Hunted by the Dragon (Captured by a Dragon-Shifter Book 4) Page 5

  Sean had followed Jules, watching and waiting, since he picked up her trail at the first motel. The advantage of being a dragon was that once he locked in on his target, he’d be able to find her wherever she went. He’d turned his eyes for a second at a rest stop only to discover she’d jumped from a traveling salesman’s car into a semi-truck. He hoped she would lead him to answers about what was going on with her. Instead, she traveled around in a random pattern. Before the salesman, Jules had climbed in with a priest, a family from New York, and a service repairman. He knew because Brian looked up the license plates for him. The trucker Raymond Johansson had an arrest record with a few assault charges, and several drug busts.

  “What is she thinking?” Brian continued. “Had I known she headed for this kind of trouble, I would’ve looked her up years ago. Dad sent her to victims’ services to get help. I honestly thought that would do it, but obviously it wasn’t enough.”

  “What did you find out?” Sean asked.

  “I made some calls. She has a record that starts a couple of months after you arrived. There are several trespassing charges, an alleged breaking and entering, though nothing was proven. There are a few vandalism and harassment complaints and questioning for a dozen or so other crimes. She’s on a few different witness lists. Two years ago, police pulled her over in a stolen car, but the owner refused to press charges, and it slipped through the cracks. I don’t see pending court dates.”

  “How did we not hear about this?” Sean frowned. The woman Brian described sounded nothing like the woman he’d rescued.

  “Some of the charges are in surrounding towns. Suspicious activity reports are in other districts. Nothing warranted an all city alert. Aside from a speeding ticket in our district, it seems she has steered clear of Southie.”

  “The few times she’s gone to court, no one we know saw her,” Brian continued. “There are over a half million people in the city, and she simply blended in. We have a home address for her in East Boston where she works as a waitress at one of the nightclubs, Fuego. Though, it makes little sense that a waitress would be on the cop’s radar as much as she is. I have a friend checking into the club for me to see if there is anything there.”

  Sean pulled along the far edge of the gravel parking lot and slipped the gearshift into neutral, letting the pickup idle. Jules hopped out of the semi-truck, slamming the door shut behind her. A small knot unraveled inside him to see she was all right. “This is my fault. When I saved her, she became my responsibility. I should have tracked her down and kept her safe.”

  “Who can say what is best for a person after they face tragedy? I wish I could go back and arrest the fuckers who hurt her. If I’d been on duty, my weapon might have accidentally discharged. I’m just lucky you came when you did to save my drunken ass. If not for you…”

  Sean didn’t answer as Brian’s words trailed off. He kept his eyes steadily on Jules and turned off the engine. She and the trucker walked to the restaurant door.

  “But we can’t go back,” Brian said. “At least they’re rotting in jail.”

  “Not for what they did to her. For that, you should have let me kill them.” Sean grabbed his wallet off the dash and stepped out of the car. He pushed it into his back pocket, opposite the gun he had strapped to his lower back. He kept a steady eye on Jules. She carried her bag with her. Would this be it? Was she meeting up with someone? Was the trucker in on it?

  “She didn’t want to testify,” Brian inserted. “We couldn’t make her give a full statement, and it took a lot of maneuvering to convince her you weren’t a dragon-shifter. The doctors would have thought she was crazy and had her put under evaluation. And it’s not like we could bring you forward to prove she was telling the truth. What would’ve been the point? Why put her through hell when the result is the same. Frankie, Joey and Sammy Boy are all doing life without parole for that spree of murders. Her reliving her pain wouldn’t change that.”

  Taking his black leather jacket, Sean slipped it over his shoulders to hide the weapon while switching the phone between his hands. The distinct sound of the slamming truck door reverberated before being replaced by the swooshing hum of passing cars on the nearby highway. “I respect your laws even if I don’t understand them. Men like that do not deserve to live. I should have killed them.”

  “Quit blaming yourself.” Brian’s audible sigh sounded through the phone. “You saved my life. You saved Jules.”

  “They shouldn’t have needed saving in the first place.”

  “The police did their job when they arrested them, and the information they found on those three losers led us to other criminals. It is not our fault they were bonded out and skipped bail. Cops arrest people, Sean, and it’s all they can do. Bounty hunters bring back the ones who try to get away. We are not responsible for their crimes. All we can do is what we’re doing.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Sean answered, sorrow gripping him. His soul had been asleep since Jules walked away from him. Over the years, he’d buried what he felt, all the hurt and fear, but seeing her, touching her, smelling and tasting her, caused his pain to surge forth from its shallow grave to spill over into his chest. There was no running, no hiding, not from a pain like this. “I was supposed to be here for a few minutes. I wasn’t supposed to stay. It was going to be back and forth, through the portal, simple and fast.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “I do not mean to sound ungrateful for what your family has done for me. But my brother was waiting for me to return. I am sure he thinks I am dead.” Sean thought of his promise to Galen. “I wish to end this call now.”

  “Wait, Sean,” Brian interjected. “Try to focus on Jules. She needs you more than ever. Every instinct I have tells me she’s lost.”

  Sean recognized the warning in the man’s tone. “What else did you find?”

  “I ran that name, ‘Hector,’ by some of the guys. I will not lie to you. It’s not good. That card you gave me is the calling card of Hector Velázquez, the baby brother of the Velázquez crime family—the only surviving male. He’s been in Spain for the last several years overseeing the family’s interests there and just returned to the States. That’s why none of us have seen his mug around. Word on the street is Juanita sends in Baby Hector to do cleanup. Those two goons with him are Jose G and Big Stewie. They own the club Jules was working at. If Hector is looking for her, the Velázquez family wants her dead. Or worse.”

  Sean felt his heart drop. “I knew Hector appeared familiar. He looks like his older brothers. I saw their pictures in the paper.”

  “He has twice as much to prove,” Brian warned. “Be careful of him. He won’t think twice about killing you if you get in his way. With his connections, he can be out of the country before the bullet even hits.”

  Before coming to this planet, Sean had thought dragon politics were complicated. He still didn’t understand all the nuances of Earth customs, but if Brian said it was bad, it was bad.

  “Why’s he after her?” Sean strolled toward the glass door leading into the convenient store area of the building. He’d make his way over to the restaurant so Jules wouldn’t see him.

  “Don’t know yet. I have some of the guys putting feelers out for more information. I’ll let you know what I come up with.”

  “Thanks.” He lowered his voice so no one in the busy store would hear him as he pretended to look at a display of state-themed snow globes. “Call me the second you learn anything. I’m going to see if I can’t get her out of here without creating a scene.”

  “When you get her, bring her home. She’s safer with a bunch of cops than out on the street. We can protect her.” Brian paused. “What do you want to do about that bond of yours, Dougie? You only have a day left to get him.”

  “I’ll call in a couple of favors for an extension. He’s not violent, just an idiot middleman. His connections won’t trust him with more product, so he’s inconsequential. If worse comes to worse, I�
�ll pay out the bond on him and get him later, so Gus isn’t out the money.”

  “You don’t have fifty thousand dollars to throw around,” Brian reminded him. “It will wipe out your savings and most likely get your right to hunt revoked.”

  “So what,” Sean answered. He couldn’t think about that now. “This is Jules we’re talking about. Fuck Dougie Sinclair. I’m not failing her.”

  Chapter 10

  Now that they sat across from each other at the small brown table in the private truckers’ section of the truck stop restaurant, Jules didn’t like the way Truckerman looked at her. He said all the right things, smiled pleasantly, but his eyes lingered too long on her face and strayed too often to her chest. She pretended not to notice as she drank the bitter coffee. The thick ceramic mug emitted with heat and she wrapped her fingers around it to keep them from shaking.

  “You look like you could use some rest.” Truckerman’s voice lowered.

  Jules didn’t speak. She hid her expression by finishing the hot liquid. It burned the back of her throat, and she coughed lightly.

  “This place has a shower and rooms. Nothing fancy, but there’s a bed.”

  Was that hope in his voice? Her empty cup wouldn’t afford her refuge again, and the lack of distraction forced her to answer him. “I’m all right.” Then, not giving him time to insist she take his offer, she pushed up from the table. Jules grabbed her bag off the floor. “Excuse me a second. I saw a sign for the restrooms.”

  Jules walked away from the table with no intention of returning. She followed the sign pointing toward the restrooms. Glancing at the table, she saw Truckerman watching her. She forced a quick smile, hoping he didn’t try to follow her. Going down a long hall, she kept her eyes averted. The gray-flecked floor tiles matched the drab walls. People had posted notices on a bulletin board, the pages curling from being brushed by passing shoulders—a plea for a lost puppy, a used jet ski for sale, even an ad for masseuse services with a suspiciously dolled up woman in a romantic candlelit setting.

  “I wonder what exactly she’s offering to massage,” Jules muttered.

  The hall came to an end, turning in two different directions. One led to showers, beds, and an arcade, the other to the public restrooms. Bells from a pinball machine jingled and clanged. A young boy cheered. Another swore. Jules kept going, looking for an alternate exit. The only one she found had a fire alarm on the door.

  Shit!

  A row of payphones hung on the wall next to the ladies’ room. She thought of Sean’s business card in her pocket.

  “Leave him out of it,” she told herself. “What’s he going to do? You’re miles from anywhere he’d be.”

  The faint scent of musky cologne and coconuts wafted over her. She stiffened. The smell triggered her memory, and a flash of pooled blood clouded her vision. Tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a chill worked down her spine. How did he find her?

  Not daring to turn around, she rushed forward, pushing her palms flat against the restroom door. Smells could linger. He might be gone. It might not be him. Her heart pounded heavy and hard. The door shut behind her as she came face to face with her stricken reflection in the mirror. Her parted lips and pale features looked like a ghost staring back at her. She caught the barest glimpse of a long, dark suit sleeve behind the closing door, obviously belonging to a male by the cut. Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked them back. Frantic, she searched the stalls, knowing by the fall of light she wouldn’t find a window hidden behind the metal doors. Nevertheless, she had to try.

  A light tap sounded, and she jumped in alarm, startled. Jules dug into her messenger bag for a pre-paid cellular phone and hesitated, her thumb hovering over the keypad. She backed away from the door, staring at it. She had no one to call. On instinct, she reached for Sean’s card but stopped. No, not Sean. Jules dropped the phone back into the bag. The tapping became louder.

  She lifted the strap over her head, letting it hang across her chest to rest on her hip, securing it into place. She searched for a weapon. Someone had bolted everything down, even the base of the trashcan.

  Inching toward the door, she threaded her fingers together, braced her feet and waited. The seconds ticked like minutes. Her breath rasped. The door creaked open, too slow to be a woman coming to use the facilities. She lifted her hands to the side like she held an imaginary bat.

  “Oh, Jules,” a smooth voice sang, the tone low and playful.

  Jules didn’t wait. She swung before the door even made it all the way open. Her joined hands met the side of Hector’s hard head, slamming it into the metal door. A sharp pain radiated up her wrist and forearm, but she kept moving.

  Hector grunted. Jules tried to run past him. He caught her hair and jerked, cursing at her in Spanish. “Puta, yo mataria tu!”

  Hair ripped from her scalp. She wasn’t exactly sure how, but she managed to yank free. As she ran around the corner, she saw another human blockade. Truckerman stood, with his arms spread wide to stop her. She quickly got over her surprise as she joined her hands, grunting as she swung for his face. He wasn’t as easy to bowl over as Hector had been. Her hands fell short of his head, instead thumping against his shoulder. Truckerman just laughed, grabbing her in a tight bear hug when she tried to run past him. Her back pressed into his chest as she kicked off the floor. An arm blocked her scream. A yellow “wet floor” sign behind him and a cart blocked off the hallway from easy view.

  The arcade machines made noise, but no one seemed to be playing them. Her legs flailed in the air. She tried to bite through the thick flannel covering his arm.

  Hector’s eyes blazed with hate as he faced her. He slapped at her kicking feet. Jules again tried to bite arm across her mouth, but her assailant cut off her air, and she struggled for oxygen.

  “Easy, sugarplum,” Truckerman soothed. “We just want to have a little chat with you.”

  “Moverlo! Move!” Hector ordered. “Take her to the room. We’ll hold her there until tonight when we can transport her. If she gives you any more trouble, do what you have to, but we don’t pay for dead. Go. Now.”

  Jules began to lose consciousness. It took all her energy to keep her eyes open and her vision focused. As he pulled her, Truckerman’s arm let up some, and she was able to suck air through her nose.

  “Sorry about this, darlin’, but you have an enormous reward on your head. I’ve been out driving the highway hoping to find you.” Truckerman’s hot breath hit her ear as he whispered. “If not me, someone else would have collected.”

  Jules’s mind raced. He’d been on the phone when he pulled over to pick her up. Had he called Hector? Was the seemingly slow drive a ruse to let Hector catch up? Did he chatter the whole trip to keep her from realizing what he was doing?

  Hector’s shoes clicked abnormally loud as he led the way down the abandoned hall. She searched for help, but a man like Hector would have covered all angles. No one knew where she was. Help was not coming.

  Tears of anger, frustration and fear slipped over her cheeks, hot against her skin. They walked her toward a hall lined with rooms. Stopping at a door marked three, Hector knocked once and was let inside. Truckerman hauled her before him, chuckling as he brought her into her personal hell. Jose and Stewie, two of Hector’s associates, stood alongside the door as she was dragged past. A fast pfft sounded behind her, and a fine mist sprayed across her shoulder and arm, over the floor to concentrate on the wall. Truckerman’s hold slackened, and his weight pressed into her. Jules gasped in shock, stumbling toward a small bed on the far side of the tiny room to keep from being trampled.

  Her knee hit the hard floor, sending a jolt of pain up her hip. She grabbed the mattress for support. As she endeavored to stand, she saw blood spatter dotted the wall. Shaking, she forced herself to turn. Stewie was in the process of sheathing his weapon. He’d shot Truckerman, without hesitation or warning. The dead body took up a good portion of the floor space.

  “Move him,” Hector orde
red. Jose and Stewie grabbed Truckerman and slid him to rest against the wall, shoving him over as far as they could. Lifeless eyes stared at them, no longer bearing witness to their deeds. Hector saw her looking and walked over to the body. He nudged the dead man’s jaw with the tip of his boot to make it look as if Truckerman spoke in a terrible Southern accent, “Don’t ya worry, darlin’. They just want to talk to ya. Now where is my money? I want my money.” He laughed at his own morbid joke before telling the corpse, “You have your reward, trucker.”

  Deliberately, dark eyes turned from Truckerman to her. Hector grinned. A red splotch marred the side of his head where she’d struck him. And on the opposite side a darker spot where he’d hit the restroom door.

  “You’ve been hard to find,” he said.

  “Sorry,” Jules answered with mock bravado to hide her deep fear. “Didn’t mean to put you out. Felt the need to get out of the city.”

  “The way I see it, you have two options.” Hector dominated the room with his stance though he was the shortest of them all. His legs spread wide, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “One, you tell me who you told our little secret to and maybe I believe you and maybe I don’t kill everyone you know. You die fast. Two, you keep your mouth shut, I kill everyone you know while you watch, but you get to die slow with the knowledge you didn’t rat on your friends. Either way, I will kill you, and I will get the recording before I do.”

  Jules screamed. What did she have to lose? Hector instantly stepped forward, slapping her across the jaw with the back of his hand. The acrid flavor of blood filled her mouth. Her body flung to the side, and she fell on the bed. Her knee jarred again, this time on the mattress. The padding didn’t help. She held onto it injured limb, whimpering.

  “Try that again, princesa, and I’ll assume you chose option two,” Hector warned. “Everyone you’ve ever looked at will end up an ice cube floating in a morgue martini. No one’s coming to save you, Jules. Comprender?”