Jack, page 4
part #2 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
Truth.
“Alright. So you really found out via that website?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
Lie. One more test.
Casually, he reached inside his pocket, watching her tense but not making any moves—stubborn in her defiance. The pictures he took were still fresh, and usually he kept them in a folder for safekeeping. He had that folder tucked inside the lining of his coat. Without a word, Jack slid one of the photos on the table, watching as her eyes latched on.
When she realized what it was, she didn’t just turn pale. Kit jerked back, as if physically punched, eyes widening with horror so stark that it couldn’t have been a lie. Her hands started trembling, and she fisted them hard.
No, definitely not a lie.
“Mr. Stallone…?”
“You may call me Jack,” he said, keeping his voice light. He looked her in the eye as he placed another item on the table: his calling card. “This is the murder scene, by the way. Keep the photo. Let it remind you why we’re looking for the truth, and why security is important at all times. Have a good night, Miss O’Hara.”
Jack saw himself out, locking her hatch and watching the garage door pop open. When he eased the car out, he wondered if he should’ve questioned her further.
Then he remembered the look in her eyes and understood there was no need.
Chapter 5
“Kitty, can you rent me a van and have it parked at this address in Manhattan?” An address was spouted off, exact and in fast spurts. Kit noted it down, her hands already flying on her keyboard as she made the order and had it directed where it needed to be.
“I’m on it, Masters. Expect it in twenty to thirty minutes.”
There was a huff on the other line. “Call me Leila. I know you call everyone by their last names, but ugh. It makes me shudder when I hear my last name.”
“You have a nice last name.”
“I also share it with my brother.”
Leila made it sound like it was a bad thing, but Kit could hear the annoyed affection in the tone, anyway.
“Fine. I’ll call you Leila. Does that mean you’ll also call me Kit?”
“But Kitty sounds so much better,” Leila countered sassily before she said her thanks and goodbye.
Kit sighed, shaking her head and wondering what trouble the shifter got herself in this time. Contrary to popular belief, Kit wasn’t in-the-know over all the clan members’ missions, mostly because they only kept it between Edmund and whoever was assigned to it. She just knew they ranged in intensity, some just errands, and that she was always on standby in case they needed her assistance. As it was, she hadn’t met all of them in person, either, and was just fine with the anonymity.
With her day off from the radio station and the night wearing on, there was nothing much to do except be on standby. Ever since the Celine incident, the clan had been lying low, their venturing out a rare thing now. Leila was a special case, whatever she was doing kept hush-hush from Kit, but Kit knew Leila had been frequenting Manhattan as of late.
Fighting off the urge to lie down on her cot, Kit opened her drawer and decided to just tinker on an earpod and see what other upgrades she could put in.
A photo glinted under the gadget she was reaching for, and she instantly slammed her drawer shut when every single detail returned to mind.
Jesus.
One week later, and the dead woman still gave her the shivers.
She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her accelerated heartbeat. It had been a pretty uneventful week, really—peaceful, as she religiously checked the frequencies every night and didn’t leave it behind until the sun was up. That meant lack of sleep as she still had day duties to fulfill, and she was pretty much dead on her feet lately.
She yawned, eyeing the flesh-colored earpod and trying to think. It proved futile as she could barely concentrate, her focus weaving in and out until her brain was just white noise. Her hand kept adjusting frequency, up until she rested the knob on Queens again and left it there. Blessed silence.
Another yawn had her stretching her arms, then resting them on the table. Her head followed, lowering until her arms were curled around it like a pillow. If she lay down on the cot, she was pretty sure she’d be knocked out cold. But if she stayed there, just like this, she could take a power nap before discomfort woke her up, and she’d be more refreshed than she was right now…
“Hello, 911? I’m being followed. I can’t get out of this warehouse, and it was stupid of me to hide here. Can you dispatch someone to come get me? I’m scared.”
Like a light being switched on, Kit’s head snapped up as she listened to the address, her heart stopping when she realized it was nearby. Hand shaking, she took out her phone and dialed, frustration rising when all it did was ring endlessly. Even Leila wasn’t available anymore. She almost dialed 911, too, before remembering what had happened the last time.
Her eyes landed on the card she’d hastily tucked under her keyboard just last week, and her hand hurriedly reached out for it.
Jack answered after the third ring.
“Stallone.”
“Stallone, it’s me,” she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I need your help. I think the killer’s back.”
“What?”
Her words tumbled over each other as she stated the warehouse address, and she had to take a deep gulp of air. “Can you go there? Check it out? You’re near my place.”
“Yes, yes.” There was movement on Jack’s end, and she knew he was already on it. “Thank you—”
The words cut off at the abrupt gasp, followed by heavy hitches of breath on her frequency device.
“Help, someone, help me. Hurry.”
The 911 dispatcher asked questions, tried to reassure. But the desperation that vibrated in the caller’s voice sliced straight through Kit’s heart, and she'd already decided before she knew it.
“She’s in trouble. I’m going there now. I can save her.”
Jack’s voice turned sharp. “Stay where you are.”
“I’ll see you there, Stallone.”
“Damn it, Miss O’Hara—”
Kit ended the call, putting the phone on vibrate before she shot up to her feet and hurriedly gathered what was needed: a dagger that Hunter had once given her. A taser, just in case, then a first aid kit that could fit in her coat. Then she was running out of her garage and through the streets, her adrenaline kicking at every step.
She wasn’t able to save the first one, but she needed to save this one. That resolve screamed like a beat in her mind, drilling in until all hesitance was gone. She spotted the warehouse in no time, a building she often passed by, and one that often had trucks loading boxes of supplies every morning. There was no guard but there was enough space for her to insert herself through the gate. When she reached the warehouse, she took out the taser, ready to use it. Her heart rushed up her throat, eyes taking in the main doors, which were locked.
Then her eyes landed on what was sprawled in front of a warehouse window, and her heart pretty much stopped beating.
Kit gasped, then took a jerking backward step as the spread-eagled woman came into full focus. The scent of blood followed, slithering inside her nostrils and thick enough to make her place her hand over her mouth. Something sick slammed in her stomach, rising up and ready to make her puke her guts out. She turned—
Slammed into a body, one that had panic bursting out and her hand pushing the taser forward. But the hand wrapped around her wrist was faster, disabling her before she could blink.
Then Jack was tilting her head up, and the cold, urgent look in his eyes had her going still.
“The cops are coming. If you stay here, they’re gonna pin this on you. Let me take you home.”
“She—I—I couldn’t…”
Sirens blared in the distance, and Jack’s head snapped up. When he tugged her, Kit found her feet following.
* * *
She didn’t know how they got in the garage, couldn’t understand how she even made it with the image snapping repeatedly in her mind: a dead woman, pinned in a sickening position, with her eyes and tongue gone. It was the same as the picture Jack had given her, but with a different woman this time.
And she hadn’t been able to help them.
The sickening feeling remained, simmering inside her and threatening to come out. She tried to keep it in, walking in a daze and just following the hand on her elbow, firm and fast. In no time, she found herself back in her underground space, safe but snapping with guilt.
Kit looked up, forcing herself to remain calm. She cleared her throat.
“Thank you—”
Her voice cracked, and a sob came out to interrupt it. She took a step back, then another, watching Jack study her intensely and feeling her knees buckling under her.
But she didn’t hit the ground as he was fast enough to catch her.
Everything became a daze after: water in a glass being thrust under her nose, a voice demanding her to drink all of it. Another glass. Jack pretty much carrying her like she weighed nothing, embarrassment flooding her as she babbled and tried to get off him. But he held on like a burr, and eventually, the panic and dread came back as the image just wouldn’t leave her mind. It overpowered the embarrassment until she felt sick again and couldn’t move at all. He sat on her couch—sat her on his lap—locking her in place.
His hand settled at the base of her spine, not caressing but just…there.
“Is your clan involved in this, Miss O’Hara?”
At that, her back stiffened. “You bastard.”
“Tell me how you found out.”
“You’re a bastard,” she repeated, ready to fight. But her body was trembling again, too much, too fast. The panic was rising again, and she couldn’t breathe.
The hand on her back eased down, an almost soothing gesture.
And she snapped like a dam, the words tumbling out of her mouth like a train wreck.
Kit told him everything: from the way she’d been using her equipment to check for any call for help down to what she’d heard earlier that had her running out of her home without thought. She told him more, the words a rambling flow that oddly kept the panic at bay and made the shaking lessen. Over and over, she rubbed her hand over her face, hoping it could erase what she saw.
Over and over, he had to firm his sweep on her back when the panic threatened to come back and swallow her whole. He listened, and he didn’t say a word.
It wasn’t until he stilled under her that the daze started leaving, like a balloon abruptly popped. Clarity came, and with that clarity was dread as she realized one thing.
She’d said too much.
Quietly, slowly, Kit forced herself to stop leaning against him and straighten up. She looked up slightly, the sitting position keeping them at eye level as they met each other’s gaze.
His was filled with knowledge.
“So you can access frequencies at any time—police calls, emergency calls…radio calls.”
There was no use denying it. “Yes.”
“And you created this device yourself.”
“Yes.”
Jack didn’t ask how, didn’t ask for details. Instead, he gave her a steady look. “When your clan leader took you in, this was his bargain.”
“He pays me…” She swallowed when she understood he wasn’t buying it—that he was too perceptive for that. “Yes.”
Finally… “How?”
Kit shrugged, and it took effort to do so. Her shoulders felt numb, heavy. “I just know how to. Wires, internet, programming. I can come up with codes to make things work. It could be magic, but Masters—Edmund—just calls it technological genius. He hates magic. I’ve stopped trying to figure it out.” Silence, and it was a miracle he didn’t interrupt. It gave her the confidence to keep going and defend herself. “I’m not in tune to all frequencies, just the ones in the vicinity. And again, not all. This is my limit. I’m careful with what I access because I can only block the most basic virus attacks. Masters doesn’t want me accessing private citizen files unless needed. I can’t seem to access government files, either. When there are things I can’t get online, some clan members get through physical tracking. But I can fix and upgrade phones, computers…”
“Cars,” he added quietly.
Shut up, Kit. Shut up.
“I try not to,” she found herself saying, anyway. “Cars belong to other people, and they’ll get suspicious when their vehicles are upgraded, and I can’t explain how. Because I can’t explain how. I just know how to do it, and not in the standard way of doing it. So that provides a problem. That’s why I stick to the basics for outside people, and why I only upgrade items that my clan needs to use.”
The heavy feeling on her shoulders grew, now spreading over her body. It was fatigue…but it also wasn’t. Realization dawned on her like a lightbulb flicked on, even while she slumped against Jack.
“You put something in my drink,” she accused.
“Hmm.”
The jerk didn’t even deny it.
“Are you going to kill me and take all my equipment?”
“That’s just pointless, Miss O’Hara. Your clan will be out for blood if I do that, and I don’t want that kind of inconvenience.” Silence. “Also, if you’d used that device to stir trouble, I’d already have known. I’ve been patrolling this neighborhood for years, and it’s been pretty safe despite the petty crimes.”
“Except now,” she said.
“Except now.”
“Are you going to arrest me?”
“No, Miss O’Hara. You’re not a suspect, and this…talent of yours is something the police shouldn’t know about. It’ll jeopardize our other world.”
She was pretty sure she detected a hint of amusement in his tone, which just served to annoy her more.
“Might as well call me Kit,” she smarted. “Since you seem to be on friendly terms with me now.”
“Hmm.”
“So does that mean you trust us now? That we’re the good guys?”
“No. Probably never. You’re still a questionable lot.”
Kit sighed, feeling the tiredness hitting and pulsing everywhere now—from lack of sleep, from whatever he’d put in the water, from the trauma of what she’d seen tonight. She closed her eyes, struggling to gather her scattering thoughts.
“Are they going to call you in on the scene?”
“Yes,” he replied. “They’ve already called, and I’ll be there in ten to fifteen minutes.”
“You would need to run.”
“I run fast.”
That had her barking out a laugh—the last thing she managed to do before exhaustion completely set in.
She burrowed against his warm, hard chest and let it come.
Chapter 6
It took a couple of firm raps for the garage side door to open, which Jack took as indication for him to enter. So he did, casually strolling in and watching the door close. The underground hatch remained closed, but he expected that and was ready to wait it out.
He took a sip of his coffee, let his gaze roam the garage and admire the good equipment Kit had. They eventually settled on the pickup truck, studying the open hood before he heard the hatch finally click and the table glide away.
“This truck has been here for a week now,” he commented, unable to help it.
“The parts I needed got delayed,” was her response—not defensive, and definitely not tired-sounding. “I want it to be in great condition when I return it to Mrs. Camden.”
“Mrs. Camden?”
“She’s this sweet old widow who can’t afford a new car right now.”
Jack studied the missing parts, shaking his head. “She probably can’t afford the new parts needed here, either.”
The silence that followed told him what he needed to know: it wasn’t Mrs. Camden paying for those parts. He didn’t even need to ask if Mrs. Camden knew Kit was the one paying for them; the defensive expression on her face when he finally glanced at her told him enough.
Another surprise.
The glance became a look, and he studied her just as much as she studied him. Kit had dyed her hair: black, with streaks of vibrant silver at the ends. Her contact lenses were black, too, and matched the look. Her white shirt was loose, tucked near the waistline of her denim pants, and her black army boots were scuffed and worn. Silver bangles clinked on her left wrist. Overall, it was probably one of her less crazy looks.
“Why are you here?” she finally asked, blurting it out. It had probably been simmering inside her since he got there.
Jack shrugged. “Just checking in. You were out of it last night.”
She shot him an incredulous look. “You think?”
“You needed the rest. You were close to having a panic attack. Now you’re calmer.”
“Next time give me some warning,” she muttered. “Anyway, you’ve checked on me, and I’m fine. How’s…is there progress?”
There was no need to ask what she meant as a shadow slithered in her eyes. He could keep things confidential, but he found himself speaking in response.
“We’re checking on it. Your recording has been deciphered, and it holds. I’ve been studying the photo from last night, and it’s a carbon copy of the last crime.”
“So someone saw the previous one and copied it?”
“I doubt it. The dagger type is the same, the cut to the gut. Same slashing style.”
She swallowed, paling again. Probably recalling. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Because I want you to understand there’s probably a serial killer on the loose, and so far, it’s focusing its efforts on Queens. And you running around…”
“I wasn’t running around,” she said promptly, though there was no anger in her tone. “You can’t expect me to stay in my seat when I could’ve helped.”
“Let the police do their job.” He paused, trying not to be harsh. That wasn’t his intention. “Let me do mine. This is what I do.”
“So are you here to question me again?” Kit backed away, her tone accommodating and ready to go back down. “I can spare a few minutes, but that’s about it because—”
