Traveller's Refuge (3 page)

She froze, taking a long moment before she answered. “I’m sure—just as you’re sure that Raven is the one for you. Do you doubt that?” The serious expression on her face didn’t seem right. In all his eighteen years, Wolfe didn’t recall more than a handful of times that Wrenna wasn’t smiling. Mama had commented once that people with red hair supposedly were quick-tempered but that definitely wasn’t Wrenna. She always had a smile on her sweet face and infinite patience.

“I don’t doubt our
attachments
,” Wolfe said slowly, trying to capture the essence of his unease. “I just wonder why? Why is each of us attached to Dancer’s siblings? And who is attached to Tracer?”

“Robyn,” Wrenna replied with disconcerting promptness.

“How do you know that?”

“She told me.”

“Ah. I suppose that would take the guesswork out of it,” Wolfe observed wryly. “Do you suppose Mama knows?”

“She knows,” Wrenna said with odd certainty. “When I told her about my
attachment
with Traveller, she didn’t show one iota of surprise. It was just as if I had announced the sun was shining.” Wrenna shrugged tiredly. “Sometimes I wonder what it must be like to be so sure of yourself. I spend so much time trying to decide if I’m making the right decisions.”

“Have you talked to Traveller about it?”

Wrenna snorted softly. “I haven’t talked to Trav about anything.”

“No mind speech?” Wolfe pulled his gaze back from the training field across the river and turned to stare at her in shock. “How do you know you have an
attachment
with him?”

“
Schalzina
.”

Her succinct reply stopped him cold. Moving swiftly across the shed, he gently shoved her down so she sat on her stool. Holding the back of one large hand against her forehead, he checked her pulse with the other while demanding, “How long? How often? Have you told Llyon?”

Biting back a smile that threatened to break out, she shook her head. “When are you going to admit that you’re a healer?” she asked softly. “You can’t hide it anymore.”

Wolfe moved back to the open door and watched Arturo putting the third-level warrior class through their paces on the other side of the river. “You know how I am. I can’t stand to be dirty. It makes me cringe every time something like today happens. How can I be a healer if I can’t stand to touch anyone?” he demanded with angry frustration.

“And yet, when Cougar was sick, you made sure he was settled before you came to find me. You held him while he finished emptying his stomach and comforted him. Gazelle told me the whole story. That’s all you have to do, really—just take care of your patients until they’re stable.”

She studied his tall lanky form silhouetted against the open doorway. When he shifted restlessly against the heavy beams supporting the domed roof, his soft kilt-like
sharda
flared around his knees. Leather cords twined up from his rough, battered sandals lacing up his calves nearly to his knees. His
flicknives
were snugly sheathed on each leg just below the hem of the
sharda
. Because he wore no
shera
, she could dimly make out the tattoo of a wolf racing across his back just below his shoulder blades. In the past year, his shoulders had broadened out and taken on the muscle of a man rather than a boy. His twenty-five warrior braids streamed down his back playing peekaboo with the wolf tattoo and every time he moved his head the
chinkas
clinked softly. Almost absently, she noted that two of the five colors had already been changed to the darker shades denoting a master. With startling abruptness, Wolfe had shed his boyhood and become a man. It was time for him to face his fears and become the gifted healer he was destined to be.

“You need to speak to Dai,” she said quietly. “It’s time.”

He turned to face her and shot her a sudden bright smile, which she trusted not at all. “I’ll talk to him,” he replied agreeably. “Right after you tell him that you’re beginning
schalzina
and only then, if you also talk to Trav.”

“What?”

“I know you heard me. Now put your barter credits where your mouth is.” Before she could form a reply, he was gone, leaving her alone to ponder the idea of talking to her bond mate at last. She had a notion that it wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Wolfe supposed.

Chapter Two

Two weeks after Traveller’s narrow escape from Vietnam he checked the nearly invisible threads along the apartment doorjamb. As far as he could tell everything was as it should be, so he unlocked the door and, gun in hand, went in fast and low.
Nothing
. Softly he retrieved his bag and shut the door, locking it securely before padding down the short hall to the living room of one of several apartments he and Dancer had rented under other names. All were shabby studio or one-bedroom apartments located in shabby run-down neighborhoods in shabby medium-sized towns. No big cities. No small villages. Anonymity was easiest in middle-town America. Since Dancer’s face had become too recognizable, Trav was mostly the one who rented them, casually mentioning that he was an independent trucker, on the road a lot.

He moved silently from room to room, checking out the kitchen and bedroom before slipping into the bathroom to take a quick leak. There was nothing more embarrassing than getting caught by the bad guys with your dick hanging out. He shook off, tucked in and zipped back up without ever putting the gun down. Some creeping premonition had the short hairs on his neck bristling. His pursuers weren’t far away. They’d been on his tail for the last two weeks, just inches from catching him at least twice that he knew of.

Returning to the living room, he slowly slumped down on the dusty, sagging couch and studied the violin and guitar cases resting on the battered trunk that did double-duty as a coffee table. Marco had mentioned that Dancer walked away with his guitar and violin, so clearly Dancer had made a stop at this apartment. Trav sighed and then ran his fingernail along the outside seam on the guitar case until he found the hidden latch for the secret compartment. There was a tiny snick before the back popped up about an inch. Sliding his fingers into the opening, he retrieved a sheaf of papers and flipped through them carefully. Will, portfolio, bank papers, a map, several keys and an envelope with his name on it. Setting all but the envelope aside, he opened it and slipped a single sheet out, unfolding it with mixed feelings—hope and relief.

Trav
—

If you
’
re reading this
,
then I
’
ll have to assume that my plans were at least partially successful
.
Enclosed are keys for some spare vehicles
,
a map
,
the key to another place in case you need it and personal papers
,
(will
,
portfolio
,
banking stuff
,
etc
.
)
.

Knowing exactly what an ass Free is
,
I
’
m going to guess that he will eventually make you part of his vendetta
.
On the enclosed CD you
’
ll also find the evidence I
’
ve accumulated so far that points to him as the man behind our family
’
s murders
.
It wouldn
’
t stand up in court but then I don
’
t plan to take him to court
!

Don
’
t go off half
-
cocked and try to get him
.
I want to know WHY they were murdered and he can
’
t tell us if he
’
s dead
.
If you decide to follow me
,
be very careful
.
I don
’
t plan ever to return to work for him
.
Know now that I
’
ll die first
.
In case I don
’
t see you again
,
I release you from your vow not to cut your hair
.
You may need to cut it short to change your appearance
.
A floor safe is located under the dresser in the back room
.
It has a few things you might need if Free
’
s declared open season
.
Feel free to use any of it (no pun intended
!
)
.

I love you
.
Until we meet again
—

Dance

So. There it was in black and white. He examined the map carefully. Actually, it wasn’t so much a map as a series of symbols and letters. There wasn’t a single landmark on it that anyone outside his family would recognize. Written and drawn in their private language, it revealed Dancer’s target destination and a list of supplies that Trav needed to bring with him. The location was just one of several they had set up since the death of their parents.

Dancer had gone to the cave on Bright Shadows Mountain—which meant that he was pursuing his long-term goal to find the woman who communicated with him telepathically. Trav shrugged. If that was what would make Dance happy, then he was all for it.

Setting the papers down on the trunk, he went to locate the safe. Its contents convinced him as nothing else would have that Dancer had spent considerable time and thought planning his escape. He whistled softly through his teeth as he counted the money, stacked tidily in mixed bricks of $1000. Thirty-five bricks. No bills bigger than a twenty. No new bills. No sequential bills. That required a lot of patience and planning.

Arranged neatly next to the money were a variety of weapons, with ample ammunition, blank passports waiting for pictures and a lone key to an anonymous storage unit. As he sat on his heels, contemplating the contents of the safe, the itchy feeling that warned him of danger dramatically increased. Without further thought, he retrieved a battered brown leather pack from the closet and emptied the safe before closing it and pushing the dresser back into place.

Moving swiftly, he gathered Dance’s papers except for the map, shoved them back into the hidden compartment in the guitar case and locked it. Then, pocketing the map and keys, he silently raised the bedroom window, stepped on the fire escape with his packs and the instrument cases and quietly mounted the stairs to the roof.

From there, he patiently checked his back trail and observed the neighborhood. Within moments he had pinpointed the strangers working their way from cover to cover and building to building. Flowing quietly across the roofs, he moved down the block until he reached a building containing a dry cleaner. He flipped up the trapdoor to the attic and dropped lightly inside with his baggage. Very softly, he closed and latched the door before settling down to wait for his host.

In a country very far away on a nasty, rainy night in a muddy alley, he had saved Chuin’s daughter’s life and prevented her rape. He was safer in Chuin’s attic than anywhere in the world. Stuffing his backpack beneath his head for a pillow, he stretched out for a long overdue nap before he worked out the details of his plan. That would be after he actually thought of a plan. So far, he’d been winging it and clearly, that wasn’t going to get the job done.

Three days later the searchers finally moved on. Chuin drolly reported that they had carried off even the faded Degas prints decorating the living room wall and the threadbare kitchen curtains. Hanky, one of the brightest kids on the block, had spent hours loitering on his front steps with his friends, muttering an inventory into a pocket recorder as the searchers emptied the apartment. When Trav listened to the running rap-like monologue later, he reflected that he hadn’t paid Hanky nearly enough for his trouble.

They waited another four days before Chuin stashed Trav and his belongings in his closed panel van and drove to his cousin’s warehouse. There Traveller transferred to a battered gray Explorer, one of the vehicles Dancer had acquired. Soberly, he thanked Chuin for his assistance.

“We don’t see each other again, I think,” Chuin observed quietly. “Go with luck, Traveller.”

“Take care, Chuin. Thank you for your help and thanks for the first aid. Be careful. They may be back,” Trav warned. “If they backtrack me to you, sing like a nightingale. Tell them everything you know. It won’t hurt and it might even send them down the wrong trail.”

Chuin’s black eyes glittered with unshed tears. “I will do what I must. Now go!”

* * * * *

Steam billowed in the narrow confines of the shower stall as hot water pounded Traveller’s shoulders. He stretched and groaned and wondered if he would ever feel safe again, ever be naïve enough to believe that he was one of the good guys. Ducking down, he stuck his head under the streaming water and rinsed the shampoo suds from the long red-gold strands. It took a while to get it completely clean. He enjoyed having long hair almost all the time but the process of cleaning and then unsnarling the fine strands was a complete pain in the ass. The rest of the time he kept it in a French braid that ran down below his butt. With a resigned sigh, he squeezed some conditioner on to his palm, rubbed his hands lightly together to spread it out and then ran both hands through his hair, evenly distributing the conditioner all the way to the ends. While that worked, he briskly washed his body, paying particular attention to the cuts, abrasions and bruises he’d accumulated in the most recent attempt on his life. He also pondered Dancer’s reaction when he found out they were down another vehicle. After the bomb went off under the seat, there wasn’t much left of either the Explorer or the house it was parked in front of. Fortunately, no one was in the Explorer or the house at the time. He had listened carefully to the television news that evening and breathed a deep sigh of relief when they reported there were no injuries.

He rinsed hair and body and reluctantly turned off the water. The heat felt good on his beat-up body but he was running on borrowed time. He dried off and dressed quickly in clean faded jeans and a worn flannel work shirt before setting to work on his hair with a broad-toothed comb. The conditioner had done its job, so within minutes he had the wet strands confined in a neat braid. He gathered up his belongings from the bathroom and carried them out to the bed before wiping down every possible surface he might have touched.