Dying Dreams (Book 1 of Dying Dreams Trilogy) (31 page)

“What else did she say?”

“What?”

“Before she shot you? What else did she say?”

“Oh, right.” He tried to remember, to get past the look on her face and the longing for her that wouldn’t go away. “She said even if we caught her we wouldn’t be able to hold her. She said she has connections that will get her out of jail.”

Fulsom’s eyes widened. “Were those her exact words?”

Sloane closed his eyes and remembered. “She said she wouldn’t spend one minute in a cell with the connections she has.”

“She was trying to send you a message.” Fulsom slapped his thigh. “I knew she hadn’t gone off the reservation.”

“What kind of message?”

“First, she tells you she’s upset when you showed up at her place, but you didn’t show up. And she calls you Sloane. Two clues right there. So either she’s lost it, or someone glamoured her into thinking you were stalking her, or she’s trying to send you a message. That last bit proves she was definitely trying to send you a message.”

“I take it she has no connections.”

“None. We can’t even track down her parents. They’ve disappeared into thin air.”

“So what was she trying to tell me?” Sloane stood and started pacing. He was sore and numb, but he’d never been good at sitting still and the movement calmed him and got blood flowing to his brain. “If she was trying to tell me something she can’t be working alone, right? If she were, she would have been straight with me.”

“She’s not working alone,” Fulsom said, a sigh in his voice. “The car picking her up, remember?”

“You can’t hire a car?” Sloane asked. “My brain’s still working, asshole. So she had to have been giving me a clue about who she was working with, someone with the kind of connections not to stay in jail for even a minute.” He sat back down with a thud. “Shit. Of course. It’s Arty. And he’d have every reason to want me dead, since I know about his little ocean drilling project.”

“We’ve already talked to Arty. He hasn’t seen her.”

“He lied.”

“Elsa was there, she read his mind. He told the truth. It’s a dead end, man.”

“Arty is at least a hundred years old. You don’t think he’s figured out how to get around empaths?”

Fulsom shrugged. “So how are we going to get in there? Liza’s right about his connections, Reynolds won’t send any one to back us up.”

“I have an idea,” Sloane said. “But you aren’t going to like it.”

*SLOANE*

“No,” Curtis said. He sat across from them at the diner Liza had told Sloane about and shook his head. “I like Miss Liza, but I won’t send any of my people after him. Do you know who he works for?”

“Himself?” Sloane said, starting to feel like a man who’d been shot less than twenty-four hours before. He didn’t want to know any more about Arty or his operation. He just wanted to go in and get her out.

Curtis shook his head. “Arty made himself a big man when he came to live among the humans, but he was no one special in fairy. His magic has always been weak. I suspect he is only a pawn in this game.”

“Do
you
know who’s running the show?” Fulsom asked.

Curtis pursed his lips and rubbed his chin. “I have suspicions but nothing concrete enough to share.”

Sloane swallowed hard. He could feel Liza slipping away from him. He reached for her, but felt nothing. He’d go after her alone, if he had to, but he was pretty sure he’d die if he did. “Liza and I are bonded. I can feel her emotions, and the last one I felt from her was… it was pain on every level, a kind of pain I couldn’t… I dropped the connection and now I can’t feel her at all.”

Curtis studied him with something like pity. “It is the weakness of a bond that you can’t let go even when it is the wisest choice. You will ignore every logic and bit of reason to go after her and you will die. Arty has too many powerful fae and humans on his side.” He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t get involved in battles that cannot be won, but I’ll tell you this. If she were dead, you’d know. If she were dead, the pain you felt from her would be your own. I’ve known people to kill themselves to escape the pain of the death of a bonded mate.”

Fulsom started to stand. He’d seemed uneasy since they walked in. “It’s been a pleasure.”

Sloane didn’t move. He stared down Curtis. “Please.”

“You’ll owe me. When I call, you will come and you will do what I ask.”

Sloane knew better. He was risking everything making a deal with an unknown fae – the favor he granted could lose him his life, his job, even Liza, but he couldn’t say no. He couldn’t walk away. “I’ll do anything.”

Curtis placed a hand over his. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that, son. Never make a promise like that to a fae.”

Sloane knew that, but he didn’t care.

“I know someone who can help you, but I don’t want anyone to be able to link him to me. I don’t ever want anyone to know you got his name from me. Understand?”

Sloane nodded.

Curtis pulled a slip of paper and a pen out of the pocket of his button-down flannel shirt. He scrawled something and slid the paper to Sloane. Sloane took it without looking at it and followed Fulsom out of the diner.

“I should go talk to them alone,” Sloane said.

Fulsom nodded. “Yeah, you should and I should let you, if I had any sense. But I’m your partner and I like Liza, so I’m going with you.”

Sloane nodded and they walked to the bus stop. He plugged the address Curtis had given him into his phone and figured out the bus schedule. An hour later and a mile-long walk down a dusty dirt road, they arrived at what looked like a barn, red paint chipped and peeling, on a large farm. Wide open land stretched to the mountains in the distance, and the landscape sang to Sloane almost as deeply as the sea, awakening a sense of calm in him. Or it did until a shout and a whizzing sound sent him to kiss the dirt and reach for his gun. The roar of motors and loud laughter had Sloane crawling on hands and knees to the tree line where he found Fulsom shaking his head. “Fuck. I hate redcaps,” he said.

Sloane hunkered down behind a fallen tree. He looked over the trunk and saw six men, with flaming red hair and rifles slung over their shoulders, careening straight toward them on four-wheelers. Sloane had enough encounters with redcaps to last him a lifetime, and he figured they probably wouldn’t try to kill him. Not on purpose anyway. He started to stand and then ducked back down to watch as one of the four-wheelers hit a small hill at full-speed and flew through the air. The four-wheeler landed on its side and rolled, but the redcap who’d been on it jumped clear and raised his hands in the air in a victory gesture. The other redcaps jeered and shouted and laughed, seeming to have forgotten their guests for the moment.

“You sure about this?” Fulsom whispered.

“Don’t think we have any choice.” Sloane waited until the shouts quieted, then stepped from behind the tree, hands raised to demonstrate he had no weapons.

The redcaps quieted and drove up to meet him. Sloane waited until they’d cut the engines and gave them his best smile.

“What’s up, Homo-Sapien?” asked the tallest redcap, who was a head shorter than Sloane and bulky with muscle that was obvious even through his t-shirt and cargo shorts.

“You look like a fed,” another one, who was thinner and tanner, said.

“I am and I need your help with a mission.”

The redcaps stared at him blankly.

“Curtis sent us.”

That earned him confused looks all around.

“The mission is to save a woman.”

That peaked their interest. The tallest one grinned. “Is she smokin’?”

Sloane was young enough to be familiar with slang, but redcaps had their own variety and he didn’t want to lead them astray. He felt they should know what they were getting into. “Define smokin’.”

“You know, dude, is she a dragon?” A redcap, who looked all of fourteen, asked with an eye roll for his buddies. “Dragons are so hot.”

Again, Sloane was a bit confused. In all possibility, the redcaps meant hot literally, but they could just as likely be fucking with him. He’d never understood redcap humor. Nor did he know much about the sexual proclivities of the redcaps, and he didn’t want to know. “She’s not a dragon. She’s attractive, but she’s mine.”

The redcaps’ disappointment lasted only a moment. “Come on in,” the tall one said. He adjusted the solar panels on his four-wheeler and led Sloane and Fulsom inside. They’d made the barn surprisingly homey. On the main floor there was a large sectional couch, and pool, foos-ball, and air hockey tables. The rest of the huge space was taken up by a kitchen, with state of the art appliances and antique granite countertops. A set of stairs led to a loft-like second floor that was too dark for Sloane to make out, but which held bedrooms, he assumed.

Four of the six redcaps sat down on the couch, one headed to the kitchen and returned with beers, and one vanished upstairs. “So, tell us about this mission,” the tall redcap said, after he’d opened his beer and taken a long swallow. Sloane thought he looked like the oldest, but he couldn’t be sure. They all looked so much alike, they were starting to blend together.

Sloane told them about Liza and how he thought she was at Arty’s house. In the interest of full-disclosure he told them about Arty’s government connections, but their eyes started to glaze a bit so he stopped.

“Yeah, we know Arty,” said one of the redcaps who hadn’t spoken, yet. His voice was deep and slow, and his pauses even slower. Sloane could feel time slipping away like water between his fingers, and he knew he’d lose Liza if they didn’t hurry. He also knew better than to rush a red cap, though, so he clenched his teeth and smiled. “Yeah, he’s one of them anti-homo-sapien types, you know? Always preaching how great things was in fairy and how we should go back there some day. We like it here.”

“We like TV and motors and homo-sapien women,” the young one said.

Sloane almost asked why they used the term homo-sapien instead of human, but decided he didn’t want to know.

“And beer. We flogging love beer,” another one spoke up, and was rewarded by cheers and high-fives from his friends.

Fulsom rolled his eyes. “Children. Can we focus on the mission here? Are you going to help us or not.”

“Yeah, yeah we’ll help,” the tall one said. “Boggy you go call Clara and ask her to bring the plans for Arty’s home. Tell her she needs to get here soon, we’ve got a job.” He swiveled and looked at the slow-talker. “Hugo, you go and talk to Larissa, put together what weapons we’ll need and see if she’s got that cloak of invisibility working, yet.”

Hugo and Boggy left, and the tall one looked at Sloane. “We’ll help you because we don’t like Arty, but we don’t work for free. We each get a hundred bucks an hour, plus a flat grand each for hazard pay. Minimum is two grand a piece, in case the job only takes an hour.”

Sloane ran the calculations in his head. It would run him at least twelve grand. He had that much in savings, but it would clean him out. Still, these guys seemed to know what they were doing. “Ye—”

“Don’t fuck with us, you little elf-mutant,” Fulsom interrupted. Sloane almost groaned aloud. “The feds aren’t paying for this, we are, out of our own pockets. We aren’t exactly rolling in–”

“Whoa, hold on there, fairy breath. No one said anything about going against the feds. That’s another grand apiece right there.”

Sloane glared at Fulsom, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was on his feet, his face getting red. “Your mother was a fairy, and I have elves like you for breakfast. There is no way we are going to pay you–”

“We’ll pay,” Sloane said. He had no idea where he’d come up with the money, but he’d pay.

The redcap sat and smiled, while Fulsom glared and puffed. Sloane ignored them both. “Now, what’s the plan?”

When the redcaps got down to business, they could be surprisingly quick and practical. Hugo showed up with an armload of weapons and showed them how to use the special features on them all. They came up with a plan for approaching the house and practiced on the weapons. Sloane was itching to go after Liza, he was still sore and tired from getting shot, and everything took too long with slow-voiced Hugo explaining it, but he had to admit their weapons were impressive. Sadly, there was no invisibility cloak.

“I’ve got the plans you asked for, Newton,” a melodious female voice said. Sloane turned and saw a curvy, voluptuous woman with dark hair walk in, her hips swaying. At first glance, he would have sworn she was human, but then he noticed the pointy ears and the slight red tinge to her eyes, and he realized she had to be a redcap. He’d never met a female redcap before. Although, now that he got a good look at her, he realized maybe he had and just hadn’t known he’d been talking to a redcap.

Newton’s face split in a smile that reminded Sloane of a kid on Christmas morning. He stood and walked to the woman, wrapped his arms around her and kissed her, before leading her over to the couch to sit next to him. She looked as happy as Newton, and Sloane felt an ache. He missed Liza, but he also realized how much he wished she would look like that when she saw him or that he could be as free with his smiles and touches as Newton was with his love. Their relationship had a long way to go and he hoped they got the chance to get there.

“This is my wife Clara,” Newton said. “Clara, this is Agent Rice and Agent Fulsom and they need our help to rescue Rice’s bonded mate from Arty.”

Clara narrowed her eyes and studied them. “And are we going in with them or are we just giving them the plans.”

Newton wrapped an arm around her shoulders and grinned down at her. “I knew you’d be pissed with anything less than full-scale attack.”

Clara smiled and relaxed. “Good. Why don’t you two fill me in on exactly what’s going on?”

Sloane opened his mouth to speak, but two more women walked in. They were in shorts, tank tops, and hiking boots, and covered in dirt and dust, but still clearly gorgeous. “We got a deer hung up out back,” said the first one, who was shorter and more petite than any of the other redcaps and looked all of twelve.