Guardians of the Portals (40 page)

History repeated and the man they called the Falcon was coming for her.

––––––––

J
ake looked up as Caitlin entered the kitchen and frowned. His scowl told her he didn't like how she looked—how thin she'd become. Nothing was going to hide the dark circles under her eyes and the haunted look that had never been there before. Even when confronted with Kieran's betrayal and her mother's disappearance, she'd been able to mask the pain. It took Trey to strip her bare.

Her father moved the stool back to allow her access to the U-shaped food prep area and said, "Girl, we need to talk. I know now's not the time."

"Where's Wolf, Dad?"

"Getting the SUV ready. We're pulling out this morning."

"I'm guessing you two have a plan."

"Yeah, we had a discussion."

Jake sipped at his coffee while she poured a cup for herself, her movements slow and exaggerated, feeling like she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Irritated, she said, "I don't suppose you'd like to share."

"Well..." Jake paused to look at the tall man shouldering his way through the narrow kitchen doorway.

Wolf looked like he'd been rode hard and put away wet. The expression on Jake's face told her he had a pretty good idea why both of them looked dragged out. Sleep hadn't been on the agenda for what little part of the night had remained after Wolf returned from taking care of their disposal problem.

Wolf nodded at Jake and muttered, "Sir."

Curious, Caitlin swiveled to stare first at Jake, then Wolf. Somehow her father had once again assumed the leadership mantle, slipping easily into his former role as Marine Master Gunnery Sergeant. Wolf's simple
Sir
established a clear line of command. Whatever plans were in place, she would find out only if and when her father decided to share.

Jake finished his coffee and set the mug aside. He pointed to the doorway to the living room and said, "I'll get my things."

"Shall I...?" Wolf hesitated.

Jake ducked his head and said, "What we discussed. That'll do."

Caitlin poured the last of the coffee into a mug for Wolf, added sugar and creamer and handed it to him. He smiled and took a sip. Jake got up and muttered something under his breath, ticking off his to-do list. They hardly noticed when he left the kitchen.

Setting the mug on the counter Wolf brushed her mouth with his tongue, drawing a warm breath onto his chilled lips. Crushing her against the counter, he entwined his fingers in her hair and pressed his groin against her belly, almost frenetic and demanding as he sought to mark his territory.

She wondered once more at the man-whore image that blossomed in her mind's eye. If their situation hadn't been so dire she might have found some amusement value in that thought, but now she worried that it could become a liability if her kriger was so distracted that he failed to be the warrior they needed.

Half embarrassed, she said, "Not now. My father's in the other room, for God's sake."

"I-I'm sorry, Caitlin. I can't seem to help myself. You drive me crazy." He gave her a wolfish smile, his eyes gleaming gold-brown, hard-edged and predatory. He would have her and nothing would stand in his way. "Come upstairs with me. Now."

Brooking no argument he swept her through the doorway and past Jake who muttered, "We don't have time for that."

"We won't be long." Wolf continued to propel her up the stairs.

"Fifteen minutes, boy." Jake didn't try to keep the snicker out of his voice as Wolf said under his breath, "Not a problem."

She turned back to stare at her lover, growling, "You have
got
to be kidding."

****

J
ake mumbled to no one in particular, "I'll put this shit in the car," but they'd already retreated to the far bedroom. He hastened to the garage, out of earshot, hoping they would get it out of their systems soon.

He had a fairly good idea what they were up against. Wolf had filled him in on what had transpired at the cabin and he'd touched on the unusual bonding between him and Caty, though how the mechanics of it functioned no one seemed clear. What worried him was that Trey had the same draw, link, whatever they called it. Wolf knew about the Falcon, knew he was on the other end of that tether. It gave some credence to his obsessive need to mark his territory and establish Caty as his mate. If, when, Trey found out that Caty was still alive, it would be like having two bull elks in rutting season with his daughter as the prize.

He'd need to get them back to the safe house he'd established near their old homestead. They'd have to regroup, touch base with Trey, then go after Kieran, assuming he'd surfaced somewhere. After that, he didn't have a clear plan anymore. Having Caty back in the mix muddied the waters. Now he had both his offspring to protect, the one a dope head, brains fried to mush, with the instincts of a born killer, the other set to have her heart torn in two.

There was no doubt that something significant had passed between Caty and the Falcon. The man was a shell, an automaton, with nothing but vengeance as his constant companion and an odd sense of retribution, as if saving Kieran could make up for everything. His son was the one point around which all of them shared the same goal—get him the hell away from Greyfalcon.

Having Eirik gone was another element no one had planned for. How that fell out in terms of transfer of power within the Althings he hadn't a clue. He couldn't even be sure what Gunnarr's response might be to learning of his brother's death. Though the men had been bitter rivals for centuries in earth-time, there had still been a level of affection and trust between them. He'd been one of the few who knew that the brothers met occasionally, reaching an accord when the needs of family out-weighed their business commitments ... and their mission statements.

Eirik had taken the nominal high-road, with lofty goals and an eye toward infusing new blood into their limited gene pool. He'd come across as benevolent and altruistic, but he approached his research, and their human subjects, with a Machiavellian fervor. Eirik had shown himself to be as ruthless and cunning as his estranged brother. The fact that his second-in-command, Trey, had a body count that was legendary, even amongst Gunnarr's group, proved the lengths to which he was willing to go to achieve Althing survival.

Trey's rescue and return to Greyfalcon, engineered by Gunnarr, surprised no one. But what rocked their worlds was Trey's apparent willingness to carry out his father's nefarious schemes, at least in the near term. Without Eirik at the Althing helm to balance the competing forces it left a dangerous gap in the balance of power.

The one thing the squabbling groups agreed on was the sanctity of the Portals. No one wanted to relinquish control over the gateways to other worlds—other dimensions—releasing them to an uncertain fate should avaricious humans discover their secrets. What had split the brothers into competing camps was how to use those singular assets for individual gain. Eirik had treated it like some giant anthropological playground. Gunnarr had chosen profit.

And, just like that, the Mafiya smelled an advantage, though for now they were unclear as to exactly what the stakes might be. They seemed willing to keep it to their normal comfort level—arms, drugs, prostitution and worse—all business as usual. Gunnarr's cousin, Knutr, had upped the ante by using the Portals to circumvent normal supply chain channels. He prayed that either his son or Trey had removed Knutr from the equation.

There were too many competing factions. It could make for complications or it could give them exactly what they needed to bring the situation under control. He knew there was no way in hell he was going to take out a well-funded and well-organized crime syndicate, either earth-based or 'other'. He scratched his head over what to call the Althings and Gunnarr's people. Supernaturals? Other-dimensional-beings? They were nominally human, existing just outside of space-time as he knew it. His wife would have called it a conundrum, given her family's peculiar lineage. For himself? Well, he wasn't sure he'd recognize 'normal' if it smacked him in the face.

Jake glanced at his watch and barked, "What the hell are they doing up there?"

"We're here." Wolf muscled two duffel bags through the door and set them behind the rear seats in the SUV.

Jake watched with interest as the giant guided his daughter gently toward the vehicle. His girl managed to look annoyed and bemused at the same time. She moved gingerly and he tried hard not to think about that.

"Dad, let Wolf drive."

"Uh, yeah, son. Do you mind?"

Wolf shook his head
no
and slid onto the driver side seat. He looked at Jake, smug but respectful. "Put your seatbelt on. Sir."

"Dad, where are we going?"

"Someplace where we can see them coming, Caty girl."

Caitlin sighed with pleasure. "Home."

"It'll be the first place they'll look."

Wolf asked, "If it's the first place they'll be looking for us, then why...?"

"Because there's more to 'home' than just a cottage, boy. You'll want to explain it to him, Caty, while I doze. Didn't get much sleep what with all the... Well, never mind."

Wolf put the vehicle in four-wheel-drive and exited right onto the freshly plowed road. He tapped at the GPS, brow furrowed as he considered his options. Satisfied he had a route that would confuse any tails, he swung left at the "T" and carefully inched his way down the steep mountain.

****

T
rey listened carefully to the soft murmurings amongst the men stationed about the single-story pink and tan bungalow. It nestled in a dense planting of palms and some spiky plants that made a stealth approach along the perimeter of the house difficult. He counted three in his direct line of sight. More would be scattered about the compound. So far he had avoided the sentries doing wall duty, tuning his shields to minimum so he could still see clearly in the late evening dusk.

The weather had turned warm and sultry for Dade County, Florida in mid-December. After leaving Jake, he'd tapped into his sources at Greyfalcon, intimidating the techs into revealing intel regarding Knutr's possible whereabouts. He'd followed leads and gotten lucky. And now even the steaming atmospheric soup worked in his favor, masking his shield's natural tendency to waver and dance. The less attention he attracted, the better.

He had little to go on. Rumors mostly, from a panicked Russkie who'd probably made up more than half the shit he spewed. He hoped he wouldn't regret leaving the carcass where it had fallen. His link vibrated at a level that kept his guts in a constant state of agitation, draining his patience and driving him to make the snap decisions that had always been his hallmark. He had no clue what it meant or why it should be activating now. He hoped and prayed to his goddess that it had something to do with Caitlin's brother. The stupid git had gone off the reservation and probably lay under some overpass, high as a kite. What he hadn't done was his job.

Gunnarr, in his infinite wisdom, had tasked the junkie with the hit on Knutr. Trey understood the rationale to some extent. Don't use family to take out family. It sent exactly the right message—just business, nothing personal. If it had worked, the other capos would have fallen right in line, with any objections quickly put to rest. Besides, not many knew about Kieran's little problem. The kid was a stone cold killing machine, even zoned out of his skull.
He
was good, better than good, but this kid was in the realm of spooky.

A
nyet
and a chuckle punctured the stillness. The stream of Russian oddly contrasted with the occasional 'okay' and 'fuckin' A'. He didn't need to understand the language. He just needed to know where his targets were. The Uzi sat comfortably against his hip, as did two tear gas canisters and his stiletto. The Glock was a smaller caliber than he liked but beggars couldn't be choosers. His little Russian stooge had coughed up a decent enough stash while under duress, sufficient for his needs given he'd had to lose his private arsenal before slipping through the Portal system. There would be red flags waving, but without Gunny riding herd on the new set of slackers in control central there was a good chance his egress through the system would go undetected or unremarked.

Trey settled against the stucco surface of the wall surrounding the small compound and waited. Clouds had moved in with a threat of rain. He willed it so. Wet, uncomfortable conditions would send the men to huddle under the eaves, concentrating his targets in one vector. It rarely drizzled in southern Florida. Rather, gully washers were the norm—they'd drown out any noise he might make.

There had to be a reason for the abnormal number of bodyguards around a second-rate bungalow. This
bratva
tended toward glitz and conspicuous consumption, the head American-born of a former Soviet KGB operative and a well-connected Cuban immigrant. It gave Leonov a certain cache with the Cuban gangs who extended a Hispanic version of glasnost to their enterprising neighbor in crime. It had to be Knutr holed up in there. Likely allowed to live because he hadn't coughed up everything the Mafiya head wanted or needed to know about Gunnarr's organization.

Leonov would want to understand how Knutr managed shipments that got around every surveillance net, short-circuiting even his own wide-spread grid. Whether or not Knutr would violate Greyfalcon's most sacred trust was anyone's guess, but he had a good idea as to how this was going down. Betrayal wasn't new. The consequences were clear-cut. Justice was meted out with surgical precision. If he were a betting man, he'd go with Knutr spilling the beans about the Portals. He'd withhold just enough to control his own future and give himself the patina of being 'indispensible'.

The rain failed to materialize. Shifts changed. Boredom and tedium took their toll. Two of the guards dozed fitfully while the third played games on his cell phone. The wall patrol passed with decreasing frequency. The lights in the house winked out, flaring on again in a different section, to his left and in his quadrant. Stupid to advertise movement within. A faint bluish light danced on the veranda off to his right. Likely the interior guard had fallen asleep in front of the TV.