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“Proof?” All but snarling the word, he reached into his pocket and, fumbling with his gloved fingers, withdrew a plastic covered ID, holding it up for her inspection.
“Drug Enforcement Agency,” she read out loud. “Carson Turner, Justice Department.”
“Yeah.” Pocketing the ID, he flashed her a humorless smile. “That’s me. Now get in the car.”
She examined the black Tahoe parked to the side. It was one of only two four-wheel-drive vehicles amid the seven or eight motorcycles in the parking lot. He pressed his remote control, and the vehicle lights flashed as the doors unlocked.
“I need to get my bag from the car.” She started forward.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “Toss me your keys.”
Without another word she did as he asked. So he worked for a government agency—was that good or bad? Since Alex wouldn’t do anything illegal, what would the DEA want with him? No one in the Pack used drugs of any kind. Doing so could seriously impair the ability to change, causing far greater damage than any brief moment of pleasure would be worth.
Climbing in after her, Carson tossed her duffel bag in the back seat and started the engine, turning on his wipers to clear the powdery snow from the windshield. She waited until he’d backed from the parking lot and pulled out onto the road before trying again.
“Tell me what you want with my brother.”
He gave a rude snort, shooting her a look of fury that felt like a slap. “I thought you said you knew what your brother was.”
Holding on to the shreds of her patience, she gave a slow shake of her head. “Alex disappeared over a year ago. No one in the Pack—” she stopped, heart in throat, then shook her head “—I mean, no one in my family has heard from him. I’m worried.”
Only the quiet rumble of the motor broke the silence.
“You know, if I didn’t need to keep my hands on the wheel, I’d clap,” he said. “You sound really sincere. Family. Right. Academy Award material, that.”
She gave him a blank look. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m not going to argue the point now, but I’ll tell you what—” disdain underscored his savage tone. “—when you level with me, I’ll level with you.”
Having learned long ago that there was no way to deal with irrationality, she stared out the window at the dark landscape as it flashed past. Being called a liar was a new experience and one she couldn’t say she particularly liked.
But none of that mattered. None of it mattered at all, if she could only find her brother and make certain he was safe.
“What, no elaborate explanations?” Carson taunted. “Surely Alex gave you a better cover story than that.”
“Enough.” Turning to look at him, she was careful not to show her teeth. “If you really believed I was a criminal, you would have searched me for weapons before allowing me in your truck. You’d need a hell of a lot more proof of some kind of crime before you could legally arrest me.”
He swore under his breath. She continued as if she hadn’t heard him.
“So, in the spirit of honesty—and legality—” she allowed a trace of her own anger to show in her voice “—why don’t you tell me why you’re looking for my brother? Or I’ll start to believe—” she met his stare directly, ignoring the cynicism she saw there “—that you yourself are engaged in some sort of illegal activity. I won’t allow you to threaten my family.”
“Won’t allow?”
Though she’d spoken one of the most important creeds of the Pack, he didn’t seem to recognize it, which was good.
“No.”
He smiled. “Short and sweet. I like that.”
Crossing her arms, she waited. Finally he shrugged. The look he gave her was laced with mistrust.
“Ever heard of Hades’ Claws?”
Puzzled, she mentally reviewed every magazine article she’d read, every television show she’d watched, in preparation for this trip. “No.”
His mouth thinned. “Right. The Wolf is your brother, but you don’t even recognize the name of his biker gang?”
Biker gang? No way. Not Alex. Like her, he’d gone to college, gotten a good job. He worked in marketing, with a large Long Island firm.
“You must be mistaken,” she said, her certainty showing in the flatness of her normally melodic voice. “Alex doesn’t even own a motorcycle.”
“Then why did you call him The Wolf? And why were you looking for him in a biker bar?”
She frowned. “The Wolf has been his nickname ever since third grade. And I heard he’d been to that bar, that’s all.”
With a quick motion, he peeled off his right glove, keeping his left hand on the wheel. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a much-folded sheet of paper and handed it to her.
Though grainy, the black-and-white photo in the center of the page was unmistakable. Alex.
Quickly she scanned the text. An FBI datasheet, the paper went on to describe how a biker gang, Hades’ Claws, had committed numerous crimes, including several drug-related murders up and down the East Coast. Her brother was believed to be one of its high-ranking members and was wanted for questioning.
Feeling numb, she handed the paper back to Carson.
Accepting it, he kept his bleak stare on the darkened road ahead.
“Time to share again,” he said. “Since you know why I’m looking for The Wolf, now you can tell me who shot at us.”
She raised a brow. “Why do you think I would have that information?”
“You obviously were forewarned. You knew when to hit the ground.”
“I heard the gun cock.”
“Right,” he said. “Who was the shooter?”
“I really don’t know.” She shrugged, careful to keep her expression neutral, while her head spun and her heart ached. Was the datasheet right? Was her brother hiding because he’d turned to crime? Or, as her premonitions suggested, was he in real danger?
“Damn.” Carson went still, focusing on the rearview mirror.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw headlights approaching fast on the otherwise deserted road.
“Are they—”
“Hold on.” His low-voiced order was terse. He accelerated. The Tahoe leaped forward. The speedometer crept past eighty, then eighty-five. Ninety. The cab began to vibrate. She hoped that the road would remain straight and flat; at this speed, the slightest curve might send them into a skidding rollover.
Checking to make sure her seat belt was securely fastened, Brenna glanced over her shoulder. If they were going over ninety, the other vehicle had to be traveling in excess of one hundred, for it still seemed to be steadily gaining on them.
“I can’t kill the headlights.” Carson swore again.
A green highway sign loomed ahead. Wicket Hollow—One Mile.
“I’m gonna take it,” he said. Still, he kept his foot on the accelerator, his hands locked in place on the steering wheel.
“Not at this speed. If we crash—”
“We won’t.”
Oddly enough, his calm certainty appeased her. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to relax her death grip on the door handle.
She told herself not to be afraid. Yet one thing kept running through her mind. If they crashed and she was mortally injured, she would be unable to keep from changing. She would have to drag herself away from the crash scene and die in her natural state far from human eyes. This was the law of her people. To do otherwise would risk bringing discovery and possible ruin upon them all.
Closing her eyes, Brenna began to plan. Just in case.
“There’s the exit.”
At his words, she opened her eyes. “Too fast,” she snapped, as they blasted past the sign and left the highway.
“Seventy-five.” Satisfaction sounded in Carson’s voice. “One curve, then, straight shot.”
She sat up. They were on the access road. Trees blocked the highway from view.
“Are they gone?”
“Not yet.” Violence still sounded in his voice. “There.” Pointing to a dirt road that wound into the trees, he killed the headlights and slowed. Pulling into a thicket, he parked.
Then they waited, the sound of their mingled breathing harsh and loud in the quiet interior.
A moment later a vehicle sped past, too quickly in the darkness for Brenna to make out its type.
“Hummer,” Carson said, as if he’d read her mind. “Dark colored—black, brown or blue. Whoever they are, they’ve got money.”
Swallowing, she nodded. Still her heart pounded in her chest. She willed it to slow.
“We need to go,” she said.
“In a minute.” Leaning against his door, Carson spread his arm comfortably along the back of the seat. “Why don’t you start talking? Are these the same people who shot at us?”
“I don’t know.”
“Enough lies.” His tone lined with steel, he sat up and dropped his arm.
When she only stared silently at him, he swore again, his mouth twisting. With a savage flick of his wrist, he started the ignition. Once out of their hiding place, he pulled back onto the highway, continuing north.
Brenna watched the speedometer climb to eighty again, unable to resist a quick glance behind them at the now-deserted highway.
“No headlights.” Carson confirmed. “Tell me the truth. Are you working with them?”
“Working with—” She shook her head. “Of course not. I don’t believe in random violence.”
He regarded her strangely. “Your brother does.”
“My brother’s in trouble,” she muttered. “I don’t know how or why, but he is.”
His short bark of laughter contained no humor. “In trouble? Of course he is. Besides having the DEA, ATF and FBI after him, he has to worry about rival gangs. It’s only a matter of time until one of us finds him. I wouldn’t want to be in your brother’s shoes right now.”
There was something in his voice. Pain. Bitterness. Rage.
“It’s more than that with you,” she said, keeping her eyes on his shadowed profile.
At that his head snapped up, his gaze icy again. “What do you mean?”
“You’re too angry. With you, it’s personal.”
She thought he might deny it, even as the fury that momentarily darkened his eyes betrayed him. But after a moment of chilly silence, he gave her a cold smile and nodded.
“My wife and daughter are dead because of Hades’ Claws.” He might have been discussing the weather, so remote was his voice. “They thought they’d killed me, too.”
His unspoken anguish sliced through her, sharper than any knife. “Were you shot?”
“In the back. I nearly died. Now I want the ones who killed my family.”
She swallowed. “Surely you don’t think Alex was part of that.”
“Yeah, actually, I do.”
She couldn’t believe it. There were a hundred reasons why Alex couldn’t be the killer he sought, but she couldn’t give him any of them.
“Now.” With one hand on the steering wheel, he grasped her chin with the other. “I want the truth. Are those goons who shot at us and chased us Hades’ Claws?”
Furious, Brenna tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “How would I know? If Alex is, as you say, involved with this gang, he wouldn’t let them endanger me.”
His expression turned dark. “They want me dead. They should have killed me when they had the chance. Now they’ll have to wait until I’m done.”
“Wait until—” She stared at him. “Are you saying you want to die?”
“Not until I find the people who destroyed my life.”
He hadn’t said no. What kind of man…? But she knew. He hurt. Like a wounded animal, Carson would seek death rather than continue to endure horrific pain.
Shaken, she looked away. There was no way she could fathom such grief.
“If you’re in on this, now’s your chance to come clean. I can get you government protection if you testify.”
“I’m not in on anything. Alex would never…” She didn’t bother to finish.
“I’ll shut up about it for now,” Carson finally said. “But if you’re not with them, you’re in danger. Hades’ Claws mean business.”
This time she smiled. “I can take care of myself.”
