Secret Worlds (505 page)

“We are not your servants, Ms. Cray. You are on our clock, and if you want to have any chance of surviving this shit storm, you need to pull your shit together,” Johnson said, his anger flaring like a match put to kerosene.

The anger he directed at me, while understandable, triggered a similar response of my own. Fury warmed my belly and lent stiffness to my spine.

“What the hell is your problem?”

“You’re my problem,” he said, stepping close enough for me to see each pore on his nose.

I was always a pretty private person. Even before Samson’s attack I had preferred my own company to that of others, and afterwards I had just retreated further into my little world. I wasn’t fond of unfamiliar people, and I sure as hell didn’t like people getting in my face.

“Hey, I’m not the one who called in the fucking circus!”

Stepping back to a more comfortable distance, I waved a hand at the horde of reporters on the other side of the door. Their demands for an interview had been a constant hum in the background, but now as I focused on them for a second, I was able to pick out individual voices clamoring for attention. Gritting my teeth, I blocked out the noise, and turned my attention back to the agent glaring daggers at me. From the all-too-male gleam in his eye, I knew I was giving him quite the view as my wild gestures flapped the tails of Holbrook’s shirt around my bare thighs, but I just didn’t have the energy to care.

At that moment the door swung open, a gust of cold wind billowing into the room, lifting the front of my shirt to flash my now not-so-private parts to the multitude of cameras. Squinting at the flood of lights I was just able to make out the shape of Chrismer through the white spots dancing across my vision.

Fuck a duck!

Johnson’s face flushed the worrying shade of purple again and I winced, steeling myself for the impending splatter that would surely happen when his head exploded.

Blinking rapidly to clear my watering eyes, the blur of shapes and colors solidified into the mass of reporters cramming themselves into the doorway. I wasn’t at all surprised to see Chrismer taking point, a smug smile curving her bright red lips.

“Great, it’s the queen bee and her lecherous cronies.” My lips pulled back in a snarl. Besides Samson, there wasn’t anyone else in the world that I hated with such a deep gut-wrenching passion as Chrismer.

With an exaggerated sway of her hips she stepped forward, standing apart from the other reporters who regarded her with a mixture of hatred and admiration.

“Riley Cray. What a
surprise
to find you here,” she purred, her eyes flashing a chilling silver for a heartbeat before fading back to their usual scrutinizing blue. The saccharine sweetness of her smile was enough to make the nausea rise again.

“Chrismer,” I replied, my voice rumbling just shy of a full out growl.

Yeah I bet you’re oh-so-shocked, bitch,
I snarled mentally, the wolf gnashing her teeth.

“Is it true that Samson Reed has escaped from White Sands Supernatural Penitentiary? There have been reports of several murders between here and New Mexico, all of them showing signs of a werewolf attack. Do you believe these are the acts of Reed?” she asked in rapid succession, barely giving me enough time to breathe, let alone answer.

“Fuck off,” I growled as I moved forward to slam the door in her face. If I was lucky, the impact might even break her nose.

“Tell me, Ms. Cray, how does it feel to know that a psychotic murderer is hunting you? Do you fear for your life?” she asked, thrusting her microphone towards me. I recoiled from it as if it were a poisonous snake, her words stabbing into me with vicious precision.

“You have no shame, do you?” I whispered, remembering all too clearly how she had hounded me during the trial, highlighting my suffering to increase her ratings.

“I’m simply trying to deliver the truth to my viewers,” she replied, her face the picture of innocence except for the cruelty shining in her eyes.

“You and your viewers can go to hell,” I hissed.

Ignoring me she pressed on. “How does it feel to have the tables turned—for the hunter to become the hunted?”

I knew I shouldn’t goad her, no matter how much she pissed me off. With a Day Servant, you weren’t just dealing with the human puppet, but also the power of the master pulling the strings. But I just couldn’t help myself. Every fiber of my being wanted to wipe that damn smug smile off her face with my fist. Seeing as punching her would likely land my ass in jail, I lashed out with the only viable weapon at my disposal.

“How about I ask you a question? Does your master have to bite that pretty little neck before he can get a stiffy, or are they making Viagra for the undead these days?” I asked, stepping up to the threshold, the cold air sweeping across my bare legs.

“Filthy mutt,” she snarled through gritted teeth, eyes shimmering cold silver as she drew on her master’s power, the gathering energy lifting her perfectly coiffed hair off her shoulders. I wasn’t sure what she was getting ready to throw at me, but it was guaranteed to hurt.

“Coffin whore,” I shot back, figuring if she was going to take me out, I should at least get one good jab in first.

Her delicate features pinched together as if she tasted something sour. And then her beautiful mask settled back into place, hiding the cold savagery beneath.

“You’re going to pay for that, Cray.”

“Oh, bite me you overrated hooker.”

Johnson’s fingers were bands of hot iron when they clamped onto my upper arm, pulling me back from the doorway like an errant child. Pushing me behind him, he faced Chrismer and the other reporters clustered together in a shivering huddle.

“That’s enough out of you,” he hissed in my ear, hot breath blowing across my skin. Ignoring me for the moment, he turned back to Chrismer and plastered a tight, professional smile on his face. “We are not prepared to make a statement at this time. However, we will be holding a press conference tomorrow morning at FBI headquarters in Denver,” Johnson said smoothly, for once looking like the Special Agent he was rather than a bitter has-been.

He held onto his professionalism a moment longer as he closed the door, and I found myself reluctantly impressed. That is, until he rounded on me and the professional façade fell, replaced with a look of seething anger.

“You. Sit. Now,” he ground out, biting off each word sharply as he extended a single thick finger towards one of the beds.

Catching Holbrook’s warning look in the corner of my eye I turned and trudged over to the nearest bed, my shoulders slumping.

“What the hell was that?” Johnson asked, the deathly calm in his voice belying the rage burning just beneath the surface.

“Harry, give her a break,” Holbrook said, stepping in front of me as if to protect me from his partner’s wrath.

“Shut it, Darius. This is as much your fault as it is hers. If you were able to keep your dick in your pants for more than five seconds, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I could tell by the stiffening of Holbrook’s shoulders, and the sudden flush that crept up his neck, that his partner had hit a sore point. Protectiveness flared inside me, washing away my hurt feelings.

“Now hold on a second,” I interrupted, jumping up from the bed to move around in front of Holbrook, doing my own white knight impersonation.

“No. You don’t get to speak, mutt. You will sit down, you will be quiet, and you will not leave this room without my say so. I’ve been ordered to protect your furry ass, and I will do my job no matter how much I would like to see that maniac tear you to pieces.”

Stunned, I sank down to the edge of the bed in silence, unable to do anything but stare wide-eyed at Johnson. He didn’t just dislike me because of my winning
personality; he despised me because of what I was. He’d just as soon see me dead, torn apart by Samson, as safely ensconced in FBI headquarters. The chilling realization made me shudder.

Without saying another word, Johnson spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, the resounding thud of the door slamming shut behind him reverberating down my spine. For a long, silent minute, Holbrook and I stared slack-jawed at each other. Finally, licking my lips, I was able to mutter, “Well, that was about as much as fun as being ass raped with a dildo made out of rusty razor blades.”

CHILLED BY JOHNSON’S outburst, Chrismer’s sudden intrusion, and the realization that Samson had been within touching distance, I hastened to find some clothes. As comforting as it was to be surrounded by the smell of Holbrook embedded in the fibers of his shirt, I needed the reassurance of my own clothes to keep the anxiety at bay.

Dressed in jeans and a thick sweater, I sat on the end of the bed to idly run my fingers through the soft, downy fur behind Loki’s ears. As much as I hoped his answering purr would lend some comfort, it did little to ease the stiffness in my shoulders. The calmness I had garnered from letting the wolf out had dissipated, leaving me tired and cranky.

“So, is Johnson always this much of an asshole?” I asked, looking up at Holbrook where he paced back and forth in front of the muted TV, the screen showing the outside of the motel and Chrismer’s perfect, smiling face. Fantasies of pounding her face into a snow bank danced through my mind, lifting the corners of my mouth into a vicious smile.

“He’s not a bad guy, Riley,” he answered, interrupting my daydreams.

“Could have fooled me.”

Pausing in his restless pacing, Holbrook ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a curt knock on the door. It cracked open just wide enough for an agent bundled up in winter gear to pop his head into the room.

“We’re moving out in ten minutes, Sir.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Holbrook smiled weakly at the agent. “Thanks Tillman. It’ll be good to get back to Denver.”

“We’re not heading down to Denver. The Eisenhower Tunnel is closed due to the storm. We’re just moving over to Dillon until the roads clear.”

“Great,” Holbrook sighed. “Thanks again, Tillman. We’ll be ready.”

“Why are we moving?” I asked, pondering the sudden change of locale.

“Our location has been compromised. We’re moving to a more secure location and bringing in more agents.”

A lackluster “Oh” was all I could manage to say.

***

It only took me a few minutes to gather up my belongings. Under Holbrook’s watchful eye, I tossed my clothes and toiletries haphazardly into my duffel bag. Coercing Loki back into his carrier was another matter entirely, but I was soon packed and ready to go.

Turning to give Holbrook a brief nod to let him know that I was ready, I was struck by his transformation. He looked as though he had aged ten years in the span of just a few minutes, his eyes tired and lacking their usual brightness, while his face appeared haggard and worn. He opened the door and I braced myself for the barrage of cold wind and soulless journalists waiting outside.

I thought being escorted to the SUV by a contingent of stoic agents was a bit much, but I wasn’t going to argue with the look on Holbrook’s face, and I did have to admit that they provided an effective barrier between me and the clamoring paparazzi. Not wanting to add to the strain weighing down Holbrook’s shoulders, I got into the back of the SUV without complaint, though I was surprised when two agents climbed in on either side of me, pinning me in the middle with Loki’s carrier perched on my lap. Neither of them so much as looked at me, leaving tense silence to reign inside the vehicle.

I watched through the windshield as several equally stoic agents piled into an identical SUV with the efficiency of a team of Navy Seals. They may have been lacking anything even closely resembling human emotion, but they sure looked as though they were capable of protecting my ass. My relief was almost palpable when I saw Holbrook stalk towards our car and slide into the passenger seat; at least I wasn’t being left alone with the Sunshine Twins. A second later, my sense of relief crumbled when Johnson slid into the driver’s seat without saying a word.

“All set?” Holbrook asked, twisting in his seat to look at me sandwiched between the agents in the back.

Loki yowled in reply, one fluffy paw extending through the bars of his carrier, reaching towards Holbrook.

“As we’ll ever be.”

The drive from Breckenridge to Dillon shouldn’t have taken more than thirty minutes, but with the roads clogged by the drifting snow and increased traffic from Chrismer’s soul-sucking ilk, it took us well over an hour to make the short trip. By the time we pulled up in front of the Motel 6, I was desperate to get out of the car, a line of sweat running down my sides where the agents were pressed against me. Unfortunately, I wasn’t given enough time to catch my breath, let alone cool off a little, before Holbrook and the other agents were ushering me inside. Their vigilance was reassuring, but grated nonetheless.

A harried looking clerk was already waiting for us in the lobby when we entered, trailing snow and malcontent behind us. The clerk handed over our room keys to Johnson, his hands shaking so much that he almost dropped the little plastic cards. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why he was nervous—the stink of pot hovered around him in a noxious cloud.

The elevator ride up to the third floor was as tense and silent as the drive from Breckenridge had been, and even Loki remained uncharacteristically quiet and still in his carrier. When the doors slid open on the empty hallway Johnson pulled one of the door keys from the stack and thrust the rest at Holbrook before stalking down the hall in search of his room. Apparently, I was still on his shit list.

“You guys are with me,” Holbrook said to the other agents, leading us down the hallway.

My room was a step above the one I’d had at the Knotty Pine, but the garish bedspreads and manufactured feel of the room still left me with a sense of depression.

“Collins and Hill will be stationed outside, and I’ll be next door if you need anything,” Holbrook said as he swept the room, checking the window and peering into the bathroom. “Do you need anything?”