Embrace The Night (39 page)

“All right,” he said.

Sage led the way and knocked on the door of the building that had been pointed out to her. It took a moment, and there was a loud, gruff barking from inside, but finally the barking stopped and a woman opened the door enough to peek out. “Yes? Who are you?” she asked. “Are you here to see my work?”

She had long dark hair pulled back into a low tail, and she looked as if she were in her late twenties. Maybe thirty. Sage was struck by how strikingly pretty she was, and she couldn’t help but glance at Simon to see his reaction. He seemed uninterested, his face immobile, waiting for her to talk.

“Um…I know this is going to sound odd, but we’re looking for someone who might know Remington Truth. Or knew him. And we were told that a woman of your description was here, and had known him. Would that be you?”

The woman shook her head slowly. She had lovely blue-violet eyes with a black ring around the irises. “No, that name doesn’t sound familiar to me. I’m sorry I can’t help you.”

She started to close the door, and Sage dug in her pocket, pulling out the ID badge. “This is a picture of him. Are you sure it doesn’t look familiar?”

The woman glanced at the picture briefly and shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.” She started to close the door again, but Simon stuck his foot in the way. “Pardon me?” she said, her voice sharpening.

The dog inside must have heard the change in his mistress’s voice, because he started barking again. Loud and in warning.

“Did you say you had some work that we might look at?” Simon said. His voice sounded…normal now. Not that flinty cold tone he’d been using.

The woman’s eyes narrowed at him. “What kind of work are you looking for?” The dog kept barking, sounding more and more agitated, and the woman turned to look back into the house. “Dantès! Enough!”

Sage’s eyes widened and she looked at Simon, who, being much better at hiding his feelings—no kidding—merely gave her a brief nod of agreement.

When the woman turned back to them, Sage said, “Dantès. That’s a character from one of my favorite books.”

For the first time, the woman smiled. “Yes,
The Count of Monte Cristo
?” She shook her head. “I started reading that book a long time ago, and I never…well, I never finished it. So I named him”—she gestured inside, at the now-silent dog that was out of sight—“after Edmond Dantès from the book because I always wondered if he managed to get out of prison.”

Sage nodded, smiling, knowing they’d found the right woman now. “He did. And he went on to become quite an amazing character. You ought to finish it some time.”

“I would certainly like to,” the woman said.

“And we’d like to see your work,” Simon said. Pushing his foot a little more firmly through the door.

“What are you doing?” she asked, the rapport gone from her face.

“We know you knew Remington Truth,” Simon said pleasantly. “Because we found that picture of him in your copy of
The Count of Monte Cristo
that you left in Falling Creek a few years ago.”

The woman drew back and tried to close the door, but Simon’s foot, and now his calf, had wedged in the way.

“What do you want?” she said. She didn’t sound frightened, simply annoyed.

“We just want some information, we’re not here to cause trouble. But I think it would be best to have this conversation inside the house.” And he shifted so that the gun on his hip was obvious.

The woman’s eyes widened, then lowered in acceptance. “Very well, then. Come in.”

She opened the door and the two stepped into her small little home.

The type of work she did was immediately evident to Sage by the smell lingering within, and the items stacked around the room. “Pottery?” she asked, trying to be kind and to rebuild the rapport they’d had a moment earlier.

The woman nodded, but her face was still set angrily. Dantès, who was a very large, ferocious-looking dog on the other side of a small gate, barked again, sharply—as if to assess the situation. She turned to him with a sharp movement and he settled. “I don’t allow him in here because he’s more than a bit clumsy,” she said, gesturing to the stacks of pots and plates and mugs.

“Now, what do you want from me?” she asked again.

“We just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all,” Sage told her. “But, first, let me introduce myself. I’m Sage, and this is Simon. And…you are?”

The woman sighed, her gaze sweeping over Sage. Reluctance oozing from her body, she shrugged and shifted her shoulders. “I’m Remington Truth.”

“You can’t be Remington Truth,” Sage said. “We’re looking for an older white-haired man.”

But Remington—if that was really her name—didn’t answer. Instead, she walked over to one of the many shelves that held stacks of bowls, and vases and pitchers lined up. All of them were in dark purple, violet or indigo colors, slashed with black and speckled with pale blue.

If Sage were in the market for plates or a vase, she’d be happy with one of them.

When Remington turned, she held a gun in her hand. Pointing it at Simon, she said, “Put yours on the floor, there, Simon, if you please.” Remington held the gun like she meant it, and her voice was cool and calm.

Insolence blaring from his every move, Simon withdrew the weapon from his jeans, and dropped it on the floor. Then, he kicked it toward their hostess, who reached to pick it up without her own weapon wavering.

Sage, who’d never seen a gun in her life before today, but had now seen three in the space of a couple hours, could hardly assimilate the situation. Was she living in some Jason Bourne movie?

Dantès, for his part, had remained silent and watchful from his side of the gate, other than a brief little whine when Sage had exclaimed her disbelief at the woman’s announcement.

“Why are you looking for Remington Truth? And yes, that’s my real name,” she added. “He was my grandfather. I was named for him.”

Before Simon or Sage could answer, there was a knock at the door. A hard, impertinent pounding that prompted another warning yip from Dantès, followed by a deep-throated growl.

Remington glanced at them, and at the door, and seemed to make a decision to do nothing. “Sit, please,” she said, gesturing to a sofa that might hold three people. If they squished.

Sage, unused to having a gun trained on her, sat, immediately. But Simon measured the woman, taking his time…although he did, at last, sit. Far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that he could grab her if he needed to.

The knocking on the door sounded again, and it was accompanied by a shout. “Simon! Sage! We know you’re in there. Let us in, or we’ll come in.”

That sounded like Wyatt.
Wyatt?

Remington frowned at the door, then, lips pursed, she walked closer to Sage and, pointing the gun at her forehead, said to Simon, “You answer the door. Let them in. No funny stuff, or she’s got scrambled brains.”

Simon glanced at Sage as if to assure her he wasn’t about to let anything happen to her, and she noticed that that fierce, wild look had gone from his eyes. He looked like Simon again.

Her Simon.

He opened the door, slowly, and Sage heard him say, “Hello, guys. We’ve got a bit of a situation in here, if you want to join us, you may. Though I don’t recommend it, but if you must, just come in slowly.”

The door opened and in filed Wyatt, Quent, and Theo.
Why the heck had he let them in?

“You’re
safe
,” Theo said, looking at Sage. Then he snapped to a halt, frozen as he comprehended the tableau before him. She saw his eyes go from her to the woman holding the gun, and back again. The others did likewise and for a moment, the room was silent. “Uh, guess not?” Theo amended.

Remington had shifted slightly away from Sage to face the door, but the barrel was aimed at her. Their hostess was still vibrating with vigilance.

“How did you find me?” Sage asked, looking at Theo. How had they known where Ian Marck had taken her?

“Show me your hands,” Remington ordered impatiently.

Wyatt, Quent, and Theo did as they were told, lifting their hands away from their bodies. Sage noticed that Simon had shifted to stand behind them, sort of out of the way…and she wondered if he had some plan in mind. Maybe he was going to turn invisible, hoping to do it without Remington noticing.
That could be why he let them in. Camouflage?

Either that, or they wouldn’t listen and stay outside, and…that could be a problem. For me.

Remington was in full control of the situation. “Now sit down, and keep your hands where I can see them. The first person who moves, I pull the trigger. And I’m a perfect shot.”

Wyatt shifted and Remington snapped a look at him. “You don’t believe me?” She moved suddenly, and there was a sudden sharp
ping
. Pottery smashed and clattered, tumbling from a shelf just behind Wyatt’s shoulder, spilling down and over him and onto the floor.

“Holy fucking
shit
,” Wyatt said, brushing at the shards on him. The bullet had nearly grazed the top of his shoulder and might even have trimmed off a bit of his hair. His face was slack with shock…then it faded to anger. “What the
hell
? I
breathed
!”

“I warned you.” Remington looked around the room as if to say,
Who’s next?

Sage glanced over at Simon, desperate to warn him not to try anything, but he wasn’t looking at her.
Simon! Don’t be stupid.

Theo sat down next to Sage, and Quent settled next to him, and that was all that could fit on that couch. Sage noticed that Quent had kept his hands in his lap, obviously unwilling to touch anything that could send him falling into memories…and Simon had continued to edge back, into a corner, without appearing to do so.

“Now, who are you and what are you doing here, ruining my day? Do you know how long I’ve been here, living happily, where no one’s been able to find me? And now here you are, a whole parade of you forcing your way in here and screwing everything up.”

Sage kept her mouth closed because she sensed the woman didn’t really want an answer. She was just furious for being found.

But the more Sage looked at her, the more she believed that she was, really, Remington Truth—the granddaughter of the real one. Her eyes, for one, were the same. And she’d seen enough pictures of the man to recognize the set of her chin and the shape of her nose. Smaller and more feminine on the woman, but the resemblance was there.

Remington kept the gun trained on Sage, obviously aware that she was the weak point for a group of men, but she was backing away at the same time. “So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. Sorry I can’t stay and be a better hostess. And I’m really pissed that I’m going to have to leave all my work behind!”

By this time, she’d reached the gate that confined Dantès, and, still keeping the gun trained on the group of them, she reached behind her and unlocked the gate.

The dog…no, good grief, now that he was in full light, Sage saw that he was a
wolf
…trotted out. The dog had to be well over a hundred twenty pounds of lean muscle. His head reached Remington’s elbow, and his girth was as wide as Simon’s shoulders.

Holy crap.
Sage dared not even breathe.

“Dantès, guard,” Remington said, and the hound moved to the center of the room and sat down.

He fairly quivered with attention, his ears straight up, his eyes bright and sharp. Wyatt drew in a deep breath, and Dantès swiveled to him, lifting his lip to show
huge
canines.

“Some dog,” Theo breathed. And the wolf turned to fix him with his eyes, this time baring his teeth.

“Sorry I can’t stay and visit any longer. I’m sure you have a great story to tell me, but now that you’ve ruined my life, I’ve got to get on the road again.” Remington walked past the gate through which the dog had just come, obviously heading for a rear exit. She paused and added, “Don’t worry. I’ll send someone over to release Dantès in a few hours. But by then, I’ll be long gone.”

“You’re going to leave him behind?” Wyatt asked, accusation in his voice. “Nice.”

Remington turned and fixed her blue-violet eyes on him with loathing. “Don’t worry about Dantès. He always finds me.”

And then she was gone.

And there they sat, guarded by a wolfhound. Sage turned to Theo, trying not to move enough to catch their guard’s attention, and trying not to think about the fact that it had been a while since she’d peed. She didn’t think Dantès would understand if she asked to go. “How did you know where to find me?” she said to Theo.

“Well, a friend of Quent’s saw Marck abduct you, and it really wasn’t difficult to put two and two together once we thought about it. Obviously, he gave us the clue that sent you to Falling Creek, and it wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart. We figured he wanted to know what you’d found out, and it made sense that you were either here or at Falling Creek. We came here first, on a hunch…and we saw you and Simon knocking on this door.”

Suddenly, Quent said, “Where the hell is Simon?”

Sage looked over to where he’d been, and, sure enough, he was gone. He’d turned invisible and he’d begun to carefully ease the door open…ready to sneak out.

Dantès noticed, and the hackles rose at the back of his neck. He growled and Sage gasped, “Simon, be careful!”

“Where is he?” Theo asked.

“Bugger me blind, is he
invisible
?” Quent said, noticing the door opening.

“Simon, I think he can
see
you!” cried Sage, as the dog got up on all fours, showing all of his many teeth.

But then the door closed, and Simon was gone.

She swiveled back to look at Dantès, who’d sat back down, but still glared at the door. With her movement, the dog fixed his glittering eyes on Sage and she tried to sit very still. And not look directly at him, in case he thought she was challenging him.

Moments later, there was a sound from the back of the house, and Dantès gave a low growl, but he didn’t move.

The gate swung closed by an invisible hand, and then Simon shimmered back into invisibility, on the other side of the gate.