Jack, page 2
part #2 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
But she didn’t hit him, nor did she attempt to run away. Instead, she heaved a deep exhale of air and tossed the wrench to the side, holding her arms up: a sign of retreat. There was some muttering under her breath, too, and he was pretty sure it was something like, “What a day this is becoming.”
Then Kit stepped back and motioned for him to follow.
“Lock the door. Lock all doors that we pass. I don’t want to announce my residence to the world.”
At the corner of the garage, she pushed a table to the side and opened a hatch, which led to an underground space. This he remembered now, too—how he’d once been taken here, injured, when another clan had attacked this clan to get to Celine. Worry snapped over the anger, and now he was just eager to know if Celine was safe…if she was alive.
Underground, the place was what one would call an organized mess: computers and wires on one side, kitchen and a couch on the other. The bedroom door open, showing a glimpse of a bed and a bathroom. Monitors everywhere, showing images of the garage, the building beside it, and even some parts of the streets.
She led him to the computer area, where a screen was already turned on. A few clicks on the keyboard, a call button…a face filled the screen, and the relief for Jack was instantaneous.
Without invitation, he spoke.
“Celine.”
Celine Peach looked healthy, even glowing with her pink-tinged cheeks and sparkling green eyes. And surprised. But it was a pleasant kind of surprised.
“Finally!”
“Finally?” he echoed.
“I take it you can remember things now that you’re in Kit’s place,” she mused, a smile playing on her lips. It was a relieved one.
“I’m going to need you to explain this a bit to me, Celine.”
“It’s fairly simple. Remember the plan we made to have all the other clans follow me into a warehouse so they could fight it out? That plan involved me hiding somewhere and pretending to be taken so that they’d continue fighting it out. And I’d be home-free and could stay with this clan without being hunted at every turn.”
“Yes, I remember,” he murmured. The only reason he’d agreed to work with them on that was because of the fear of the other aggressive clans who wouldn’t have stopped until they'd snatched Celine up—the vampires to experiment on her and find out why she reproduced, and the shifters to kill her.
“Yeah, well, it all went wrong, as you know. I got knocked out, and so did you. It turns out the guy who impregnated me was that vampire clan’s magic-user.” Shadows entered her eyes, and she looked down. “Leila saved us, but he already did something to you. You woke up with no memories of me, or the clan, or that incident. The magic-user could no longer reverse it because he lost his magic. Leila had to cover everything up, and this clan had to clean up the whole mess and erase any evidence of me, too. We’ve been trying our best to restore your memories. Hunter insisted on it.”
Jack’s mouth turned down at the mention of the wolf shifter who was the one Celine was currently involved with. From the looks of it, that was still going steady now.
“Why not just tell me all of this when I woke up six months ago?”
At this, she looked up and looked him in the eye. “You’re a cop. Would you have believed a person you didn’t remember if she told you that you knew her?”
She was right, the remaining anger leaving Jack's body. He studied Celine. He missed her friendship but was also happy that she was happy. “Point taken. How’s Sidney?”
Celine’s eyes lit up at the mention of her daughter, her joy very nearly overflowing. It lightened something up inside him. “She’s growing fast. She’s happy.”
“Fangs?”
Celine hesitated before nodding. “We’ve been trying to get her to stop playing with her fangs.”
That had his mouth quirking as he fought a smile. “She’s half-vampire. It happens. As long as the clan treats her right.”
The words seemed to warm her up. “They do. They’re a good clan, Jack. They keep me protected, and they can be trusted.”
He doubted that. No clan was to be trusted in his mind, but she looked so happy that he didn’t have it in him to tell her so.
He was just going to have to protect her in silence.
“That’s good, Celine. You know, you can still change your mind, I have plenty of space in my apartment…and my other apartments, too…”
In the background, someone coughed, Jack realizing he wasn’t the only person in this room. He spared a glance in Kit’s direction—which, for some reason, she took as a go-signal as she cheerfully stepped beside him and shook her head.
“You haven’t been to your apartment in months because we don’t have access to it and wouldn’t have been able to help with your condition,” she mused, firing at rapid speed of words. “So we don’t know the state it’s in now.”
Right. Because they’d put him in one of his other apartments, the one that had easier access—and somehow, he’d played right into their convenience as he hadn’t bothered to move. He’d been too preoccupied trying to figure out why there was a huge blur in his mind these past few months.
Irritation flared, and he tamped it down.
“It’s secure, and it will be in excellent condition,” he clipped out coolly. No need to add that his main apartment was also a pocket—a small one, but a very safe one. “It’s designed to alert me of intruders so that I can rip them to shreds.”
Kit gulped.
Celine smiled and shook her head. “I’m fine where I am, Jack. Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry you had to find out this way. I’m sorry we weren’t able to help you with your memories sooner.”
The guilt was evident in her tone, and he didn’t want her feeling guilty. So he nodded.
“It’s fine. But again, you can call me if you change your mind. Or if you want to talk.”
Her smile turned warmer. Someone spoke in quiet tones in the background, making Celine frown before she sighed.
“I have to go. You know it’s not safe to communicate for long in pockets. I…Jack…”
“I’ll be here. You can reach me anytime,” he assured, understanding her conflict. Relief settled on her face before she gave a little wave. When the screen winked to black, Jack leaned back, his questions answered. But he wasn't feeling any easier about it.
Slowly, he turned to Kit, who was still standing beside him. Annoyingly so.
“So,” she began, clearing her throat.
“So,” he returned in a drawl, eyeing her again. Her height compared to his had him looking down at her. The clash of colors became less blinding, but it was still a clash.
“Do you want food?”
That wasn’t what Jack expected. He blinked. “What?”
“I have chocolates in my fridge. It helps soothe the soul.”
“What would soothe my soul, Miss O’Hara, is a nice kick in the ass for everyone involved. That includes your master—”
“For the last time, Leila isn’t my master—”
“I was talking about Edmund Masters. Your clan leader. The guy who orchestrated all of this.”
“You mean keeping you safe, helping you recover your memories, and healing you one time when you were injured at the risk of their pocket being discovered?” she shot back.
Well.
Jack stared, incredulous. Yes, those things were true…and he was pretty sure he’d just been put in his place by a very tiny woman. It took him a while to come up with a response.
“That doesn’t erase the fact that if Mr. Masters hadn’t taken Celine—”
“If she hadn’t been taken, the other clans would’ve been on her like street dogs to a bone, and she’d have been dead,” she countered, chin going up. There was fire in her eyes as if she could do this all day. “Contrary to what you believe, Mr. Stallone, Celine getting in that situation wasn’t of our doing. The clan might’ve started with kidnapping her, but we ended up saving her. You’re a half-shifter cop. You know how the world works.”
Unfortunately, he did. Clans did their best not to attack humans in mass numbers to still keep the supernatural world a secret, but everyone else was free game. Shifters couldn’t control themselves on some full moons. Daylighters walked the cities and integrated themselves into human lives. Nightwalkers preyed on lone people, glamouring them for sex or to drain them of blood.
That was how it had started for Celine.
“And how long have you been working for them to be this loyal and sure of Celine’s safety?”
“Since I was adopted at fourteen. I have been their messenger ever since. I’m twenty-two now, and they have not harmed a single hair on my head, and…” she trailed off as if realizing she’d said too much. Her pale cheeks colored. “Yeah.”
Eight years. There was no budging that loyalty, and Jack decided he didn’t want even to try. Another heavy feeling inside him eased at her words. If Kit hadn’t been harmed, he hoped to hell Celine would be treated the same.
His eyes swept the underground space again. Not exactly dark with all the nice lighting installments, but dim and cozy and very isolated from the world.
“And is this their way of repaying you for your services? By keeping you here?” he couldn’t resist digging in.
Kit didn’t seem offended as she shrugged. “I like this place. I chose this place.”
“And the pocket where their mansion is?”
“I don’t belong there.”
Odd statement. Curiosity slid over him, spiking when she started avoiding his gaze. She froze right after, a stilling straight down to the bones that held equal parts panic and dread. Jack shook his head.
“Come off it. I wasn’t going to ask you details, unless you’re inclined to share…”
“Shit.”
The curse had him blinking, then frowning. “Like I said—”
“Shit, shit, shit.”
It was then that he realized her attention wasn’t on him anymore, but on the monitors over their heads. His gaze zoned in on one: the door connecting the garage to the apartment building's hallway, where a man in a business suit was knocking insistently.
Immediately, he tensed, hands fisting and ready to draw out claws. He didn’t use them often, but they were his best weapon, other than a gun.
“Enemy clan?”
“No,” she hissed.
“Who—”
“Ex-boyfriend. Come on.”
Without further ado—and to his incredulity—the tiny Kit began dragging him out of her underground home.
And for a pint-sized creature, the damn woman was pretty strong.
Chapter 3
It was disaster after disaster: hopeless cars, rude neighbors, a sleazy ex, a rampant Leila, and a very pissed off Jack. The cop wasn’t pissed off anymore after talking to Celine, but that didn’t mean Kit wasn’t nervous at having him in her underground home, all alone as he tried to intimidate her, and look gorgeous while doing so.
Yes, he was hot. Super-hot, with all those stern lines, would probably be more so if he just smiled a little. She was a red-blooded woman, so of course she would ogle while still defending her clan. The first time she’d laid eyes on him was when Hunter and Celine had brought him unconscious there, spilling blood all over her cot. He’d been a fascinating specimen then, all sleek muscles and corded veins.
It was nothing compared to now, with his clean-shaven look and formal attire of slacks and a white dress shirt. She wouldn’t have minded looking while he questioned her some more and she evaded every single one of them.
But now the sleazy ex was back, and she couldn’t have Dean getting to his spare key and entering her area while all of this was going on. It had been a bad idea to give him one in the first place.
The decision was instantaneous as she dragged the hot cop out of her underground space and closed the hatch in a rush—just in time, too, as she heard the doorknob upstairs twist open a second after the table covering the hatch clicked back into place. Beside her, a soft grumble vibrated from Jack’s throat, indicating he wasn’t pleased at being manhandled. She ignored him.
She launched herself at Dean, trying to snatch the key from his hand. But he was faster, arm snapping to the back where he tucked the key in his pant’s back pocket. Brown eyes swept the garage before landing on Jack with a start.
“Where’s your female guest?”
Of course, he was also there for Leila. Everyone just couldn’t seem to resist her.
“She just left,” she replied lightly, pretending innocence. “Do you know her, by any chance?”
“I saw her in the building, looking for you.” Dean’s gaze settled on Jack again. “Business booming? You seem to have an influx of…dressed up clients.”
“All cars need to be fixed,” she shot back. Except she didn’t really fix expensive cars.
“I don’t see any other cars around here…”
“I visit his place to see to his needs.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized the double entendre and felt her cheeks heating up. “Car needs. Gadget needs. You know me.”
Dean’s brown eyes turned back to her, doing a quick sweep and immediately dismissing what he saw. His gaze lingered on her chest for a fraction of a second before he nodded.
“Yeah. You haven’t changed.”
The stab was casual, indicative of the reason why he’d dumped her. It didn’t hurt anymore, but the quick sting to her ego made her eye twitch. She gritted her teeth, trying to rein in the need to hurl words back at him. Instead, she turned to Jack and held out a hand, desperate to salvage the situation.
“Hmm. Mr. Stallone, thank you for accepting my services. Your car will be as good as new in two to three days.”
Her heart started to sink when Jack frowned, probably intending to give her a scathing remark—
Stunned silence followed when he joined his hand to hers in a swift, firm handshake. The callouses of his palm brushed against hers, and a spark of heat zinged up her elbow like electricity. She let go.
“Of course. The police force is glad for your services, Miss O’Hara.”
Kit swallowed, then caught Dean gaping at them in astonishment. She couldn’t resist as she added, “The way you beat up that street punk was pretty impressive. It’s nice to know we have such valor in our midst.”
There was no missing the way Dean paled. She almost gleefully pumped a fist in the air when he backed a step as if the words were physical.
“Cop?”
Jack turned to him, ice blue eyes steady. Just as cool as when they’d been trained on her.
“Yes. And you are…?”
“Just a building resident and Kit’s friend,” Dean said warily. “Law practitioner.”
“Hmm.”
“Gotta go, got deadlines,” Dean bragged. He gave Jack one last cautious look before he was fully backing away and closing the door behind him.
“That didn’t look like your friend,” Jack commented a few seconds later, eyes still on the door.
“He wasn’t,” she said, not explaining any further. “Thanks for covering for me.”
“That wasn’t for you,” he returned coolly.
Right. Celine. She attempted a smile. “If you still want the chocolates, or have questions…”
“I have none for now.” He paused. “Get that key from your ex, or better yet, change the lock. You’re jeopardizing the clan. This place should be non-accessible to everyone.”
There was no point in explaining that Dean almost never visited, and that particular visit hadn’t been for her. She was planning to get the key, anyway.
“Yes. I will.”
“Let’s hope not to meet again, Miss O’Hara.”
Amusement flared inside her as he strode for the garage’s other side door, leading to the outside. She admired the lines of his broad shoulders as he slipped out, activating the lock before he shut it. Admiration turned to relief as silence filled the space—her space—blessed and just what she needed after all that mind circus.
God. She loved her job, but sometimes she wished it didn’t have to be this complicated.
* * *
“And that’s it for tonight, folks. The callers have spoken, and I leave you with words of wisdom to get you through the rest of the night, and probably your lives: carpe diem. Seize the day. Don’t think too much, and don’t let your doubts get in the way. Otherwise you’ll be stuck in some dungeon wallowing and growing old and wrinkly.” She chuckled at her joke, extending her voice to make it sound pleasant and light. Not throaty, because her image was cute and fun. The listeners seemed to love that. “But whether you’re seizing the day or growing old and wrinkly, I will still leave you with this lovely song. This is DJ Kit signing off. Sweet dreams, my people.”
She tapped on the device beside her, and jazz music soon filled the station. More taps and she was disconnected from the main radio station about three to four blocks away. A quick message to the person currently in that office was replied to with an okay, and Kit leaned back, happy that her radio shift had gone smoothly.
Tonight’s topic had been about coming out with secrets, which was ironic. She glanced at the clock: one in the morning. Not bad. She wandered into the kitchen, grabbing some strawberries before she returned to her table and began nibbling on them. Her screens linked to outside showed the place was quiet and dark, so she focused on her other device, shaped like a box with buttons, wires, and knobs—the one connected to her work with the clan.
A password, some adjusting of knobs and clicks of buttons, and she was in. Kit checked every frequency, from the radio stations in the vicinity to the ones the police used for communication in New York. The midnight stations either played soft music or hosted late-night shows for the night owls like her. The police ones often communicated in shorthand that she’d long ago deciphered, and currently, the only report was of a thief breaking and entering an apartment in Manhattan and the wealthy owner throwing a fit over it. Human problems. No reports of suspicious groups lurking or unusual alley attacks, which usually involved shifters or nightwalkers, and therefore involved her clan, too.
