Chapter Eighteen
Gavin walked briskly toward Charlie’s Saloon, aware that he was a bit late. Chloe did not seem to be the type of woman to complain about that—actually, she had not complained about anything on this trip—but he made it a principle to be on time. If he had arrived at Camlann a few minutes earlier, he might have been able to stop the horrible destruction that followed.
He removed his dark glasses, his eyes adjusting immediately to the light inside the saloon. Glancing around, he didn’t see Chloe anywhere. Gavin frowned. Had she lost track of time shopping? Women did that. Still, he had an uneasy feeling. This was the place they were to meet and she should have been there.
“Hello, handsome. Can I get you something?” The waitress, a middle-aged woman with overly red hair, curved her painted lips into a smile as she came around the counter.
“I am looking for a young woman with spiked, orange hair. Have you seen her?”
She raised a well-manicured brow. “Sounds like she’d be hard to miss. Maybe she’s running late. Why don’t you have a seat and let me get you a drink? My name is Lucy.”
The hair at his nape prickled. Now that he thought about it, Chloe had been on time for everything this entire trip. Something was not right.
“You are sure she did not come in?”
“Haven’t seen her,” Lucy said as she brushed imaginary dust off the counter, nonchalantly picking up a ticket stub to throw away.
Gavin’s senses alerted. Scotland Yard had taught him a few things. That move had been shifty. “What do you have there?”
Her face flushed, then went chalky. “Nothing. Just trash.”
She started to toss it away, but Gavin caught her hand. He flashed a dazzling smile, meant to make her forget the stub. Her eyes widened and she opened her hand.
Gavin turned the stub over and felt his blood chill. Chloe’s name was on the back in her handwriting. Holding it up, he spoke in a deceptively soft tone. “This is the name of the woman I am looking for. Perhaps you might remember her now?”
“I…” She continued to stare at him enthralled as he intended. “I… ah, that was the winning ticket for a free stagecoach ride. I guess she must have been the one to win it. I’m not sure… I…I just got to work a few minutes ago.”
She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Gavin held her gaze, penetrating her mind to discover what she was hiding. The probe backfired, jolting him. He had hit a black wall of nothingness. Someone—or something—had already taken her memory.
Only a demon had those powers.
No wonder the statue at St. Anne’s had held his attention earlier. It had transformed itself into Brighid, Goddess of Avalon. She had only appeared to him once before, when she’d led him to Lancelot during Templar times. It was she who managed to strip Balor of his deity and exile him from the Holy Isle.
The Goddess had sent Gavin a warning. Balor—or one of his demons—was near.
And they had Chloe.
* * * *
Dear Lord, she was cold. Her jeans, denim jacket and t-shirt did little to protect her from the chilly wind that swept down the bare, granite face of the mountain. She tried to inch toward the small bonfire the men were huddled around, but an ankle manacle and chain tethered her to a stake in the ground.
“Cold, bitch?” one of the men asked while the other two laughed at his pun. “We can get you plenty warm if you are.”
She’d rather freeze to death. At least they hadn’t raped her—yet.
This abduction had been well thought-out. She was turned over to three of the motorcyclists, arms tied securely around one of them and a sack placed over her head as they roared off. It felt like they had ridden for hours, the road getting rougher and the terrain more uneven, but when they finally stopped it was still the middle of the night. Chloe suspected they were in Yosemite from how thin the air felt, but she could discern no clear trail. Of course, they wouldn’t exactly roll into one of the camping grounds. She shivered again. How cold did it get at whatever altitude they were at in October? God help her—what if it snowed? Freezing might be a real possibility.
Her stomach growled and she realized she hadn’t eaten since lunch. One of the men had heated up canned stew and they were all enjoying hot, steamy bowls that smelled delicious in the frosty air. A bowl had been set out for her too—just out of reach of her tether.
It was clear what she’d have to do if she wanted to eat.
* * * *
Gavin cursed roundly as he made his way to the area where the tickets were sold for stage coach rides.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed for the night,” the gray-haired lady working the counter said.
“That is fine.” Gavin gave her an enticing smile. “I need to speak to the driver of the last ride that went out.”
She hesitated. “I’m afraid he’s been taken to the hospital.”
Something akin to lead landed in Gavin’s stomach. “Why? What happened?”
“We don’t know. I saw the horses leaving town—which we don’t do—and breaking into a canter, which we never do. I called my boss and he followed the team. They’d been abandoned only about a half mile away on a dirt road.”
“And the driver?”
“We found him in the alley. He’d been beaten.”
“Did he see who did it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
Gavin set his mouth in a hard line. This had Balor written all over it. Whoever he’d hired would have been careful not to be seen. The driver who’d lured Chloe out—information he’d gotten from a grizzled old man at Charlie’s—wasn’t a local. Hardly surprising. God’s Blood. They had Chloe!
“Can I see the stage that was used?”
The woman frowned. “Well, I don’t know—”
Gavin pulled out his badge. “It is important.”
Her eyes grew wide. “Oh, my! Scotland Yard? What’s going on?”
“I’m hunting a man wanted by Interpol. I have reason to believe he abducted a young lady from the saloon on the pretense of giving her a free stagecoach ride.”
“We don’t do that.”
“Yes, I know. I would like to search the stage, though.”
“Of course!” The woman’s hands shook as she reached for her cell. “Let me call my boss.”
Thirty minutes later, Gavin crawled out of the coach, triumphantly holding a scarf Chloe had stuck in her jacket pocket earlier. Another twenty minutes had him scouring the spot where the coach had been found. Even though it was completely dark now, save for the moon beginning to rise, his keen eyesight honed in on several sets of tire marks. Bikes. From the looks of the dirt that had been scattered in their wake, they’d taken off in a hurry.
He held Chloe’s scarf to his nose, thankful that Lucas’ wolf had taught him to track when they hunted centuries ago. Her spicy cologne wafted from the soft wool, but more importantly, her own scent clung to it. Gavin crouched down, sniffing carefully. Chloe had been placed on one of those bikes. He had to be able to detect the smell of the man who owned it in order to track it.
Damn! How much time had elapsed? The crisp coolness of the night air had eliminated any trace of who had been here. He rose, going over the area once more, attuning himself to anything out of the ordinary.
Turning to backtrack, he almost missed it. A slight gleam under a scrubby bush caught his eye. Gavin bent and picked up an open switchblade. He inhaled deeply catching the strong male scent of its owner. Whoever it belonged to, the guy cherished it, almost like a lover.
Gavin grinned and snapped the blade shut. The knife would lead him to its owner. Taking it back to the car, he placed it on the dashboard, leaving the windows open so he could better track the bastards.
His fangs elongated. If Chloe had come to any harm from these thugs, Gavin would be drinking real blood when he caught up with them.
* * * *
The soup had long since gone cold and it still sat just out of reach. Chloe ignored her protesting stomach and curled into a tight ball trying to protect herself from the near-freezing temperatures.
“I say we have a little fun with the bitch,” one of the bikers said. “Ain’t nobody gonna know if we all screw her.”
“It’s bloody cold out here,” another one said. “She could fire up our blood all right.”
“We could keep warm all night,” the first biker replied. “I figure by the time each of you has a turn, I’ll be ready to go again.”
“Who says you go first?”
“My idea. Besides, the bitch kicked me hard and I lost my good knife. She owes me the first round while she’s still tight and dry. Once she’s bloodied up, ain’t as much fun.”
“Did you not hear what Lucien said?” the third biker asked. “She ain’t supposed to git hurt.”
“Lucien ain’t here. What you afraid of, Gully?”
“Ain’t afraid of nothin’ and you know it, Scarface. We’ve been making good money on the drug-runnin’ for Baylor. If the guy wants her in one piece, why ruin a good deal?”
“It ain’t like we’re going to break her bones,” the second biker, Hawk, said. “Hell, if we stake her out, we won’t even leave bruises.”
“What’s she gonna do? Tattle to Baylor? Like he would care?” Scarface asked. “Everything I heard is the guy is a real sadistic son-of-a-bitch.”
“My point,” Gully replied. “Who’s to say he won’t get us butchered slowly? I say we leave her alone.”
“Suit yourself,” Scarface answered and turned to Hawk. “You still want in?”
Hawk grinned. “In is exactly where I want to be. Maybe we can take turns doing her ass too.” He turned to Gully. “Sure you just want to watch?”
“Nah. I might as well get a piece too.”
They laughed and Chloe heard them shuffling to a stand. God! She couldn’t even run, shackled like she was. Her hand curled around a small rock she’d found lying on the ground earlier. At least she’d hurt one of them—and if she was lucky, she’d knock him out.
One of the men grabbed her leg. She jerked to a sitting position, swinging her arm hard and then fell forward as she met with only air.
A black blur moved past her, hauling Scarface off his feet. At first, Chloe thought it was a bear, but then the biker—Hawk, she thought—pitched against a nearby tree, his head making a loud crack as his neck angled sharply. The blur moved so fast that she didn’t realize Gully had joined Hawk at the bottom of the tree until she heard the second thwack. There was no doubt both of them had broken necks.
Whatever was rescuing her growled and chased after Scarface, who ran for his bike. Seconds later, she heard an agonizing scream and then there was silence.
Eerie silence. From the dark shadows, a form emerged. In the dim moonlight, it looked like a man, but who would have that kind of supernatural strength? The bikers had all been large, burly men and whoever—or whatever—this was, had tossed them about like ragdolls.
He came closer, the dying embers of the fire silhouetting his frame. The first thing Chloe saw were fangs, dripping with blood—and hands that were covered in it. She shrunk back as far as her chain would allow and slowing looked back at the man’s face.
Gavin stared back at her.