no one moved to obey him.

Stunned silence descended on the room as everyone gaped at Johnson, the right side of his face swollen to twice its normal size and covered in black and purple bruises. Both of his eyes were swollen almost entirely shut, weepy and ringed in dark bruises, the bridge of his nose noticeably crooked.

Try denying it now, you bastard.

“What the hell is going on?” Santos demanded.

“He was using a glamour charm,” Holbrook growled, cradling his hand close to his chest, his fingers swollen and covered in weeping blisters. His eyes appeared glazed and unfocused with pain.

“Agents, please take Mr. Johnson into custody.”

“You’re gonna pay for this, Cray,” Johnson snarled as the Goon Twins advanced on him slowly, their hands outstretched, reaching out to subdue him.

“Give it up, Johnson. You’re busted,” I taunted, feeling vindicated.

“Fucking idiots,” he sneered, his face twisting into an expression of smug surety as he reached a hand into his pocket. I had a bad feeling about this.

Time slowed as I watched him pull a small, shiny capsule from his pocket and throw it at the floor in the middle of the room.

“Get down!” I cried out, but my warning came too late.

I felt the concussive force of the impact the moment the capsule struck the ground and burst open. The strength of the blast knocked me back in my chair, my legs scrabbling on the carpet as the chair teetered on its back legs before toppling over, spilling me onto the floor in a tangle of flailing limbs. I landed heavily on side, my bound arms pinned beneath me while pain engulfed my ribs, making me cry out.

White filled my vision and there was a persistent ringing in my ears. The air, thick and redolent with the choking scent of burnt sage and amber, eddied around me and I steeled myself for the blow I knew was coming. A heavy boot struck me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me, leaving me gasping like a fish.

“This isn’t over, cunt,” Johnson whispered from somewhere close by, his sour breath wafting into my face.

Through the haze of pain and my gasping breaths I heard his footsteps retreating before I sank down into darkness.

* * *

“What the fuck was that?” I heard someone demand, but I couldn’t tell who it was or where the voice had come from.

My hearing was dulled, as if someone had dunked my head underwater. Shaking my head to clear my vision, the room gradually came back into focus, albeit a little fuzzy around the edges. The Goon Twins were still out, slumped together in a pile of slack jawed, ill-fitting suits and cheap haircuts. Holbrook was across the room, close to where Johnson had been, slowly pushing himself up to his knees while cradling the blistered mess of his hand to his chest. His face was contorted in pain, his breaths coming shallow and fast.

I tried to push myself up to my knees but only succeeded in grating my chin against the rough carpet.

“Err...can someone help me up?” I asked, blowing an errant curl out of my eyes.

Staggering across the room, Holbrook managed to right my chair along with me in it, and after fishing the keys to the cuffs out of the pocket of one of the Goon Twins, released me. Rubbing the irritated skin of my wrists, I scowled at Santos where he was leaning heavily on his desk, pushing mussed hair back from his red face.

Clearly still disoriented he mashed the intercom button on his phone and growled, “Marge, where the hell is Johnson?”

“Johnson, Sir? He left five minutes ago,” Marge’s voice said through the phone, full of confusion.

“What? Lock down the building! I want him found.”

“I told you that asshole tried to kill me,” I sniffed, pissed that I was too tired and sore to enjoy my moment of validation.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

THE NEXT SEVERAL minutes were a cluster fuck of activity as agents swarmed over every inch of the building searching for Johnson. Unsurprisingly, he was already long gone, having slipped out before the alarm had even been raised. I soon grew bored listening to Santos bark orders alternately into his phone and at bewildered looking agents crowding into his office, and decided to go in search of Holbrook, who had edged out of the room shortly after the building was locked down.

I found him alone in the small break room, sweat beading on his forehead as he eased his swollen hand into a large bowl of water. His breath whistled between clenched teeth as the water flowed over his skin, tendrils of pink swirling throughout. I noticed the open canister of salt sitting close by but didn’t ask for an explanation.

“Son of a bitch,” he growled as he shook his head, dark hair falling over his glistening brow.

“How bad is it?”

His voice was thick and rough when he answered. “It’s fine. I’m dandy.”

Peering into the bowl I saw the blisters covering his hand erupting, tainting the water with pus and blood.

Sure doesn’t look fine to me
, I thought, deciding against saying anything. He didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk about it. Wrinkling my nose at the putrid smell emanating from the bowl, I took a couple steps back to lean against the edge of the counter.

“The building is still on lock down, but they’re pretty sure Johnson is in the wind,” I said to fill the silence, needing to say something to distract myself from the pained sounds he was making. For some reason I couldn’t stand seeing, or hearing, him in pain.

He didn’t say anything, opting instead to merely grunt in acknowledgement.

“So...turns out Johnson’s totally whack-a-doodle,” I said, inspecting a hang nail on my right hand.

“Looks that way,” Holbrook responded stiffly between sharp breaths.

Looking over, I gagged at the sight of him removing his hand from the bowl, pink tinged water dripping from his raw fingers. The surface layer of skin was completely gone in places, the rest of it riddled with open blisters that oozed and gave off a smell akin to raw meat left too long in the sun.

“Ugh, gross,” I murmured, wrinkling my nose at the foul odor.

“Wanna help?” Holbrook asked, holding his dripping hand over the bowl.

Raising my eyes from his hand to see if he was serious, my stomach clenched when it looked as if he was. “Er, sure.”

“First aid kit is under the sink.”

Pushing away from the counter I moved over to the sink, crouching down to fish the first aid kit out of the cabinet, and ignoring the way my ribs felt like they were grating against one another. Digging around amongst the clutter I fished out a white plastic box that looked like one of the old lunch boxes I’d had as a kid. Of course, my lunch box had been pink and plastered with My Little Pony rather than a large red plus sign. The thick layer of dust on the top gave me the impression it hadn’t seen much action. Then again, I supposed that working in an office, even if it was at the FBI, didn’t pose many hazards beyond the occasional paper cut.

“What now?” I asked, setting the first aid kit down on the counter.

“I’m gonna need some gauze, antiseptic, and bandages.”

Popping the kit open I riffled through its contents before pulling out a box of bandages, a couple packs of sterile gauze pads, and a small spray bottle of antiseptic. “Alright. Now what?”

“Wow, you really are sheltered, huh?”

“Bite me, asshole,” I grumbled. “You know, before you came along, my life was blessedly devoid of dead bodies, psychotic FBI agents and whatever this is,” I added sourly, tilting my chin at his hand.

“Somehow I have a feeling that trouble doesn’t have a problem finding you all on its own. Now, are you going to help me, or are you just going to stand there like a princess?”

“I’m not a princess,” I replied, choosing not to acknowledge the amused curve of his lips.

Following his directions I pulled on a pair of latex gloves and liberally sprayed antiseptic over his hand, trying not to gag every time I breathed in another lungful of the putrid smell of his decimated skin.

“Oh, that’s just nasty.”

“Seriously? You regularly kill and eat rabbits and deer, and this grosses you out?”

“That’s different,” I sniffed, slapping a gauze pad on his hand with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry,” I said, adding another layer of gauze with a bit more care.

“Uh huh,” was all he said.

We remained silent as I finished dressing his hand, wrapping it in several layers of bandages until he resembled a cheesy old Hollywood mummy. He wasn’t going to be using that hand for a while, and I couldn’t help feeling guilty that he’d been injured protecting me. The fact that it was all part and parcel of his job didn’t make me feel any less responsible for his injuries. The only small mercy was that he’d injured his left hand and would still be able to fire his gun if the need arose.

More like
when
the need arises
, I thought, all too aware that I was now in the crosshairs of two raving lunatics. Pushing the thoughts from my mind I took advantage of our brief moment alone to push a stray lock of damp hair back from his forehead.

Surprised, his eyes rose to meet mine and the weight of his gaze crashed into me like a physical force, making my heart thump in my chest. The wolf stirred, flexing and stretching in a way she hadn’t since before Johnson’s attack. It was thrilling to feel her aware again, my excitement bubbling over into other, more primal feelings.

Holbrook’s breath was soft and warm when I brushed my lips over his, ignoring the sting of my split lip in favor of brushing the tip of my tongue along the seam of his mouth. With a shuddering sigh he parted his lips, filling me with the minty sweetness of his breath.

“What was that for?” he asked, breathless and his cheeks full of color when I broke the kiss several moments later. “Not that I’m complaining,” he added with a quirk of his lips.

“Just wanted to say thanks,” I replied with a grin and a shrug.

“You thank everyone who puts their life in danger for you this way? ‘Cause you know, that might require a lot of kissing.”

“Just the smart-assed ones,” I replied.

“Agent Holbrook?” a fresh faced man-child asked from the doorway, a harried expression on his flushed face.

“Yes?” Holbrook replied, all traces of amusement disappearing from his face in a heartbeat, though I was happy to see that he didn’t remove his hand from the curve of my hip.

“Sorry to...interrupt you...” the young man floundered, blushing an even darker shade of crimson, his eyes dropping to the highly polished toes of his shoes.

“Did you need something, Davis?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Oh! Umm Agent Santos...er...I mean, Division Chief Santos, wanted to see you, Sir.”

Biting my lip, I turned my head into the curve of Holbrook’s shoulder, trying to hide my laughter. The poor boy was so flustered it was beyond funny. From his reaction, you would’ve thought he was the one who’d been caught making out in the break room like a randy teenager.

“Thanks, Davis,” Holbrook replied, having far more luck keeping his laughter at bay though his efforts warmed the edges of his voice.

Once Davis had retreated, Holbrook caught the edge of my chin with a finger, the faint sizzle of energy bleeding through his touch setting my teeth on edge. Turning my face up to his he leaned in slowly, his lips hovering mere inches from mine when he said, “You, Ms. Cray, are nothing but trouble.”