The Heat (28 page)

Allan Jennings.

Daniel had pulled the man into his fold of friendship. He had trained him personally. He had trusted him. But in return, Allan Jennings had seriously injured and kidnapped the love of Daniel’s life.

Daniel’s instincts about the man in high school had been right, after all. There had been something about Jennings that he simply hadn’t liked. And when he’d found out that Allan wanted Lily – he’d made damn sure that the boy stay away.

Daniel had good instincts. Because, if his deductive reasoning was correct, Jennings was a Hunter. Daniel had believed that nothing more could surprise him that day. He’d been wrong.

“I’m going to strangle him with his own intestines,” Lieutenant Angel swore through gritted teeth. He’d sent the human officers away and come back to stand beside Daniel once more. He, too, had scented Jennings in the car.

Something inside of Daniel slid back into place in that instant. The cop in him stepped forward and shoved the wolf in him aside. Sort of. Enough for him to do his job. At least he had something to go on. And he knew Lily was alive.

Now it was a race against time.

* * * *

Daniel allowed the cop in him to take the reins. With expert efficiency, he watched himself move through the motions of tracking down Officer Allan Jennings. His cell phone conversations were hurried, plentiful and blunt. He made demands and the people on the other end of the line always obliged him. He was the Police Chief and this was a life or death situation.

He had people pull up everything from Jennings’ utility bills to his bank notes to his credit card records. He had people running a full check on the man’s psychological profile and tracking down documentation on where Jennings went while online, what he purchased, what he downloaded.
Everything.

Approximately half an hour later, a call came through from someone at the station. Apparently, Jennings had purchased a second house about a year ago. No one had ever heard of this transaction. His home address had not changed. He’d never spoken of it to anyone. He had paid for it in full. In cash.

“Hunter money,” Stark muttered, the expression on his face reflecting the disgust that everyone on that highway shoulder was feeling at that moment.

Over the phone the address was quickly relayed. Daniel hung up. “All right men, it looks like he may not have gone far. This home address is only three and a half miles up the road.”

Daniel figured that Jennings had left Lily’s car parked here, so close to his address, with the sole intention of confusing his Chief into thinking he would then take his new vehicle somewhere far, far away. It was a smart move on his part. Luckily it hadn’t worked.

Receiving the intel was like flicking a switch. The pack mobilized instantly; Knight, Stark, Angel and the others returned to their cars, motorcycles, and trucks and started their engines. Daniel once more retained the lead on his Harley, but this time, the pack kept their sirens quiet as they raced after their quarry. Just as they hadn’t wanted to warn Cole, the wolves didn’t want to alert Jennings to their approach.

At least, not until it was too late.

Bougainvillea Lane was one of those ancient plantation driveways that was historic and scenic enough that city government had deemed it worthy of its own street name. It turned off of Highway 61 without warning and now that the rain was coming down steadily, it took some serious riding expertise for the cops on motorcycles to keep from laying their bikes down as they turned onto the gravel drive.

The home was vintage antebellum; white pillars supported a wrap-around porch that framed a two-story mansion most likely built in the late eighteenth century and then revived. Potted plants sported bright pink and white blooms and the air was thick with the scent of honeysuckle. The two-hundred-year-old oak trees that lined the drive were dripping with Spanish moss so long and thick, it nearly hid the Greek-styled statues that decorated the well-manicured lawn.

How a police officer could have afforded a place like this, Daniel had no idea. Maybe Stark was right. Maybe it was Hunter money. But why? Why would a Hunter even be interested in purchasing such a residence? It had to have cost millions. Wasn’t it a well known plantation of some sort? And it was large enough for several families.

As far as Daniel knew, Jennings was just Jennings – no wife, no children, no family to speak of. What would all of the other rooms be for?

It made no sense.

But that didn’t stop him from kicking down his stand, leaping from the saddle of his bike, and charging toward the front porch, his fire arm drawn as he moved with blinding speed.

The others rushed to keep up with him. Daniel didn’t bother to knock on the door. Instead, he cocked his head to one side, listening. He turned his nose up slightly to sniff the air as he simultaneously waved several of his men around the building.

The sound of a television could be heard coming from some room deep within the home. A late afternoon sitcom. Track laughter filled the space between the television and the werewolves waiting outside.

Daniel’s gaze cut to his grandfather, whose slightly bewildered expression mirrored the Chief’s. Jonathan Kane shrugged and shook his head. There were shadows on the man’s face. He’d lost a lot today. Everything he had left was riding on this, here and now.

Something about this didn’t feel right.

His gaze fell to the floor boards of the porch as he continued to listen to the sounds of scripted banter and forced laughter from beyond. Then he lifted his head again and nodded. Once.

Instantly, the door to the old home was open and police officers were filing inside, Daniel at their lead. As he turned the corner into what was once most likely a drawing room, he found an elderly African American sitting on the couch. Daniel ordered them to the floor and they instantly complied, their shaking hands in the air.

He and the cops around him aimed their weapons down and away from the couple, but their eyes were alert and watchful.

“What the
hell
is going on here?” asked the old man.

Daniel didn’t answer. His eyes searched the shadows, his expression grim. “This is wrong,” he muttered. “This is the address, but this is wrong.” Frustration was riding him hard. Time was of the essence and they were wasting it. This was not the place. Jennings wasn’t here.

“We’re looking for a Caucasian man, just over six feet tall,” one of the officers began to address the couple kneeling on the floor. While Daniel would normally handle the situation himself, at the moment he just didn’t have it in him.

He turned away from the scene and left the room, his gun still gripped tightly in his hand, his eyes still relentless in their search. He felt like a man who stood on the threshold of Hell and was ready to start knocking on the door.

Knight, Stark, Angel and Jonathan Kane all followed closely on his heels, leaving the others to apologize and straighten out the mess behind them.

“Just in case, search the stairs and check to see whether there’s a basement,” Daniel ordered softly as he opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch.

Knight nodded. “I’ll take the stairs. Angel, take the kitchen and basement. Stark, check the grounds.”

The others nodded their assent and left.

Daniel waited beside his bike, trying to get his body and mind under control. A few minutes later, his pack returned. There had been no basement. There was an attic, but there was no blood anywhere. And no Jennings.

Daniel took his phone and dialed. “Nichols, give me the address again,” He ordered. He waited as a woman on the other side of the line repeated the address she’d given to him earlier. “You do realize that’s a plantation home?” he asked, his patience wearing as thin as carbon paper.

There was a pause on the other end as the officer ran a check through her data base. Daniel could hear the woman’s fingers flying across her keyboard. A mouse click. Another. More finger-flying. “I’m sorry, sir. You’re right. That address is listed under the Ambrosia Plantation off of Highway 61… I don’t know what happened.”

“I do.” Daniel muttered. He hung up.

The Hunters were a powerful organization. At their head, they were lead by an obscure figure with a seemingly endless source of finances and sway and their members numbered in the hundreds of thousands. Somewhere along the way, a kind of base had been purchased for Allan Jennings and its address had been switched – hidden – in every file that contained it.

Daniel pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Jennings had been a cop and as such, he’d had access to all sorts of otherwise secure information. As a
Hunter
and a cop, that circle of access would only be greatly broadened.

Off-hand, Daniel wondered how many others in the police department were set to betray the werewolf community. Which made him wonder something else. How many officials in political positions around the world, in general, were somehow tied to the Hunters?

If Allan Jennings could infiltrate a pack as tightly knit as Daniel’s…. Where was their safe ground?
Was
there any?

“
Think
, God damn it,
think
!” Daniel hissed at himself, ran a hand through his blue-black hair and pinched the bridge of his nose again. He felt as if electricity were buzzing through his system. He was going to explode. He began pacing, furiously running through the information in his brain.

He now knew what Hell felt like. Because somewhere, at that very moment, Allan Jennings had Lily St. Claire, and God only knew what he was doing with her.

Chapter Twenty: Really Good Cop, Really Bad Cop

“Lily.”

Lily’s eyes fluttered open and almost instantly, her stomach cramped. Her wrists throbbed where they pulled with bruising force against the strange, strong metal of the cuffs that contained them.
So, it wasn’t a dream.…
Her heart sank and tears built in her eyes. She forced them back and rolled over to look up at Allan Jennings, who was standing beside the bed holding a plastic tray.

She smelled the food that was on it. There was meat.

Hope burgeoned to life within her. Her plan was simple. Get him to take off the cuffs. Eat something. Get her strength back. Trick him. Overtake him. Kill him.

She waited. If she didn’t say anything, maybe he would think of taking the handcuffs off himself.

Jennings stared down at her for several long, silent moments. His expression was unreadable. But she knew that the sheet over her had been pulled to the side, exposing half of her naked body. She could hear his blood rushing and could smell his arousal. It was pre-cum. She could see the bulge in his jeans.

It was strange how she didn’t care. Brazen. Insane.
I’m as nuts as he is….

The damned dizziness was back and she closed her eyes. “Are you going to stand there and tease me with the food, Allan, or are you actually going to let me eat it?” she found herself asking. Her voice sounded different. Lower. Sultry. More sexy.

With that, he seemed to compose himself and pulled the stool closer to the bed. He set the tray down on the bed and Lily turned to face it, managing to raise herself onto her elbow in order to get a look at it.

He must have ordered out
, she thought. It was a steak and it was actually rare. Just as she’d imagined it. It smelled better than anything she’d ever smelled in her life.

There was nothing else with it. No bread, no potato, no vegetable, as if he knew she wouldn’t have touched anything but the meat.
Of course he knows
, she thought.
He knows everything about werewolves. He’s been tracking them and killing them for years.

Her gaze flitted from the steak to Jennings again. He was pulling a small set of keys from his front pocket with one hand. And then he pulled the gun out of his waist band with the other.

Lily stiffened.

Jennings saw this and held the gun up with his fingers splayed placatingly as if to show her that he wasn’t planning on using it. Not yet, anyway. “I don’t want to hurt you again, Lily,” he told her. “So just make sure you don’t do anything stupid, and I won’t.” At that moment, he reminded her of John Cusack in Grosse Pointe Blank. He acted like he was making a reasonable request. As if there was justification for shooting someone thirty times.

She stared at him for a long, silently seething while. And then, forcing a defeated expression onto her features, she nodded. Once.

In turn, Jennings placed the barrel of the gun –
gently
– against her chest and, with his other hand, he reached over her and unlocked the cuffs.

Lily didn’t even dare to move once he’d unlocked her. She really didn’t want to get shot again.

When he finally stepped back, taking the gun and the cuffs with him, she slowly pushed herself into a seated position. The steak was already cut into little pieces, and there was no fork.

Lily kept her eyes trained on Jennings and his gun as she reached out, picked one of the pieces up with her thumb and forefinger, and brought it to her lips. She opened her mouth and set the piece on her tongue. It was so good that she had to force herself not to moan or close her eyes. She simply chewed and swallowed. Then she took another piece. And another.

All the while, Jennings watched her as carefully as she watched him.

In a few moments, Lily could feel her strength returning. The dizziness subsided. The cramps in her stomach lessened and then went away.

“Your color is returning,” he told her. There was no discernable emotion in his tone.

She didn’t answer him. She finished the meat and then licked her fingers. She couldn’t help it. There was a glass of water beside the plate on the tray. She lifted the glass and brought it to her lips. Before drinking, she slowly breathed in. Scenting.

It was just water. She gulped the water down, emptying the glass, and then returned it to the tray. Then she waited, watching her captor carefully, weighing her options.

“Lay down,” Jennings told her.