Miranda's Mate (17 page)

“For Christ’s sake, woman. Shut up.”

“Sorry.” She looked down.

“You’ll work in the clubs starting in a week or so. Maybe here. Maybe in another city. We make those decisions. Eat everything you’re given. No sex with the other residents—male or female.”

She ginned up a hopeful look. “When I’ve earned me some money, can I go shopping? I ain’t got much in the way of clothes.”

“Perhaps. It will be a while before we trust you to leave any of our facilities on your own.”

“Huh?” Her forehead creased. “I’m not followin’ you, sir.”

“What are you, brain-damaged? No one gets something for nothing, Miranda Buckley. You belong to us.”

“F-for how long, uh, sir?”

“Forever, Miranda. Stand still. I’m going to take some blood out of your arm. We need to test you for VD and HIV before we turn you loose on our customers.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a syringe.

She drew back. No way was she letting him stick her with whatever might be in the syringe under the guise of drawing blood. “Ain’t that supposed to be like wrapped in plastic or somethin’? ’Sides, I’m clean. Just had an abortion, and they did all them tests.”

“Really?” He advanced toward her, syringe in hand.

“Yes, sir. I got no call to lie to you.” Miranda backed toward the door and readied herself to fight. “I am not okay with you stickin’ me with that needle. I ain’t no junkie. Hate needles and that one don’t look clean.”

Maybe something in her face changed his mind. He inclined his head slightly. “The nurse will be by tomorrow. She’s here once a week. I’ll have her drop by to get your blood.”

Miranda squared her shoulders. “How’s about I call the clinic and have them fax all that test shit here?”

His eyes narrowed and turned into fiery, dark holes. “No. Better get used to the word. Now get out of my sight.”

Miranda blew out a tense breath and scuttled out of the room. The same guard waited outside the door for her and escorted her back to her room. Tara stood in front of a mirror applying makeup, presumably for the night’s activities. The guard sashayed into the room and pinched her butt before he left, slamming the door behind him. The second he was gone, Tara’s porcelain-doll face twisted into a grimace. “Bad man. Rules say no sex.”

Miranda thought about clarifying that the no sex rule only applied to inmates. Instead, she stretched out on her twin bed. Maybe, once everyone had left for the evening, she could do a bit of prowling.

Tara padded over to her. “You lucky. No work tonight.”

“How’d you end up here?” Miranda kept her voice low. She didn’t see a mic anywhere, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t one tucked in a crevice somewhere.

Tara shook her head. Shiny black hair fell in her face. “You no want know. Once here. No leave. Family think me dead.” A tear formed in one almond eye and slid down her cheekbone. Her tiny hands balled into fists. “No cry,” she hissed. “Punish for cry.”

Miranda wanted to hold out her arms to comfort the woman but didn’t. Closed-circuit television was a distinct possibility. Once Tara left, she’d check the room over. “Aw, it’s probably not as bad as you think.”

“Is worse than bad dream. You just get here. Not know.” She lifted a corner of her kimono-esque top and displayed a bruise that ran around her entire torso. “Men,” she spat. “Bastards. You find out soon enough.” She gathered a small bag and left.

Miranda glanced at the time. Nine.
“Report,”
echoed in her head. Garen’s voice. Mind speech couldn’t mask how worried he was.

“I’m in. No work for a week, but I shouldn’t be here that long. Fifty residents. Maybe ten children. Six guards I’ve seen, but there may be more. One man who runs things.”

“Describe him,”
Lars cut in.

Once she was done, she heard a hissing intake of breath.
“I suppose he could have a clone, but I’m nearly certain his name is Alejandro,”
Garen told her.
“He’s one of ILS’s top agents and extremely dangerous. Do not underestimate him. Do not turn your back on him. He’s a mountain lion shifter. I’ve fought him as a cat before.”
A hesitation, then,
“Do I make myself clear?”

“Abundantly. Once everyone has left for the evening, I plan to take a little look around.”

“Report top of every hour.”

“Understood.”

Miranda waited until nearly ten. In the intervening time, she went over her room carefully and found both video camera and microphone.
I’ll have to find a way to tell Tara to keep her mouth shut. No wonder they’re beating her.
She took a shower, got back into her clothes, and doused the lights, grateful when the camera didn’t light up with an infrared beam. That meant it was either off or that it couldn’t transmit in the absence of light. After her ten p.m. check-in, she went to the door and turned the knob. Miranda was shocked it actually opened. She’d been certain they’d lock her in.

She eyed the doorknob and doorjamb. Insofar as she could tell, the door didn’t lock—from either side.
Makes sense. The building is locked, so there’s no reason to lock us in our rooms.
She looked up and down the empty, dimly lit corridor hunting for closed-circuit cameras now that she knew what they looked like. Sure enough, they were mounted at about shoulder level. She was fairly certain if she dropped to the floor and belly-crawled, she’d be beneath their electronic beam.

Miranda dialed in her lycan hearing and stood absolutely still. Maybe the guards had gone with the prisoners. The compound was quiet. Her room was on the middle of three floors. The dining room and the room where she’d met Alejandro were on the first floor. An idea blossomed. She shut the door noiselessly and retreated to the room’s single window. It was large enough to crawl through. She inspected the sill and sides. Wired. She’d expected as much. She peered into the darkness but couldn’t see enough. Anyway, it didn’t matter. The window wasn’t of any use as an escape route if she couldn’t open it without alerting someone.

Back to Plan A.
Miranda crept from her room, dropped to her belly, and slithered to one of several internal stairwells. Adrenaline made her nerves tingle. She inspected the stairwell door carefully. It was the same one she’d gone through on her way down to dinner. If it were wired, she couldn’t see any evidence. Mouth dry, she opened it and stepped through, expecting to hear the pound of footsteps. She had a story ready about going to the kitchen for a snack, but she didn’t need it since no one materialized.

She headed up to the top floor. Maybe there’d be a way to access the roof.
Fat fucking chance.
If nothing else, she’d get the lay of the land. She had hours before the human slaves—and their keepers—would return. She’d just opened the door at the top of the stairwell when someone yanked it out of her hand and slammed it against the wall. She shrank back, but she wasn’t fast enough. A hand snaked out and grabbed her upper arm.

Maybe I can play innocent. After all, I’m still inside the building. It’s not as if I jimmied a window or an outside door.
“Ouch. You’re hurting me. I couldn’t sleep and decided to walk around a little.”

The hand dragged her up the last step and into the upstairs hallway. Alejandro’s patrician features came into view. They were twisted into a scowl. “Nice try, Miss Buckley. Or was that Miss Miller?” He leered at her.

Her heart sped up. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

“Like hell you don’t. Although I must admit I expected you’d at least try to blend in for twenty-four hours before you put your spy training to good use. Green Berets, wasn’t it, Miss Miller?” his voice continued, silkily smooth. “I’m sure you don’t remember me, but I was part of your last operation in Afghanistan—on the other side, of course.” The hand that wasn’t holding onto her hauled off and slapped her across the face.

“I’ve been compromised.”

“I heard that. In fact, I’ve heard every mind transmission you’ve sent since you got here. How many are out there?”

“If you can hear me, you should be able to hear them too.”

He slapped her again, hard enough to rattle her teeth. “I asked you a question,” he gritted through clenched teeth.

“You actually think I’d tell you?” Miranda borrowed his phrase from earlier. “What are you, brain-damaged?” She employed an aikido maneuver, using his strength against him, and wrenched herself out of his grasp. Hands raised, she stared at him from a few feet away. “So, are we just going to duke it out here in the third-floor hallway?”

He shrugged. “We could. Or I could simply shoot you. It would save everyone a lot of trouble.”

She stared at his heavily muscled frame draped in black linen trousers and a snug black sweater. “I don’t see a gun.”

“I didn’t say when I’d shoot you. There’s nowhere to run. Even if you elude me tonight, which isn’t likely, I’ll track you down.”

Need to keep him talking. Maybe he’ll make a mistake.
“So you remember me from the Middle East. Any particular reason?” She inhaled deeply and kept her body loose and fluid.

The leer turned into a snarl. For a moment, she saw his cat features and readied herself to shift if he did. “You took out half a dozen of my best men. Surely you remember. You were so high I expected you to drink their blood.”

“I killed a lot of people in the field. Sorry. I don’t remember which ones belonged to you.”

“Bitch.” He feinted toward her. She moved away, gaze never leaving his body. A knife materialized in his hand.
Damn. Must have been up his sleeve.
The wicked, serrated blade gleamed dully. He lunged at her. She aimed a high kick at his wrist. The knife clattered to the linoleum floor, but he grabbed her ankle with his other hand. She pivoted but lost her balance and landed heavily on her ass.

Miranda drove her free foot into his crotch. He grunted with pain. Both hands dove for his testicles. She leaped to her feet, intent on securing the knife, but he moved between her and her objective much faster than she’d expected.

This is bullshit. I have nothing to lose.
In a matter of seconds, she shifted, hoping the shimmer would blind him—and shield her.
Please, please don’t let him get hold of the knife.
Before her cells were totally done with the transformation, Miranda launched herself, expecting to feel the sting of his blade. It never came. Instead of a human body, her wolf form collided with a mountain cat. A boom sounded from below them. She hoped it was Garen and the team.

Teeth sank into her shoulder. Claws raked her fur and dug into her flanks. She closed her jaws over his carotid. Blood geysered, showering her.
All I have to do is hang on.
If that explosion was Garen blowing the door, he should be here soon.
Icy realization slammed home.
Aw shit, loving him is way more important than my field career.
Will I live long enough to lay eyes on him again and tell him?

The air was rank with blood and animal smells. Spots swam in front of her eyes, and she understood some of the blood was hers. The mountain cat’s body went limp beneath her. Fearing treachery, she dug her teeth deeper.

“Goddammit, Garen. Third floor. Now.”
Consciousness flirted with her, but the courtship was brief. Despite her best efforts, it slipped away.

Garen paced restlessly across the street from the compound. Lars had tried to dissuade him from such close surveillance by pointing out they could blow Miranda’s cover if they were visible, but Garen hadn’t listened. “We have to be close,” he’d insisted. “What if something goes wrong? A few minutes could make all the difference.” He hated the idea of her inside that hellhole.
Should have put my foot down and just told her no.

She hadn’t reported at midnight. It was thirty minutes past when he heard her telepathic call for help.
Thank Christ I made her a full agent and bound her with blood.

“Everyone. Plan C. On my count of one. Go, go, go. Five, four, three…”

He’d set a few discreet globs of plastique around the front door as soon as the slaves and their keepers had left for the evening. Garen activated the detonator while he mobilized the team. And hoped like hell the entire building didn’t collapse. As soon as the door gave, he vaulted through it, hit the first stairwell he found, and raced to the top floor.

The smell of blood—rivers of it—hit him full-on long before he got there. Panic shattered his nerves. If anything had happened to Miranda, he’d never forgive himself. Never. He blew through the stairwell door into the upper hallway. Empty. Dread lent speed to his legs. He pounded down the hallway and around an
L
corner. “Nooooooo…” Garen barely recognized the shriek as his.

Miranda lay on the floor in wolf form as still as death, her body tangled with Alejandro’s. The two were locked in mortal combat. Neither moved. Blood pooled around them and ran both directions. Garen threw himself atop the shifters’ bodies and pried Alejandro’s teeth and claws out of Miranda. It was harder to loosen her jaws from the mountain cat’s neck.

He gathered Miranda against his body and felt for signs of life—any signs—with shifter magic. When he’d nearly given up hope, he found the faintest of heartbeats. Thank God she was still alive.
“Hang on, darling. My love, my mate.”

Impossibly, the mountain cat growled low and menacingly. Its tail twitched weakly.
“I’ll get her for this.”

Garen knew the words were for him. He didn’t waste breath answering. He raised his 40mm semiautomatic Glock, aimed it at Alejandro’s head, and fired at point-blank range. The report was loud in the enclosed space. Lars burst into the hallway. “Jesus fucking Christ. It looks like a slaughterhouse.”

Garen got to his feet, still holding Miranda’s wolf form against his body. “I have to get her somewhere I can call lycan magic to heal her.”

“I understand. The San Diego County Sheriff’s office is on its way. I reported this location as a human trafficking compound.”