Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1) Page 14

  Reese and Nick drove the rest of the way in silence, each lost in their private thoughts wondering where the rest of the pack was and what was becoming of them. There was nothing that could be done that night.

  They didn’t question whether or not their packmates were alive. Nick, especially, was sure he would sense it if there’d been a death. The morning would bring the beginning of a reckoning for the pack’s captors. It wasn’t necessary to give voice to that plan. The understanding was soul deep.

  Meanwhile, Nick and Reese needed comfort.

  After undressing and turning out the lights, they climbed into their bed together and nestled into the warmth of each other’s bodies. Snuggling quickly inspired little exchanged kisses, which were a comfort. Those little kisses were comforting to give and comforting to receive. Hands and mouths began to wander.

  Each of them felt the other’s sadness in a way that is beyond human lovers. Reese welcomed Nick’s weight as he eased into the cradle of her open arms and legs. The kiss he gave, tongue dancing slowly with hers, seemed to go on forever and still it ended too soon when he pulled back and whispered, “So lucky to have you.”

  She’d never thought in terms of Nick being lucky to have her. Hearing that he felt that way, combined with the crush of having the entire rest of the pack abducted, caused a tsunami of crushing emotion. Tears began to run freely. He didn’t have to ask why she cried. He knew.

  As he entered her and began to rock back and forth so slowly, he whispered, “Shhhhh. It will be alright. Hold onto me.”

  EPILOGUE

  Bogosian knew that there was risk in his plan. For that reason, he decided to write a letter and share what he’d learned with Carl Scarborough.

  There was a padded envelope inside a padded envelope inside another padded envelope and each had been sealed with fabric tape. The outer envelope was marked ‘IN THE EVENT OF MY DEATH’.

  Bogosian gave it to Scarborough. In hindsight, had he lived, Bogosian might have called that a rookie mistake. Trusting someone simply because they’d been friends for decades and experienced adventures together? Inconceivably stupid.

  The first thing Scarborough did was to open the package, read the letter, and watch the video contained on the flash drive. Sure. Miles was a friend, but there was no such thing as a friend worth conceding the most amazing find, well, ever.

  He remembered that Bogosian had inquired about R.W. Foley. So Scarborough promptly contacted Foley and offered a better deal than he’d made with Bogosian. Scarborough purchased a small, local and defunct private prison. With attractive incentive he was able to have it quickly converted into a facility that could house shifters.

  Foley took six ex-Blackwater mercenaries armed with traditional weapons and tranq guns, sedated and secured five werewolves and one hyena shifter, and transported them to a secret location. It had been over long before Nick and Reese had parked on Bogosian’s circular drive, thinking they’d been invited to dinner.

  The next day was Monday. They decided that Reese needed to show up for work on time with every appearance of knowing nothing about what had happened. She began her day as she would in any event and was answering emails when the police arrived.

  “You didn’t see the news about the fire?” one of the two detectives asked.

  “No. I went to bed early and I don’t normally turn on news in the morning.”

  “We’re sorry to have to tell you this, but your boss died in a fire in his house last night.”

  Reese did her best to look surprised. “Oh my God!” She looked toward his office because she reasoned that’s what a person would do when learning about something so shocking. “Has his family been notified?”

  “His children have. Yes.”

  “Oh, well.” She didn’t really know what to say. “I guess I’d better get started calling the Board.”

  “Did you know him well?”

  “Not at all. As a matter of fact, this is only my second day here.”

  “So you wouldn’t know of anyone who might profit from his death?”

  “Are you suggesting the fire was not an accident?”

  “The fire was definitely not an accident, but that is not information that’s been released to media.”

  “I see,” she said solemnly. “Like I said, I haven’t been his assistant long enough to know what you’re asking.”

  “Alright. Can you please provide us with a list of Board members? With their contact information. That would be very helpful.”

  “Yes. I can. Do you want it by, ah, email?”

  “Sure. Email is fine. But you’ll get to it right away?”

  “Right this instant.”

  She took the card with the detective’s name, official title, phone, and email.

  After sending the information as promised, Reese decided to have a look around Bogosian’s office, just to be sure he hadn’t left anything that would reveal information about the pack or incriminate her. Of course Joyce Rather showed up while she was going through drawers.

  “What are you doing?”

  Reese gave the other woman a dirty look. “If it’s any of your business, I’m making sure there is nothing in Mr. Bogosian’s desk that would embarrass his family. That’s what good assistants do.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Is there something you wanted?”

  “I want to know if we’re still going to have a job tomorrow.”

  “Of course. The Board will appoint a new CEO. Tragically it will almost be as if nothing happened.”

  Joyce Rather seemed satisfied with that. She nodded. “Well, if you don’t like the new guy and decide not to stay, put in a good word for me.”

  A range of responses ran through Reese’s mind, but she settled on, “Okay.”

  The opportunist left just as Reese opened the last drawer. What sat on top was a novella, a short story really. The Most Dangerous Game.

  ~~

  The series continues February 16, 2019.

  Never miss a release. Follow Victoria on Amazon and you will be notified.

  If you love Victoria’s paranormal romances, we want to give you a chance to try her contemporary romance series for free. Following is the introduction that started it all, included as a bonus.

  A Season in Gemini

  Intro to the Sons of Sanctuary MC Series

  Garland St. Germaine had way too much fun celebrating graduation from Dartmouth with her sorority sisters. They had, apparently, managed to singlehandedly revive Dartmouth’s reputation as the rowdy Ivy League institution. As a result, Garland’s father had given her a choice of accompanying him on a three month business trip to Austin, Texas or finding a substitute for the lavish lifestyle her allowance provided. After evaluating her options, she decided she’d rather go to Texas than be homeless. So she left Park Avenue in a huff, and got on the company plane bound for the Yellow Rose Country Club and Resort. She was sure there had to be more to life than an adult version of being grounded.

  Brant Fornight had made up his mind that he wasn’t interested in the life his dad’s motorcycle club could offer him. He wasn’t overly interested in money, especially not if it came with the risk of a prison sentence. He thought of himself as a simple guy even though he often pondered some of the great philosophical questions while he worked as a mechanic. He liked working with mechanical things and hadn’t needed a formal education to do that. The Sons of Sanctuary had topped off the natural born talent by mentoring and letting him work on their vehicles.

  After high school, he drifted from one Austin repair shop to the next, accidentally improving his resume with each move that earned a better title and more money. When he was twenty-five, he took a job as Head Mechanic at the Yellow Rose Country Club and Resort. It never occurred to him to wonder if there was more to life.

  CHAPTER 1

  David St. Germaine had sent a van and two guys to move Garland out of her primo room at the sorority house. He was extremely proud of the fact that she’d been voted P
anhellenic Rep by her sorority sisters. He’d told her that it was a more impressive accomplishment than any other office because she was the embodied statement that her sorority wanted to make about their chapter at joint Greeks meetings. Garland liked having her father’s approval when getting it didn’t interfere with what she was going to do regardless.

  Every day for the ten days between finals and graduation she’d packed a few things in preparation for the final move-out. She was torn between having loved university life and wanting to get on to whatever came next, even though she wasn’t clear about what that was. Certainly she’d never planned to use her B.A. in Classical Studies to gain actual employment. She could read and write Greek and Latin, sketch an Ionic column, explain Socratic Method, and accurately recount the biography of even the most obscure demigod.

  A quarter million dollars of education and related expenses later, that degree and a few dollars would buy a Starbucks. But livelihood wasn’t a concern. She was the only child of a rich widower who rarely denied her anything.

  She showed the movers to her room and pointed out what should go. After one last look, she plugged her phone into the console of her wine-colored Maserati, selected the music playlist she’d entitled ROAD TRIP, and pointed the car south toward New York thinking that traffic wouldn’t be bad on a Sunday. At least not as bad as usual. She could probably do the trip in four and a half hours with one potty stop enroute. After four years, she knew where to stop for a decent restroom.

  The New York Times still printed society pages on Sundays, only the new current title was “About Town”. It included celebrity sightings along with traditional news about Social Registry members. Charity galas and Arts League balls were always popular. The concession to modernity was that in recent years there had been sensationalism-creep. The news had begun to treat society’s best more like celebrities, in the sense that scandals were printed right alongside who was seen with whom at balls, galas, museum exhibit previews, and art show openings. It had become a gossip column thinly disguised as the time-honored tradition of setting aside valuable print space for flattering the moneyed elite.

  Garland pulled up in front of her building, grabbed the rolling suitcase with essential stuff, smiled at Max, the doorman, and gave him the car keys so that he could have the car parked in a two thousand dollars per month garage nearby. She might not use the car again for weeks, or even months, but it was nice to know she could.

  She took a deep breath and called out to anyone who might be in the penthouse.

  “I’m home!”

  Since it was Sunday that would probably be either her father or no one.

  She walked the length of the kitchen and beyond to a small, but elegant and sunny breakfast room that overlooked Central Park and was rarely seen by anyone other than Garland, her father, and the staff.

  “I say, ‘I’m home!’”, she repeated as she flopped into a chair opposite where her dad was having coffee and reading the paper.

  David St. Germaine looked over the top of the Wall Street Journal. “So I see.”

  “Wow. Welcome home.”

  He slid a section of the Sunday Times toward where she sat across the glass top table. “I second the ‘wow’.”

  Before looking down at whatever he wanted her to see, she could tell that he was the farthest thing from happy. When she’d seen him two days before at graduation, he’d been delighted, either with her or his date for the day. There was no point in remembering her name. Her father rarely saw women more than once.

  On the cusp of fifty, he was still handsome, with a little silver above his ears and a tan that never faded completely because he kept a boat at the Yacht Club and made a point of sailing, when weather and business permitted. He’d been referred to as ‘eligible bachelor’ more than once, but Garland doubted the veracity of that claim. Since her mother’s death, he hadn’t given anyone reason to think he was ‘eligible’.

  She looked at the paper. The front and center color image was of none other than herself wearing a short sparkly dress that had ridden far too high as she fell backwards, spilling a colorful beverage as she went sprawling into the laps of laughing friends.

  The headline read, “Germane Enterprises Princess Out on the Town. Daddy’s little girl lets her hair down and her skirt up.”

  As she stared at the page, her father said, “Nice dress,” in a tone dripping with sarcasm.

  Without looking up, she said quietly, “We were just having some fun, celebrating graduation.”

  “How many times have I told you that what you do reflects on me? And, by extension, on Germane Enterprises?”

  She raised her eyes to meet his glare. “Thousands.”

  “That’s right! Thousands. You would think a girl capable of graduating Dartmouth summa cum laude would get it after mere dozens of times.”

  “Everybody else…”

  “You’re not everybody else though. Are you?”

  She lowered her eyes. “No.”

  “With great privilege comes great responsibility.”

  She bit back a comment that tried to take possession of her mouth. Something about using condoms and clubbing with a designated driver. But she decided that sort of retort would make her sound weak and juvenile. So she said nothing. After a few seconds of staring, he continued.

  “Christ, Garland. You and your miscreant friends got thrown out of some cheap dive? That’s pretty hard to do. Places like that host Ladies’ Nights to attract young women to come in.” He let out a frustrated breath. “What are your plans?”

  “My plans?”

  “Yes, Garland. As in, what do you plan to do when you wake up tomorrow?”

  “I just finished school. I was thinking I’d take a couple of weeks. Maybe do some shopping and get together with friends before…”

  “Before what?”

  Truthfully, she hadn’t gotten to that. Her vision began and ended with lunching and shopping. “I haven’t worked that out yet.”

  “Good. Then you won’t be inconvenienced to have to cancel anything.”

  “What do you …?”

  “I’ve made plans for you. I’ll be spending most of the summer at the property we’re expanding in Texas. You’re coming with me.”

  “To Texas!?!” She looked as horrified as if she’d just been told she’d be summering inside a tank on a war torn border somewhere between the remnants of Arabia and the remnants of Persia.

  He went on as calmly as if she hadn’t spoken. “This…” He glanced down at the tattling paper. “…is an indication that you’re not ready to make your own choices. So I’ll make them for you. Austin this summer then Wharton School this fall. Thank goodness your GPA is high enough. I’ll have to call in some favors and donate a fortune, probably, but you will get in.”

  “To Business School? I don’t want to study business. I can’t think of anything less fun. And Philadelphia? Really?”

  She saw the traces of a smirk appear around his mouth. “This has nothing to do with fun, Garland. It’s about being a productive member of this family and, by extension, a productive member of society. When you have an MBA from Wharton, you’ll be ready to step into a position with Germane Enterprises and do something worthwhile with your life.”

  Her eyes flashed. “You can’t make those decisions for me. I’m not a little girl.”

  His face softened slightly, but was no less serious “No. You’re not. And you’re welcome to show me your independence by walking out that door with your clothes and the college degree you just earned. You can start at home plate, like I did. Instead of on third base. Like you did.”

  The range of limited options flew across her vision like a rapid-sequence music video. And she didn’t like anything she saw.

  She wanted to be the girl who took that option. She wanted to stand up and say, “Okay. I’m out.” But she didn’t think she was cut out for pioneering a whole new way of life.

  “I guess you win then. I’m not prepared to be homeless.”


  “It’s not a matter of me ‘winning’. It’s about what’s best for you.” He snapped the paper and went back to reading. “We’re leaving in two days. You can shop and play with your friends until then.” He lowered the paper again long enough to say, “Do you think you can manage to stay out of the news for that long?”

  Since the question was rhetorical and there was nothing else to say, she rose and left the room. It was the adult version of being grounded.

  Garland didn’t hate her father. She believed he loved her in his own distant, detached, heavy-handed way. She’d also spent enough time in the homes of friends to know that warmth and affection had been missing in their household since her mother died.

  Visiting with friends was a great vicarious pleasure for her. She loved observing the dynamics of families where love was shared openly and without agenda. She wanted that for herself someday.

  CHAPTER 2

  Brant Fornight was a third generation Austin native and everything about the town suited him just fine. He wasn’t one of those people who lived in the mountains, but dreamed of a house on the beach. Or vice versa.

  Dry air, hills, and live oak was good enough for him.

  He’d made up his mind that he wasn’t interested in the life the club could offer him. Since he’d grown up in and around his dad’s motorcycle club, he was able to make a truly informed choice.

  Brant didn’t have the kind of angry fire in the belly that motivates a man to choose that path. He wasn’t overly interested in money, especially not if it came with the risk of prison. And he hadn’t experienced the sort of injustice that had caused the original seven members, all Vietnam vets, to band together with a third finger prominently raised at particular aspects of society.