The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles) (3 page)

Chapter 4

After Mike settled Fiona in the guesthouse, he dug out one of the bullets from the wall. Then he scrounged some wood from one of the outbuildings on the property and fashioned a temporary barricade on the window. He swept the broken glass into a two-foot strip under the window and laid a layer at the threshold to the room. If anyone entered he’d hear the crunch and be alerted. After making a pot of strong, black coffee, he set up camp in the living room and dialed Hugh.

“What the hell did you get me into?” Mike asked when Hugh’s sleep-filled voice came across the line. “Someone tried to kill her tonight.”

“She did mention she might want bodyguard services.” Hugh yawned, and Mike fought the urge to reciprocate. “Any idea who’s after her?” Hugh asked.

“She’s not saying. I got some cock-and-bull story about a cigarette shipment OmniWorld forced her into. She acted as if she didn’t know contraband smokes were a hot commodity.”

“Damn,” Hugh said. “Sounds like it’s happening all over again.”

“What’s happening?”

“The rogue faction of the Turning Stone shifters used her to smuggle poisonous gas for a terrorist attack. Her brother recognized an OmniWorld representative as a shifter and warned her off.”

“She’s a shifter? I wouldn’t have taken this job if I’d known.”

“She’s not. Her mother was, but she was hiding from the rogues. Fiona doesn’t know much about the Society, according to her brother.”

“Don’t be so certain. If her brother warned her off, and she’s dealing with rogues, she might know more than you think.”

“Keep a close eye on her, Mike, and watch your back.”

“Roger that.” He thumbed off the cell and laid his shotgun across his knees.

The accent lights in front of the house cast a glow on the draperies, bright enough, he hoped, an intruder’s shadow would warn him of approaching danger. As his eyes adjusted to the darkened room, he allowed his mind to wander to the woman he’d promised to protect.

Was she a shifter? While his buddy had accepted their presence, Mike had a bit more trouble with the idea of paranormal beings roaming around. He liked his world black and white, and from what he knew of the Turning Stone Society, especially the rogues, gray reigned.

The crunch of glass at the doorway to the room brought his attention to the task at hand. He flipped down his night goggles and leveled his gun, ready to take aim at the sound.

“Mike.” A stage whisper floated into the room. “It’s me, Fiona.”

He lowered his weapon and shoved the goggles to his forehead. “What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be locked in the guest house.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Can I come in?”

“Be careful on the glass. I don’t want to take you to the emergency room for stitches.”

The sound of crunching footsteps approached then disappeared, muffled in the thick carpeting when she passed his barrier. When she neared, he motioned her to the floor behind the chair where she’d taken refuge earlier.

“You’re still dressed.”

“I thought it wise. I brought my gun.”

“Keep it holstered, even if something happens.” For all he knew she couldn’t hit a target at point blank range. Friendly fire killed the same as unfriendly fire. He’d take her to a shooting range when they got the window fixed and see how well she handled her gun. Until then, he wanted to be the sole shooter.

“I can shoot, you know.”

“Maybe at point blank in the light. But if they come tonight, it will be dark. Do you have night goggles?”

“No.”

“I do. I can see who I’m shooting. Trust me, I won’t mistake you for the enemy.”

“That’s comforting to know.”

He heard her settle against the wall, then a muffled yawn drifted toward him. “Go to sleep, Fiona. You’re safe with me.”

She curled on the floor. Mike laid another chair in front of her to protect her better. He sat watching her, wondering what secrets she had. Secrets he would have to uncover in order to protect her.

After a couple of seconds, Fiona raised on her elbow and gently touched his arm. At the whisper light brush of her fingers, sparks raced to his shoulder. He suppressed the urge to return her touch.

“Thanks, Mike, for being here. I’d probably be dead if you hadn’t knocked me off my chair.”

“Just doing what you’re paying me for,” he replied evenly. But nothing inside him lay on an even keel. Her touch suddenly had him off balance, like a Tilt-a-Whirl at the county fair. He pulled his arm away.

“Get some rest.” The words came out more brusque than he intended, but he wouldn’t apologize. She needed to see him as an employee—a man hired to help her—not a friend or champion.

She was business. Just business.

Curled close enough to hear Mike’s even breathing and smell his cologne floating on the night breeze whenever the draperies drifted inward, Fiona relaxed. Masculine strength oozed from him, wrapping around her like a cocoon. She knew she would be safe as long as he stayed beside her. The night sounds, which had kept her awake in the cottage, transposed into a woodland lullaby. Soon, she found herself drifting off.

But night creatures invaded her dreams, morphing from human to animals and back to humans. She fought them off with a knife, but the blade bent whenever she thrust. Rubbery and useless.

In the wind, mixed with the sound of crickets, her mother’s voice sighed.

Be certain you’re willing to take the risk, Fiona. There’s no turning back. You will live in fear. An evil rogue shifter wants to take your power.

“I have to,” she told her mother. “I can’t stop now.”

Something reached out of the darkness and grasped her arm. Fiona screamed as a hand dropped over her mouth.

“Fiona. Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”

Mike’s voice brought her from the depths of terror, and she gasped as she jerked awake. She let her breath out in a shaky exhale.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She nodded, then realized he couldn’t see her in the dark. “Yeah.”

“The shooter?”

“No. Monsters. People and animals. I couldn’t kill them.”

“Assassins are monsters. Animals, too.”

Her dream couldn’t be about the shooter—unless he was a shifter. Sleep had exposed her uncertainty over whether she could succeed with her planned double-cross of OmniWorld.

“Funny you think so. As a security and bodyguard guy you might have to off someone. Wouldn’t killing someone qualify for the assassin category?”

“I’m a mercenary for hire, but I’m not one of the bad guys. I fight the bad guys.” His tone told her, in no uncertain terms, she’d offended him.

“Sorry. I’m sure you’re a good guy. Hugh recommended you.” She drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on her emotions. “Forget I said anything, please. It’s my nerves talking. I’ve never been involved with bad guys before.”

“Aside from the smuggling,” he quipped. “Maybe I’m the one who should be careful dealing with you.”

“I’m innocent. Homeland Security cleared me.”

The sun peeked through the drapes, lighting the room just enough she could see the tiniest smile curl his lips.

“But then you know, don’t you?” He’d baited her and enjoyed doing it. She nodded toward the lightening window. “I guess we’re safe for the moment. How about some breakfast?”

Mike glanced at his watch. “The home improvement store should be open. I’ll get the wood for the window while you fix breakfast. Deal?”

“Deal.” She rose from the floor and stretched her tense muscles. Mike stood, removed his weapons and ammunition bandolier, and stashed them in his duffel bag. “Okay if I put these in the front entry closet while I’m gone?”

Fiona retrieved her gun from the floor and stuck it in her waistband. “Sure. Pancakes and bacon okay?”

“A big stack sounds great.” As she picked her way over the broken glass at the room entrance her cell rang. She thumbed it on.

“Good morning, Fiona,” said Mr. Swindell.

“Hold on a minute,” she said to her caller. “Gotta take this,” she mouthed to Mike.

“I saw a truck in the garage,” Mike said. “Mind if I take it?”

She retrieved the keys from the front hall table and tossed them to him. As soon as Mike was out of earshot, she went back to the call.

“Mr. Swindell, you’re calling early.”

“We have a job for you, my dear,” Swindell replied.

Her heart leapt, bringing her to a stop. “I thought I’d be meeting with my mentor before I got a job.” She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. Some underhanded rogue job was not in her plans. She had to stop this. Now.

“This deal seems one-sided to me. You’ve commandeered my ship for an illegal cargo of cigarettes, and now I have a job?”

“Illegal? Who says the cargo is illegal?”

“I’m not stupid, Mr. Swindell.” Although Mike certainly believed so, she couldn’t afford to let OmniWorld or the rogue shifters think she didn’t have the upper hand. “But it doesn’t matter at the moment. I want something in exchange, and I’m not going to do anything more until I see my mentor.”

There. She’d said it. As soon as the forceful words spilled from her, she shook so much she had to lean against the wall to steady herself.

“My, my, my.” The three words Mr. Swindell spoke held volumes of smarminess and sarcasm. “Such big words from such a—”

“If you call me a little lady, I will hang up on you.” She hated being called a little lady. The phrase stank of condescension. He’d already been condescending enough.

Swindell laughed. “I like you, Fiona. You have the spitfire of your mother.”

My mother?
His words took the starch right out of her attitude. He knew her mother? She caught the question before she blurted it out. Who was Swindell, anyway?

“You have an appointment this morning with your mentor at 8:00 a.m. at his penthouse in downtown Cleveland.”

“I can’t make it by then.”

“Falhman values punctuality. I’d advise you to be there on time.” He gave her the address, then hung up before she could protest further.

She knew the name. Her mother had written about him in her diary. He was Rhys and Roc’s father. A curtain of dread and excitement dropped over her. The head of the rogue shifters wanted to see her? Wanted to mentor her?

Scrambling for paper and pen, Fiona scribbled the address, then jotted a note to Mike and rushed upstairs to her bedroom for a quick shower and change.

After last night’s attack, Mike would not approve of a command performance call from the king of the rogues, if she could even tell him. But she didn’t care what he thought. Not now. Swindell knew her mother, and the man her mother had spent her life hiding from would be her mentor. How better to take down the rogues, and avenge her mother’s broken life, than by destroying their kingpin, a shifter who once loved her mother?

Fiona studied her reflection in the cheval mirror in her bedroom. Nervousness wafted from her so clearly it nearly made her reflection waver.

Get a grip, Fi. You can do this. Just think like Dad. Hard. Tough. And willing to do whatever it takes.

She channeled her father’s willpower, remembering what he always said to her when she faced an obstacle.
If you think you can’t, you can’t.

She could do this. Would do this. Even if she died trying.

Chapter 5

A tall, lean butler with a ski-jump nose answered the door at the penthouse apartment. “Miss Fiona Kayler, to see you, sir,” he intoned after she introduced herself.

From the depths of a cavernous great room, a slender, silver-haired man rose and waved her in. He moved toward her, his hand outstretched in greeting. Even from the hallway she could sense the buzz of shifter tingles race over her, growing stronger as he neared. When she didn’t reach for his hand he grasped hers and clasped it between his, curling his long fingers around her palm.

The same sensation of buzzing bees crawling over her, that she’d experienced when Mr. Swindell had shaken her hand, shimmied across her flesh. She resisted the urge to draw away, afraid she might insult her host. He, like Swindell, held onto her hand a bit longer than felt comfortable.

“I do see a resemblance,” he said gently.

“Resemblance?” she echoed.

“To your mother.” A sadness came over his face. “I’m sorry for your loss. I hope she went without suffering.”

His concern for her mother’s last days touched her, and for a second she thought she saw something in his eyes. Pain, or maybe regret.

He released her hand, motioning her to the long white sofa. “Can I get you some coffee or tea? Or perhaps a danish?”

“Coffee would be nice.” She’d rushed out before her morning caffeine fix and now had the beginning of a headache.

Within seconds the butler placed a silver tray, containing a plate of danish, doughnuts, two china cups and saucers, and a matching coffee serving set on the low table in front of the sofa. Falhman poured a cup for her and rotated the tray so she could reach the cream and sugar.

“I suppose you wonder why I called you here this early,” he began.

She nodded, stirring the sugar into her cup. Then she poured cream into her teaspoon and stirred it into the coffee.

A tiny smile tipped the edges of Falhman’s mouth, and his eyes softened. He plucked a danish and a chocolate-iced doughnut from the tray, cut them in half, and presented them to her.

As she took the bakery items, she stared at him. How did he know which ones she liked, and how much she only ate of each?

The question must have showed on h
er face because he said, “You prepared your coffee just like your mother did. I guessed you’d eat the same pastries as well.”

After all these years, the man still remembered how her mother took her coffee?

“She was very special to me,” he said, as if he’d heard her thoughts. “Did she ever mention me?”

Fiona shook her head. “No. Mother never talked much about her life before marrying Father. She was a private person.”

“Yet, she must have told you something, because here you are, with her ring, wanting a mentor.”

The nostalgic expression left his face, replaced by a cagey one.

Fiona sipped her coffee, formulating a reply. “She left me with a basic knowledge of her ring and the shifter world. But she’s gone now, and I want to know more.” She studied Falhman for a long moment. “I’m surprised someone as important as you would want to mentor me, Mr. Falhman. Can I ask why?”

He leaned against the white chair he occupied. “Call me sentimental. I have fond memories of your mother. Call me curious. I wanted to know what her daughter looked like. Call me a shrewd businessman. You have something OmniWorld needs, and they have something I want.”

“My company isn’t part of this deal. I made that clear to Mr. Swindell.”

Falhman leaned closer and the buzzing in her body intensified.

“Not your company, my dear. Your beauty.”

The teacup in her hand rattled against the saucer. “My beauty?”

“Your mother was an exquisitely beautiful woman who could charm every man who saw her. Swindell told me you were gorgeous, but he lied. You, my dear, have your mother’s beauty.”

Fiona had no response for Falhman’s praise. She thought herself good looking, but an exquisite beauty? No one had ever complimented her so. The heat of a blush crept over her neck and face.

“We are going to use it to get the Morrison Shipping Company. You will charm the owner into falling in love with you and marry him. No prenups, so when he goes you own it all. Then you will turn it over to OmniWorld.”

The heat drained from her flesh as if she’d landed face down on a polar ice cap. She set her cup on the table with a clank. “You’re going to pimp me out and make me an accessory to murder?”

“You agreed to help us in exchange for keeping your company.”

“I agreed because OmniWorld threatened me. I won’t murder anyone.”

“You completely misunderstand, my dear. OmniWorld isn’t asking you to kill. They just want you to marry the owner, with no prenuptial contracts. Then you’ll own not only your shipping company, but his as well. They’ll handle the other sordid aspect. Your hands will be lily white.”

“But not my conscience.”

Falhman studied his nails, a bored expression on his face. “As you wish.” He waved for the butler. “Show Miss Kayler out. Our business is concluded.” He stood and offered his hand to her. “I hope you won’t hate the messenger, but I’d like to give you some advice. Sell whatever you can and buy as many shares of your company’s stock as soon as possible. When OmniWorld finds out you’ve reneged on your promise, they will come after you. They won’t be nice about it.” When she didn’t take his hand, he placed it on the small of her back as she rose, and guided her toward the door. “Good-bye, my dear, and good luck. You’ll need it.”

Her feet froze to the floor. She couldn’t lose her company. And if she wasn’t of use to them where did that leave her?

Dead?

Whirling to face Falhman, she asked, “What if I can help OmniWorld underbid Morrison Shipping? Would they forget about killing him?”

“How would you accomplish such a thing?”

“I could get a job at the company using my alter ego, find out what they’re bidding on, and pass the information to OmniWorld. Of course, it would mean their plan would be delayed until I could reach the alter-ego stage. Swindling someone would be an evil act. I wouldn’t want to take chances.”

Falhman ran the backs of his fingertips along her jaw. Fiona willed herself not to shiver at his touch.

“We definitely wouldn’t want to mar your beautiful face with mimic shifting.” He steepled his fingers under his chin, tapping them together. “I think your idea might work. But they’d probably want to keep the wedding plan as a backup. I’ll talk to my OmniWorld contact and see if they would be willing to alter their plans.” He reached into his vest pocket and withdrew an envelope. “In the meantime, here’s an invitation to tonight’s Charity Cotillion at the Shoreby Club. The new CEO and owner of Morrison Shipping will be there. You should make his acquaintance. If we can tell OmniWorld he’s already falling for you, it might shift the balance of their decision your way. A generous donation on your part might help him notice you.”

“My part? Why isn’t OmniWorld footing this bill?”

Falhman shrugged. “Proof of loyalty, I suppose.”

“What a crock of bull. I’m already shipping illegal cigarettes which could land me in prison if I get caught. How much loyalty are they going to require?”

“There are many facets to proving one’s loyalty, don’t you agree, my dear?”

Not the answer she wanted to hear. “How much is this loyalty going to cost me?”

“Half a million dollars should get his attention. Give it away as if it doesn’t matter. You must appear flush. We wouldn’t want him thinking you’re marrying him for his money.”

Great. She was flirting with a felony rap, accessory to murder, and jail time for passing bad checks.

By the time she’d returned home, Mike had boarded up the front window. The smell of bacon frying greeted her when she entered the foyer. Following the scent, she found him in the kitchen, a hand towel slung over his shoulder. The sight of domesticity in such a muscled specimen of a man nearly made her sink to the floor in adoration. She could get used to seeing him in her kitchen. He turned as the click of her high heels hit the kitchen’s tile floor.

“Did you get the emergency taken care of?” he asked, setting a platter of bacon on the granite island.

“Yes.” She snatched a piece of bacon and bit into it.

“Care to share?”

“Nope.”

Mike placed his hands on the countertop and leaned toward her. “If you want me to do my job right, you’re going to need to read me in on what’s happening.”

“This morning’s call wasn’t security related.”

“But last night’s attack was. I think you know more than you’re telling me.”

Rotating away from him, she reached for the coffee pot on the counter behind her. She still had a buzzing headache. “Want some?” she asked, holding out the pot.

“What I want is answers.”

She shoved the pot onto the burner with such force the brown liquid sloshed over the glass rim. “Me, too, Mike. I want to know who wants to kill me. I want to know if the cigarette shipment is illegal. I want—”

Mike’s phone rang and he checked it. “It’s Hugh. I’ll let it go to voicemail.”

“Take it. Our conversation’s over anyway. I need some aspirin and a nap to see if I can stave off this headache.” She snatched a couple more pieces of bacon and headed for the staircase.

“Mike. I hate to ask this, but I need help.” Panic saturated Hugh’s voice, sending Mike’s heartbeat into overdrive.

“What’s wrong, buddy?”

“Someone tried to carjack LJ and the baby.”

“Did you report it?”

“No. LJ saw a Turning Stone ring on the man’s hand when he thrust it through the open window. She gunned the car and got away. They’ve found us, Mike. I’ve already fought off a couple shifters at the house. I need you to get her and the baby to safety.”

“Why don’t you take her?”

“Because they’ve found us. They won’t stop coming. I have to stay here and make them think we’re dead.”

The reality of Hugh’s statement hit Mike. Hugh planned to sacrifice himself for LJ and the baby.

“You’re two days’ ride away. How much time do you think you have?” If he could get to Florida fast enough, maybe he could talk Hugh out of the suicide plan.

“I don’t know. A day if we’re lucky. Hours if we’re not. Fiona has a jet. See if she’ll let you use it. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death.”

“Okay. I’ll call as soon as I know.”

Mike thumbed off the cell and ran for the entry. “Fiona!” he yelled, bounding up the steps two at a time.

She appeared in the hall, her gun drawn. “What is it? Another intruder?”

“I need your jet. Hugh’s in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” She put the safety on and lowered the weapon.

“Someone tried to carjack LJ and the baby. They escaped. The carjackers followed and attacked them at home. Hugh thinks they might attack again. He needs me to get them to safety. ASAP. Can I use the jet?”

“Of course you can. Tell me where you’re going and I’ll make the arrangements.”

He punched in a number on his phone. “I’m calling in a buddy to cover for me. My nickel since I’m leaving you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. After last night, I will not leave you unprotected. I’m sorry about running off this way, but I owe Hugh.”

“So do I. Go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

The gun in her hand trembled. Mike wasn’t certain she would be okay, but he had no other choice. He couldn’t let his friend sacrifice himself because of rogue shifters.