Collector's Item (13 page)

Footsteps vibrated on the wood floor and Patricia’s gaze snapped toward the sound. Her cold smile melted into warm anticipation. The door flew open to admit Torne, arms filled with freshly split wood. In the brief glimpse before he kicked the door shut, KT saw a solid wall of trees and vegetation.

Torne stomped over to drop the wood on a small pile beside the fireplace and turned to rub his hands over the flames, he glanced at KT. “Awake at last.”

Patricia flowed out of her chair to join him. “She’s been annoyingly talkative.”

Torne tossed a log on the fire, straightened, and turned to look at KT. “Why am I not surprised?” He slid an arm around Patricia’s waist and she leaned into him with a sigh. With a sub-vocalized purr, Patricia rubbed her cheek against Torne’s shoulder.

KT thought she was going to be sick. Patricia’s eccentricities and self-destructive behavior had escalated in recent years. Now, it seemed she had finally tipped over the edge. But to land on the side of the Collectors and into the arms of Douglas Torne?

KT turned away and pressed at Andi’s groggy presence in her mind, but got nothing. They must have dosed her good.

Torne’s voice brought her attention back. “You’ve caused me a great deal of inconvenience. But, despite all, looks like I still get my prize.” His smile chilled KT’s blood. “Don’t get too comfortable. We’ll be leaving at sunset.”

Sunset? It had been about sunset when they kidnapped her from the hospital. How long had she been out? An entire day? She had to flush the salison out of her system. She mimed difficulty swallowing. “Can I get something to drink?”

Torne shook his head. “Nice try, princess, but we’re all having to make a few sacrifices.”

KT flinched at the term “princess,” remembering a different voice. She glared at Torne. “You wouldn’t have taken me if you didn’t have enough salison to keep me down.”

Torne held up his hand and waggled a finger at her. “Waste not, want not.” His grin had all the charm of a barracuda.

KT curled her hands into fists, her nails cutting into her palms adding pain to the panic simmering just below her skin. If they were as far into the wild as she suspected, the current dose of salison, no matter how strong, would wear off before they could reach an airport of any size.

Either before they left, or some time during the trip, she’d have her chance.

Chapter Thirteen

By the time the chime of the elevator announced their arrival at the ground floor, Peyton was all but clawing the walls with frustration at the delays. Medical forms, reclaiming his gun, a senseless meeting with a doctor to get clearance for him to return to duty, all the bureaucratic bullshit Peyton hated. Stalking out of the elevator, Peyton let his gaze sweep the lobby, all senses on high, accepting, sifting and discarding impressions.

Floor-to-ceiling glass gave him a clear view of the sidewalk and half-moon drive outside the front of the hospital. Already, yellow tape surrounded the area outside the doors. Techs snapped photos or paced the sidewalk, head down, searching for clues.

The police cars and activity had drawn a crowd. Inside, a smattering of hospital personnel stood along the edges of the lobby, watching and whispering.

“I’ve got to speak to the bodyguard,” Ham said as he peeled off to the right. Peyton, recognizing his own fragile control on his temper, opted to stay out of arms reach of the man who had failed to protect KT.

Movement on the perimeter of the crowd outside caught Peyton’s attention. The mass of bodies parted like a bow-wave in front of an immaculately dressed man—Anton Marant. Despite being flanked by two bodyguards in dark suits, Anton Marant did nothing overt to make his way through the crowd. He didn’t shove, he didn’t shout, but when he spoke, people stepped aside, causing others to look around and give way.

A policeman turned to see what was happening. He stepped forward to lift the yellow ribbon high. Such was the presence of the Marant clan’s Alpha.

Anton Marant stepped under the ribbon with a gracious nod to the policeman and then skirted the scene, his expression tight, his focus on the doors of the hospital. One of the two men in his wake dropped back to speak to the officer in charge; the other followed on Anton’s heels.

As soon as Anton crossed the threshold, Peyton, as well as every paranormal in the lobby, tensed, nerves alert to the deadly anger beneath the polished surface of the man striding across the lobby. The paranormals paused and stepped to the side, heads tilted down, gazes shifted aslant. The humans in the lobby stiffened and the whispering stopped, as if the humans subconsciously sensed the predator among them.

Ham stopped in mid-sentence and walked forward to meet Anton. He stopped in the middle of the lobby and gave a half bow to the approaching man.

“Alpha Marant.”

The paranormals resumed their work, and the whispering picked up with a renewed sense of anticipation. Cell phones materialized to capture the scene or text the inside scoop.

Anton Marant stopped in front of Ham, his bodyguard like a shadow at his shoulder.

The bodyguard’s gaze swept the lobby and paused on Peyton before continuing.

Though Anton’s gaze never left Ham’s face, Peyton sensed Anton’s awareness touch on him before focusing on Ham.

The Alpha of the Marant clan gave his famous smile and held out his hand to Ham. “No formalities here, Colonel Brilling. Just Anton. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

The two men shook hands and Ham stepped back, his arm sweeping to indicate a small alcove off the lobby. “Sir, if you’ll follow me, I’d be glad to fill you in.”

The bodyguard stepped forward to examine the alcove and then turned back to Anton with a nod.

Anton’s dark brown gaze hit Peyton like a megawatt spotlight. “Mr. Allers, if you would care to join us?”

Peyton fought down an urge to bristle at the unconscious challenge presented by an Alpha of Anton’s stature. The older man’s smile remained in place, but for a second, Peyton saw the deeply guarded pain in Anton’s gaze before Anton repeated his question. “Mr. Allers?”

Knowing how seldom men of Anton’s power asked twice, Peyton nodded and followed the trio toward the alcove. The bodyguard stopped to take up his position just outside. Anton gestured for Ham and Peyton to sit before taking a seat himself.

He leaned forward. “Tell me what you know.”

“Not much, sir,” Ham began and then filled Anton in.

Peyton watched Anton closely, comparing the external appearance to the deeper presence that was Anton Marant. To the casual eye, KT’s father looked like just another successful businessman—average height and build, brown hair and eyes, conservative suit. However, despite his calm demeanor, his anger and frustration filled the alcove like a surging tide. Peyton could see Ham’s effort to maintain his military calm beneath Anton’s unwavering gaze.

Ham finished his report and asked, “Has there has been any contact, sir? A ransom demand?”

Anton shook his head and looked toward his bodyguard. The glance appeared casual enough, but Peyton recognized the ploy, a delaying tactic and, perhaps, to gather composure.

That’s where KT learned it.

When Anton turned back to Ham, his expression was calm. “My people have heard nothing. But we all know this is no simple kidnapping.”

Remind me to never play poker with this man,
Peyton thought and Max gave a little mental snort.

“The local police have put out an APB on the limo,” Ham said. “We expect to—” Ham’s cell phone chirped and he glanced at Anton before he stood up. “Excuse me, sir.”

Ham stepped outside the alcove and walked down the hall a short distance, his voice low.

Peyton wished he could follow but Anton’s voice brought his attention back with a snap.

“I’m pleased that you’re on your feet, Mr. Allers. If you hadn’t already been brought in, I was going to ask Colonel Brilling to request your assistance.”

Surprised, Peyton focused on Anton. “Thank you.”

“She thinks highly of you.” The older man’s gaze took on a calculating gleam which Peyton met without reservation.

“I think highly of her,” he replied.

Anton nodded and leaned back against the cushions of his chair. For a moment, the polished façade slipped and permitted Peyton another glimpse of the anguished father beneath. “I was afraid Torne might try something like this.”

Peyton fought down a spurt of guilt over KT’s decision to stay in the city. Keep focused on the here and now, not the past. “Looks like you took all the precautions, sir. Torne just found a crack.”

“There’s always one, isn’t there?” Anton looked at Peyton. His gaze held the ghost of old pain mingled with the new. “There’s no way to keep anyone completely safe, all the time.”

Peyton shook his head, his combined guilt about KT and Lance a bitter ache in his own chest. “No sir, there isn’t.”

Ham stepped back into the alcove and they stood. Max rose, intent.
Hunt now?

Peyton’s gut tightened.
Hunt now
.

Ham jerked his head to the front door. “They found the limo.”

****

Peyton rode with Ham in one of the Alliance sedans and Anton followed in his limo. Ham’s driver maneuvered through the traffic with the suicidal skill of a New York cabbie. Anton’s followed at a more reasonable pace.

Their destination proved to be a residential neighborhood, brick high-rises complete with awning-covered entrances and doormen. The driver flashed a badge at the policeman directing traffic away from the crime scene. The officer waved them through; they pulled in behind a squad car. Ham and Peyton leaped out and headed for a small cluster of uniforms standing in front of an alley between two brick buildings.

Peyton saw the hood of a limo halfway down the alley, parked askew behind a dumpster. Yellow tape closed off the entrance to the alley. A few techs, armed with cameras, clicked shots of the alley and the limo from various angles. One team worked the limo, dusting for prints and looking for evidence. Crime tape marked off the exit to the next street and another police car blocked the opening, lights flashing.

The empty limo made Peyton’s gut tighten. KT had complained about her father’s insistence on the bodyguard and the expense of a rented limo. Peyton had seconded her father, much to KT’s irritation. And Torne had gotten her anyway.

Peyton turned to scan the street. Several of the doormen stood outside their buildings, arms crossed while they watched the activity. A small neighborhood store sat about the middle of the opposite block. A florist’s delivery truck was parked a few doors down. The police were questioning some of the pedestrians clustered on the sidewalk.

Peyton glanced back down the alley at the limo and then at the street. The store with its outside display of vegetables and fruits sat almost opposite the alley entrance. A small security camera perched on a light pole in front of the store, its lens directed at the sidewalk and front door. Through the front window, Peyton could see the indistinct form of man staring out at the proceedings.

Peyton crossed the street and pushed open the door. The squawk of the door sensor greeted him along with strains of scratchy rock-n-roll.

The man behind the counter stepped closer to the register in front of a wall of cigarettes and smokeless tobacco products. The framed business license hanging amid several outdated calendars listed an “Arthur Klaussner” as the owner of the “Shop & Save Mart.”

“I’ve told the police everything I saw,” the man said.

Peyton’s temper inched up at the man’s defensive tone. “You the owner or an employee?”

“Owner.” His tone added a silent “what’s it to ya,” but Peyton ignored it.

Peyton hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Mr. Klaussner, did they ask about your security camera?”

Klaussner gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Course they did, but it’s focused on my store, not the street.”

“Let me see.”

Klaussner hunched like a dog over a bone. “Why? Nothing to see, just my store.”

The door opened and Ham stepped inside. “Peyton?”

“Security camera,” Peyton said, focused on the man in front of him. “I want to see the tape.” He leaned forward. “Now.”

Something in Peyton’s face made Klaussner take a step backward. He looked at Ham, as if for help. Out of the corner of his eye, Peyton saw Ham flip out his badge and the man relaxed, a little. Klaussner shifted a small monitor screen on the counter so that Peyton could see it.

“See, just the front of my store.”

The screen showed the exterior of the shop. A man in a t-shirt emblazoned with the florist’s logo walked past while Peyton watched. Peyton leaned closer and waited. An engine started and the reflection of the delivery truck inched between the store and the entrance of the alley. The huge plate glass window captured the image beautifully.

Peyton pointed. “There!”

Ham glanced at the screen and then over his shoulder at the street. “Good catch!” He nodded at the store owner. “Run it backward.”

With a sigh and a half shake of his head, Klaussner disappeared below the counter and the images on the screen flickered. The florist’s truck backed down the street and the delivery man walked backward across the screen. The arrival of the police and the techs played out and then there were a few moments of empty sidewalk in front of the store.