In the Crossfire (Bloodhaven) (10 page)

It hadn’t been just a hit of desire she’d felt on looking at him. It’d been an actual blow to her system.

His usual T-shirts hadn’t hidden his defined biceps and strong, wide shoulders. They had, however, hidden a sculpted chest and dense, compact muscles, hard ridges and planes drawing the eye over the vee of his trim hips right down to the impressive bulge in his jeans.

What the hell was a woman supposed to do but feel her mouth go dry with want?

It had fuck-all to do with his scars, and everything to do with Liam being a hard, sexy, spectacularly all-male man.

Oh, she wouldn’t deny having a professional interest and personal curiosity in the marks he bore, but hell, it wasn’t as if they held his key appeal. They weren’t what turned her on.

Or off, for that matter. Agents constantly traded stories and showed off their scars to one-up each other. Retaining scars despite their ability to quickly heal was a big deal, after all. Besides, they couldn’t carry on doing what they were doing for the Council if they were so easily put off by such evidence of violence. It was just a natural consequence of the job. And it didn’t mean they actively went out looking for it in their sexual partners, either.

Or maybe some did, Isobel acknowledged with a troubled frown. Who was to say that some of her colleagues’ way of coping with the harshness of what they saw and did on a daily basis wasn’t to find someone whose personal trauma far exceeded their own?

Isobel felt sick. Was that how Liam saw her?

Damn.

She reminded herself that Liam was her tenant. He’d been through a hard and bloody war. He just wanted to find some peace. If he wanted to be left alone, so be it.

She really had to find someone on her list and get this itch out of her system, and soon.

“What was Jamal’s last pinged location?” Malcolm asked.

She firmly rerouted her thoughts to the present moment. “West Marlowe,” she answered, referring to one of Bloodhaven’s outlying suburbs.

“West, eh?” Malcolm gave her a significant look.

Isobel nodded, knowing too well what it meant. “If they keep going in that direction, they’ll hit the distant woodlands.”

And once the Ogdens got beyond the distant woodlands, they’d be out of the tri-city area, and well beyond Bloodhaven’s jurisdiction.

Isobel grimaced. She was loath to transfer the case to another city’s Council, if it came to that. If that other Council was too busy juggling its own caseload, the Ogdens might very well fall through the cracks. After some of the horrific things they’d done in the name of “cleansing the earth of human swill”—as they’d so sweetly put it—there was no way Isobel was letting them get away with their crimes.

“Jamal can handle it. He’s a big boy.” Malcolm shrugged. “At least he’s not Lewski.”

Lewski had already been disciplined by the Council’s Internal Division for his oversight that had led to the Ogdens’ escape. The last she’d seen of him was when he’d emerged from the conference room, pale and subdued. He’d taken one look at her before scurrying for the exit at the opposite end of the hall.

Isobel, on her part, had received a reprimand for leaving the rookie unsupervised in the first place. It hadn’t been a pleasant session.

She tapped her finger on the steering wheel. “West Marlowe is just sixteen miles away.”

“Let it go, Saba. Our meeting with Commissioner Johnson is in fifteen minutes.”

Malcolm was right; they couldn’t miss this meeting. Human-shifter relations were tense enough already without giving the commissioner the impression that the Council couldn’t care less about its human liaisons.

“Jamal can handle it,” he repeated, then smirked. “You just can’t stand someone else taking the lead on a mission, can you?”

Without looking at him, Isobel raised two fingers in an obscene gesture. Malcolm snorted out a laugh as she slid the SUV into the assigned parking space.

Police Commissioner Johnson awaited them inside his office. He was a broad, square-jawed man whose craggy face was softened by a thick, bristly beard as white as his hair.

“We have much to discuss,” he said as he shook Isobel’s hand. She didn’t miss the stack of file folders on his desk. She could only hope that they were just minor complaints against shifters. They’d had their fill of rogues and factions for a while.

The alert came just as they sat down for their meeting.

Isobel and Malcolm snatched up their phones at once, the comm unit attachment blinking bright red. They’d switched their phones to silent prior to the meeting, but the high-frequency pitch now piercing the air—detectable only by shifter ears—was programmed to go off regardless of mode settings in the event of a code-red situation.

Which this undeniably was, as Isobel stared at the screen. She pushed back from her seat.

Johnson, seated across from them, looked startled. “What’s the matter?”

“A small situation, Commissioner,” Malcolm said smoothly, not missing a beat as he grabbed the folders from atop the man’s desk. “We’ll take a look at these and get back to you.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to reschedule this meeting for another time,” said Isobel, opening the door. “We’ll be in touch.”

They were down the hall before Johnson could even sputter his next question. Isobel was already speaking to comm-central.

“Team I-6 requesting backup sixteen miles west of you,” the operator informed her as she unlocked the SUV with a swipe of her thumb. “Other agents and medic unit are on their way.”

Team I-6 was Jamal’s team. Isobel slid behind the wheel. “West Marlowe?”

“Affirmative. Be advised, two agents down. Suspects in the woodlands. Sending you coordinates now.”

“That doesn’t leave us much time.” Malcolm checked his phone as it beeped with the received coordinates.

Isobel wasted no time peeling out of there.

They pulled up at the edge of the woodlands, silently slipping out of the SUV before the engine had even died down. The silence concerned Isobel even more than had there been a cacophony of gunfire and roars.

“I’m shifting,” Malcolm hollered as he unbuckled his weapons belt and tossed it inside the vehicle.

Isobel withdrew her gun from its holster and raced into the woods. Behind her came the sound of Malcolm’s uniform snapping apart, followed by the crackle of bones realigning. The bare earth thundered beneath Isobel’s feet before Malcolm’s jaguar form barreled past her.

She remained in human form as she stalked through the woods, head swiveling as she measured her surroundings. She wouldn’t shift until she knew what they were getting into. Malcolm, always a bit of a show-off, never minded the risks due to his larger size. Isobel’s key strength as a cheetah lay in her speed rather than her physical stature, so she wasn’t about to discard her weapons unless she had to. She wasn’t going into this blind.

It was too quiet. Where the hell was everyone?

A thick, metallic stench quickened her steps. Fifty yards later, she found the two dead agents, their blood soaked into the ground.

Twenty yards away, she found a third.

Then she heard the sharp snap of bone, and she was racing past the trees, zeroing in on the noise that had suddenly exploded into existence. She was only several paces away when she saw Malcolm launch himself into the fray. He crashed down on a tiger whose teeth still dripped scarlet from its victim, a jackal who lay slumped on the ground.

Tiger?

How the hell had Ogden escaped out of his collar to shift?

And where the hell were Jamal and the second Ogden?

The jackal—a Council agent, Rex—struggled to shift back into two-legged form. Isobel ran to his side and pressed one hand to the gaping, newly ripped hole in his gut.

“Don’t shift,” she ordered. With injuries this severe, even shifting would put too much strain on the body without being doctored first. She shoved the gun in her other hand into the back of her trousers and wrenched her comm unit up to her mouth. “Where the hell is medic?”

The jackal’s face flattened. A violent ripple went through his quaking body. Fur receded into skin. Isobel swore as she continued to yell into the comm unit, ignoring the clash of big cats several feet away. Rex gave a gasp as he finally turned human. He started to speak but coughed up blood instead.

“I told you not to shift! Dammit, Rex. Don’t move.” She dropped the comm unit and applied both hands to staunch the brutal gash in his gut. It looked worse in human form.

Rex shoved roughly at her shoulder. “Forget me,” he rasped. “Get h-him. Go!”

Isobel took “him” to mean Rupert Ogden, the tiger Malcolm was battling. She’d recognized his stripes and scent. She ignored Rex’s command. Malcolm could handle Ogden, and Rex needed her.

Suddenly she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Isobel whipped her head up to see Malcolm’s throat between the tiger’s jaws. Ogden slammed the jaguar onto the ground. The earth shook from pure impact.

He loomed over Malcolm, huge paws straddling the furred body, pinning him down. Ready to snap his neck.

There was no time for thought, for debate, for weighing of choices. Isobel left Rex and ran toward the snarling, clawing cats. Her hand went for the gun at her back.

She leapt, airborne just as she heard Ogden begin to crunch down.

She landed on the tiger’s back. Malcolm’s eyes widened and he twisted his head to the left, out of the line of fire, a split-second before Isobel pressed the muzzle to the back of Rupert Ogden’s head and dispatched three bullets in rapid succession.

Isobel’s blood thundered loudly in her ears as Ogden collapsed beneath her. She lifted herself from his body, backing away, gun still trained on the shattered pieces of his skull. He was no longer moving.

Malcolm struggled out from beneath the lifeless tiger, panting heavily. Isobel paused for a moment to ascertain he was stable before rushing back to Rex’s side. He was writhing on the forest floor.

“Rex. Can you hear me? Rex!” She returned her hands to his wound.

Rex shook his head. With surprising force, he grabbed the front of Isobel’s jacket and yanked her close to his face. His eyes were wide and frantic.

“Get him,” he repeated hoarsely. “
Get him.
”

“He’s dead. Ogden’s dead, Rex.”

Then she stopped and stared when she realized who the
him
was. Who was missing.

Rupert Ogden wasn’t the only one who’d escaped.

Rex nodded when he saw the realization dawn in her eyes. He struggled to speak but coughed up more blood.

Isobel jumped to her feet. “Malcolm! See to Rex.”

She stripped off her weapons belt and shifted. All her senses focused on the smell of sweat and blood, on the sound of jagged breaths and hisses of pain. Her lungs expanded and contracted as she veered between the trees, tearing past shrub and stone.

With a burst of speed, she soared over the bushes and skidded to a standstill. Her heart nearly stopped in her chest.

Jamal lay curled on his side, shoulders shaking, a pool of crimson spreading beneath his body and seeping into the dirt. The stink of fresh blood and torn flesh permeated the air.

She shifted into human form and raced to his side. “Jamal! Talk to me. Where are you hurt? Where is he?”

Jamal didn’t answer. He was huddled tightly, facing away from her, violent shudders wracking his entire body. His eyes were squeezed shut. From the angle she was kneeling in, Isobel could see Jamal’s teeth sinking into his lower lip, as if it was all he could do to keep himself from screaming.

Isobel lifted her head but didn’t sense Pierry Ogden in the vicinity. Wherever he was, he’d long since fled the scene.

There wasn’t anything she could do about it. Jamal came first. She gently turned him onto his back, and ungodly sounds escaped him, barely suppressed as his teeth drew blood.

Isobel’s breath caught. There was a deep slash in Jamal’s side, and his thigh was in shreds, but neither of those wounds claimed her attention.

No, it was the stump on the end of his left arm, the one he was cradling so tightly to his chest, that struck Isobel still with horror.

“H-hand. . . .” Jamal stuttered between breaths speckled with unimaginable agony.

“I know, Jamal.” Isobel tried not to let fear seep into her voice.

She was naked and without her comm unit. A quick, frantic look around for his revealed it lying several feet away, beneath the bushes. She grabbed it before returning to his side.

“Agent down. I repeat, Agent Mousenn down. Seven hundred yards northeast of Rupert Ogden’s body, where Agent Rhodes is. Request for medic
now!
”

“H-he took m-m-my ha—”

“Shh.” Isobel brushed Jamal’s sweat-dampened hair away from his face. “Save your strength.”

Jamal reached up and stilled her fingers. “Saba,
listen to me.”

She stared.

“He t-took my h-hand.” Jamal’s gaze was bright and feverish as he forced himself to speak through the pain. “He h-has my p-p-prints.”

She understood, then. The bastards had cut off Jamal’s hand to free them of their suppression collars. That was how Rupert Ogden had shifted into his tiger form, and how Pierry Ogden had escaped.