Authors: Alexis Morgan
“Are you coming in, Sebastian, or you going to stand out in the hallway all night?” The thick door barely muffled Devlin’s bellow.
Bracing himself for the worst, Penn walked into the office and dropped into the seat facing Devlin’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”
Devlin sniffed the air and gave him the evil eye. “Did you have to show up smelling like wet dog? We do have showers and clean clothes right down the hall.”
Penn had thought about using them, but had decided against it to get this meeting over with quickly. Depending on what kind of burr Devlin had up his backside, Penn might have the rest of his life to clean up.
He shrugged. “Cullen said you wanted me as soon as I got off shift. I’m here. What do you want?”
Devlin leaned back in his chair and gave Penn a hard-eyed stare. “How’s the hand?”
Penn clenched his teeth. It always came down to that, didn’t it? At least Devlin didn’t pussyfoot around like the others did, checking out the thick scar that transected Penn’s right hand and wrist whenever they thought he wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t, wouldn’t lie to Devlin. They’d served together too long for that.
“About the same. Laurel sees some improvement in my right hand, and Barak thinks I’m doing better fighting with my left.” Penn forced his hands to relax. “I’m not convinced either of them are right.”
Devlin nodded as if Penn had just confirmed something he’d suspected all along. “Okay, then. The fact that we’re shorthanded won’t come as a surprise to you. I’ve lost you to normal duty. Hunter is doing better, but he’s got his own patch of hell to guard up north. Even if I need him, he’s an hour out at best. Cullen is back to fighting, but he doesn’t much like it.
“Here’s the thing. I got a phone call from a woman this morning. No idea who she is or how she got my number. I sicced D.J. and Cullen on back-tracing it to see if they can identify the caller, but they haven’t found out anything other than she’s good at hiding her tracks.”
Penn was impressed. Very few could out-cyberdance the two Paladins. But what did it have to do with him?
“I’d like to write it off as a crackpot call, but I can’t. That’s where you come in.” Devlin picked up a tablet and read from his notes.
“According to this mystery woman, the caldera under Yellowstone is becoming increasingly unstable. Normally that wouldn’t concern us. The few stretches of barrier in that area are too small to be of much use to those on the other side. And we all know there’s nothing anyone can do if that pressure cooker decides to blow its top.”
Penn shifted restlessly. “Did you call me in here for a geology lesson?”
Devlin shot him a hard look. “I’m telling you all of this because this woman thinks that the instability isn’t natural. She’s apparently found evidence someone is screwing around with the caldera, trying to siphon off the geothermal energy.”
A sudden chill filled the room. “Siphoning it off to where?”
Devlin looked bleak. “Across the barrier. Her words, by the way, not mine.”
“Who the hell is this woman?”
“Good question—and that is why you’re here. You’re the only man I can spare to find out what the hell is going on. Go home, pack what you need for a few days, grab a few hours’ sleep, and then get your ass to Wyoming.”
He pulled out a stack of cash from a drawer and shoved it across the desk toward Penn. “I’d like to keep this off the books, which means no airline reservations, no charge cards. Right now I don’t trust anyone in the Regents enough to want them involved.”
Penn’s hand shook as he scooped up the money. Holy hell! A mission—a real honest-to-God mission that required a warrior’s skills. Other than providing backup when Hunter Fitzsimon had needed some help, Penn had done nothing for months except park his ass out in the alley while his friends fought and died—and then died again.
Being needed felt damn good. Being trusted to do the job right had him sitting up straighter and wishing he had stopped to clean up before reporting in.
Devlin tossed him the notepad. “You’re to drive to some town called Wolf Cave, check in to the only motel, and wait.”
“For what?” Penn asked as he read over Devlin’s barely legible scrawl.
Devlin looked purely disgusted. “I wish I knew, Penn. For both our sakes, I really wish I knew.”
Two days later, Penn stared into the small bathroom mirror and studied the face reflected there. Before setting off for Wyoming, he’d gotten a haircut and his beard trimmed. His scruffy look had been more than just his street persona disguise; it had provided him with a mask to hide behind while he nursed his wounds.
Leaning in closer to the mirror, he turned his face from one side to the other, studying the lines around his eyes and the ones that bracketed his mouth. Where had those come from? No longer able to do the work he’d trained for his entire life, there wasn’t much left of the man he used to be. He hardly recognized himself at all.
All this waiting wasn’t helping his mood at all. He left the bathroom and crossed his surprisingly comfortable motel room to flop down onto the upholstered chair wedged between the bed and the outside wall. The place offered cable, so at least he could watch sports until the call came.
If
it came. If this ended up being one giant hoax, Devlin wasn’t the only one who was going to be royally pissed.
As if his frustration conjured it up, the phone on the small bedside table started to ring. Finally, some action! He dove across the bed to snatch the receiver off the hook.
“Yeah?”
“Did Devlin Bane send you?” The woman’s voice sounded hesitant, as if she was having serious second thoughts about talking to him.
“Yeah,” he repeated. “Are you the one who called him?”
She didn’t answer the question. “Across the street from your motel is a diner. I’ll meet you there in fifteen minutes. Go in and sit at the booth in the back corner.”
“And if it’s taken?”
“If you hurry, it won’t be.”
The phone went dead, leaving Penn staring out the window just as a lone car drove by the door and out of the parking lot. Coincidence? No way to know, leaving him no choice but to hike over to the diner and wait. Just in case, though, he wrote down the plate number. If necessary, he’d sic D.J. or Cullen on it later.
He slipped on his jacket, more to hide his shoulder holster than because of the chill in the air. Though he might be walking into a trap, he doubted it. If someone wanted to take out a Paladin, Seattle or Missouri would’ve made a lot more sense than a remote town in Wyoming.
He stepped out into the darkness, pausing to look up at the night sky. There were far more stars scattered overhead than could be normally seen back home in Seattle. For some reason the small pinpoints of light brightened his mood. Reminding himself that the clock was ticking, he locked the door and headed for the neon lights across the road.
J
ora slowly cruised the parking lot of the small motel at the edge of town, just as she had at this same time for the past three evenings. She checked each vehicle as she passed by, looking for ones with license plates from Washington state. Over the previous two nights she’d found a couple, but none of the owners met the description Devlin Bane had given her—a male traveling alone. A name would’ve been helpful, but she couldn’t blame Bane for protecting his man’s identity. She hadn’t actually been forthcoming herself.
She circled around to the back half of the lot, the thought of the head Paladin tying her stomach in one huge knot. Ever since making that phone call to Devlin Bane, she’d worried about what she’d unleashed. The only comfort was that the man, with his reputation as a stone-cold killer, wasn’t coming himself.
What would her parents have thought about her decision to call upon the Paladins for help? She wished they were still alive to advise her. But they weren’t, which left this whole mess squarely in her court. She’d made the best choice she could from the limited options available to her.
She spotted a black truck parked in the shadows at the end of the row and knew the Paladin warrior had really come. Unsure whether to be relieved or terrified, she backed her small SUV in next to the oversized pickup and left the engine running.
There was only one room with its lights on, leaving no doubt where the warrior waited for her call.
From the safety of her car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the motel office and asked for room fifteen. A male voice finally answered. After a brief exchange, she put her car in gear and drove away, circling the block before heading for the diner on the chance he’d spotted her SUV through his motel window.
Ten minutes later, she parked under a flickering streetlight and retrieved her briefcase from the backseat. A bad case of nerves had her clutching the handle hard enough to make her hand ache, but she would go through with this meeting.
She’d been tempted to leave the files laying on his doorstep and then walk away from this whole mess. The Paladins should be able to handle the problem. After all, it was their job. But what if they couldn’t? What if it required someone with her special talents? No, better to meet the enemy in person and judge his ability to fight their common foe.
Approaching the diner, she caught her reflection in the window. Maybe she would’ve looked more impressive if she’d worn her uniform instead of a T-shirt and jeans. But at only five feet two, she couldn’t count on her appearance to intimidate anyone. Perhaps it would work in her favor if the Paladin underestimated her.
Inside, she made eye contact with Betsy, who cocked her head in the direction of the back corner to signal that Jora’s guest had arrived. Earlier, she’d asked the waitress to reserve the most private booth in the diner for her for several nights. Since it wasn’t the first time she’d met someone there for dinner to discuss business, Betsy hadn’t asked any questions.
Jora wound her way through the crowded diner, smiling and nodding at the occasional acquaintance as she did. By the time she reached the far end of the room, she had a jumbo-size case of nerves.
The Paladin was busy studying the menu. She waited impatiently for him to acknowledge her presence, unsure of how he would react once he got a good look at her. Finally, she cleared her throat.
Without looking up, he said, “Can you give me another couple of minutes? I’m expecting someone.”
“I know. I’m the someone.”
Fierce blue eyes glared up at her, widening in shock as he got a better look at her. “Holy shit!” he blurted.
At least he hadn’t immediately gone on the attack. Considering he killed her kind for a living, she supposed she should be grateful for that. Now that the moment was upon her, she wasn’t sure what to say.
“Mr. Bane told you to expect me?”
He nodded, still looking at her as if she’d grown a second head. Was he just going to sit there and stare up at her all night?
Finally the Paladin blinked a couple of times and shook his head as if to clear it. “I’m sorry, it’s just that you’re Kalith.”
He stopped and tried again. “I don’t mean that I’m sorry you’re Kalith. I just wasn’t expecting that—although maybe I should have.”
At least he hadn’t called her an “Other,” the usual epithet his kind used for hers. “I wasn’t sure you’d come if you knew.”
He looked past her. “Are you here by yourself?”
Why did he want to know that? She had opted for the diner as a meeting place because she wasn’t eager to be alone with this man. She backed away a couple of steps. “Yes, I am. Is that going to be problem for you?”
“Not at the moment.” He gestured toward the other side of the booth. “Why don’t you sit down? People are starting to stare. We’ll eat and then you can tell me what’s going on.”
She slid onto the opposite bench and picked up the menu, not that she needed it. Betsy knew without asking what Jora would order. Being known to everybody in town was one of the benefits of living in a small town, but one of the downsides, as well. By morning, everyone would’ve heard about Jora’s dinner with a strange man.
She fought the urge to smile. Her friends and neighbors had no idea how really strange this guy was. Her, too, for that matter, so she’d have to keep his secret to protect her own.
The waitress appeared with her notepad in hand. “What can I get you, mister?”
The Paladin looked to Jora for advice. “What would you recommend?”
Her friend laughed. “I wouldn’t depend on her for recommendations ’cause all she ever eats is salad. She’s one of them vegetarians.”
For the first time there was a glint of humor in those blue eyes. “I should’ve guessed that.”
Betsy pounced on that remark. “Really? You never said how you know our Jora.”
“You might say we have some mutual acquaintances.” He looked back down at the menu. “I’ll have the meat loaf. Is that blackberry pie I spotted as good as it looks?”
That was one recommendation Jora could make. “Better. Betsy, make it two pieces of the pie with ice cream on mine.”
“Mine, too,” the Paladin added as he handed the menu back to Betsy.
Jora waited until she was out of hearing before speaking again. “You know others of my kind?”
“Several.”
How could that be? Who were they? Paladins hunted down and killed any Kalith who made it across the barrier. This man’s hands had calluses from swinging a sword, marking him as a Paladin warrior. Her father’s weapon hand had looked just like that, and she had a matching set herself.
Her companion tore open three sugar packets and dumped them into his coffee. “What’s your name?”
“I was born Jora b’Larth, although the people here know me simply as Jora Larth. And you are?”
“Penn Sebastian. Are there other Kalith living in this area?”
Despite his casual tone, his interest was anything but. “There is no good answer to that question.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I’d settle for the truth.”
“If I say no, you won’t believe me anyway. If I say yes, you’ll want details. It’s bad enough you and Bane know that I am here. I wouldn’t think of putting anyone else in danger.”
His eyebrows snapped together as he considered her answer. Finally he jerked his head in a quick nod. “Fair enough. One Paladin and one Kalith. Works for me—at least for now.”