CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Frankie’s feet made no sound as she walked down the brightly lit corridor. It seemed like forever before she arrived at her grandfather’s room. She pushed open the door. She frowned. Geoffrey was gone. There was no bed. No equipment. No TV. Only a red door at the other end of the room. Maybe there was a nurse in there.

Frankie turned the knob and walked inside. She was in her display room, surrounded by her sculptures. Chilled, she flexed her fingers and—

The chair was empty. The child was gone.

Frankie heard it then. Creaking. Like old, rickety bones trying to move. She turned, but it wasn’t the child she saw. It was Marcia, Geoffrey, and Brad. They were looking at the sculptures, bored and unimpressed.

She called out their names, but they didn’t answer. Didn’t seem to hear or see her. She called out to them again, louder this time. But her grandparents turned their backs and walked away. Brad’s body faded and morphed, and suddenly she was looking at Rio.

“You can’t keep him,” Rio told her. “Not in the long run. You’re not what he needs.”

Hearing the creak of bones, Frankie whirled on the spot. It was the child. She was crawling on the floor. She stopped. Slowly and stiffly lifted her head, making her hair part.

“Run,” she whispered.

Frankie swallowed. “Why?”

“He hurt her. He’ll hurt you.”

The smell of gunpowder permeated the room. Blood dripped down the walls. A growl echoed in the small space—a space that seemed to be getting smaller and smaller by the second.

Another growl. “You’re supposed to be in—”

Frankie’s eyes snapped open, and her body jerked. Jesus Christ. Her wolf snarled and raked her claws, disturbed and anxious. The arm that was curled around Frankie from behind briefly tightened. She swallowed with a throat that was as dry as attic dust.

Trick kissed her hair. “Another nightmare?” His voice was rough with sleep.

Nodding, she struggled to sit upright and blew out a long breath. Trick sat up with her and grabbed the glass of water from the nightstand. She took it with a weak, grateful smile and sipped at the water. Her heart was pounding like crazy, and the beat seemed so loud in the quiet of the room.

Trick smoothed her hair away from her face. “What happened in the nightmare?”

Frankie handed him back the glass, and he returned it to the nightstand. “They’re all so similar. I’m always in my display room. Always surrounded by my sculptures. At least one of them talks to me. And I always smell that scent mixed in with blood and gunpowder. And then there’s that voice . . .”

“Come here.” Trick scooped her up and cradled her on his lap. He did his best to remain calm, knowing it was what she needed, but seeing her this way pissed him the fuck off. She always looked drained after the nightmares, as if they took a lot out of her. His wolf snuggled up to her even as he growled in frustration—the thing that was hurting their mate wasn’t something they could fight.

“What am I not seeing, Trick? What has my subconscious picked up that has gone right over my head?”

“I don’t know,” he said, rocking her gently. “I wish I did, if it meant these nightmares would go away.”

Sensing that sleep wouldn’t come easy, Frankie glanced at the clock. “It’s just past six a.m. I think I’ll go sit on the balcony for a while.”

“Okay. Come on.”

She frowned as he edged out of the bed with her still in his arms. “You don’t have to—”

“Shut up, baby.”

“Well, that’s very nice,” she muttered, though she was grateful that he’d be with her. He settled in one of the chairs with her on his lap, and she drank in the gorgeous view of the sun peeking over the mountains.

After a long silence, he asked, “You sure you’re up to seeing Clara today?”

“If I could get out of it, I would. Packing up Iris’s things isn’t my idea of a good time. But Clara and Lydia really want me to be there. Apparently it’s tradition for the women in the family to do it. And it’s hard to say no to Lydia, especially when I know she needs the support. What will you be doing with yourself?”

“I’m going with Trey, Ryan, and Dominic to check out a spot where Morelli’s rumored to be hiding. We’ve had plenty of tips since we put a price on his head. None of them have amounted to anything. He’s deep underground. But he can’t hide forever. It ain’t over until the fat lady sings.”

She frowned. “Who is this lady? What does it matter that she’s fat? And why does her singing have such importance?”

Trick just shook his head. “Anyway . . . we got a tip that said Morelli was hiding near the landfill. He’s probably not there either, but . . .”

“But you want to be there with Trey and the other enforcers in case Morelli is, because you want to be the one who kills him,” she understood.

“Yes.” Trick caught her gaze, wanting her to see the ruthless intent there. She needed to know he’d do it, and he’d do it without mercy or regret. “And I will be.”

“Does this mean I’ll end up cuffed to the shower wall again while you work off your brood?”

His lips twitched. “Probably. Marcus and Roni will escort you and Lydia to Bjorn Pack territory. It’s unlikely that you’ll run into any trouble there, but I want you protected.”

Although she thought two bodyguards was overkill, Frankie said nothing. The last two times he’d left her, she’d been hurt. First by Drake, then by Rio. It made sense that he’d want her to be adequately protected.

“Onto a different subject, any news about Geoffrey?” he asked.

“I spoke to Edna just before I went to bed. According to her, he’s fine.” She’d thought about calling him to check in, but if they were going to make their way back to each other, it was something they should do in baby steps.

“Good. I wouldn’t be surprised if he contacts you soon, inviting you for lunch. Your family thinks of shifters as monsters. The shooting reminded them that humans do bad things too.”

She nestled closer to him. “Yeah, I guess it did.”

Soon after breakfast, Marcus drove Frankie, Roni, Lydia, and Cam to Bjorn Pack territory. To give Clara, Lydia, and Frankie the emotional space to go through Iris’s possessions, Cam went fishing with Cesar while Roni and Marcus relaxed on Clara’s back porch.

As Clara was swathing one of Iris’s many knickknacks in bubble wrap, she asked Frankie, “So how are things with you and Trick?”

“Great,” replied Frankie, packing clothes into a box.

“Nothing can quite beat a mating bond, can it? It’s a gift that most humans will sadly never experience. I’ve always pitied them that.” Clara sighed, her smile nostalgic. “I was very young when I realized Cesar was my mate.”

Lydia’s brows lifted. “Really?”

“Fourteen. He was sixteen. It was too early for us to claim each other. Our parents wanted us to wait until I was seventeen, so we did. I didn’t let him claim me straightaway, though. No, I insisted that he court me proper.”

“Court you?” echoed Lydia, mouth twitching.

“Oh yes. I’d been reading a lot of Jane Austen novels at the time. I wanted romance. He gave it to me, bless his heart. Iris did the complete opposite when she realized Alfie was her mate. Like with Frankie, it took her a few months to see the truth. When she did, she wasted no time at all in stating that he was hers and demanding that they claim each other. The poor man was practically railroaded, but it was obvious that he was happy to be.” Clara sealed a box with tape as she spoke. “Do the Newmans know that you’re mated yet?”

“Yes,” replied Frankie. “They saw my claiming bite when I spoke to them a week ago after Geoffrey was shot.”

“Shot?”

“An old court case came back to haunt him.”

“Ah.” Clara began wrapping up another ornament with tissue paper. “How did they react to the bite?”

“They didn’t, but they didn’t chase me out of the hospital. Geoffrey admitted to making mistakes, but unless he’s willing to accept Trick, it’s neither here nor there to me. My grandparents and uncle have to know that Trick and I come as a package deal. I’m not saying they need to welcome him into the family, but they do need to accept that he’s part of mine.” The best and most important member of her family.

“It should be enough for them that Trick makes you happy,” began Lydia, “but it won’t give them any reassurance, because Christopher made Caroline happy, and yet . . .”

Frankie sighed. “And yet.” She glanced out the window, catching sight of her old home. “I have something I need to do.” She cut her gaze back to the other two females. “I want to go to the old cabin.”

Lydia’s eyes glinted with anxiety. “Frankie, I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”

“Maybe not, but I need to do it.”

“Can you at least wait until Trick gets here?” begged Lydia. “You shouldn’t do it alone.”

“He’ll try and talk me out of it. Josh granted permission for me to walk through it. I keep asking Trick to bring me here, and he keeps putting it off.” She’d be an old woman before he finally let her do it. “If it was possible that I’d have flashbacks, I’d get why you’re concerned. But whatever memories I have of that night are buried deep. For me, walking through the cabin will mean facing my past. Accepting what happened. Getting some closure.”

Clara’s eyes lit with understanding, but Lydia still seemed anxious.

“Trick once said to me that I need to accept my past and my heritage,” said Frankie. “He’s right. Our mating bond isn’t complete yet. What if it won’t fully snap into place until I do as Trick said and accept my past?” She lifted her chin. “I really do need to do this.”

Lydia raked a hand through her hair. “I’ll go with you. Please don’t argue. I can’t stand the thought of you doing it alone.”

“It’ll be hard for you,” Frankie warned her. After all, the female’s brother had died there.

“I didn’t see anything that night. They didn’t even let me near the cabin. The only memories I have of that place are good ones.”

Frankie sighed. “All right. Clara, will you be okay here?”

“Of course,” replied Clara with a wave of her hand. “Take whatever time you need. For what it’s worth, I think this will be a good thing for you. I’ll let Roni and Marcus know where you’ll be.”

“They’ll probably follow us over there,” said Lydia. “But they won’t go inside—they’ll give you the privacy you’re due.”

With Lydia at her side, Frankie walked out of the cabin and over to her childhood home. The place looked . . . sad. Boards covered the windows, panes of wood had been hammered into place across the door, and insults had been spray painted on the walls.

Hell, even its surroundings were bleak. There were overgrown weeds everywhere. On the cabin’s right side was a dead tree that was somehow still standing. On its left was a pond that had long ago dried up.

A lone crow was perched on the rotted porch rail; it watched them as they clambered up the steps. The twigs and leaves littering the porch crunched under their feet as they crossed to the front door. Frankie and Lydia grunted and cursed as they worked to pull off the planks that obstructed the door. They probably would have had a harder time doing it if the wood hadn’t gone soft with rain and rot.

Once the boards were gone, Frankie let out a long breath. The door had no knob, so she shoved it open with her elbow. The moment she stepped inside, she grimaced. The chilly air was stale and clouded with dust and smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and pot. Wrappers, empty bottles, beer cans, and cigarette butts were scattered around the floor.

Lydia sighed in disgust. “Looks like kids have hung out here over the years. I’m really hoping they didn’t also use it as a make-out spot.”

“That would be morbid, considering two people died here.”

Their footsteps echoed as they walked over creaky boards, overriding the sound of the wind whistling through broken windows. The cabin was empty of furniture. No pictures or paintings hung on the walls. The only items that had been left behind were light fixtures covered in cobwebs. Aside from the black splotches and graffiti on the walls, there was no hint of color. She could almost think that no one had ever lived there. It was a husk of a house, really.

“I expected to see some abandoned furniture.”

“The cabin was stripped of all its belongings,” said Lydia. “I think my mom and dad were worried that someone would set the place alight and everything would be destroyed. Emotions were running very high back then.”

Silence fell between them as Frankie explored the downstairs space. “I didn’t expect to have any flashbacks or sensory memories, but it’s kind of gloomy that I can walk through my childhood home and find no comfort in it at all. Every inch of it feels unfamiliar to me.”

They entered another bare room, and Lydia said, “This was, um, the kitchen. This was where it happened.” She cleared her throat. “At first people panicked and thought that someone had taken you.”

Frankie felt her brows snap together. “Why?”

“The people who first arrived at the scene called out your name, but you didn’t answer. They followed your scent down to the basement. You were hiding there, ghost white and shaking.”

“Really?” Frankie walked around, looking for another door, and . . . There. It was hanging on its hinges, so she carefully pushed it open, grimacing as it left the chalky feel of dust on her hands. At first the space looked like a large cupboard. But then she saw that there was another door. Frankie opened it, satisfied to find that it led to the basement.

Lydia made a pained sound in the back of her throat. “Frankie, don’t do this to yourself.”

“I’m not trying to torment myself. I can’t explain it well, but I just need to do it.”

Lydia flapped her arms. “All right.”

The wooden steps groaned as they descended into the basement. Frankie’s nose wrinkled. It didn’t smell any better down there. Must, mold, and damp concrete. Even with the sunlight lancing through the wide window, it was as dark as it was cold, so it was a damn good thing that shifters could see well in the dark.

Her shoes scraped on the concrete floor as she explored the large basement. No boxes were stacked anywhere. Nothing stood on the shelves. The storage cupboard was completely bare. Aside from cobwebs and damp spots, the only things to see were the breaker box, a furnace, a water tank, and pipes.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that none of the kids who broke into the cabin over the years ever came down here.” There was no litter or graffiti.

“Can’t say I blame them.” Lydia shuddered. “Basements are creepy.”

“Where was I hiding that night?”

Turning, Lydia pointed to the far corner. “You were huddled behind the dryer, which they used to keep over there.”

The idea of that made Frankie swallow hard. She had to have seen something. A child didn’t hide in a spooky basement unless they were running from something much, much scarier.

Lydia rubbed at her upper arms. “Can we go now? I really do hate basements.”

“Yeah.” Frankie sighed. “We can head back.”

“Good, because I’m about to freak out. Let’s talk about something cheery.”

“Okay. Did Jaime tell you that she passed out on girls’ night?” The memory made Frankie’s mouth twitch despite her sour mood.

“No, she didn’t. She did tell me about Trick’s ex-fling, Rio. You stabbed his hand, right?”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same if Cam’s ex insisted he wasn’t your true mate?”

Lydia blinked, mouth falling open. “Rio said that? I thought he was just giving you grief out of spite.”

“He did a little of that too. The way he sees it, I can’t possibly be what Trick needs, since Rio is convinced that Trick is gay. Apparently he’d also hoped that Trick would one day treat him as more than a fling. He hates that I ended his hopes.”

“Seeing you and Trick together will have made him face that Trick isn’t gay, which means he also had to face that you’re able to give Trick something he can’t ever give him—not unless he’s interested in a sex change, anyway.”

Frankie stumbled to a halt as it hit her. Like a slap across the face. All this time, she hadn’t seen it. Not even once.

“What?” asked Lydia.

“You’re right. He probably hates me. He had it in his head, despite what the facts suggested, that he’d have Trick one day. Because of me, it’ll never happen. But he also truly believes that Trick is gay. In Rio’s head, I somehow duped Trick. I’m the bad guy.” And just the same way, her mother had been the bad guy, she now realized.

“Pretty much, yeah. Honey, you’ve gone very pale. Is something—oh my God.” She grabbed Frankie’s arm, pulling her to an abrupt stop.

“What?” She tracked Lydia’s gaze. “What the fuck?” On the floor someone had drawn a large pentagram. It was surrounded by candles and symbols. Worse, there was a huge reddish-brown stain that was quite clearly old blood.

“Oh my Jesus.” Lydia put a hand to her chest. “It was probably just kids being stupid, fooling around and thinking they could summon spirits or demons. Right?”

“That’s blood, Lydia. Look at what’s in the center of the pentagram.” Even though it was peppered with dust, Frankie could see it easily enough.

Lydia drew back, her heart now pounding as fast as Frankie’s. “That’s a photo of Christopher.” Her fingers dug into Frankie’s arm as she asked, “Do you think kids were trying to invoke his spirit or something weird like that?”

“I think someone wanted to talk to him.” Someone crazy enough to not only sacrifice a living creature but think that it would actually work. She jumped as the phone in her pocket rang. Taking a shaky breath, Frankie fished it out of her pocket. “It’s Trick.” She answered, “Hello.”

“Baby, what’s wrong? I can feel your anxiety. What is it?”

She licked her lower lip. “Well, I’m at the old cabin.”

He sighed. “Frankie, you shouldn’t have gone there without me. Look, I’m on my way to you now, okay—there was no sign of Morelli at the landfill. Just go back to Iris’s house and wait for me.”

A board creaked over their heads. And another. And another. Her gut dropped. “Someone’s here.”

“Probably Marcus or Roni,” said Lydia.

“I don’t think so,” she said as another board softly creaked. Because the person above them was trying very hard to be quiet, like they hoped to sneak up on her. “I know who killed my parents.”

“What?”both he and Lydia demanded at once.

“I know who it was.” She listened as the footsteps crossed the floorboards, trying to determine which way the newcomer was heading. Even if she and Lydia hadn’t left footprints in the dust that broadcast their location, the shifter would be able to follow their scents. “And I think they’re here.”

Trick swore. “I’ll be fifteen minutes at most. Go back to Iris’s cabin and wait for—What the hell?” She heard the roar of metal clashing, the screech of tires, and the shattering of glass.

“Trick? Trick!” Frankie looked at her phone, shell-shocked. “The line went dead,” she told Lydia. “It sounded like the SUV crashed into something.” Her wolf completely freaked out—raged, snarled, howled, battered at Frankie to go to him.

Panic punched Frankie right in the stomach, stealing her breath. The only thing that stopped her from joining her wolf in that crazed state was that she knew he wasn’t dead; she could feel him. He was unconscious, but he was alive.

“Shit!” Lydia grabbed her arm. “We have to go now.”

The hinges squealed as the basement door opened. Frankie’s heart missed a beat, and her breaths started to come loud and quick.

Heavy footsteps creaked their way down the stairs. “I know you’re down there, Frankie.” Spoken like a taunt.

Lydia gasped as the male reached the bottom step. “Cruz?”

He grinned at her. “That would be me.” His gaze cut to Frankie. “You don’t look so surprised to see me.”

Frankie swallowed. “I figured it out. Eventually.” She remembered the photo albums, remembered how Cruz had often looked at Christopher, remembered seeing photos of them standing almost intimately close. She also remembered Cruz often glaring at Brad the same way Rio had stared at Frankie. But it wasn’t Brad he’d been glaring at, she now realized. He’d been glaring at Caroline.

“You were supposed to be in bed that night,” said Cruz, as though she were the one who’d done wrong. “You weren’t supposed to hear or see anything.”

Lydia’s footsteps dragged as she shuffled backward, shaking her head in denial. But then he raised his hand and cocked the trigger of the pistol he held. Lydia froze, and every muscle in Frankie’s body went rigid. Fuck.

“Hands up where I can see them, girls. That’s good. Don’t count on your bodyguards coming to help you.” He smirked. “I paid some of the juveniles to lure them into the woods.”

That wouldn’t be enough, thought Frankie. No. Cam would feel Lydia’s anxiety, just as Trick would feel Frankie’s. Someone would come. They had to. Until then, she had to . . . what? She couldn’t think. Couldn’t reason. Not when she knew Trick was hurt and in danger. She needed to get to him.

Her eyes darted around the basement. The only exit other than the stairway was the grimy window behind Cruz. Getting out meant somehow getting past him and his pistol without getting shot. How the fuck were they supposed to do that? She had no idea.

Her wolf wanted to surface and rip the fucker limb from limb. Frankie would have shifted and given the animal the chance if she weren’t so sure that Cruz would put a bullet through her head before she was able to finish the shift.

Hoping to distract him from thoughts of shooting her and Lydia, Frankie flicked a look at the pentagram and asked, “Is that your handiwork?”

Sadness briefly glittered in his eyes. “I missed him. I wanted to apologize for shooting him. I didn’t go there that night to hurt him.”

“You do know that making a blood sacrifice to try to speak to a ghost is pretty fucked up, right?”

“Depends on a person’s definition of fucked up. My definition? Someone tricking a guy into believing she’s their true mate—depriving him of what he truly needs and wants—is fucked up. Caroline trapped him into being with her.”

Frankie clenched her fists. “So you killed her.” Bastard.

“I hadn’t planned to kill her. Just scare her. Make her listen. So I took the gun. That bullet should have killed her, not my Christopher.”

Flicking a look at the pistol pointed at her, she said, “You sure like to use firearms, don’t you?”

“It seems fitting that you’ll die from a bullet, just like your mother should have done.”

Her wolf peeled back her upper lip and lunged for him, but Frankie managed to retain control. “You were Christopher’s lover for a while, before he met my mother.”

His chin lifted. “I was more than that. Sure, we weren’t exclusive. He needed to sow his oats first—I got that. I understood him. Not like Caroline. She didn’t know him the way I did. She didn’t get him like I did.”

Frankie felt Trick regain consciousness. A pulse of his pain traveled down their bond. A lump of sheer terror clogged her throat. Fuck it all, she needed to get to him. Her heart was slamming so hard against her ribs that she wouldn’t have been surprised if one cracked. But she didn’t dare move. Not yet. There was no rationality in Cruz’s eyes, and she knew that she was looking at somebody who was capable of absolutely anything in that moment.

She didn’t want to die. She sure didn’t want Trick to die, but it was unlikely that he’d survive the breaking of their mating bond, despite it not being fully formed. For that reason alone, she’d fight. But really, there was nothing she could do that didn’t involve throwing herself in harm’s way. There was nothing to hide behind. Nothing to throw at Cruz. Nothing to distract him with. He was bigger. Bulkier. Stronger. And motherfucking armed.

He dipped his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a small device that looked a little like an iPod. Without moving his gaze from Frankie and Lydia, he pressed the screen with his thumb and . . . and nothing. He gave them a wide, eerie smile. That was when something above them rumbled, shook, and roared as it collapsed. Shingles tumbled off the roof, and the cabin shuddered.

Frankie swallowed as her stomach bottomed. “What did you do?”

“Made sure that we wouldn’t be disturbed. That’s just parts of the porch roof collapsing near the front and back doors. Can’t have anyone trying to get inside, now can we?” He returned the little device—which was obviously a remote—to his pocket. “I wired the place when I heard you’d asked Josh for permission to walk through the cabin.”

Frankie gaped at him. Was he high? “The entire place could collapse.”

“I know. That’s why it’s so perfect. My world collapsed when Christopher died. Now yours is going to collapse too.” His grin dimmed as he looked at Lydia. “I’m sorry that you’ll go down with us. I really am.”

“Then let her go,” said Frankie.

“It’s too late for that.”

“Why do this?” Lydia whispered. “Why, Cruz?”

“It’s not my fault,” he insisted, indignant. He jabbed a finger at Frankie. “It’s hers.” He sneered at Frankie. “I knew when I first saw you at Phoenix territory that either you or your wolf remembered something. I just wasn’t sure what or how much. Then you started digging, asking questions, poking around in Iris’s attic. I heard you wanted to walk through here too, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you worked it out. I had to do something.”

A light shudder rocked the cabin walls. Things clattered and rolled along the floor above them, and she wondered if they were the glass bottles they’d found.

“See, I ain’t gonna be executed. No. I control my fate. If I’m going to die, Frankie, it’ll happen when and where I choose. Understand? And I choose to die in the same place my Christopher died. And since it’s your fault that it’s come to this, you’re going to die with me. I’ve been waiting for you to finally come here—you sealed both our fates as soon as you walked through that front door. You know, I think Christopher will probably be happy that I’m sending his daughter to him, don’t you?” He laughed, as if that were hilarious.

Frankie’s gut twisted at the glitter of madness in his eyes. “You’ve been riding the crazy train for a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, I guess I have.” And then he fired.