Chapter 9: Alpha’s Mission: Chapter 8

“Is this a bad idea?” I ask Charlie for the fifth time since I called Senator Flack on a new burner phone to set up the lunch date.

“I’ll have eyes and ears on you at all times. Nothing’s going to happen.” Charlie straightens the collar of my blouse where the tiny receiver is clipped. The other piece is in my ear, but it’s so small, no one would notice even if my hair wasn’t covering it.

Oh Lordy, I am never going to pull this off. I am not field agent material that’s for sure.

“I could be wanted by the CIA by now. We both could. What if he knows that, and someone’s there to arrest me?”

“You already checked the database. Absolutely nothing has been filed about either one of us. Which further confirms there’s something fishy to this case.”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, if this were a simple case of you disobeying orders and refusing to call in, it would be right there in your file. It would be mentioned in my file. There would be measures taken—aboveboard measures. There’s nothing of the kind. Which means whoever’s messing with you isn’t aboveboard. Whether it’s Tentrite or Director Scape or both, I can’t be sure. But maybe this lunch will give you more info.”

“Should I tell him what’s happening?”

Charlie considers me for a long moment. “I wouldn’t, but I don’t trust anyone.”

I swallow. “You trust me.” I don’t know why I’m fishing for his reassurance—I don’t need to act like a clingy girlfriend, especially at a moment like this. Or maybe it’s of this moment. I’m scared. My life is in danger. And Charlie’s the only guy in my court.

He palms my hip. “Yeah. I trust you.” It seems hard for him to say which makes me think he actually means it.

We take the metro to Union Station. Charlie’s doing the “smartly dressed businessman” thing with a suit and tie. He’s wearing a pink button down and a tie with shades of gray, purple and red which makes me want to break into applause. Clearly, he’s more than man enough to carry off the feminine colors. He does the Bluetooth earpiece talk the entire time, babbling on about orders and shipments. All the while, he’s looking around like he sees nothing, like he’s only absorbed in his imaginary conversation, but I know he’s taking in everything and everyone.

When we exit at Union Station, the place is packed.

Something’s going on.

“Oh God,” I murmur so Charlie can hear. “It’s a freaking flash mob.” People of all ages are joining in, singing and dancing to .

“Perfect,” Charlie answers. “Crowd distraction always works in our favor. Just act like you’re watching as you slip into the crowd. I’ll have eyes on you. Never look back for me.”

“Okay.” I follow his instructions, smiling at the performers, standing on tiptoe as if I want to see more, all the while weaving through the crowd and out the other side.

There’s more havoc in the alleyway beside the station. Roadblocks are set up and crowds standing around. “What’s going on here?” I ask someone who’s stopped and watching.

“They’re filming a movie. I heard it’s a new but I don’t think that can be true.”

“That’s good for me, bad for you. Cross the street and walk where things are clear. I’ll blend in with the crowd.”

“Copy that.” I move across the street, the click of my high heels sounding on the pavement. The restaurant Senator Flack named is in a hotel. I enter the lobby and scan the faces, but don’t see the senator’s gray head. When I give my name to the hostess, she hands me a piece of paper with a note from the Senator scrawled on it.

“Change of plans,” I tell Dune as I walk towards the elevators. “We’re meeting in his hotel suite. Fourth floor.”

Charlie curses. “What’s the room number?”

I tell him, and he’s silent a moment. “Everything all right?”

“Yes, but I don’t like it. He probably just wants more privacy. And it’s not uncommon for politicians to use a hotel suite as a meeting place. Especially when they’re on the campaign.”

“Campaign?” I ask, threading through a group of tourists waiting for the elevators. It’ll be faster to just take the stairs.

“Yeah, haven’t you heard? Senator Flack is on the short list of vice presidential candidates. Primaries aren’t for another year, but he’s gearing up to run.”

“Damn,” I breathe, pausing at the stairwell door. “Hey, I’m taking the stairs. I might lose signal.”

“Go on up. I will be right behind you.”

I’m suddenly flanked by two men in suits, and the end of a gun pokes my ribs. “Don’t say a word.”

My breath leaves in a whoosh. Before I realize what’s happening, the two guys propel me back toward the stairwell I just exited.

“What’s going on? Where are we going?” I narrate for Charlie’s benefit.

The gun prods me harder. “I said no talking.”

Charlie’s sharp voice radiates with danger. “Don’t go anywhere with them If they wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. I’m almost there.”

I shove the guy with the gun and duck backward. They both lunge forward and seize my arms. “Help! Fire!” I yell. None of the hotel doors open, but maybe someone will call the police.

The two guys yank me down the first flight of stairs, and I lose my footing. They drag me, banging my foot on the concrete stairs.

“Help!” I scream louder. My voice echoes in the closed space.

“Shut up,” one mutters, lifting me clear off my feet as they speed down the next flight of stairs.

Then I hear it—ferocious snarling, unearthly, terrible growls. It’s coming from below us.

“What the fuck is that?” The thugs pause on the stair.

“Probably a dog.”

The growls grow louder, and I recognize the sound. It’s the same one I heard outside the cabin two nights ago.

“Go check it out.” One guy yanks me close, and the other sprints down the stairs.

I kick at the guy holding me and get pistol-whipped for the trouble. The world spins for a moment, and I cling to my captor for balance.

The stairwell echoes with a spine-unhinging roar.

That’s no dog. The guy holding me comes to the same conclusion because he starts dragging me back up the stairs. I take the chance to fight him. When I fall, he yanks me up by my hair. Stars burst behind my eyes.

Something’s leaping up the stairs, a whitish blur. I freeze, then scramble back frantically. I scream when a gun pops multiple times by my head. The blast doesn’t hide the sharp ping as a few of the bullets ricochet. I throw my arms over my head and fall to the concrete.

The giant furry thing yowls in pain but keeps coming. Before I can scream again, it leaps past me in a whoosh.

The next thing I know, the stairwell echoes with the guy’s screams. I look and immediately regret it. The giant wolf has his jaws clamped on the guy’s arm, its weight pinning him down. Blood sprays and my former captor screams—only to be silenced when the wolf lunges forward and…

Adrenaline forces me up off the ground. My shoes go flying, and I’m running down the stairs, ignoring the horrible, meaty sounds behind me.

I don’t stick around to be the next meal. I fly down the stairs, barely pausing when I pass the mangled body of my second captor on the way. I slip a little on the smeared blood, and my stomach lurches. I’m too busy running for my life to stop and be sick.

I hit the exit door and end up in an alley. I stagger down it, panting, but nothing follows me. My head throbs, my hair’s a mess, my clothes are awry—but I’m alive. I tear off my bloodied pantyhose—they’re all torn anyway—and touch my earpiece.

“Charlie?” My voice is shaking. There’s no answer. Oh God—he said he was right behind me. Did the wolf get him too? It was the wolf from the cabin—I’m sure of it, but that can only mean one thing.

It’s hunting me. Is this some new creepy project of the CIA?

I take off running in bare feet. I don’t know if it’s stupid or genius, but I rush into the chaos of the movie filming, ducking under the tape and running through the crowd.

“Hey! You can’t be in here! Hey!” Voices shout after me, but I don’t look back. My feet are getting torn up by the pavement, but I don’t stop.

I don’t know where to go. Don’t know what to do.

Oh God, what just happened? What was that back there? Images I just saw flashback through my head, and I choke, my stomach dry heaving.

The sound in my ear shocks me into a shriek.

“Charlie! Where are you?”

“Annabel, talk to me. I stole a car. I’ll get you in ninety seconds. Where are you?”

There’s such authority, that certainty he always exudes, relief rushes over me. “One block south of the movie set, back alley, in a doorway.”

“Hang tight.”

I hear the screech of tires through the earpiece.

He’s coming for me. He protected me, just like he promised. And he’ll know what to do.

I just attacked humans. I have human blood in my mouth. I had to wipe it off the front of my chest. The scariest thing—or is it the sanest thing—I wasn’t the monster. I was me, just in wolf form. My head was clear. My instincts and reflexes were even faster than normal.

I attacked swiftly, immobilized the attacker, and reached Annabel. I eliminated both threats, despite taking a bullet to the back. Then I had the wherewithal to go back and pick up the comms unit and my clothes with my cell phone, then steal this car and get back in communication with Annabel.

She’s probably freaking out. What will I tell her?

I whip down the alleyway just as a bullet sounds. It hits my car.

Damn, I’ve been detected. A blue Buick is right behind me, and—oh fuck—another car pulls up and blocks the other end of the alley.

I slam on the brakes when I see Annabel. “Get in!”

She looks both ways down the alley, terror making her gray eyes huge. She stinks of fear and vomit. “Where—never mind.” She jumps in the car.

I appreciate the hell out of her trust in me.

“Fasten your seatbelt.” I throw the car in reverse and back up at full speed, slamming into the Buick. The crunch of metal and shattering glass explodes behind us. I change gear, step on the gas, and zoom forward. I will knock the bastards out of the way, especially with this running start.

“Get the gun out of your purse.”

“Oh!” I think she forgot I put it there this morning. My own weapon was lost when I shifted.

A bullet shatters our windshield. “Get down! Return fire if you can.”

The driver of the car at the end of the alley moves just in time, apparently not interested in getting crushed. I zoom past and floor it, all four wheels flying when we hit a bump.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh Jesus,” Annabel croaks, but she’s got the gun pointed out the window behind us, ready to fire.

They shoot our back windshield, and I shove Annabel’s head down again. Three turns and I’m on a major thoroughfare. Traffic is sticky which works in our favor. I work in and out of it, and when I see a big parking garage, I squeal into it.

“Where are you going?”

“We have to get rid of this car.” I wind up the garage until I find a spot, and we both jump out. I’m wearing the tatters of my pants, which I have to hang onto, but at least I have my phone, which has the software technology to open any electronically keyed car.

I choose a car and pop the locks. “You drive, I’ll shoot.” I take the gun from Annabel. “How many bullets left?”

“Um…”

“How many shots did you fire?” I amend my question.

“Three? Four?”

I nod. So, I have at least ten bullets left in the magazine and no sign of our tail. If we’re lucky, we lost them.

“Where to?” Annabel backs out.

“Get on the Washington Memorial Highway.” I don’t have a firm plan, but I think Otis might know where to hide us while we figure out our next move. Keeping my eyes glued to the rearview and side view mirrors, I call my buddy.

“Hm-yello?”

“I need a safehouse that’s truly safe.” Truly safe means it’s hidden even from the CIA.

Otis lets out a curse. He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I have a place for fishing. It’s a couple hours away. Is that too far?”

A cabin actually sounds perfect, considering my furry tail and howling at the moon problem. “No, that will work.”

“I’ll meet you at Rocky Run Park in Arlington to give you the key. Anything else you need?”

“Yeah, weapons, lots of them. And computer equipment. Anything you can spare.”

“I’ll hook you up. How long until you can meet?”

I grit my teeth. Highway traffic has come to a near standstill. It’s not uncommon on this highway—there must be an accident somewhere ahead, but I don’t like it. “Forty-five minutes. Maybe longer.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Otis.” I end the call and take in the traffic again. It’s probably not a police roadblock on a manhunt for us. Then again…

Annabel taps the steering wheel with the tip of her index finger. It’s a nervous tell she has—I’ve seen her do it before.

“Charlie….” The fear in Annabel’s scent has me on high alert. “Back at the hotel, I…”

“It’s okay, baby,” I soothe when her voice dies. Traffic stops entirely, and I take the opportunity to grab her hand and squeeze. “You did great. I never should’ve sent you in alone. Someone must have followed us and sent men to grab you.” Either Agent Tentrite or Director Flack. Whoever it was, they escalated the situation. As soon as I figured out which one sent the wetwork team, I’d repay them in kind.

“It’s not that.” She shudders.

“Talk to me,” I order as gently as I can.

“I don’t know what happened,” she almost whispers. “The guys got me in the stairwell—started dragging me down. Then—” Her face whitens. It’s killing me not to take her into my arms. “I heard something.”

“What, baby?” I ask even though I already know. My body tightens in anticipation.

“It was a growl. An animal—that wolf. I know that sounds crazy, but I swear it was the same wolf from the cabin. It came up the stairs and—” She stops and covers her mouth.

I slide a hand over her back. “It’s okay,” I murmur over and over even though I feel as sick as she looks. What would’ve happened if I had been too late? Or if the monster in me took over and continued the hunt? How many people would’ve died?

With a sharp shake of her head, she recovers. “I’m fine,” she says in a way that makes me think she’s giving herself a command. “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

I pull my hand away. I don’t deserve to touch her. “Take as long as you need.”

“I know you think I’m crazy—”

“No, baby,” I cut in, but she doesn’t seem to hear me.

“—but I swear it was a wolf. It could’ve been a dog but…” She stares out the window. I wish I could say something to comfort her.

“Annabel…”

My tongue is heavy in my mouth. My stomach twists in disgust at my own cowardice.

“I know you think I’m crazy,” she repeats.

“No,” I say. “It’s possible these guys had… an attack animal with them.”

“But it attacked . Not me.” Her eyes widen. “Charlie, it rescued me.”

My mouth is dry. It doesn’t matter how powerful I’ve become—I can’t tell Annabel the truth. I’m not strong enough. I stare at the red brake lights ahead of us and jump when a horn honks angrily nearby.

“I think…” She sounds thoughtful, “I think it tried to help me.”

“Whatever it was,” my voice rasps, “promise me next time you see it, you’ll shoot it down.”

“What?”

“Something like that is dangerous. It could’ve attacked you. If you see it again, gun it down. Promise me.” I turn my head so she can’t see the desperation in my face.

Her eyebrows knit together. “But—”

“Annabel.”

“Fine,” she soothes. “I promise.”

The brake lights ahead of us blink. Traffic hasn’t moved more than an inch in several minutes. Typically for D.C., and yet…

“Something’s wrong.” My instincts clang in warning, loud and clear. Even before I was a wolf, I knew to trust them. “I have a bad feeling about this, Annabel.”

I look around. A motorcyclist leans a foot on the ground a few lanes over in front of us.

“Get out. Leave the car running. Follow me.” I exit the car, gun gripped in my hand but held against my leg, so it’s semi-hidden. I dart forward through the lanes between cars until I get to the motorcyclist.

Quickly, I lift the gun and tuck it against the guy’s ribs, inside the flap of his jacket so the people behind us can’t see.

He goes perfectly still but gives us both an up and down look. Annabel’s not wearing shoes.

“We need to borrow your bike. Our car is back there, still running.”

The motorcyclist eases off the bike without a word. He must recognize the desperation of our situation. Or his.

“Give her the helmet and your jacket.”

He scowls but does as I ask him.

“Silver Camry, far left lane.”

He walks toward the car, giving us one searching look over his shoulder.

“We’ll leave your bike where the police can find it,” I tell him.

“You’d better,” he calls gruffly back. I almost smile. He reminds me of the wolves in the pack in Tucson, a motorcycle gang of shifters who run cage fights and nightclubs and own the city streets at night.

“This will be hard to manage without shoes, but I’ll do the driving,” I tell Annabel as I stow the gun in the holster taped to my back and pat the seat. She pulls on the jacket and hikes up her skirt to mount the bike which is way too big for her. I place the helmet on her head and adjust the strap, then mount the bike in front of her.

“Hang on, sweetheart,” I say and gun the engine, zooming in between cars.

About a half mile ahead, I see the police have blocked the exit and highway, and they’re working their way back. I pull the motorcycle over to the far-left lane and stop it. “Get off.”

Annabel dismounts. I follow, then heave the bike over the guardrail.

Annabel gasps. I pretty much gasp in my head, too—I shouldn’t be able to lift a Harley Davidson in the air like that. Certainly not without straining something. But every day, it seems like my strength increases, along with endurance and heightened senses.

If I stay in the secret agent business, being a wolf could really come in handy.

But that’s a huge .

Annabel and I leap over the guardrail and climb back on.

The police catch sight of us and shout. I gun the motorcycle, skidding out as we roar off in the opposite direction.

They’ll have to do a lot better than a roadblock to catch me.