Spiked (The Sundance Series Book 1), page 2
"Cut it out. I just cleaned those."
Dizzy from the drugs, I attempted to sit up. Made it on the second try. Stupid poacher and his stupid drug. I was going to have a headache soon—one of the splintering kind. Not to mention the evil nightmares I'd picked up from the poacher's vile brain that would come to haunt me in my dreams.
"Doors locked?" I patted my head. My ponytail had come loose and I now had chestnut-brown frizz in my face and down my back.
The wolf nodded. Gave a short yip of disapproval.
"Geez. Only asking."
The back door to the bakery opened and then slammed shut.
"Neely? Are you okay?" Della Bates, Donovan's mother, called out from the kitchen. She was my age, late twenties, brown-eyed and brunette, Irish pale and petite. Although she was an alpha wolf, she had to be the least threatening shifter I'd ever met. "Donny told me everything."
"Doors locked?" I glared at my uncle. "Back door?"
The wolf whined and covered his eyes with one paw.
"Hey." I tried to untangle my tongue long enough to yell out a warning. "D-Don't let D-Donny come in here. It's a—"
"Mess." Della appeared in the doorway, perky ponytail swinging. She fixed her wide-eyed gaze on the pile of bloody meat that used to be the poacher and licked her lips. It was unnerving, the way she eyed the poacher's corpse as if it were a slab of barbecued tri-tip. It was normal behavior for shifters, but I'd never get used to witnessing it.
"Donny isn't here. I dropped him off at the medical clinic. He's with Luz and Yolanda."
"Guess I d-didn't w-watch him very well."
The reason Donny had been in the bakery was because Della had asked if I'd keep an eye on him while she popped down the street to run errands. She and Donny had arrived in Sundance a few months back, shortly after we did, and we'd become acquainted. It was no imposition. The boy wasn't any trouble, and business was slow in the afternoons.
"It wasn't your fault." Her gaze was still glued to the dead man. When she realized I'd caught her salivating over the body, she apologized in that melodic mouse voice of hers and darted to the windows, drawing the blinds and curtains and double-checking the lock on the front door before coming back to kneel beside me.
"You have a needle in your leg."
The hypodermic protruded from my thigh at a painful angle. I yanked it out, and the edges of the world began to roll up and blacken like the corners of a wanted poster in an old western movie.
"Careful." She grasped me by the shoulders so I didn't tip over. "Huh. There's a lot of the drug still in it. Looks like José took care of the guy before he shot you up with the full dose, thank goodness. Should I take this to Luz? Have her look at it?"
I nodded. Slowly. Up, up, up and down, down, down. "Prease." I cleared my throat. "Please."
Della smiled gently. "Shall I help you to your apartment? Or do you need to see Luz? I can ask her to come here."
"No Luz." I tried to lever myself to my feet using the counter near me, but I bonked my head on it instead. Objects in mirrors are closer than they appear.
"Here." Della scooped me up in her skinny arms as easily as I'd scooped up her son a few minutes before. I never got used to the strength of shifters. Even the weakest were three times stronger than any human.
My studio was conveniently located above the bakery, so she didn't have far to carry me. The indoor access staircase was tucked into the left back corner of the kitchen and wasn't visible from the café or even the kitchen until you peeked around the ovens.
Once we were upstairs, Della helped me to my bed and wiped my face with a cool washcloth and the injection site with alcohol-soaked gauze. It stung for a second but made me feel better overall.
She stood, hands on hips, and surveyed the room. "Cozy."
The top of the stairs led into my living room space, where two low chairs were pushed together to create a small sofa in front of a square coffee table. Beyond the living area, nestled in a nook, was my kitchen. Pine wood shelves lined the wall from counter to ceiling to accommodate my dishes and cooking tools.
"You like to cook? Like your uncle?" Della asked.
"Mmm-hmm." I closed one eye in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.
To the left of the kitchen was a bathroom with a standard-sized tub and shower—I'd sacrificed valuable living space so I could have that tub and it was more than worth it. Across from the bathroom lay a pine platform upon which sat my full-sized bed. Defined by strategically-placed narrow bookcases and separated from the rest of the room by glass panel doors, my bedroom gave the illusion of privacy but allowed light to shine through.
"You know, this is the first time I've been here."
Because I didn't allow many people up here. This place was my sanctuary. I'd designed the entire apartment, from the open shelving in the kitchen to the platform my bed sat on, from the fluffy spa towels in the bathroom to the framed desert photographs on the walls. Every book in the bookcase, every pillow on the sofa was chosen by me for a special reason.
"The open layout is perfect for a space like this. Such a smart design." She strolled into the kitchen, found a glass and filled it with ice water. "Not that I know much about that. I only know what I like and I like your place."
"Thanks."
She handed me the water and slowly let the smile on her face fade into a frown. "Thank you for what you did today. For Donovan. For me."
"S'okay."
"We owe you. I don't forget things like that. Neither will Alpha Blacke."
Oh God, not Lucas. Dread poured into me. "Don' tell 'im 'bout it."
"He probably already knows. Donny ran down the street screaming his head off about the 'bad man sticking you with a needle' after he ran out of the bakery. Thank heavens there were no humans around."
"What? Donny saw 'im shtick me with the needle?" My heart stuttered. Exactly how much of the conversation had the boy heard? How much would he repeat?
Della nodded. "He was pretty upset about it."
My foggy brain reviewed the conversation I'd had with the poacher. Had I told him I was a spiker-telepath before he stuck me or after? After. It had to be. But how much after, I wasn't sure.
I sent a prayer into the universe that Donny had been too distracted by the poacher sticking me with a needle to have heard my secret. Because if the little wolf knew it, it was only a matter of time until Della knew it. Only a matter of time before their alpha leader knew it. Only a matter of time before my uncle and I had to run again.
"I told 'im to run," I said dully.
Della shrugged. "Donny may be a pup, but he's still an alpha. It's built into his nature to protect people he considers his. He probably stayed close in case he could help you, and when he realized it was more than he could handle, he ran to get us." She didn't seem nearly as worried about her son staying behind as I thought she should be.
"Anyway, I'm sure our alpha will want to thank you for today. You were very brave." She smiled and drew the blue afghan at the foot of my bed over me as I silently agonized over the idea of Lucas Blacke mixed up in this. I didn't want him anywhere near my secret. Once they found out what I could do, alpha leaders tended to want to use me in ways I did not wish to be used.
"You look a little ill. Are you sure I can't convince you to let Luz take a look at you?"
"I'll go 'morrow. I'm fine, jusht need shleep."
She nodded. "Okay. In the meantime, I'll ask Luz to check out that drug for you. It's probably a modified animal tranquilizer. Most poachers carry the stuff."
As she said this, the color bled out of her face and she squeezed her small hands into white-knuckled fists. Was she thinking about her son and his close call with the poacher? I struggled with the urge to read her thoughts and find out. The moral side of me won that battle, but it was not a landslide victory, and my head pounded from the effort of holding back.
"Della? You okay?"
"Yes." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sorry. I had an experience with poachers once. Today brought up some bad memories."
I put my hand on top of hers. "Didn't know."
She scowled, snatched her hand out from under mine. "Of course you didn't. No one knows." The edge on her voice was sharp enough to cut granite. There was some real trauma there.
I made a mental note to respect Della's touching boundaries in the future. "Shorry."
"No, Neely, I…" She gave me a watery smile. "I'm sorry."
"It's s'okay. I've had bad essperiences, too."
"With a poacher?"
If only it had been that simple. "Alpha leader. Very b-bad g-guy."
Della looked at me for a long moment. "They're strong. The drugs. That's why you're having trouble speaking. They're meant to keep you from screaming."
That simple statement, delivered in Della's chirpy, offhand way of speaking, chilled me to the core. I had to double down on blocking her thoughts then, because it was tempting to find out exactly what had happened to her, what could have happened to Donny or me if I'd been any slower to react.
"Bunsh of basserds."
"Yes. They are." She bounded to her feet. Gave me a brittle, perky smile. "I'll help José clean up downstairs. Don't worry, the Blacke shifters will get rid of the body and the evidence." She said this the same way she might have said, 'Don't worry, I'll stop by and water your plants while you're away for the weekend.'
I thanked her, not entirely sure I should.
"You're welcome. Sleep now. Everything will be fine when you wake up." She gave me a stiff hug and zipped out of the room using her shifter speed. Low-level alpha she might be, but the woman was fast.
I dozed for the rest of the day, dragged in and out of consciousness by monsters chasing me—human and paranormal—by men with sharp needles and bad intentions, and by sweet little feminine wolves with blood dripping from their muzzles.
Two days later, Donny Bates was back in the bakery. If I'd thought for one moment that Della wouldn't trust him alone with me after the poacher incident, her words to my tío before heading to the grocery store proved that false.
"I like when he's with you two. You'll do anything to protect him."
She was right. I could never have allowed that poacher to take Donny. I had a dangerous secret to keep, but I couldn't imagine a scenario in which I'd be able to stand back and allow a child to be harmed. Secret or not, I couldn't live with something like that.
While I attended to the never-ending job of cleaning fingerprints off the display cases, Donny traced numbers on a worksheet. One short leg swung lazily as he clutched the fat pencil, brow scrunched in concentration. Once in a while he glanced at the front and back doors. If I didn't know better, I'd think the kindergartener was keeping watch.
Chucking aside that distressing thought, I took a calming whiff of sugar-scented bakery air and allowed myself a moment to bask in the warmth and beauty of La Buena Suerte. Tío José had poured himself into this panaderia, infusing it with our family history, his love of baking, and his infectious joy, until it wasn't simply a building or a business, but a home.
The bakery was his homage to his beloved Mexico with a nod to Mexican-American culture, a celebration of life in jeweled splashes of color. The building was stuccoed pale gold, the veranda shading the entrance glowed brilliant pink, the exterior windows were bright purple, and the front door gleamed fire engine red. Interior walls were a sunny saffron, the windowsills orange and purple. The front door was blue on the inside to match the Talavera tile on the countertop and coordinate with the Mexican folk art items that hung on the walls.
I'd had my doubts when we opened all those paint cans, but once we splashed the wild colors on the walls, I was shocked at how they not only blended but also engendered a feeling of peace and welcome in anyone who entered.
Much like my tío himself.
The man on my mind stood in the doorway dividing the kitchen from the café and wiped his hands on his apron. A lock of silver-kissed hair fell over his forehead, and he swept it back. He was a youthful seventy, trim and strong, with a full head of hair he claimed as the reason why the ladies couldn't resist him.
Personally, I thought it had something to do with the fact that he owned a place that made bread and pastries, but what did I know?
I pointed to the package he'd carefully wrapped up and set at the back counter. "Fresh baked cookies? Taking these to the apothecary for Yolanda, your novia?"
"Who says I'm going there?" He stepped in front of the cookies so I couldn't see them.
"I thought I heard you singing Sabor a Mi this morning."
"So, I like that song. And Yolanda and I are just good friends who share cookies," he said with a twinkle in his eye. "But enough about me. How are you feeling, mija?"
He meant my head, which had been looping in an infinity headache since my confrontation with the poacher, but I pretended to misunderstand. I didn't want to talk about it.
"Hot. Considering we moved here from Las Vegas, that's saying a lot."
He let out a low, booming laugh that reminded me of a tuba blasting a B-flat. "Pobrecita. You'll get used to it."
I wrinkled my nose at the poor little girl remark, but I knew he was right. As long as it made him happy, I could get used to pretty much anything. I only hoped we'd get to stay here. Alpha Blacke had yet to stop by and "thank" me for saving Donny. I had no idea what he was planning and it was driving me crazy.
"Get used to one hundred fifteen degree heat?"
"It was hot in Las Vegas, too," he said.
"Yes, but we're literally two hours from San Diego, a city with some of the best weather in the world. Tell me again why you chose to stop here, the smallest, hottest town in southern California?" I was teasing and he knew it. Despite the heat and the remoteness, I liked Sundance. Actually, the remoteness was one of my favorite things about the place.
"Sundance is home. Besides, I like the heat. Warms my old bones." He called out to Donovan. "Has Señor Bates decided which treat he will have today?"
The boy's dark head popped up, eyes bright. Other than his increased watchfulness, he appeared no worse for wear after the poacher incident.
"Almost, Señor Costa. I want a piggy cookie or a pink shell bread."
"Both good choices. The conchas are especially fresh." He covered his mouth with his hand as if imparting a great secret. "Nelia eats all the pink ones if I don't keep an eye on her, so I make extra."
I rolled my eyes. "Don't listen to him. That wasn't a piece of cornbread on Señor Costa's breakfast plate this morning."
"Because you ate all the pan de elote at dinner last night."
"It was delicious." I winked at Donny. "I baked it."
"Only because I made the chili."
"Is that why? Or is it because my cornbread tastes better than yours?"
My uncle gasped dramatically and then pretended to cry. "How dare you."
Donny let out a giggle that turned into a laughing howl and rocked back in his chair. He would have fallen out of it if my uncle hadn't zipped from the doorway to the table and caught him. I had a moment of gratitude for shifter reflexes before the bell on the door jingled against the glass, signaling a new customer.
"Sounds like a party in here."
The man who entered the bakery was a foot taller than me and fit, with short black hair, tanned white skin, and soft blue eyes. Early thirties, active military or recently discharged—I could tell that without reading him. There was the haircut, but also something in the rigid way he held his head and shoulders and the ordered method in which he assessed the room. A muscle in his granite-hewn jaw pulsed as he registered threats first—my uncle, me—then exits.
Definitely not a local. No way would I have overlooked a man like this.
"Uncle Coop!" Donny jumped out of his chair and flew across the room into the man's arms. "When did you get here?"
"Hey, sport. Pulled in five minutes ago. Saw your mom outside the grocery store, and she sent me over. She said this bakery has the best cookies in the southwest."
"That's right." Tío José beamed. "Can we get you something to eat, drink?"
Donny pulled on his uncle's ear and shout-whispered, "Miss Neely makes the best cherry colas in the whole live world."
The man focused on me. "The whole live world?"
"I'm pretty popular with the dead world, too," I said.
"I'd imagine you are." Ice blue eyes held mine for a second longer than casual. I looked away first—not because I wasn't interested, but because I wasn't sure how to handle the fact that I was. I definitely was.
"Cherry cola?" I blurted. "Do you want one, I mean? I make the syrup myself. Real cherries." Neely, you brazen temptress. I'd have slapped myself on the forehead if the man wasn't staring directly into my eyes.
"I'd love one." He set Donny down in his chair, then smiled at me. My pulse picked up a few extra beats. "Biggest you have. Keg, if you've got it. I can back my car up to the front door and roll it out, no problem."
"So a large, then?" I felt his gaze on me as I circled around to the back of the counter.
"That'll do for starters. Tell me, exactly how much hotter is it here than on the surface of Mercury? Ten, twenty degrees? I spent a summer hauling gear around Iraq and this weather is killing me."
"It's only June too. Wait until August. Then you'll really feel the heat."
He grinned. "But I bet it's a dry heat, right?"
"Of course. It's the low desert. We specialize in both dry and heat." I handed him the soda.
"Makes sense." He fished his wallet out of the back pocket of snug utility pants that were more Eddie Bauer than Uncle Sam. Recently discharged, then. "How much do the cookie monster and I owe you?"
"Donny's treat is on the house as long as he finishes his schoolwork."
"Is that right? It's nice of you to do that, Señor Costa, Miss Neely." He thrust out a hand. "Cooper Bates. Apologies for not introducing myself sooner."
My uncle shook his hand. "Call me José." He sat in the chair next to Donny and watched the boy do his homework. "We reward good students here."
Donny grinned up at him. "I'm a good student."
