Hunted (Riley Cray) (3 page)

The ensuing trial had lasted for seven painfully long months, during which I was forced to endure the media shit-storm that felt like I was being brutally violated all over again. Thankfully, it had taken the jury fifteen short minutes to return with a guilty verdict, and as soon as Samson was carted off to White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary in the desolate wastes of New Mexico I had fled the spotlight.

Shucking my robe, I let it puddle on the floor at my feet as I dug a bra and underwear out of my dresser, the drawer squeaking in protest.

I need to oil that damn thing
, I thought idly and then giggled hysterically at the absurdity of the thought.
You’re not going to live long enough to worry about a squeaky drawer!
my brain supplied oh-so helpfully.

Clamping a hand over my mouth to silence the bark of laughter, I clutched at the edge of the dresser for support, hot tears stinging my eyes and causing my breath to catch in my throat. I refused to allow my tears to overwhelm me, and instead snatched up a discarded pair of jeans, tank top and a flannel shirt that somehow still smelled like my grandfather’s cologne after all these years. Pulling them on with angry motions, I choked back tears and resolved to focus on the anger that roiled nauseatingly in the pit of my stomach.

Anger I could handle. Anger I had in spades.

I was angry at myself for being afraid, angry at the agents in the other room for witnessing my fear, angry at Agent Holbrook for being so damned gorgeous, and most of all angry at life for being so fucking unfair.

Swiping the back of my hand across my eyes I ignored the dampness, and ran my hands through my hair, trying to wrangle the dark curls into some semblance of control. I briefly thought about putting on some makeup, and then dismissed it, not even sure if I’d know where to look for any. To say I seldom had company would be an understatement.

The intense and invasive media coverage of the trial had made me shy away from society. I’d dropped out of college and moved into the old and familiar cabin that had belonged to my grandparents and then me with my grandmother’s passing. Although I missed her every day, I was grateful she hadn’t lived long enough to witness the horror movie my life had become.

As a freelance graphic designer working through a larger design firm, I made enough money to cover the few bills I had, all while working from the comfort of my secluded home in the mountains of Colorado. I bought the few groceries I needed from the general store on the edge of Leadville, more than ten miles away, and had anything else I wanted delivered to a post office box I kept in town. Through the wonders of Amazon I could get anything I wanted with a couple clicks of a button without ever having to speak to a single person.

It was a secluded, sometimes lonely life, but it sure beat the hell out of living in the public eye, always being chased by the notoriety of being Samson Reed’s only surviving victim.

Emerging from my bedroom, my arms wrapped around my middle as if to protect me from the twisted ball of anxiety clawing at my gut, I found the two agents standing in the middle of my living room, their heads bent close together as they talked in hushed tones.

“So, what’s the plan?” I asked, a faint warmth suffusing my cheeks as Holbrook’s eyes settled on me, a hint of their previous heat still lingering in the dark forest depths of his gaze.

“We’re going to take you into protective custody,” Johnson said, oblivious to the heated tension passing between me and his partner.

“For how long?” I asked as I came around to sit on the couch, barely resisting the urge to curl up into a ball of self-pity, settling instead on bouncing my foot on the rug in nervous energy.

“It’s hard to know. It could be a few days, it could be longer.”

Restlessness buzzed in my body when I rose from the couch to pace in front of the fire. “How much longer? I do have a job you know.”

I knew there was no reason to be mad at the agents, it wasn’t their fault that I had fallen in love with a psychotic monster who had tried to tear me open like piñata, but dammit, I was angry that once again Samson was invading my life.

“That’s irrelevant,” Johnson said.

“Our main goal is to keep you safe, Ms. Cray,” Holbrook cut in smoothly.

I knew he was trying to soothe me as you would a frightened beast, and where I normally would have taken offense at such a tactic, my anxiety eased a little under his gaze. There was something about him that spoke to me, something in his eyes that reached deep down into the dark places where the wolf lived, inciting her interest as much as mine.

“Riley,” I said.

“What?”

“My name is Riley. If you’re going to be watching my back for God knows how long we might as well be on a first name basis, right?”

“Darius,” Holbrook offered with a faint smile, while Johnson just rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Now that the introductions are over, can we move this along?” Johnson said.

Holbrook ran a hand through his hair. “Give it a rest, Harry.”

Apparently Agent Johnson’s gruff demeanor wasn’t just for my benefit.

“Harry Johnson?” I asked, my mouth twitching with the beginnings of a grin that I saw reflected on Holbrook’s face.

“Yes?” Johnson asked, his white brows knitting together in question.

“As in, Hairy Johnson?” I snickered, hysterical laughter once again bubbling at the back of my throat.

Johnson’s face darkened, his lips compressing into a thin, humorless line.

“Yes. Hilarious. Are you done, Ms. Cray?”

Clearing my throat in an attempt to swallow my laughter I began to nod my head, and then shook it as I broke down into a fit of giggles. Tears of laughter began to slide down my cheeks, soon shifting into heaving sobs of frustration and anger.

“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Johnson fumed. “Pull yourself together, woman! There’s a deranged were on the loose and you’ve got a bulls-eye painted on your back.”

Rather than helping me to reign in my rampaging emotions, his words worked instead to incite more tears and wracking sobs.

“Why don’t you give us a minute?” Holbrook asked, stepping between us, shielding me from Johnson’s view as fat, angry tears tracked down my face.

“Fine. I’ll be outside.” He strode from the room, his no-nonsense shoes thumping on the wooden floor. I distantly heard the snick of a lighter, and a moment later smelled the choking scent of cigarette smoke drifting in through the open door.

“Is he always such an asshat?” I asked, sniffing as I swiped at my tears with the cuff of my shirt.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Holbrook replied with a wry grin that brought a weak smile to my lips.

“So, protective custody huh?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so. It really is the safest thing for you.”

“I get it,” I said, nodding as I valiantly held back another wave of tears.

* * *

Twenty minutes later I stood in the middle of my living room, adrift in a sea of emotions as I looked around at my cozy and familiar home, a lifetime of memories embedded in the time worn floors, the sagging couch cushions, and intricate lace curtains hanging in the window above the kitchen sink. Absently, my fingers trailed over the afghan on the back of the couch, the rough, knobby wool familiar under my fingertips.

Looking down at the bags at my feet my heart constricted in sadness. The meager contents of my life had been crammed into my dad’s old army duffel bag and a backpack. It was all too reminiscent of the trial, being cloistered away in a hotel room and living out of a suitcase.

“It’s not forever. I promise,” Holbrook said at my shoulder, his voice pitched low and soft.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent.

Swallowing against the tears that rose unbidden and hot at the edges of my eyes I nodded stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. I hated crying in front of others. My tears had been broadcast across the nation, and around the globe, during the trial that had sentenced Samson to serve eight consecutive life sentences. My pain was laid bare, flayed open for the world to see as ruthlessly as he had torn open my body. I never wanted anyone to see me hurting and weak, ever again.

“What the hell is that?” Johnson demanded, cutting through the emotion wrought silence. Following the direction of his accusing finger I looked down to the cat carrier at my feet as it began to ominously rock from side to side, emitting a very loud and grating noise that could only be described as someone trying to the choke the life out of a rabid weasel. And losing.

“Loki. My cat.”

“This is not a vacation, Ms. Cray. You are not bringing that thing with you.”

“The hell I’m not!” I replied, glaring at the older agent. “I’ll sprout wings and fart fairy dust before I leave without him. So you can suck it up and let me bring him, or you can explain to your boss and the media that I got torn apart by Samson because you didn’t want me to bring my kitty-cat.”

From the corner of my eye I saw Holbrook’s face flush with the effort not to laugh, a small chuckle escaping his lips before he was able to smother it with an unconvincing cough. Johnson’s features soured, his lips pursing as if he were sucking on a particularly tart lemon, but he didn’t offer any further protests.

“Fine. But I’m not scooping its shit,” he growled before storming out the door to go stand in the cold.

“Argh! Why’s he such a humongous tool?” I asked, rounding on Holbrook with a snarl. The burning itch in my eyes and the look of alarm on his face let me know that they had begun to bleed over to wolf gold.

Embarrassed by my lack of control I turned my back to him, closing my eyes as I drew several slow breaths, urging my pulse to slow as I pushed the wolf down. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, my palms hot and sweaty, but thankfully still human. Tension sang in my hunched shoulders as they trembled with the need to shift, to run and get as far away as possible.

Not now, not now
, I chanted, fighting to push the wolf back into the dark as I clung to the fraying remnants of my humanity.

After what seemed like an eternity she obeyed, sliding back into the darkness, but not before letting me know that next time she wouldn’t go without a fight.

“Sorry,” I whispered. “I’m not normally so easily riled. It’s just...”

“It’s okay,” Holbrook said, his hand a tentative, but warm and welcome weight on my shoulder. “Johnson’s an annoying jerk at times, but he’s a good agent. You’re lucky to have him watching your back.”

“Couldn’t he do it without being such a gigantic douche nozzle?” I asked, still too embarrassed to turn around and face him.

“I think that’s about as likely as you sprouting those wings,” he replied, his voice light with barely suppressed laughter.

Scooping up my bags, Holbrook flashed me a dazzling smile. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” Grasping the handle of Loki’s carrier, his rollicking motion stilled the moment I picked it up.

A big black Suburban with government plates was parked in the driveway next to my green Jeep Wrangler. The black behemoth lurked in the snow like a great hulking beast, shining menacingly in the sunshine.

Real inconspicuous, guys
, I snorted, barely refraining from rolling my eyes.

“You okay?” Holbrook asked, pausing beside me, his eyes squinting against the mid-morning sun reflecting off of the snow.

“Yup, just peachy,” I replied, forcing a smile that I was sure looked more like a grimace.

CHAPTER THREE

ALTHOUGH MY CABIN was nestled in the woods north of Leadville, a spot that was pretty damned remote and far removed from the prying eyes of the media, the FBI, in all their wisdom had decided that staying put was simply not an option. Instead they wanted me moved to an “undisclosed location” where I could be kept under the watchful eyes of Johnson and Holbrook.

Their idea of a safe house left a lot to be desired.

A collection of four buildings designed to look like quaint little alpine chalets, The Knotty Pine Motel sat just off of Highway 9 a few miles outside of Breckenridge, the dense forest looming over the cluster of buildings as if the surrounding wilderness was slowly reclaiming the land. The motel had probably seen its last significant facelift sometime in the eighties and was gradually succumbing to the stresses of time and neglect. A flickering neon sign hanging crookedly over the door of the office proudly proclaimed ‘Free Cable Available!’

“Classy,” I muttered as I slid out of the back of the SUV, my boots crunching on the frost covered snow. Hunching my shoulders up around my ears, I buried my nose in the folds of my scarf as the icy wind blew across the pot-hole riddled parking lot, buffeting me where I stood. Inside the SUV Loki yowled as the cold air blew into the car, carrying the first few flakes of snow inside.

I delved my chilled hands into the pockets of my jacket and glanced up at the dark sky overhead. The bright morning sun had quickly given way to steely grey clouds that promised even more snow as evening fell. Squinting against the wind and swirling snow I drew in a deep breath, scenting the air through my fluffy scarf.