Timeless Moon (23 page)

"You about ready in there?" Raphael called.

"All done."
Josette
hit the series of buttons to turn off the computer. As she walked into the riving room to join Raphael and his pack mate it occurred to her just how much she owed him. In a very short time they had managed an amazing amount. She hadn't believed his time estimate earlier. She'd been wrong. Raphael may not have been a Wolven field agent in years, but he hadn't lost his touch.
Josette
was intensely grateful to have him on her side. With his help she began to hope that she might just manage to rescue the others in time.

The cell phone
rang for the fourth time before the voice messaging picked up. Rick pressed the End button with frustration. Where could Brace have gone? It had only been a couple of hours since he left, and the other man had promised to wait. Rick knew he would've called in if Josie had arrived. Could something have happened to him?

Things were getting out of hand. He was getting more frantic about Josie by the second. He'd been driving up and down each side of the railroad tracks, searching for some sign that she'd gotten off. But there was nothing. It was all he could do not to scream. Finally, in desperation, he pulled out his wallet. On the back of a dollar bill, written in ballpoint ink, was a number Lucas had given him to use in case of a complete disaster. Of course to Rick's mind the entire damned mission thus far had been hovering about a half-step away from disaster.

"Screw it," Rick muttered to himself. "If the old man gets pissed that I called he can
take
a strip of hide. There's just too damned much going on here that I don't understand."

Taking a deep breath, he dialed in the number. A male voice answered on the first ring.

"Ramirez." Could this be Raphael? It didn't sound like Raven.

"Rick Johnson. I got your number from Lucas Santiago. Identify yourself fully."

"Better yet, how about you tell
me
the password?"

Password? Lucas didn't give him any password. Of course maybe that was the point. Maybe it was a trick question. Hadn't Lucas done this one other time to him? He struggled to remember and then steeled himself to say the words, hoping it wouldn't cause the other man to hang up. "There isn't one."

"Got it in one." The voice on the other end of the line sounded relieved, almost cheerful. "I was hoping you'd call. Before you get started, there are some things I need to brief you on."

Rick blinked a few times. It was almost as if Ramirez had expected to hear from him. That just seemed
…
wrong. Unless, of course,
Josette
—didn't someone tell him recently that Raphael had taken over as Alpha of
…
Albuquerque!
Thank God!

His thoughts were interrupted by Ramirez's rapid-fire delivery of his briefing. "Here's where we stand. The person you came to pick up is alive and well and headed back your way. You can't go back to the airport in Grodin. It's been compromised. We were lucky that there was a
second
private plane going down your way already. The pilot is someone you'll recognize. You had a beer with him a few days ago. Do you know who I mean?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. He was fairly confident
he could trust Raven. But then, he'd thought that about Bruce. "Yes, I remember. Does your pilot know that we're moving from here? He'd planned to stay."

"We got the information from Amber. I'd have had him come here first, but the passenger was already on the road to you. I made a few calls and found out that there's a private airstrip on a farm outside Pony. It's not much, but it'll do. We faxed the owner government credentials and he agreed to let us use it, no questions asked. The guy's name is John Simmons. Do you have a pen? I'll give you directions."

Rick rummaged in his saddlebag and came up with one. He scribbled directions on his palm, as the other man dictated them, and then read them back for accuracy.

"Oh, and if you haven't already been there, stay away from the Shooting Star." Ramirez directed. "Our friend was attacked there last night and barely made it out. It could be being watched."

"Too late." Rick's tone was rueful. "But it seems clear at the moment."

"Yeah, well, be careful. I'm going to call and tell our girl not to stop for you. You'll need to get to the plane on your own. But be damned careful not to pick up a tail. We don't need any trouble."

"You mean any
more
trouble." Rick corrected him. As quickly as he could he explained what he'd stumbled onto, including the situation at the meth lab.
Before he was even finished, Ramirez was swearing a blue streak.

Eventually Raphael calmed down enough to stop swearing, but there was still no question he was unhappy when he said, "We're going to need those cards and the girl. I don't know who in the hell we can get to deal with the felony. But at least the fledgling's not involved."

"She's a minor, and her father's running it."

"Shit!
Can this get any better?" Ramirez's voice was frustrated and disgusted. "I suppose we should be grateful. If it wasn't for her teenage rebellion we wouldn't have a fucking clue about any of this." He gave a gusty sigh.
“T
alk to her, get the name of any relatives she has that change, and call me back. I'll see if we can get some help dealing with her parents at least. I don't want to send our girl to pick you up unless I absolutely have to."

"I understand. Let me get some names from the kid. I'll call you back in fifteen minutes."

"Do that."

The
Une
went dead in Rick's ear. He flipped the cell phone closed and slipped it and his wallet back into the side pockets of his jacket along with his keys.

Josette
was alive. Rick felt a surge of joy mixed with pride. She'd jumped onto a freight train
— exactly what he'd expected. He just hadn't expected her to ride it all the way to the city. Still, she was on
her way to meet Raven and together they'd go rescue Charles and the others.

God willing, the two of them would make it out of this situation in one piece. If they did, Rick promised himself he'd tell her how he felt, how he'd
always
felt, and he'd apologize for having been an idiot. And, he'd make certain he never left her side again. If he was lucky she'd take him back, give him another chance. But first, they had to get through the next few days. He wouldn't let her die, wouldn't let her visions of a future without her come true.

He sank down on the motorcycle seat and dialed the number of the motel. As expected, the line connected him to the office and Ellen picked up the line.

"Hello?" She spoke softly. Her voice was breathy with suppressed excitement.

"I found her. She's okay. But I need the name and telephone numbers of people in your family affected by the moon."

"Omagawd! I don't know if I can find out that without them figuring out something's up. I'd have to ask Mom or dig through her stuff." She started to object.

"Look, you said you wanted my help. If you do, then you have to cooperate. Give me names and numbers."

She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There's an address book in her purse. I know Grandma's number is in there. She's the only one I know who turns, but
I'm certain she'll know the others. I can make a photocopy and bring it to you. Will that do?"

"Fine. Do that." Rick ended the call without saying good-bye.

Trying to get Ellen out of here was going to be a disaster. But those cards made it impossible to ignore her and her father. And if she had more information about The Movement, it was well worth the risk.

He closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength for the next push. His emotional highs and lows of the last few days, coupled with the constant wear of being around others, had wearied him. He was tired, wet, and muddy from his trek along the tracks.

He forced himself to fire up the engine once more. He had to get moving; needed to be awake and alert. Mostly, he needed to get gas for the bike. Still, after a couple swigs of an energy drink, which he had purchased from the machine after he left the motel office, he felt a little better and definitely more alert than he had been. He wondered if Bobby Mbutu had ever managed to finish his research on creating a drug to keep Wolven agents going in bad situations. He'd definitely have to check into that
…
if he survived this.

Rick stared into space for a long moment, lost in thought. If Ramirez could be trusted,
Josette
was safe and long gone from here. And, the information tallied with what he himself had seen while tracking
her. It would make sense for Lucas to have given him Raphael Ramirez as an emergency contact. Lucas had said that the two men had worked together as Alpha and Second for decades. Lucas would have to trust him implicitly, because he wouldn't put up with anything less. Too, Raphael was former Wolven. Aside from the idiocy in getting involved with Fiona, he had a good reputation. Even knowing all that, Rick worried.

The drive back to the Shooting Star didn't take long. He parked the bike, originally intending to go into the office, but he heard women's voices raised in a loud argument.

As he rounded the corner, he caught sight of Ellen and her mother. They looked equal parts angry and terrified. Ellen shrieked, the sound of fear and the need to fight that only birds of prey could make. No owl, this one. She was going to wind up a hawk or a falcon. Rick winced, the sound hurt his sensitive ears.

A blur of movement from where the girl's eyes were pointed, and a rustle of grass caused him to whirl around
—his hand automatically going for the weapon at his back.

"You don't want to be doin' that, mate." It was Harold. He held a .357 Glock that was nearly identical to the one in Rick's holster. But this one had a very professional looking silencer attached to the end. Rick's eyes moved from the barrel of the weapon to the man holding it. He was full human, but big and
burly. And he wasn't slow. He'd proven that coming out of the weeds. His natural scent was lost beneath the reek of the skunk oil he'd used to camouflage his scent. The choice of cologne wasn't lost on Rick. The man had been expecting Sazi, which meant the ammo in the Glock was probably covered in highgrade silver.

"What do you want?"

"Well, now isn't that just the question." The Aussie smiled, showing crooked teeth. He looked perfectly comfortable with the gun. Then again, he was holding the "good" end.

"See poor ol' Ray, he told me he'd found himself a big old bounty, said she was staying right here at the hotel. Fool that I am, I figured he was bonkers
—'least until he showed me the photocopy of her driver's license." The smile broadened, becoming more of a leer. "Pity Ray was too damned dumb to know when to keep his mouth shut or who to trust
.
"

Rick was getting the distinct impression that "poor ol
'
Ray" was no longer among the living. After a few glances around and forcing his nose to work past the skunk scent, he finally spotted the lifeless body in the tall brush at the edge of the parking lot. Just a few pale fingers poked out of the weeds.

Unfortunately, it looked like Rick was about to join him. He strained every sense without appearing to, looking
…
scenting
…
feeling, for anything that could be of use.

Ellen's mother glared and shifted, trying to put herself between her daughter and the gun. Poor Ellen was too frightened to move.

Harold didn't even turn his eyes in their direction. They were far enough away that he didn't consider them a threat.
Damn it.
No, he kept the gun nice and steady, pointed at Rick's chest. "Now don't you go doing something stupid like shouting for help. You'd just get these nice ladies killed along with you."

Ah. "So you
do
plan on killing me."

He snorted, like it should have been obvious. "Bloody right. But I'm hoping to
coax
a bit of information out of you first."

"What makes you think I'll give it to you?" Rick kept his voice pleasant. He was stalling for time, searching for anything that could distract the man so he could relieve him of the gun. Without the threat against the women, he could easily handle the man.

"Oh, you'll give it to me all right. By the time I'm done you'll tell me everything you know and then some. I've had loads of experience in getting information from you Sazis. You're not so tough once you're trussed up with silver chains, and you'd be surprised how effective some of the industrial acids are."

Rick gave an involuntary shudder. There was actual delight in the man's wide hazel eyes. It was obvious he was looking forward to this, which meant it was liable to be very bad indeed. He needed to rethink his
options.
Yes, there was no doubt he was faster than the man. He might get winged, but he doubted he'd be killed. Ellen and her mother were the only wildcards. If he turned and attacked, they might get in the way. Or worse, might interfere.

A moment later it didn't matter. Ellen shrieked, "Daddy!" her voice hitting a pitch high enough to hurt Rick's eardrums. Apparently, she had finally spotted Ray's lifeless body. She jerked away from her mother, turned, and began to sprint across the grass.

Time seemed to slow. Rick let his fur take him, felt the clothing rip from his body as Harold turned and fired three shots in rapid succession. Ellen dropped in a silent heap after the first shot and then bounced lifelessly after the second two. The beginnings of her mother's scream were cut off by three more.

Rage blew through him, creating a primal snarl more vicious than he'd ever heard himself utter. Blood filled his vision and the world hazed over in pink. Ellen had wanted nothing more than to be happy. But she was forced to live in fear for her life, just as Josie had for so long. It was too much for him and Harold couldn't even comprehend the ferocity with which he was attacked. The gun was nothing against claws and teeth. He wanted the Australian to
hurt
for everything he'd done
—for everything The Movement was planning. The first bite snapped the man's wrist and the Glock fell to the ground uselessly as the screaming began.

He heard feet running and dimly heard a police siren through the carnage that he inflicted on the man. Claws tore through skin like paper and the taste of blood, the scent of fear, only increased his fury. Legs and arms were carved to ribbons before he finally went for the jugular, ignoring the kicks and one good arm that tried to pull him away. Rick hissed with bloody fangs over Harold's limp, dead body when people arrived and started yelling and throwing rocks.

Then he ran off between the buildings, across the parking lot, and through the empty fields.