Hawk's Revenge: Lone Pine Pride, Book 3 Page 11

  Several shifters leaned forward suddenly, but it was the Alpha’s mate who spoke. “So when you helped a shifter escape, they were listed in that roster you got us as deceased? Not all of those shifters are dead?”

  “Not all of them. All told we got one hundred and fifty-two out.”

  Murmurs rippled around the table. “And you remember which ones,” Patch pressed, all but crawling on the table now. “You know their names.”

  “All of them.”

  “Dorian Fontaine. Was one of them Dorian Fontaine?”

  Rachel’s heart plummeted as she matched the name to the one Adrian had given as Patch’s surname downstairs. Brother, father—whoever Dorian Fontaine was, he meant a great deal to the Alpha’s mate. “I’m sorry. He wasn’t one of mine.”

  Patch lurched back as if struck, blinking furiously. “No. Of course not.” Roman reached over and laced their fingers together, his mate gripping his hand with both of hers as if he was a lifeline. Rachel envied them that. She’d never had a lifeline.

  “What about Cari, Caridad Amador?”

  Rachel gasped, her head whipping toward the softly spoken words. That name she recognized. That name, thank God, she could report on with less heartbreaking news. “Yes! Yes, we got her out.”

  Mateo, the tech-savvy young man with the boy-band pretty face, broke down, bowing his head and covering his face with one hand, shoulders shaking.

  Suddenly Adrian was in her space, his lips right against her ear. “You wouldn’t lie to Mateo, would you? To try to gain favor? I don’t remember any Caridad.”

  “She was after you were…incapacitated,” she whispered back. “There was a coyote from New Mexico, one of the first shifters we got out, he met us and took her south.”

  “Can you give us the names of all the shifters your group freed?” Roman spoke, forcing Adrian to lean back. Even when he was stiff with suspicion, she missed his warmth along her arm.

  “I think so. It may take me a while to compile a complete list.”

  “Understandable.” Roman’s thumb continued to rub circles on his mate’s. “Some of those one hundred and fifty-two are here, Dr. Russell. We’re very grateful for all you managed to do. A one-woman task force against the Organization.”

  Tell that to the Hawk. “It wasn’t one woman. I had help. And anyone in my position would have done the same.”

  “No. Few would have even attempted half of what you did, let alone accomplished as much. We’re in your debt.” Roman caught Adrian’s eye and gave a slight nod. “But we’re also responsible for too many lives to ignore the fact that you were with the Organization for a long time. I’m afraid for the time being, our gratitude must be tempered by caution.”

  One of the lieutenants spoke, a heavy-set bearded man with thick brown hair just going to silver who couldn’t have looked more bear-like if he tried. “What more can you tell us about the Organization’s operations?”

  “They target isolated shifters. Those who won’t be missed. I was only involved in an acquisition one time—” She studiously avoided looking at Adrian, “—so I can’t provide much insight into that side of things. I do know that once they are acquired they are assigned to one of four blocks. The A Blocks, where I worked, were for biological research. B Blocks were for psychological or social experiments. The C Blocks…” She cleared her throat, forcing herself to meet the Alpha’s eyes. “They were for information gathering. Torture, mostly. And the D Blocks are for detainment and disposal—typically where shifters are sent to die after they are of no use to the other three blocks anymore.”

  “Those blocks,” another lieutenant asked, lifting a hand to catch her attention. “Do they relate to the location codes in the rosters?”

  She nodded. “The first four digits of the code are the building, and the rest of the code is the location within the building.”

  “But none of the buildings on the schematics you gave us have codes,” Mateo argued, his eyes now dry.

  “They’re hidden in the addresses. A Blocks are Avenues, Bs Places, Cs Circles, and Ds are Ways. The first letter of the street name and the last number of the address are the rest of the code. So 785 Monroe Way would be D Blocks and M is the thirteenth letter, so it’s D135. The Organization makes sure they’re private roads so if they want to repurpose a building, they simply change the name of the access road.”

  Mateo groaned, closing his eyes. “I’m an idiot. We didn’t analyze the street addresses.”

  Grace bumped his elbow with hers. “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re one person. And that’s convoluted shit.”

  Mateo didn’t respond, he was already bent over his tablet, scrolling through a list of some kind. “What are Lanes?” he asked.

  Rachel blinked. “There are Lanes?” The Organization had an entire class of buildings she didn’t know about.

  Roman leaned forward. “Mateo, can you use the roster to determine where the highest concentration of shifters are being held? That could help us decide where to strike next.”

  “The ones in the D Blocks are at the highest risk,” Rachel said. “Some of the guards would joke that D was for deceased.”

  Roman gave a sharp nod, turning back to Mateo. “Start with the D Blocks.”

  Mateo rose with a crisp nod and slipped out of the room. As soon as he was gone, the other lieutenants piped up with questions, grilling her about everything she knew and a dozen things she didn’t know about how the Organization worked.

  She told them how the Board of Directors used fake names—Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Washington, Mr. Wilson—and how they were constantly on the move. How even the tech guru who had helped Rachel compile the hard drives hadn’t been able to locate a central headquarters and each cell operated independent of the others, orders funneling down through the supervisors and managers who traveled from site to site. She described a handful of those managers—including Madison Clarke—but she didn’t have much hope that they would be able to capture any of them. Organization members at that level were all true believers. They wouldn’t let themselves be taken alive.

  The interrogation lasted for hours, some of the shifters excusing themselves and others coming in to take the empty chairs. Food was brought in, but Rachel barely picked at it, her appetite nonexistent. She felt like her brain had been run through a meat grinder by the time Adrian—who had been silent all day—finally spoke up.

  “Enough.”

  Roman started to protest, but Adrian held his eyes, a tacit challenge that made several of the shifters around the table stir uncomfortably.

  “She’ll still be here tomorrow. That’s enough for today,” Adrian insisted.

  As grateful—and confused—as Rachel was for the intervention, there was one question she had yet to be asked. “Wait, you have Organization prisoners, right? From the lab where you found me?”

  Suddenly everyone at the table was very, very quiet. “Why do you ask?” Roman inquired, the words stretching.

  “Some of the people who work for the Organization are monsters, I don’t deny that, but some are good people. I can help you separate one from the other. I know many of them—”

  “Which is why you won’t be allowed anywhere near them,” Roman said, with a sympathetic grimace. “Sorry, Dr. Russell. Caution before gratitude.”

  “Come on.” Adrian rose, holding out his hand for her when she would have argued.

  She was exhausted. And just like the questions they still had for her, it was an argument that would wait for another day. Taking the hand he’d offered, she let him tug her to her feet and guide her out of the room as the pride’s lieutenants fell to arguing about what she had been able to tell them.

  “They aren’t all bad,” she said quietly to Adrian as they descended the Gone with the Wind staircase.

  “Maybe not,” he acknowledged. “But you don’t get to sort them out.”

&nb
sp; He helped her into her coat and opened the door, holding it for her as she stepped out onto the front steps. The sun had set while she was inside being interrogated and the pride spread out below her in the cozy glow of yellow light bleeding out of windows and lining the pathways. It was lovely. Peaceful and domestic in a way she’d never associated with the animalistic shifters.

  Adrian withdrew a length of black scarf from his pocket. She groaned.

  “I’m exhausted, it’s dark, and I have the world’s worst sense of direction. Is that really necessary?”

  “Caution before gratitude.”

  “That’s going to be your excuse whenever you want to get your way, isn’t it?”

  “Pretty much. Turn around.”

  She gave him her back and he looped the scarf over her eyes, securing it with quick, deft tugs. Within seconds he was leading her down the steps and through the pride again, and back into the forest. It was strangely relaxing, relying on his eyes. His night vision was far better than hers anyway and she had more faith in his ability to keep her from falling than she did in her own, as tired as she was. She still trusted him completely—even if he couldn’t return the sentiment.

  She gave herself up into his care, blanking her mind of the concerns of the day and focusing instead on the cool night air filling her lungs one breath at a time and the warmth of the hawk at her side. Even without her sight, she always knew where he was. Her Adrian-sense was well-honed.

  She was enjoying the walk, wishing it could stretch on longer—so of course it felt like it passed in half the time of their previous trip. Before she knew it he was tugging at the scarf and her eyes—well-adjusted to the dark now—opened to the shadowy shape of the cabin rising out of the clearing.

  “I’m sorry I’ve run you out of your home.”

  “You haven’t.” His hand was back on the small of her back, nudging her up the steps. She went obediently, wondering if he had any idea how often he touched her—little brushes, subconscious gestures, but always in contact, always keeping her near.

  “But where do you sleep?” she asked as he pulled a key ring from his pocket and set to releasing the padlock. “While I’m here, I mean.” Where had he been last night?

  Please don’t say with Grace. Please don’t say with Grace, she chanted internally, remembering the blonde’s knowing smile as she met Rachel’s eyes.

  “Here,” he grunted. The padlock came loose and he opened the door, stopping her with a hand on her hip when she would have preceded him into the shack. He crouched forward as if expecting an attack, slipping into the room and searching it with the efficiency of deadly experience. He acted like they might come under attack here. From the Organization? Other shifters?

  A chill danced down her spine and she glanced over her shoulder, scanning the dense shadows of the forest. A dozen shifters could be lurking out there, two dozen Organization operatives, and she would never know.

  “Hawk?” she called, her voice quavering.

  “Come on in. It’s clear.”

  She stepped into the dubious fortress of the cabin, feeling disproportionately relieved when the door was shut behind her. The damn thing only locked from the outside, but she was still grateful to have it closed at her back.

  Then what he’d said earlier registered.

  “What do you mean you sleep here? What about last night?”

  He gave her a look that questioned her intelligence. “Did you really think I would leave you unguarded?”

  “Do you mean to say you slept outside? In this cold?”

  “I don’t require much sleep and shifters aren’t as affected by cold as humans.”

  “You can still get hypothermia.” She’d seen the studies. Temperature tolerance was a favorite experiment at the Organization because it served the dual purposes of torture and scientific research.

  “Relax, Dr. Russell. I still have all my fingers and toes. The specimen is intact.”

  Rachel had always been able to control her temper before—she’d had to—but tonight, exhausted, cranky and unjustly accused for the millionth time, her hold on her anger snapped. Perhaps this was another of those defining moments—a small one, this time. The moment when she’d finally found her breaking point.

  She stormed across the small room, getting right in Adrian’s face—or his chest, since he towered over her. She poked him with one stiff finger. “I have never treated you, or any other shifter, like a lab rat. I know you’re mad at me and yes, I did a terrible thing to you, but you can’t cram me into the Evil Organization Doctor box just because you don’t want to deal with your feelings for me.”

  He caught her wrist, stopping her poking. “What feelings are those? Loathing? Disgust?”

  “Lust.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Adrian blinked, rocking back on his heels like she’d swung at him, discomfort written all over his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He dropped her wrist like it was on fire and started to push past her, but she sidestepped to block him, her body bumping into his, chest to chest, hip to hip. “Don’t you?” she challenged, grabbing his hips by the belt-loops. “Tell me, Hawk, which pisses you off more? That the Organization fucked you or that I did?”

  She’d never said that word like that before, actually referring to the act. Her face flamed, but she forced herself to meet his glowing yellow gaze without flinching.

  “Do you still want me?” She’d never been bold with him before, but she rubbed against him now, provocative and slow. “Is that why you’re so angry?”

  His eyes blazed and suddenly he wasn’t trying to get past her. One hand gripped her hip as the other closed over her throat, gently but firmly. Her heart rate tripled as he rushed her backward with his body until the rough-hewn wall pressed against her back. The hard heat of him pressed against her abdomen as he loomed over her, a savage light in his eyes.

  “Tell me, Doc,” he mimicked darkly, “were you just following orders? Did the Organization tell you to fuck me into submission?”

  Her heart pounded, need driving the beat. He’d always been tender with her, treating her like she was precious, breakable, but this was different. There was an electric wildness in him now. An edge that she knew should not turn her on, but she was practically squirming with desire.

  Her protest was breathless. “I meant it when I told you everything between us was real.” And still is.

  “Everything,” he echoed, acid in the word. “Are you proud of yourself?” His long fingertips moved over her neck, softly stroking the delicate skin as his other hand curved around her waist. “Proud of how I fell for you? Proud of how easy it was to trick me? Were you laughing with your Organization friends while you were taunting me in that fucking cell?”

  His voice was hypnotic, seductive and low. Rachel felt herself melting under the spell of it and almost missed the significance of the words. Taunting me in that fucking cell. “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie.” His fingers tightened fractionally, not enough to hurt, but just enough to remind her that he held her life in his hands.

  Pinned against the wall, she trembled, but not from fear. He would never hurt her. “I never saw you. They wouldn’t let—”

  “Don’t lie,” he snarled. “You were there. I know what I remember.”

  “I swear I’m not lying. I wouldn’t lie to you. Not about this.”

  “And I should just believe you. When everything between us was a lie from day one.”

  “It wasn’t a lie. You were…” Words failed. He’d been everything. The only thing in her life that had felt real.

  “What was I?” That yellow gaze bored into hers, partial shifting until everything human left his eyes. “Your express pass to the higher echelons of Organization operations?”

  “I explained about that. What it let me do. It was necessary
.”

  “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

  “Adrian—”

  “You should have told me before,” he growled. “But God forbid I question Saint Rachel. Does it make you feel good? The way the shifters here fucking worship you? The savior. Did you like the way all the lieutenants looked at you today? Everyone loves you. Does it make you feel powerful?” His other hand moved to grip the hair at the nape of her neck, drawing her head back as his gaze roamed down her body. “I bet you get off on knowing I still want you. That you fucking own me.”

  “I never wanted to own you,” she whispered. “I wanted…”

  “What? You want to be my consolation prize for all I went through?” His hold on her waist lowered to her hip and squeezed before jerking her tight against him so she could feel how hard he was.

  “Stop it,” she whispered, pressing her thighs together against the heat pooling there.

  “Tell me what you want.” The words were a dark growl, his face was harsh, but all she saw in him was pain that made her throat ache, and all she wanted was…

  “You,” she said on a sigh. “I always want you.”

  “Fuck.”

  Whatever battle he’d been fighting with himself ended as his mouth crashed down over hers.

  The kiss started off fast and fierce, a surge of wild heat and possession. She held on tight, tugging his body closer to hers, but seconds after his tongue plunged into her mouth, he released a low moan and everything changed. His rough grip eased, his lips softened and that erotic darkness in him retreated, transforming into something so sweet and heartbreakingly tender that it was even more impossible to defend against than the initial overwhelming rush.

  What began as reckless, undeniable lust became something else entirely.

  A tease. A taste. A lazy exploration.

  Their bodies were plastered together in a thousand points of heat but he drew back until their lips flirted and brushed tentatively, like a middle-schooler’s first kiss.