Chapter Eleven
Rory ran into the bunk room. “Where is she?” he demanded.
He’d slid from between the sheets in the pinkish-gray light and crept to the Chief’s office, hoping Ivy wasn’t grumpy when she was woken up – or at least that he could do something to put her in a better mood. The memory of holding her in his arms, of her softness and her scent, had played maddeningly in his head, over and over. He’d tossed and turned on his narrow cot, the springs squeaking, until Jasper had thrown a balled-up pair of dirty socks at his head and threatened to make him eat them if he didn’t go the fuck to sleep.
He’d dozed a little after that, but as soon as dawn had started to touch the sky, he’d given up on sleep and gone to her. So what if the Chief would go berserk when he realised they’d been fucking in his office? She was worth a month’s duty scrubbing down the showers. Hell, he’d do a year without a murmur of complaint.
Except she wasn’t there. Panic punched him in the solar plexus as he saw that the Chief’s office was empty, the blankets neatly folded on the couch they’d made up as a bed for her.
“Get up,” he demanded as his fellow firefighters cast bleary scowls at him. “I can’t find Ivy.”
They were alert and on their feet almost at once. It was the nature of the job. Lives often depended on them being ready for action in the middle of the night and at a moment’s notice. So his words did the work of a bucket of ice-water and a bucket and a half of strong black coffee.
“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” the Chief asked as the guys pulled on their clothes. But it was a rhetorical question. “Jasper and Jake, Ben and Brady – check the building. Thoroughly. Then report back. Rory – with me.”
A few minutes later, the Chief slammed a pot of coffee and two mugs onto the table and said, “Son, sit down or I’ll knock you down. Pacing liked a caged bear isn’t going to find your girl.”
Rory wrung his hands, but he stopped pacing and dropped into a chair. “I think she left,” he blurted. “I mean, I think she leftme. She was talking about how she’s never been part of a family, and I think all this—” he gestured around the firehouse “—me and the guys and the pack dynamics and all theshiftenshit… I think it’s too much for her.” He took a swig of coffee. It was bitter and burned his mouth, but that was nothing compared to the hollow ache in the middle of his chest.
The Chief sat back in his chair, fingers steepled thoughtfully. “Anyone can see the girl’s skittish,” he said, “and who could blame her? Sometimes dealing with you oversized cubs makesmewant to hang up my hat and do something more peaceful, like alligator-wrestling. But I don’t think she left you.”
“Why not?” Rory demanded. He knew he was being disrespectful, but he didn’t care.
The Chief gave him a shrewd, narrowed-eyed look. “Because I saw the way she looked at you.”
“How was that?”
The Chief thought for a while. Then, “Pretty much the same way you looked at her,” he said simply.
“She wasn’t snatched,” Rory insisted. “We’d have heard her if she screamed or struggled… Why the fuck didn’t I stay with her?” he growled, panic beginning to rise at the thought of Ivy in danger and afraid. But then he remembered. “Shecouldn’thave been snatched. The pillows are stacked and the blankets are neatly folded.”
The Chief nodded slowly. “Show me,” he said.
And it was true. The room showed every sign that Ivy had simply got up, got dressed, tidied up as best she could, and quietly left the firehouse without saying goodbye.
Except…
The Chief stooped and retrieved something from the floor. He held it out to Rory between two fingers.
Rory took the square of card and stared at it. The vanishing property manager. The one who didn’t answer her phone, and whose business address was a misprint or a mistake…or, he thought with sudden realization, just a lie.
The one who’d known that Ivy would be alone at her mom’s shop that night; that if the building caught fire, there’d be nobody to hear her screams for help.
He scrunched the card violently in his fist. Someonehadheard her, though.He’dheard her. Heard his One True Mate inside his head. And he’d find her wherever they’d taken her.
* * * * *
Ivy wondered if Rory would find the card. She wondered what help it would be if he did. After all, the address and phone number were fake, so probably the name was too. But it was the only thing she’d been able to do as the chloroform had taken effect and her vision had closed in – let the card flutter to the floor under the couch and hope Ms. Renard wouldn’t notice as she folded the blankets with brisk efficiency before she lifted Ivy over her shoulder. Ivy certainly hadn’t had the strength to cry out – she hadn’t even been able to move.
At the time it had seemed surreal and dreamlike, that the bony little woman would be able to carry her with such ease, but now she realized what an idiot she’d been – obviously Ms. Renard wasshiften.
“What are you?” she asked now, as the car jounced along the potholed road. “Bear? Big cat? I bet you’re awolven– you’ve always struck me as a bitch.” Her head was throbbing from the effects of the knock-out drug, and last night’s supper threatened to make a reappearance every time the car turned a corner. She was cuffed and her ankles were shackled, and she was as mad as hell.
Ms. Reynard gave her a poisonous look. “I’m a daughter of Khain,” she said. Something went cold in the pit of Ivy’s stomach. “We’refoxen.”
In the close confines of the car, even underneath the woman’s cloying perfume, Ivy could now catch a hint of that feral fur scent that had resurged in her vision as a warning. She couldn’t blame herself for not picking it up at the shop – the whole place had been full of musty, stale smells, and back then it would have held no significance for her anyway.
“The Chief didn’t say anything aboutfoxen,” Ivy said. “Do the realshiftennever ask you to play?” She made a mock-sad face, and Ms. Renard snarled – really snarled, her lip curling back and showing little white pointed teeth.
