Читать книгу Finding The Texas Wolf - Karen Whiddon - Страница 10
ОглавлениеThe heavy oak door, scarred and weathered, looked like something out of a medieval castle. Above, a simple sign. No words, just a rusted iron bar from which hung two chain links, each half of what had once been whole. There were no lanterns, not even a streetlight to illuminate the shadows. The entrance sat near the end of a dead-end alley, innocuous enough that no soul, human or otherwise, would give it a second glance. Unless, of course, one knew what lay inside.
Maddie Kinslow usually preferred to take her time. Her slow and steady approach, sometimes viewed by others as reticence, enabled her to take full notice of her surroundings. When in her human form, her eyes were her primary tool, and when she shape-shifted into her wolf form, her nose took precedence over her other senses.
Tonight, with the moon a perfect sliver in the cloudless sky, she walked a little faster than normal, intent on reaching the dead-end alley that led to Broken Chains, the Galveston bar where only others of similar ilk were welcome. She, along with two of her best friends, had recently formed The Shadow Agency, a private investigative firm catering exclusively to Shape-shifters, Vampires and Merfolk. They’d recently successfully closed their first case and she’d gotten a lead that someone might be in the bar tonight who wanted to set up a meeting about becoming their second client.
Since Maddie lived and breathed her goal of making The Shadow Agency a success, her eagerness to meet with this individual had her practically running.
Until she stumbled over the bloody and beaten man halfway up the alley.
She tripped, caught completely by surprise, screamed once and fell. Right on top of the unfortunate human, who let out a guttural groan.
Naturally, she scrambled up, away from him. “What happened to you?” she asked, not even sure he could answer her. He appeared to have been on the losing side of a run-in with a semi truck. Digging her phone from her pocket, she realized she couldn’t call 911. Not from here, so close to the unmarked door. By spell or by due vigilance, it would never open, not for humans and not without potential death. To be safe and prevent any unnecessary curiosity, she needed to get this poor man out of the alley.
“I was beat up,” he said, his voice clear, despite the fact that his lip had been split. “Two big guys.”
“Were you robbed?”
“No.”
She watched in disbelief as he managed to heave himself off the ground to his feet. With one eye swollen shut, he squinted at her with the other.
“They went in there,” he said, pointing at Broken Chains’ unmarked door.
Heart pounding, she shook her head. “In where? There’s nothing around here but some old abandoned warehouses.”
“Lady, come on.” He swayed slightly as he took a step toward her. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve been watching this place. I’ve seen you here before. What I want to know is what’s going on behind that door? People come and go all night. I don’t know what they do to get inside, but they do. I’ve tried, but no one will let me in.”
He had no idea what kind of danger he’d placed himself in. A human, trying to gain entrance to Broken Chains? Now she understood. A couple of the bouncers must have taken exception to him pestering them. In light of that, he was lucky he’d only been beaten rather than killed.
“You need to go somewhere else.” She didn’t even bother to try to hide the urgency in her voice. “It’s not safe here for you. Go away and forget you ever saw this door.”
Judging from the way he perked up, her heartfelt warning only made him more determined to stay. She eyed him—as far as human males went, he looked tough, with his broad shoulders and muscular build. But even the most fit human had no hope of fighting back against a Shape-shifter or Vamp. Both had power reserves of at least ten times those of any human.
Which explained why this guy’s swollen face made his features unrecognizable.
“I’m not going anywhere.” He crossed his arms, exposing purpling bruises and several small cuts that still oozed blood. In addition to the split lip and black eye, and judging from the multiple bruises and swelling, he’d been pummeled. Again, lucky to be alive, even if he didn’t get that. “My name is Jake Cassel. I’m an investigative reporter.”
“You can barely stand,” she pointed out. “I’d think you’d want to get yourself some medical assistance.”
“Good idea. I’ll dial 911 and when the paramedics arrive, I’ll ask for them to also send cops. I’m sure they can find out what’s behind that door.”
Exactly the situation she hoped to avoid.
“It’s not safe for you here,” she reiterated. “How about I walk you to my car and drive you to the ER?”
Her offer appeared to confuse him. “What? Why? You don’t know me. What if I turn out to be a predator? You’ll be alone with me.”
Of course she had no answer for that. She wasn’t about to tell him that as a full-blooded Shifter she knew she’d be safe. “I’ll be fine,” she finally replied. “I might even be willing to tell you what I know of that door.”
That finally got his attention. “Seriously?”
“You sound skeptical. I don’t blame you.” Somehow, she managed to keep herself from glancing at the still-closed door. “But I should also let you know that I expect those guys to come back at any moment.” And she did. “If they attack you again, which they will if they find you still here, they’ll kill you this time.”
While she had no idea if he believed her or not, he shuffled forward. “Give me your word,” he demanded. “Give me your word that you’ll tell me the truth about that door.”
“I’m Maddie Kinslow. You have my word.” And she would tell him. Because one thing she’d learned was to be very specific when relaying what one wanted. This human had asked for information about one item only—the door. She knew where it had come from, when it was installed, what kind of wood it had been made of and how often it was painted.
And a careful reciting of those facts was exactly what he’d get.
Driving as fast as she could without breaking the speed limit, Maddie soon pulled up in front of the ER at UTMB Health John Sealy Hospital. Despite his best efforts to remain alert, her passenger lost consciousness before they arrived. Well aware of how these human hospitals worked, she hoped Jake Cassel had his ID and an insurance card on him.
After leaving him in the car, she rushed inside and up to the triage window. “I found a man beaten on the sidewalk,” she said. “He wouldn’t let me call for an ambulance, but he allowed me to drive him here. He’s outside in my car, now unconscious. I need help getting him inside.”
If she expected a medical team to jump into action like they did on TV, she was wrong. The nurse simply nodded and told her she’d send someone out with a wheelchair in just a moment.
Eventually, after what felt like an eternity but was in fact four minutes, an orderly appeared with a wheelchair. She led the way out the double doors to where she’d left her car parked, with the injured human in the front seat.
But the front seat was empty.
Cursing under her breath, she spun around. “He couldn’t have gone far,” she promised. “He was pretty beat up. And he lost consciousness on the way here.”
The orderly squinted at her. “Okay,” he said. “Come and get me when you find him.” And he turned to head back into the hospital.
He had a point. There really wasn’t anywhere to hide. The helipad sat behind a metal rail, and the tall palm trees dotting the landscape didn’t provide much in the way of shelter.
“Wait,” she ordered, stopping the orderly in his tracks. “The man can barely walk. I was inside for under five minutes. He really can’t have gone far.”
“Is that him?” He pointed to the covered bus stop near the road.
A lone figure sat on the bench. A quick calculation revealed that maybe, just maybe, Jake Cassel could have made it to there.
“I think so,” she said, letting her excitement show in her voice. “He’s wearing the same color shirt. Come on, help me go get him.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.” The orderly appeared apologetic. “I’m not allowed to leave the ER grounds.”
Of course he wasn’t. The way this day was going, she’d begun to wish she’d never set eyes on the beat-up human. “May I borrow the wheelchair?” she asked.
“I don’t know.” Clearly wavering, he looked uncomfortable. “I’ll get in trouble if you steal it.”
“I won’t,” she assured him. “I just need to retrieve that patient.”
“I think you might be too late,” he said, pointing. “The bus is coming. Your guy might not be able to walk too well, but he apparently doesn’t want to go to the ER. I’m guessing he’s getting on the bus.”
Calculating, she knew even if she started running, she’d never make it in time. Instead, she watched as the bus pulled up and as Jake, doubled over in pain, managed to climb on board.
Cursing, she turned and sprinted back to her car instead. She knew the bus would continue down Avenue D to 22nd Street, where he’d have to get off and switch buses or ride back to the hospital. She planned to be there either way.
Because what he’d done didn’t make sense. Jake Cassel had been severely beaten. He needed X-rays and possibly stitches, definitely pain meds. He wouldn’t have fled unless he had something to hide.
And Maddie had never been able to resist uncovering the answer to a good puzzle. The trait was what made her such a doggedly good PI.
She managed to catch up to the bus after its first stop. She watched as the two elderly women who’d gotten off slowly crossed the street.
Next up would be the 9th Street stop. The bus slowed, but continued on. It made several more stops, but he didn’t disembark. Finally, at 22nd Street, it turned into the new downtown terminal. Her heart sank. If he got off in a crowd, she’d never be able to tell if he got on a different bus. She could only hope his slow and painful movements would help her locate him.
As she drove past the terminal entrance, her luck held. There. Jake. Arms still wrapped around what had to be an aching middle, he shuffled down the sidewalk as the bus rumbled off.
Where could he be headed? If he’d driven to Broken Chains and parked, his car was in the opposite direction. It would have been much easier to reach from the hospital. Perhaps he had friends in this area or, even better, lived nearby himself.
Instead of immediately confronting him, she decided to follow him and see where he went. She hoped his destination would give her some answers.
She got caught at a streetlight. While she waited, she kept her eyes on him, aware that at his pace he wouldn’t be able to get too far ahead of her. There were only two cars coming from the cross street. One continued past, but the second—an older model black Lincoln with dark, tinted windows—pulled up alongside him.
Jake lifted his hand in greeting and carefully got in.
The Lincoln took off, past City Hall, making a left on Avenue M. It disappeared in traffic before her light changed. Though she drove as fast as she could, by the time she got to heavily congested Seawall Boulevard, she had to concede that he’d lost her.
Worse, she realized she’d stood up Carmen. They’d agreed to meet at Broken Chains to discuss strategy for their next Shadow Agency case. Maybe she wasn’t too late. She swung the car around and headed toward Harborside Drive. Most likely, Carmen was still there.
* * *
Earlier that night, when he’d been in the alleyway by the door that wouldn’t open, Jake Cassel hadn’t seen the two large men until he turned and saw them right behind him. Since the alley was a dead end, they must have come through that door. He cursed silently, moving aside to get out of their way.
But instead of pushing past him, they stopped. Too late, he saw the anger in their faces. Hostility radiated from the jerky way they moved to their clenched fists.
“I mean no harm,” he began, about to offer them his wallet and his watch, whatever they wanted. But when one of them punched him, followed by the other, raining down blows so swiftly he barely saw them move, he realized this was not a mugging. No, this was a beating, and he’d be damn lucky to survive.
Though he could hold his own in a fair fight, not only was this two against one, but they were built like linebackers. So he curled himself into a defensive ball and tried not to make a sound, hoping eventually they’d leave him for dead and he wouldn’t be.
The next thing he knew, the redheaded woman was tripping over him. She let out a little scream as she fell, the sound letting him know he’d somehow survived. He must have lost consciousness, because the last thing he remembered before that was the two men whaling on him. They’d even gotten in a couple of kicks, catching him right in the ribs.
He wasn’t sure he could breathe, never mind stand, but somehow, he managed to push himself to his feet. This woman had been here before. He’d watched the alley for weeks, and she’d visited at least twice. Maybe three times. Since he could only watch the entrance to the alley, he assumed she’d gotten the door to open for her. Because she’d gone into the alley and hadn’t come out for hours.
He’d observed all kinds of people heading into that dead-end alley. From suit-wearing business types, to hipsters, to the grunge-slash-metal crowd. They never came out immediately. Whatever they were doing in there, behind that mysterious door, had to be interesting.
The wondering consumed him. Every single journalistic instinct he possessed kicked into overdrive. Whatever went on behind that door had to be a story. A big story. Not just mildly interesting.
Because one night when he’d been staked out watching the alley, he’d seen a man emerge, unsteady on his feet, clearly inebriated. The guy had walked to where the alley met the street, looked left and right and, right there on Jake’s cell phone video, began to shimmer. His form had wavered, too, changing from human to something definitely wolf-like, before going back to human once more. Then, the man shook his head, adjusted his clothing and walked away.
Not believing his own eyes, Jake had watched the video several times. He’d uploaded it to the cloud, knowing he couldn’t take a chance of losing it, though he kept the copy on his phone.
This, if he could prove it, would be the story of the century. Because based on what he’d witnessed, he just might be able to prove to the world that werewolves truly existed.
If he could manage to live through this investigation, that is.
A groan slipped from his lips as he attempted to take a step after standing. She came to him then, using her slender shoulder to brace him, uncaring of the fact that his blood would stain her pretty dress. As she helped him move toward the street, she muttered under her breath.
“Did you just say ‘Damn humans’?” he asked, careful to hide his excitement.
“I don’t know,” she said, her voice cross. “If I can get you to the sidewalk, we can call for an ambulance.”
“No ambulance,” he insisted.
“We need to get you to the hospital. How else do you propose we do so?”
“My car is parked over there,” he told her, pointing with an unsteady hand. “The keys are in my pocket.” Somehow, he managed to dig them out. “Here. You can drive.”
Though his pain level had been off the charts, Jake had known he’d have to ditch the redhead. Though he wasn’t sure why exactly, he knew the reason would reveal itself soon enough. He’d learned to always trust his gut instincts. Always.
She’d been kind. Interested, even. And beautiful, the kind of beauty that once would have sent men off to war. While her beauty lured him, he didn’t trust her. She knew things he didn’t. Since she’d done everything in her power to hustle him away from the dead-end alley, she had no intention of sharing any of her knowledge with him.
He’d seen her go in the door. That damn door. What had started out as idle curiosity had become a full-blown obsession. So much so that he’d put his own life in danger.
The salt-scented, humid breeze made the cuts on his face sting. He thought he could make it back to his car, but he’d begun to second guess the instinct that had made him flee the hospital. While the woman—Maddie Kinslow—had put on an outward show of compassion, she was part of whatever secret lay behind that door. Call him overly paranoid, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been sent to finish the job the two thugs had started. He wasn’t prepared to risk finding out.
Still, she’d been right about one thing. He needed medical attention. He suspected he had, at the very least, a couple of broken ribs. If not broken, then bruised.
An older black Lincoln pulled up alongside him. “Hey, man,” a familiar voice said. “You need a ride?”
Wayne. One of the guys he played basketball with every Saturday. Jake had never been so glad to see someone in his life. “I do,” he said, lifting his hand in greeting.
“Climb on in.”
Jake did. When Wayne got a good look at his face, he whistled, low and furious. “What the hell happened to you?”
“I got jumped over by Harborside.”
“By the cruise ship parking lots?” Wayne wanted to know.
“Yeah, sort of.”
“What were you doing over there?”
Since his friend knew exactly what Jake did for a living, he told the truth. “Following a lead. I got a little too close for someone’s comfort.”
“Let’s go to the hospital,” Wayne suggested.
Since Jake felt dizzy, like he might pass out again, he agreed.
This time, he made it inside the ER under his own power. Though Wayne had offered to stay, Jake told him no.
Three and a half hours later, Jake learned his ribs were bruised, not broken. By some miracle, his most serious—and painful—injury was a dislocated shoulder. They gave him some muscle relaxers and a shot of something, and the doctor manually worked it back into place. When he did, it hurt like hell. Perspiring, trying not to swear, Jake managed to stay conscious.
When they were finally done and the doctor came to discharge him with a prescription for more pain pills and some antibiotics, he asked Jake if he had someone to drive him home.
“No. But my car is only a couple blocks away,” Jake said, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.
“You can’t drive,” the doc said firmly. “You need to call someone to come and pick you up. We gave you some strong narcotics. No driving for at least twenty-four hours.”
“I’ll find someone.” He dug out his phone. Maybe he could talk Wayne into coming back and picking him up.
“No need,” a cool, feminine voice said from the doorway. “I’ll take you home.”
The redhead. Maddie Kinslow.
“Perfect,” the doctor said, smiling. “Take him straight home, make sure and fill these prescriptions, and force him to get plenty of rest.”
“I sure will.” Now she sounded positively cheerful. He turned to stare at her, wondering how she’d known to come back here looking for him.
“I’ll send a nurse to wheel you out to the car,” the doc continued. “Hospital regulations,” he added when Jake began to protest.
Jack nodded. He waited until the doctor had left the room before confronting Maddie. “Are you stalking me?”
“No.” She frowned, looking both hurt and angry. “I will say I was concerned, especially when you took off like you were afraid to go into the ER. Why was that? I wondered. Do you have a warrant out for your arrest?”
“No. And no. As you can see, I haven’t been arrested. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I’m a PI,” she retorted. “It’s part of my line of work.”
“A private investigator?” At first surprised, the more he considered, the better he felt. Ms. Maddie Kinslow might not realize it, but she’d just given him an idea.
She started to respond, and then closed her mouth. Lips a tight line, she looked away. Whatever she wasn’t telling him, she clearly had no intention of saying anything else about her work. Which was okay with him. She’d said enough.
Luckily for her, a cheerful nurse arrived with a wheelchair. She ordered Maddie to get her car and pull up right outside the entrance. Once Maddie had left to do that, the nurse wheeled him out front to wait for her.
When Maddie had parked, the nurse helped Jack out of the wheelchair and into the passenger side. He was able to buckle the seat belt, wincing.
“Are you all good?” she asked, her candid gaze searching his face.
“Yep. Better than good,” he replied. “I’m actually really glad to learn you’re a private investigator. As it turns out, I want to hire you.”
Judging by her sudden intake in breath, he’d shocked her. “Um, my agency is specialized. We wouldn’t be a good fit.”
“Yes, we would,” he insisted. “Plus, you’re the only PI I know. I’ll pay whatever your going rate is. And I promise, you’ll find my job to be a simple one, easily completed.”
She shifted into Drive and pulled away from the hospital.
“Well?” he pressed once she’d exited the parking lot. “What do you say?”
“I’m thinking. Give me a minute.”
He gave her more than a minute. She followed his directions, pulling in to the driveway of his small home on San Jacinto. Once she’d put the car in Park, she turned in her seat to face him.
“What’s the job?” she asked, her expression professional. “I really can’t commit my resources until I know what is involved.”
And here came the part she wouldn’t like. He told her anyway. “I want to hire you to find out what’s behind that door on the dead-end alleyway. The one where you found me all beat-up.”
