Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel (4 page)

Leaning her head against the mesh, she closed her eyes, trying to clear her head. But it felt muzzier than when she’d first woken up—and the terrible thought skittered through her brain that there had been some kind of drug in her dinner.

She pulled at the mesh, forcing herself not to scream and not to sob. Probably they’d know it if she broke down, and maybe they’d come running in here to take advantage of her weakness.

Teeth clenched, she closed her eyes for a moment.

Either she was crazy, or Dr. Raymond and the rest of the people here were trying to convince her that she was.

She wanted to believe it was the latter, for all the good that did her. The one thing she knew for sure was that if she stayed here for long, she would never be the same again.

The wolf had stopped to take down a buck and eat some of the meat, reveling in the wild song coursing through his veins.

He could do this only occasionally where he lived. If anyone found a half chewed deer, they’d start hunting the creature that had done it. Always he’d come back later in human form to remove the evidence. Here he could get away with a wolf’s normal hunting instincts.

He drank at a small, quick-flowing stream, the cold water a jolt to his system. Then, just for fun, he stopped to watch a couple of raccoons fishing. But he grew restless and pressed on, walking in the same direction, as though some invisible string were pulling him forward—dictating the exact direction he took.

Not long after he’d washed the blood from his mouth and face, he saw a building in the distance and knew it was his destination.

It was a massive house, out of place in the wilderness. Who had put it here? And why? Was it on national forest land, or did their property adjoin the park?

A warning flashed deep in his brain. This was the place that had drawn him, but he should turn around and get the hell away—before it was too late.

He dismissed that option with a snarl and crept closer, his wary gaze flicking from his surroundings to the house and back again. He saw the structure had two floors and several wings. It was built in a modern style, as though huge, rectangular modules had been trucked in and bolted together. Trees had been cleared around the foundations to make a perimeter, and a chain-link fence topped by razor wire enclosed the whole property. As he circled around, staying in the shadow of the trees, he saw that there was only one way in or out—a wide gate that faced the front of the building.

When a door opened and two men came out, he faded back into the woods far enough to hide his presence but still close enough to let him eavesdrop. Both men were muscular, rough looking types that Brand would categorize as security or bodyguards. Both were dressed in jeans and dark polo shirts, with light jackets, which would hide the weapons they were certainly carrying.

They stood on a small porch, where both of them got out cigarettes, lighting up and taking long drags of smoke into their lungs.

The wolf grimaced, fighting not to cough as the fumes drifted toward him. Cigarette smoke always played havoc with his lungs, and the deep woods were the last place he’d expect to smell it.

“How is it going?” one of them asked.

“Hard to tell,” the other answered dismissively “She just got here, but I think we have her tied up in knots. I meant figuratively. She’s free to walk around, at least on a limited basis.”

“She’s at dinner? With the ringers?”

“She finished, and I took her up.”

“She ate enough to get her happy juice?”

“I couldn’t tell.”

“Is it going to make her spill her guts to Raymond?”

“Who knows? It’s a pretty weird way to work. They should just torture the information out of her and be done with it.”

“She might lie. And after that, they have a battered body to explain. This way they’ve got more options.”

“I thought she was just gonna disappear when they’re finished with her.”

“Still, it’s better not to have evidence of torture if someone stumbles over the body.”

The wolf listened to the casual talk of torture and murder. Jesus, what was going on in this place?

They were talking about a woman they were holding here. They wanted information from her. And it sounded like she was in big trouble whether she told them or not.

He moved away from the men, wondering if there was a way to get onto the property. After turning a corner, he chanced getting closer to the fence and found a place where runoff had washed away the soil under the chain-link fence. He was thinking about digging out more of the soil and slipping under when he saw a man dressed liked the two he’d seen earlier walking along the edge of the enclosure, obviously doing a perimeter check. Were they expecting some kind of rescue operation, or was the patrol just a precaution? And how often did they come along?

Staying in the shadows, Brand kept circling the property, seeing that several of the rooms had sliding glass doors that opened onto small balconies. Two of them were entirely open, but one was caged like an enclosure for a dangerous animal at a zoo.

As he drew closer, he saw the woman they must have been talking about. She stood with her fingers thrusting through some of the holes in the mesh and her forehead pressed against the barrier.

While he watched, she straightened, and he saw a determination come into her face and body. She might be a captive, but she wasn’t going to roll over and let these bastards grind their boots into her.

He felt a jolt of admiration—and more—as he took in her blond hair, her delicate features, and the small hands that clutched the mesh of her cage.

She looked beautiful, so vulnerable, and so desirable that he felt his heart squeeze inside his chest. Although the notion might be fanciful, he was sure the promise of meeting her was what had brought him to this place. More than that, he knew he had to rescue her—and make love with her.

Some part of his mind recoiled at the out-of-kilter reaction—and he scrambled for an explanation. Was she a witch? Was that why they were holding her here? Did she have some special power that affected men? Or was the burning attraction he felt reserved for him alone?

There were only questions—no answers. And as he slipped from tree to tree, she raised her head. Although the men had not spotted him, she easily found him in the shadows.

Their eyes locked, and they stared at each other for long moments. He had no idea what she felt, but he was seized by a jolt of sensation that made the fur on his body quiver.

And suddenly something like the fight or flight imperative kicked in. He had been a fool to come here. Now he should run from her before it was too late. No, it was already too late. The ability to flee was only an illusion. He shook off that dark notion and moved closer, until only about thirty yards of space separated them.

She watched his progress, and when he halted near the fence, disappointment flooded her face.

“Help me,” she whispered. The plea might have been too low for a human to hear, but not for a wolf.

He nodded, every instinct urging him to dig his way under the barrier. But then what?

He was a covert operative, carefully trained by Frank Decorah and his agents. On a rational level, he knew what he should do if he wanted to help this woman. He should return to his camp, make some preparations, and come back tomorrow when he had a better idea of what he was doing. Teeth gritted, he turned and faded back into the woods, heading for his camp, making plans as he moved silently through the forest.

Brand made it a few hundred yards into the woods, every cell in his body screaming for him to turn around.

And finally the thought of leaving the woman caged and in danger made him almost physically ill. He turned and started back— an image blazing in his brain.

It was of himself, rushing the fence and slamming against it. He ached to find the men who had been talking about her and rip out their throats for what they had done to her—and their casual discussion of her situation.

And if he did any of that, he’d be shot as a rabid beast.

He came silently back, and he saw the woman still on the balcony behind the wire mesh. Now she was standing with her head bowed, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

The sight of her helplessness was like a knife twisting in his gut.

He made a small yipping sound.

Immediately, she raised her head, making eye contact again, their gazes locking.

“I thought you’d left me, but you came back,” she breathed.

He nodded.

“You understand me?”

Unable to help himself, he nodded again, then sat and raised his paw in a silent salute.

As he did, she flattened her hand against the mesh, pressing her palm into the hard metal.

“My name is Tory,” she murmured. “Please, I’m in trouble. Can you help me?”

The only thing he could do was nod. She had told him her name, and knowing it was a joy.

He wanted to tell her who he was, but there was no way for a wolf to speak. When he was on an assignment in animal form, he could use hand—or rather paw—signals. But she wouldn’t understand them.

He scratched at the ground—the signal for staying—longing to make her understand that he wasn’t leaving. But for now, his only option was to back away, his breath freezing in his lungs as he watched the way the hope in her eyes dimmed. Turning, she went back inside.

But he wasn’t going to simply leave her here. He was sure he could get into the compound. Finding her would be more difficult—although he knew she was on the second floor and on which side of the house.

When a light went on in the room beyond the balcony, it was like a signal to him.

From the outside, he could see her room, which might not help him once he got into the building. He studied the layout as he walked along the fence, coming back to the place where he knew a wolf could slip under.

He sat down in the shadows, waiting with his heart pounding for the guard to return.

Now he silently counted, judging the time passing. He thought it was twenty minutes before the man came back, walking along the inside of the fence. The wolf growled deep in his throat and waited until the enemy was out of sight. Then he slunk to the barrier and enlarged the hole with his claws until there was enough room to wiggle under. Once on the other side, he scratched at the dirt again, making the hole smaller and pawing leaves over the ground to make it look like the rest of the surroundings.

Satisfied that his escape route was secure, he sprinted to the side of the house and moved around it, making sure he hadn’t been spotted as he searched for a way in.

oOo

From inside her room, Tory stared at the spot where the wolf—or perhaps it was a big dog—had faded into the shadows under the trees, she fought the sensation that he was abandoning her.

But what would that mean? He was only an animal out on the prowl. Only an animal? Well, he seemed to be trained. The look in his eyes had been highly intelligent, and he’d nodded at her and raised his paw when she’d spoken to him. It was almost like he understood perfectly what she was saying and wanted to give her his name the way she’d told him hers.

She tried to shake the muzzy feeling from her brain. Had she really gone so far into wishful thinking that she was imagining that a wolf had understood she was in trouble and was coming in here to rescue her?

With a deep sigh, she lifted her hand up and scrubbed it over her face, trying to clear her thoughts. But they were so foggy that she wasn’t sure that what she had seen was real—or if she’d imagined the whole thing. Did she think the wolf was her only real friend when everybody else was playing a role? And he was going to somehow get her out of this mess?

The thought brought a hollow laugh.

She took one more look into the darkness outside the asylum.

“Come back,” she called.

There was no answer, and finally she switched on the overhead light and looked around her prison. Dr. Son of a Bitch had told her she’d been here for weeks, but there was nothing familiar about the room.

Silently she looked for something she recognized, once again examining the single bed along one wall and the shelves with folded clothing neatly lined up. She’d seen them a few minutes ago, but she couldn’t remember them from before. In the bathroom she found a plastic cup, a toothbrush, a small bar of soap that looked like it had been used several times, and a box of tissues on the toilet tank. Of course there was nothing she could use to help her escape.

A memory flickered in her mind, and she touched the side of her face. One of the goons had smacked her at the airport, and she thought the spot still felt a little tender. Or maybe she was making that up to fuel her conviction that she’d just gotten here. Too bad she hadn’t torn a nail trying to fight him off. Then she’d have proof of her conviction that she hadn’t been here for weeks.

She felt grimy, but she didn’t want to get undressed and take a shower, not when she wasn’t quite steady on her feet and when she didn’t know who might come in. She settled for washing her face and brushing her teeth before returning to the bedroom.

Kicking off her shoes, she flopped down on the mattress, not bothering to change her clothes or slip under the covers. It was in defiance of her normal behavior. Would the bastards that ran this place mark that up against her?

Patient refuses to wear nightclothes?

Lying in the dark, she listened for sounds around her. She heard nothing except perhaps the murmur of distant voices drifting up from the lower floor.

So were they all downstairs plotting their next moves against her? Or were they really watching
The Sound of Music
, and she was only being paranoid?

Trying to think logically made her head hurt, and she closed her eyes, gripping the side of the bed to steady herself. In her mind she was picturing someone coming to check on her.

If they did, she could pretend to be sleeping, then overpower him and get away.

The pipe dream was comforting. But she was pretty sure no one would give her a chance to escape—not after she’d almost gotten away at the airport yesterday.

Yesterday. She knew damn well it had only been the day before, no matter what everyone was insisting. She hung on to that conviction, even when her thoughts began to fuzz over as though mold spores were growing on them.

oOo

The wolf circled the house, staying close to the foundation, looking up for cameras recording his movements. As far as he could tell, there were none. The lack of video surveillance spoke of supreme confidence. Whoever had equipped this place was sure that nobody was coming to rescue the woman. Probably because nobody even knew where she was.

Brand halted as he heard the low buzz of voices inside, but the window was closed and he couldn’t distinguish what anyone was saying. Even with his wolf senses, he could tell only that several different people were involved. He stopped to evaluate. One man was doing most of the talking. The others were listening and sometimes commenting.

Padding on, he came to an open door and felt a surge of excitement. It was an invitation into the building—or a trap. Yet he couldn’t turn away.

Creeping cautiously closer, he was able to look into a kitchen, where a man wearing jeans, a knit shirt and a white apron was standing beside a sink, loading a dishwasher. No one else was in sight, and when the guy was finished he took off the apron, folded it over the back of a chair, and disappeared through a doorway.

Now or never, Brand thought as he slipped inside, paused to make sure he wasn’t being observed, then sprinted across the kitchen to a darkened hallway, where he stood listening.

He could see a lighted room down the hall. It must have been the room where the people were talking. He could still hear their voices, and then a man stepped into the hall and headed in his direction. In the shadows, Brand froze, readying himself to turn tail and run—an animal that had somehow come in through an open door. Before spotting the wolf, the man stepped into a room along the hallway.

A bathroom Brand figured, as he heard what must be a stream of piss hitting a toilet bowl.

Silently he backed away. If he didn’t want to be discovered, he’d better avoid the rest of the crew down the hall.

After turning in the other direction, he came to a broad flight of stairs leading up. He took them, coming out on a second floor landing, where he could look over the railing. Quickly he made his way along the hall until he came to a turn that cut off the view from downstairs. He hadn’t been sure how he was going to proceed. But he knew a wolf had limitations in this situation. The animal had gotten him in, but he couldn’t, for example, open a door.

He dragged in a breath and let it out. Taking a chance, he began to say the words of transformation in his mind. He pushed through it, muscles, skin and internal organs changing as he changed from wolf to man. Moments later, he was human again—also naked and vulnerable.

Hoping he wasn’t going to run into anyone up here, he started opening doors, looking for clothing. The first rooms he came to were entirely empty. On the fourth try, he found a room with a bed along one wall and shelves holding clothing opposite it. Unfortunately, the clothing was for a woman, but he’d seen more guys here than women.

Two doors down, he found men’s clothing that was about his size. He pulled on a pair of jeans and one of the knit shirts that he’d seen the guards wearing as they stood on the porch smoking.

The shoes were way too small. He left them where he found them, hoping he wasn’t going to have to explain why he was barefoot.

Continuing down the hall, he tried the knob on each room. A few held beds and shelves like the ones where he’d taken the clothing. Some were empty. Ten rooms contained clothing—which gave him an idea of how many people were in the house, at least the ones who slept upstairs. One room had more shelves with bed linens and towels.

He crossed the balcony area, then came back to a room halfway down the hall where the door was secured with a heavy bolt.

One locked door up here. On the side of the house where he’d seen Tory.

It could be where they stored the drugs, but he didn’t think so. This looked like a device designed to keep someone in—not out. He went back in the other direction, still seeing nothing similar on any other door.

He swallowed hard, then shot the bolt as quietly as possible, waiting the see if a guard came running. When no one appeared in the hall, he stepped inside, closing the door behind himself as he looked around. Deliberately ignoring the blond-haired woman lying on the bed, he checked the surroundings. He already knew that the sliding glass doors led to the totally enclosed balcony. Another door led to a bathroom, but the window was also secured by heavy screening bolted to the exterior wall. The window was large enough to climb through if the barrier were removed, but when he looked out, he saw a two-story drop to the ground.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he finally allowed himself to focus on the woman lying in the narrow bed.

Tory.

The first thing he saw was that she hadn’t bothered to get undressed or climb under the cover.

She lay with her eyes closed, unmoving. Did the rhythm of her breathing denote sleep? Or was she faking it?

As he walked closer, his gaze swept her delicate face and the blond hair framing it.

He breathed in her scent, a mixture of soap and woman that should have been ordinary, but he found it intoxicating. His eyes skimmed over her body as he focused on the swell of her breasts, the slight curve of her hips under the sweatpants, the long legs and the graceful, long-fingered hands that lay at her sides.

As he took her in, his brain buzzed with raw emotions that he had never experienced before and couldn’t name. A voice in his head urged him to turn and flee the room—flee whatever it was that drew him to this woman the way he’d been drawn to no other.

But the voice faded as he took a step closer, unable to turn away. He wanted to press his lips to hers, to undress her and draw her naked body against his, and he knew he was teetering on the edge of a journey from which there was no return.

Her features were relaxed, but as he leaned over her, he saw what looked like sleep change to determination.

The realization came too late as she lunged upward, trying to knock him aside.