Changeling (23 page)

“Huh?”

Granted, not the most intelligent rebuttal of my short superheroing career, but genuine. Smell him? Noah. The ass knocked me out and then put me to bed. I touched my throat. Something akin to fear must have flashed across my face, because Gage thundered across the room.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. Not exactly, and I didn’t need my surrogate big brother going crazy over the sleeper hold.

“But he was here.”

I squirmed. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you alert someone?”

“At first I was too frightened to call out for help.” And that was the honest truth. His arrival in my room had shocked the hell out of me, and was the only thing that had kept me rooted in my chair instead of beating him senseless. “Then he wouldn’t let me.”

“Wouldn’t let—telekinesis?”

I nodded.

“So you let him go?” Simon asked.

“I didn’t let him do anything. I couldn’t freaking move!”

Simon frowned. “You went to sleep after he left, Dahlia.”

I blanched, my anger growing by leaps and bounds. So much for keeping this one to myself. I just couldn’t stomach Simon’s condescending tone or his silent accusation of recklessness. Maybe he had twenty years of life experience on
me, but he wasn’t always one of the good guys. “I didn’t let him go, for God’s sake, he knocked me out. You really think I’m that big of an idiot?” Heat rose all along my skin, sucking what little warmth it could out of the air. In seconds, Simon’s breath puffed out in pale clouds of vapor.

“I would have kept him here if I could, but I couldn’t, so take your judgment and shove it up your—”

“Dahlia!” Gage slipped between us, his body creating a physical barrier that broke my concentration. The heat fled from me. Room temperature returned to normal. Gage glared at me, frustration flashing in his speckled eyes. “Simon, go downstairs.”

Simon grunted but followed the command, and seconds later the bedroom door slammed shut. I jumped. Gage grabbed my robe out of the closet and tossed it to me. I stood and slipped it on.

“Are you okay?”

I perched on the edge of my cozy chair. “Slight headache.”

“Not what I meant.”

Of course it wasn’t. My throat felt tight. “I feel like an idiot, Gage. He was in the house and I let him get away.”

He was quiet for several seconds, and then said, “I got this leadership thing by default, Dal. I spend my days going, ‘What would Teresa do?’ and half the time, I think I’ve got the right answer.”

“What about the other half?”

“I muddle through it, just like she does when she’s uncertain.”

The idea of Teresa West admitting to uncertainty made
me smile. “So, if she was here with us now, what would she say to me?”

He scratched his chin with one finger, grazing over a day’s worth of blond stubble. “Well, first she’d threaten to beat Noah to a bloody pulp for hurting you.”

My lips twitched. “That sounds like her.”

“Then I think she’d remind you about your family here and the people who love you. That you aren’t in this battle alone.”

“I know.”
Do I really?

I would never betray my friends, but I was hiding things from them. Trying to be all things to all people. I couldn’t keep protecting Noah. He wasn’t my family. He had his own to think about. Family was something to protect, no matter the cost. No matter who else got hurt.

Family.

My mouth fell open. It seemed too simple, and yet perfectly logical, and it had been right in front of me the entire time.

“What’s wrong?”

I tried to work my jaw and probably looked like a gasping fish.

“Dahlia?”

“He’s protecting Aaron,” I said.

“Who is?”

I scrambled out of the chair and dove onto the bed, fumbling beneath the rumpled sheets for the cell phone. “Noah and Jimmy and King,” I said. “They’re protecting Aaron, that has to be it. It’s why Noah can’t tell me who wants me dead.
He isn’t hiding it to protect me. He can’t, because withholding the information protects Aaron.”

Gage bobbed his head up and down, trying to follow along with my speeding train of thought. “Aaron is the brother they haven’t found yet, right?”

“Yes, the one King was supposed to take over as a permanent host to make them a trio again. Noah told me Aaron disappeared while on a skiing trip with friends, and he hasn’t been seen in weeks. It makes perfect sense that the one thing keeping Noah from being totally honest with me is his brother.”

“But who would do something like this?”

“Still the big question,” I said. “The good part is, Noah didn’t break any promises he made, because I figured it out on my own, which means we can help them get Aaron back from whoever’s holding him.”

“They may not want our help, Dal.”

I finally found the phone tucked between the mattress and the wall. “We can at least offer it, can’t we?” I stilled, alarmed by his lack of response. “I’ll do it myself if you don’t think the team should get involved.”

“I don’t know what I think yet.” He eyed the phone. “If you can get Noah to confirm your suspicions, that his actions and King’s actions have been made under duress, I’ll get the others to help. If it’s something else, anything else, we have to bring the Changelings in.”

“They’ll fight before they let us capture them.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Gage nodded his head toward the phone, offering silent permission to
go ahead with whatever plan I had in mind. It couldn’t be easy for him, allowing me to take such a risk. He wanted someone to pay for Teresa’s injuries. He knew King was directly responsible, and now he practically promised he wouldn’t seek vengeance if it turned out King had been coerced into it.

My respect for Gage McAllister tripled.

He left. Voices began arguing immediately behind my closed bedroom door. They eventually moved away. I turned on the phone and speed-dialed, heart thudding in my ears. What was I going to say to him? Would he even answer?

This is a really bad idea.

It rang twice, and then clicked over to voice mail. “Dahlia.” Noah’s voice, prerecorded. “Meet me on the corner of Hollywood and North Sycamore, one hour from the time you’re about to say after the beep. Do I have to say come alone?” Beep.

I looked at the phone’s display. “It’s quarter to eight in the morning. I’ll see you in one hour.”

After snapping the phone shut, I threw open the closet doors and started dressing. Back in civilian clothes, with my hair tucked up under a matching green bandana to hide the orange streak. The phone went into my back pocket, along with the team com. Wallet—check. Shoes—check. Courage—working on it.

Courage to see this through and do the right thing. Courage to face my friends and teammates if anything went wrong. I had to know the truth of things; until I did, nothing else mattered.

Cipher and Tempest
dropped me off three blocks from the meeting place. They were both in full uniform, coms in place. Onyx was already staking out the corner from a building across the street. He flew in as the raven, but had likely shifted into his third animal form and was prowling the rooftops as a black housecat.

As we pulled up to the curb, Cipher’s com rang. “It’s Cipher,” he said.

I waited, hand on the door handle. Good news or bad, I couldn’t figure out from his face.

He listened for less than thirty seconds before saying, “Thanks,” and hanging up. “Scott and Sons Electric burned to the ground last night. Looks like they had something on timer to get rid of their trail.”

“Looks like.” They’d just added arson to the list of charges piling up against them. Fantastic.

Neither man spoke as I climbed out of the Sport. They had offered every bit of imaginable advice during the drive over, voiced their concerns, and offered contingency plans if things went south. I listened, nodding in all the right places.

I forced myself to walk slowly down Hollywood Boulevard, pretending I belonged there like the dozens of other people wandering the street. The sidewalks had been torn up and repaved ten years ago, but already the concrete was cracked, pitted. Tourist traps were closed up, or converted into cheap diners and cheaper bars. The night life never really
left this section of old Hollywood; it was just sleeping off last night’s bender.

Another block, and I made a right. At the designated corner was a parking structure with public access. Street level boasted a boisterous clothing store. Down a side street, the ramp led up four parking levels. I crossed the street against traffic and stood on the requested corner. Precisely on time.

I watched the foot traffic, resisting the impulse to look at the buildings across the street. To seek out Onyx and know my backup was as close as a well-timed scream. I wasn’t alone, no matter how isolated I felt.

The cell phone chirped. I palmed it. A text message appeared on the display.
Parking garage. Second level. Now.

Onyx wasn’t the only one watching.

Phone in hand, I strolled toward the garage entrance, every step loud in my ears. Up the ramp, into cooler air reeking of oil and exhaust fumes. My stomach churned, unhappy I’d only eaten half a wheat bagel for breakfast. Even that had been forced on me by Renee. I’d been too scared to eat, too anxious to get this over with.

Walking up toward the second level of the parking structure, I wanted to run—away from the fear and uncertainty, from the warring emotions and disjointed desires. Conflicting stories, scientific experiments, human pillowcases, jailed reporters, and missing persons. All of it gone. Every single thing that prompted me to run also kept me walking straight ahead. The need to make sense of it all pushed my feet forward, step by step, toward a necessary goal.

The level was half full of parked vehicles scattered around
the dozens of available slots. Vans, trucks, and cars—nothing stood out.

Chirp. Another message.
Blue pickup.

I spotted the vehicle and approached. It had dark-tinted windows. I cupped my hands against the glass and peered inside. Empty.

The cellular’s shrill tone screeched across the lot. I fumbled, then hit Receive.

“Yes?” I said.

“It’s me.” Noah. “When I hang up, put this phone and your team com in the bed of the truck. Then walk in the opposite direction, to the gray food truck next to the west wall.” Click.

Food truck? I spotted it and deposited the phones in the pickup as ordered, ridding myself of the tracking mechanism planted in my personal com. Not good. Certainly smart of him. I approached the gray truck, slowing a fraction with each step, nerves getting the better of me. It had two back doors with vents instead of windows. The passenger side sported a long, narrow counter and sliding glass window, all covered and locked. I checked the cab—empty. A plastic accordion curtain blocked my view of the interior.

The driver’s side had another vent, but no windows. I circled around to the rear. The latch on the back door turned on its own and swung open. I climbed in, swallowed whole by the sickly-sweet odor of grease and fried foods. The interior was lit by a single, center bulb, casting orange shadows on the two people inside: Noah and Dr. Kinsey. They sat on overturned plastic crates, their backs against a long grill. A third crate was set up across from them. Waiting for me.

“I continue to underestimate you, Miss Perkins,” Kinsey said. He reached behind him and touched the small black box on the grill’s surface. White noise again. “We didn’t expect to hear from you so quickly. What changed your mind?”

“Domestic dispute,” I replied.

Noah tensed. “What happened?”

“Cipher caught wind of your after-hours visit and got a little pissed.” To Kinsey, I said, “I suppose you know Weatherfield swore out a complaint against you, and both the local police and L.A. County Sheriff’s Office are looking for you.”

“Yes, and?”

Time to see if I was as good a guesser as I hoped. “And I want to help you get Aaron back.”

Noah’s hand jerked. Kinsey closed his eyes, then reopened them a moment later. The men shared a silent stare, communicating something, maybe via Jimmy hiding somewhere else in the parking structure. It didn’t matter, because the declaration had struck a nerve, grabbed their attention, and I had to hold on to it.

“You didn’t break any promises you made,” I continued. “I guessed on my own, and it looks like I’m right.”

“How?” Noah asked.

“Family is the only thing that would make
me
do what you’ve done against my will and my better judgment. Who has him?”

“We don’t know.”

“Noah,” Kinsey said.

“What, Dad?” Noah threw his hands into the air, relief
relaxing the tension in his body. “She figured it out, why can’t we just tell her everything?”

“You’re risking Aaron’s life.”

“We don’t know for sure they’ll hold up their end and give Aaron back to us.”

“They haven’t lied yet.”

“Yet.”

The exchange happened so rapidly I almost missed the point of the argument. They didn’t know who had Aaron. They didn’t know how much the kidnappers knew about their current activities, or if Aaron would be released when they did what they were told. It was all on faith—to get Aaron back alive, they had no choice.

“How do you know Aaron is alive?” I asked.

Noah dug into his pocket and pulled out a phone. He pressed some buttons and brought up a picture. “They send us a new one every day.”

The image showed a newspaper in the foreground with yesterday’s headline about the warehouse fire and shooting. Past that was a young man, similar to Noah in size and build, with dirty-blond hair and piercing green eyes. He was tied to a chair, gagged. Blood had dried on his upper lip and stained the cloth around his mouth. Older now, but still the same boy from those photographs.

“You have no idea who’s holding him?” I asked. “Or where?”

Noah shook his head as he put the phone back in his pocket. “The photos are too dark. Whenever they call, the voice is electronically filtered. We don’t even know if it’s a
man or woman. They make demands, and we try to follow them.”