Roman's Gold (Underground Heat, Book 1) (16 page)

“No offense, Bolton, but what if you don’t make it? It ain’t like the brass are just gonna lean back and let the lot of us waltz out of here.”

No, they aren’t.
Devon wondered how many of these men—he was starting to look at them as his men—would die. “If Bolton doesn’t show, you’ll meet there anyway. You’ll need clothes and shoes and black market cash. Anything you can pick up along the way will help. If you’ve worked undercover, you’ll have connections. Don’t be shy about using them. Don’t wait for me. The captain put out the call to pick up my girlfriend. I have to help her if I can.”

He inhaled sharply. “Listen up. Whoever said that about Bolton maybe not getting out alive made a good point. It’s dangerous to leave. No one has to. It’s up to you. If you want to make a break for it, the more of us there are, the better the odds, but no one will hold it against you if you opt out. That’s especially true for the ones without any shifter blood.”

“We’re all in,” Tabor growled. “We talked about it.”

“Yeah, and furthermore,” the gaunt blond cop stepped forward, “even if they let us out of this shithole, we were all going to quit anyway. Bastards. How can we work for arbitrary assholes like that?”

What an incredible group of men.
Devon wished he had time to get to know them better.
Maybe I still can.
He examined the lock holding the metal door in place. “Does anyone know much about this holding tank?”

“Why?” The nearest officer walked over naked and barefoot, and bent to look closely at the lock. “Son of a bitch. I don’t think it’s electronic.”

“My take exactly. How about if one of you bears takes a crack at it.” He repeated himself in mind speech. A grizzly lumbered forward and drew his front leg back.
“Wait.”
Devon turned to the others. “Find your animal forms. You have a better chance in them because you can run faster and you’ll scare the shit out of whoever’s after you. You can shift back once you’re clear of the station.”

“We’ll be naked.”

“True enough.” Devon grinned. “This is Berkeley, home of the weird. No one will probably even notice.”

He nodded to the grizzly and claimed his cat form. A single paw stroke broke the lock. Men and animals surged forward.

“Halt or I’ll shoot.” Two officers jumped in front of them. Weapon fire reverberated in the hallway. The
phut
of lasers and the
ping
of live ammo made Devon’s skin crawl. His cat form liked bullets even less than he did. Shrieks, snarls, and hisses tore into Devon’s soul. He jumped a guard and batted him hard enough to knock him out. He wasn’t ready to kill—not yet. If Kate were injured or dead, though, all bets were off.

Something hot seared his side. He couldn’t stop to check his injury. A laser had grazed him, hopefully nothing worse. Devon raced through the door leading to the underground parking garage. Tabor had his hand on the electronic plate to keep it open. His chest bloomed red just as Devon leaped through the door.

It was foolhardy, but he wanted to go back. To shift and scoop Tabor up and see he got to a hospital, but his cat urged him on. He hit street level and ran fast enough to match the traffic. His side burned. He ignored it. Once he’d put a few blocks between him and the station, he ducked into an alley. A couple of winos screamed and bolted for the street.
Bet they’ll think it’s the worst case of DTs they ever had.

He reached for his human form. Broken glass cut into his feet. He looked at his side. A long red welt oozed blood. More than oozed. It dripped in a steady stream. He culled through a trash bin, found a filthy robe and tied it around him. It stank of vomit. He walked gingerly out of the alley. Once he hit the city streets, he shambled into a jog. His house was only a mile or so away. The odds of the cops staking it out were thin what with all of them on the run. He needed clothing and money and first aid supplies to clean his wound. Once he had those, he’d buy another wrist computer and work on finding Kate.

Sirens blared. Devon ducked into another alley.
Crap.
Maybe this would be harder than he thought. He said a silent prayer most of them had made it and struck out again for home. It was nearly dark. He stuck to the shadows and used his Native American skills to blend into the darkness.

By the time he turned down his street, his feet were killing him and his side burned. The ratty robe was soaked with blood; he felt lightheaded. He crawled over his back fence and dug the spare key out of a flowerpot. Devon fell face down on his kitchen floor. Consciousness flirted with him, then slipped away.

He didn’t know how long he was passed out, only that he lay in a pool of congealed blood. His blood. Moonlight filtered through the kitchen windows. “Goddamn it.” His voice sounded rusty to him. “After all that, I am not going to die here.”

He grasped the edge of the counter and hauled himself upright. He dropped the robe on the floor, turned the water on, and washed his wound. It seemed clean enough except for whatever vermin had been in the robe. About eight inches long, blood seeped the minute he took pressure off it. In the old days before lasers, razor wounds used to look like that.

Devon grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the ledge, uncapped it with his teeth, and poured it down his side to sterilize things. He spit out the cap and took a couple swallows from the bottle, welcoming the burn as the liquor hit his stomach. That done, he clumped heavily to the bathroom, and piled gauze squares over his open flesh. He wound a large elasticized bandage around his torso, securing it with metal butterfly strips.

He rustled through his medicine cabinet and found a nearly full bottle of antibiotics from when he’d had an abscessed tooth. He popped two in his mouth and swallowed them dry. He set the bottle on the ledge, planning to take it with him. Maybe it wasn’t the right antibiotic, but at least it was better than nothing—he hoped.

Because he was on the move, his head felt clearer. He rinsed the stink of the robe off himself and got dressed, amazed Captain Aaron hadn’t shown up on his doorstep. Devon debated taking his personal car. He’d be safer on foot, but he didn’t feel all that steady. He scooped up his pills, his black market cash, and some food, took a healthy swig from the whiskey bottle and clattered down his back steps. He backtracked for water. He had to be dehydrated from losing blood. He drank a quart standing at the sink, filled two poly bottles, and took them with him.

He told the car’s nav system to take him to the electronics shop he’d visited after he’d seen Dr. Adams. It was four in the morning, but their sign had advertised they never closed. The proprietor, a different clerk than last time, whistled when Devon pushed the swinging door inward and strode inside. “Looks like you ran up against a gorilla and lost, dude.” The clerk’s long black hair pulled into a ponytail made his high cheekbones and a beak of a nose stand out; he looked Native American.

“Not funny.”

“Wasn’t trying to be. What can I help you with?”

“I want that one.” Devon pointed to a wrist computer in a locked glass case. The clerk got it out and launched into a sales pitch. Devon cut him off. “How much?”

“Four hundred credits. Black market only.”

Devon checked to see the computer was complete with case, charger and plug-ins. He counted out bills and walked out of the store. Apparently price was a fluctuating commodity in places like that.
Next time, I’ll barter with the guy.

He drove a few blocks to one of the public library branches and parked. Libraries always had parking, especially in the middle of the night. No one read anymore.

He tapped Kate’s number into the display. A tinny recording,
This number is offline,
jolted him. He tried her home and got the same recording. Her office still had her voice cheerfully telling him to leave a message. He hit the disconnect key. If her home and wrist computers were defunct, no way she’d be checking her office voice mail, but the cops might.

He sucked air, trying to think. If he had Max’s number, he would have called him. He castigated himself for not getting it from Kate. He thought about calling the Governor’s office, but knew how stupid that would be. No one would be there at this hour. Even if they were, Max wouldn’t talk with him—not from his day job.

Because he had to do something—stewing in his own angst was killing him—he programmed Kate’s address into the car’s computer. Maybe there’d be some clues at her house. If they’d apprehended her there—or worse—he was pretty certain he’d find a trail.

He forced himself to drink water and eat processed cheese, crackers, and cookies while his car picked the best route to get across town. He took the car off autopilot as it climbed higher into the Berkeley Hills. When he was still three or four blocks away, he hunted for a place to stash his car far enough off the roadway it couldn’t be seen. A dirt road wound off to his right. He pulled as far as he could into what had once been an apple orchard and killed his motor.

Devon tucked his hair under a cap. He bent to smear dirt on his face. Nothing he could do about his height and broad shoulders; they were a dead giveaway. He started toward the road when his cat kicked up a fuss. It wanted out. Now. Devon thought about the logistics of removing his bandage and suggested a compromise. The cat’s senses flooded him.

He hadn’t spent enough time in his cat form to be truly conversant with either it or the ways he could tap into its abilities while still human. He made a commitment to remedy that as soon as he found Kate and things settled a bit.

Devon inhaled sharply.
Kate.
No wonder his cat had pitched a fit. Kate had been here. Well, maybe not here exactly, but close by. And not so long ago. He walked carefully down the dirt road, feline vision glued to the ground, nostrils flaring. He found motorcycle tracks and footprints. He knelt and sniffed. Yes, they were her footprints. She’d stood here.

He straightened. Joy swooped through him. He wanted to screech
thank you
to whichever god had let her see his warning, but silence served his purposes better. They hadn’t caught her. She’d gotten at least this far, which meant she’d probably given the bastards the slip.

He glanced toward her house. Was it still worth visiting? As long as he was there, he might as well. Maybe he could find Max’s contact information.

Devon circled uphill carefully, keeping to the woods behind the deserted houses across the street from Kate’s. No point walking into a trap. He kept the cat’s senses front and center, using them to ferret out danger. He wished he understood the shifter magic Kate told him about, but right now anything more difficult than sneaking uphill was beyond him. He still felt weak and disoriented. Sleep would help.

No. No sleep until I find Kate.

He stayed hidden in trees across from her house for long minutes. Nothing moved. He sucked in a steadying breath, scenting the air. Smells bombarded him, none of them human. Devon crept forward. He headed for Kate’s back door using clumps of trees and large rocks for cover. Another thirty feet and he’d have it. Then he could pick the lock and—

“I knew you’d show up here. Freeze or I’ll blast you to hell after the mess you made of my station house.”

Devon straightened from his crouch, hands over his head. His cat screamed imprecations. It wanted to kill the bastard.
“Kill it now, goddamn it.”

Devon gauged the distance between him and Captain Aaron; his mind raced as he tried to map out a defense. He cursed himself for not bringing a weapon. That oversight might be his undoing. And Kate’s.

After today’s escape, they’d chuck him in solitary and throw away the key. Or maybe just kill him outright. He eyed a pile of decorative boulders. He could dive behind them and chuck smaller rocks at his boss.

“How’d you mask your scent, Captain?” Devon made the question casual and edged closer to the rocks which might save his life.

“That information’s classified. You’re not on the force anymore.” Lance Aaron stepped from the shadows behind Kate’s house, assault rifle leveled at Devon’s chest. “It’s a damned shame, son. You were a good cop. I liked you, but I won’t tolerate insubordination.”

“I wasn’t insubordinate. I took your fucking drug. If you wouldn’t have forced me, we wouldn’t be here.”

“No comment.”

A faint rustle pricked Devon’s enhanced senses.
Crap.
Did Captain Aaron have reinforcements stashed somewhere? Made sense. He probably wasn’t working alone. Devon’s heart sped up; his throat tightened. Maybe his boulder strategy wouldn’t work after all. Not if he had to ward off multiple assailants.

From out of nowhere, a bear, a mountain lion, and a coyote converged on the captain, bellies low to the earth. He spun, rifle firing wildly, but his aim was high and he was a shade too late. The animals leaped on him from three sides and drove him to the ground. The weapon skittered out of his hands. Devon dove on top of it and rolled. His side screeched in protest. He jumped to his feet, rifle in hand, and aimed it at Aaron’s head.

“Call off your shifter buddies,” Captain Aaron shouted. “That’s an order, Heartshorn.”

“Oh, really.” Devon strode closer and stood over his former boss. “You just told me I was off the force. That means I don’t have to follow your orders anymore. Too bad, Aaron.”

“I’ll reinstate you. We’ll forget any of this happened. I’ll, ah, even take Roman off the shifter list.”

“Don’t grovel. There was a time I respected you.” Devon glanced at the three shifters and made a chopping motion with one hand.
“Go for it, buddies.”

Devon let himself into Kate’s house. A long drawn-out scream followed him. It ended in a gurgling retch. Probably someone had driven a claw through the captain’s larynx to shut him up.

Devon’s eyes widened when he saw the wreckage of Kate’s living room. Christ! Her house had been ransacked. He heard claws on the back stairs and turned.
“Thank you, whoever you are. You saved my life.”

The bear ambled close.
“We’re friends of Kate’s. That’s all you need to know.”