Heir of Ashes (The Roxanne Fosch Files #1)

Chapter 17

Someone slapped me. Pain exploded in my head, as if thousands of tiny hammers were pounding their way out. My eyes watered with the agony, and I pressed my fists to them, trying to block the searing pain.

There was a roar inside my head, like the insistent buzz of angry wasps. My stomach churned violently, rebelling against every shallow breath I took.

Relax, I told myself. Get a grip. Deep breaths, slow exhalations.

Again.

Again.

Again.

After a few moments, my stomach began to settle, and the relentless hammering started to quiet. The roar, however, took longer. I lowered my fists and was surprised to see Logan’s face, not Remo’s, above mine. His eyes were dark with anger and worry.

“Can you hear me?” he shouted.

I winced and croaked, “Don’t.”

He nodded and shouted again, “What happened?”

I closed my eyes, focusing on my breathing, trying to relax my muscles and keep the pain at bay. When I opened my eyes again, I winced slightly at the brief flare of discomfort.

“What happened?” Logan repeated, his voice softer.

Still disoriented, I looked around, registering the stench of rotting food, human waste, overflowing dumpsters, and the tiny noises of scurrying feet in the shadows. I could also hear nearby traffic. I tried to remember how I got there but could only recall being clutched by the eight-foot bear-like monster, running through the dark desert night as if he had just won the prize of his life. I looked past Logan’s head, and yes, it was still dark. The bitter taste of the beast’s blood lingered on my tongue. Where did the beast go? Where was Remo Drammen?

“Roxanne. Can you hear me?” Logan shook my shoulders again.

The madmen in my head erupted into cheers, ready to be released, and bile rose in my throat.

“Don’t,” I said through gritted teeth when Logan reached to shake me again.

His eyes flashed with relief, followed by worry. “Where are you hurt? What happened to you?”

“I don’t know,” I croaked. My throat felt raw from all the screaming.

“All right, one step at a time. Are you hurt?”

I took stock, wiggling my toes and stretching my muscles. Aside from the pounding headache and lingering stiffness, I seemed to be intact. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay. What happened? What can you remember?”

Fragments of memories swirled in my mind: the bear-like beast glaring at me, the bitter taste of his blood before everything went black. I recalled his large paws and massive body, the way he held me so effortlessly while running. I remembered the shouts on the bus before everything had gone quiet, the stray bullet that might have been intentional, and the fact that the general/lieutenant had shot me after all. It was all disjointed. Too much, and yet not enough. And that’s exactly what I told him.

A fleeting emotion flashed on Logan’s face, quickly masked by the anger he was trying to hide. “What about your mother?” he asked. “Did they take her too?”

“She’s human.”

“But did they take her?” he persisted, clearly not ruling out the possibility that the PSS might kidnap a human. Maybe he thought she had tried to help me.

I stalled, unsure how to respond to the genuine concern in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I asked instead, looking around at the smelly dumpsters, still half-expecting to find Remo lurking about. “Where is here?”

“I received a call telling me I’d find you here,” he answered, leaning back on his haunches.

I extended my hand, and he helped me sit up. The world spun once, then settled. There was garbage everywhere. I didn’t check if I had been lying on something revolting. I smelled. That was answer enough.

“Who?”

“Don’t know.” He helped me get up, and I leaned on him for support.

Then I leaned back, not wanting to disgust him with my smelly state. “How about the number?”

“Blocked.” He stayed close enough to catch me if I fell, and we made our way out of the alley, passing dark doorways, more overflowing dumpsters, and avoiding suspicious puddles.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“I’m not sure.”

“Start from the beginning, after I left you at your mother’s. Did you manage to see her at all?”

I realized the concept of my own mother delivering me to the PSS hadn’t crossed his mind. I searched for the right words to explain things to him in a straightforward way, without revealing too much, and settling for a concise, direct answer.

“She isn’t my mother,” I said, surprised to find that the truth didn’t affect me as much as I expected. The betrayal and deceit hurt, but the knowledge that my mother had never deserted me, never left me at the mercy of the Scientists, was a strange relief. Elizabeth wasn’t my mother, and her lack of love didn’t cut as deep as I thought it would. The flames of anger that had once burned brightly inside me for her desertion had now dwindled to mere embers. She had sacrificed twelve years of her life to raise me outside a research facility, giving me a chance at normalcy that I wouldn’t have had if raised by the PSS. Considering she was human and didn’t have centuries to spare, could I blame her? Or better yet, should I? Could she have done better? Would it have ruined her life if she had refused to hand me over or had smuggled me out of the country? I didn’t know.

I recounted my conversation with my mother—Elizabeth—as we walked. From the moment I left him until the moment I bit the six-legged demon and blacked out. He listened, sometimes with anger, other times with surprise, but mostly with a neutral expression. Never once, during the fifteen-minute recap, did he interrupt. I recognized our location as soon as I finished. We were a few blocks away from Arden Fair.

“Wow,” he said. His tone was flippant, but the anger I had glimpsed earlier simmered in his eyes.

“Yeah.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to fully face me, his eyes scrutinizing my face. “How do you feel about all this?”

It took me a moment to think of an honest answer. “I guess it hurts less to know that my mother never deserted me.” After a pause, I added, “And I suppose I should be grateful the PSS didn’t get custody of me sooner.”

He examined my face for a moment longer, his jaw clenched and fists tightening before he shook his head and resumed walking. I didn’t know what exactly was riling him, but I imagined the various horrors the Scientists could have subjected me to if I had been raised in the PSS. I would have never known life outside the headquarters. Never understood the joy of friendship, been part of something, or had a home. Even if Elizabeth had been pretending all these years, she had still given me a sense of security and self. Had the PSS been my guardians from birth, I would have accepted their blood tests and experiments as the norm, never questioning a life devoid of love or freedom.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, and I smelled so bad that even the homeless gave me a wide berth. A sudden thought struck me, and I stopped in my tracks, staring at Logan.

“What?” he demanded, scanning the street for danger.

“It was him.” I held up a hand to stop Logan before he could speak and let the idea crystallize, recalling the fragmented dialogue and connecting the dots before voicing my suspicion out loud. The incessant glances at his watch, the comments that made more sense now, even some of the orders given.

“It had to be him,” I murmured.

“Who?” Logan asked, giving me a puzzled look.

“I think I know who called you.” Finally, something was making sense. Logan stared at me in silence, waiting.

“The general or lieutenant—he was too calm during the whole ordeal. I think he knew what was happening. He helped me.” I nodded. His last comment made more sense now. It was clear the general/lieutenant was the one who had called Logan. He had been angry about being forced to escort me and was familiar, if not friendly, with preternaturals. He even admitted as much.

“It had to be him. Who else?” I asked when Logan said nothing.

He gave me a thoughtful look. “Maybe,” he said at last, but I suspected he was just placating me.

“What are you thinking?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “I just don’t think this man was the same person who called me. If he wanted me to help, he’d have called before things got that far. Why go through all that trouble to bring you back?”

“No, no. You see, he knew about you. He even mentioned you helping me back in Vegas.”

That caught Logan’s attention. “He mentioned me by name?”

“Well,” I said, flustered, “he didn’t say your name, but he mentioned one of my kind had helped me in Vegas.”

“Oh?” he said with interest, and I saw a gleam of calculation in his eyes.

“Even if no one saw you, the PSS caught us together. They must have put two and two together.”

“What did you say this general’s name was?” he asked. “What division?”

Frustrated, I snapped, “Well, we didn’t get to exchange business cards.”

“What about his name tag?”

“He didn’t have one.”

Logan arched one eyebrow.

I glared at him. “I was too preoccupied to notice such small details.”

He nodded and then turned to resume walking. I had some questions of my own, but it made sense. Although I still wondered where the general found a bear-like demon to help him, considering we had driven at least two hours away from Sacramento.

“When did you get the phone call?” I asked, falling in step beside him.

“A few minutes before you woke up.”

“Where were you?”

“A few blocks away.”

“Mmm. That thing carried me all the way from wherever we were and conveniently dropped me somewhere close to you.”

Logan’s mouth pursed as he glanced behind us, his eyes scanning the street and rooftops. “The possibility actually crossed my mind when the caller gave me your location.” He shifted slightly, half shielding me from behind.

I was annoyed but let it go.

“You’ve never seen or heard of this bear-like creature before?” he asked.

“I thought it was one of Remo Drammen’s minions,” I said honestly.

He grunted.

I frowned at his profile, a myriad of thoughts crossing my mind in the blink of an eye. With my mother—or Elizabeth—out of the picture, my next priority was to disappear from the radar. But I still needed answers. About myself, my father, the preternatural community. Logan was supposed to leave for Seattle in the morning to meet his friend—if his friend ever showed up. I weighed my options and made a snap decision.

“Hey, did your friend ever call back?”

“Not yet.”

I chewed my lower lip for a moment, then blurted, “I’ll go with you. In exchange for information and your help making me disappear afterward.”

Logan stopped and faced me. “Why? I will help you regardless, but I need Archer for that, so it has to be afterward. I can get you to a safe place in the meantime. All you have to do is stay low.”

“No, I pay my debts. I come with you and afterward, you help me disappear.”

“Why?”

“Why not?” I countered.

“Because it’s dangerous. You’re afraid of them. You’ve never done this before and don’t know how to fight. If they catch me, I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Okay, I didn’t mean it quite literally,” I muttered, taking a deep breath. “I come with you, you help me. I don’t come with you, I don’t want the help. Simple as that,” I said, raising my chin in defiance. Stubbornness was one of the few traits the PSS couldn’t beat out of me.

Logan seemed to be considering my words, then his eyes hardened with determination. “No.”

“No?”

“No. You’re not going. I’ll put you somewhere safe where you’ll stay until I’m done rescuing Archer, then he’ll help you disappear.” His tone brooked no argument.

“I’m sorry,” I said sweetly. “I think you’re under the mistaken impression that you can tell me what to do.”

He didn’t flinch at my tone. “I’m telling you how it’s going to be.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t think that just because you’ve helped me a few times that you have the right to tell me what I can or cannot do.” I clenched my fists. “No one, and I mean no one, gives me orders.” I’d been dictated to enough times in my life to last a small eternity.

A punk with green and orange spiked hair swaggered past, gagging dramatically as he got a whiff of me. We both ignored him.

“I wasn’t giving you an order.”

“Eew, man, how can ya kiss that trash without pukin’ in her mouth?” sneered the punk. “Is that toilet paper in her hair?” He squinted at me. “Eh, she’s totally trashed.”

I shot him a withering glare, but he just jeered and staggered away.

“It sounded like one from this end,” I said to Logan.

“Look,” he began a touch more conciliatory, “when I asked for your help, I hadn’t realized the extent of what you’d been through. Once you filled me in and we reviewed the layout details, I realized this mission won’t be as simple as I’d hoped. I don’t want you to get captured again because of me.”

His words, for some reason, had my hackles rising, though logically, I knew it made sense. But another part of me thought about that person he’d tried to persuade not so long ago, to help with the same mission he now considered me unfit to see through. “It was okay to risk my life before when you didn’t know what I’d been through? God, you’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” His anger was beginning to surface. A couple of days ago, it might have shut me up—the fury of a vampire werewolf aimed solely at me—but today it fueled my own.

“Tell me something,” I said, my voice icy, “Would it have mattered to you if I were captured while rescuing your friend? Would you have left me behind if you saw your chance to make a clean getaway with Archer?”

“Maybe at first I didn’t care about what could have happened as much as I did after you told me what you went through, or who your father was, but I would never have left you behind. Archer is my main goal, but a team is worth nothing if we don’t have each other’s backs.” He raked a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Look, Roxanne, if I don’t want you to come with me, it’s only because I don’t want you to get hurt any more than you already have or face the guilt if you happen to be captured in the process.”

“If I get hurt, Logan, it’s my decision. I won’t hold you responsible. Besides, I know the place better than anyone else. I can save you a lot of time—time that can be the difference between success and failure.” Seeing doubt flicker in his eyes, I pressed. “Your friend might not even show up. You said yourself you can’t pull this off on your own. I’ll do everything you tell me. Even if your friend does show up, Archer might be hurt and need support. I can provide that. Plus, I can find another exit if we encounter any obstacles without wasting time.”

He exhaled in frustration and nodded once. “Alright. I’ll give my friend another day to contact me, and then we move forward with or without him. Meanwhile, I want you to learn some basic defense moves. It’s non-negotiable.”

“Hmm.” I doubted that defense moves would help much against tranquilizer darts, but if that was my ticket, I’d take it. Who would have thought I’d be going back to that place—willingly?

We resumed walking, now within sight of the Hilton. The sky was beginning to lighten, signaling the approach of dawn. Another day, another problem.

The hotel lobby was empty except for a bored receptionist who barely looked awake. He wrinkled his nose when my stench reached him, but when he realized I was the source, he quickly smoothed his expression and handed over the room key card, eyes watering.

Logan urged me to proceed to the room while he spoke with the receptionist. My duffel was still where I’d left it, packed just inside the closet. I’d planned to come back for the night and leave in the morning, even though the room had been paid for three extra nights. I’d imagined returning with answers, but all I had were more questions. No, I never thought I’d be going back to the PSS willingly, but Logan had powerful friends, powerful connections, and I knew if I let him walk away, I’d never see him again. He had, after all, packed his belongings into the SUV, and although he’d promised to post a new ID to the Plaza Hotel in one week, he hadn’t promised to be there—and he had the answers I needed.

I left my bag in the closet and went straight to the bathroom, not wanting to taint any clean clothes with the stench wafting off me like heat waves off hot asphalt. It was bad enough that my clothes and new coat were going straight to the garbage.

I took the longest, hottest shower of my life. I scrubbed, soaped, and scrubbed again, washing and conditioning my hair twice, trying to get rid of the smell that seemed to be permanently lodged in my nose. Wrapped in a towel, I emerged from the bathroom to find Logan sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for me, my duffel bag beside him.

“We going somewhere?”

“Just to another room,” he replied, his eyes giving me a quick, appreciative scan.

A blush crept up my neck. He made no effort to hide his attraction. When his eyes met mine, they held an intense gleam that quickly turned to amusement as my blush deepened.

I grabbed some random clothes from my duffel with one hand while the other held the lapel of the bathrobe closed and skipped back to the bathroom.

Another room. I wondered if that was where he had taken his stuff?

My eyebrows lifted when we ended up in the room directly across from mine. Maybe he’d just been trying to give me some privacy. Had he been here when he received that anonymous call? As soon as we entered the room—identical to the one we had left but decorated in blues and cream instead of green—I realized his belongings weren’t there either.

“When do we leave?” I asked to break the silence.

“I was going to wait for my friend in Seattle, but I can still wait for him here. I’ve already left him a message updating him on the situation. Now, try to rest. You look exhausted.” He gave me a peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon. Sleep meanwhile,” he said, moving towards the door.

I was surprised he wasn’t staying but forced myself not to call after him. Maybe he was staying in another room and switching me to this one was just a precaution.

I watched the closed door for a moment, then moved to the window and pulled back the drapes, letting the morning light filter through. Our previous room had faced the parking lot and distant buildings, but this one faced the front of the hotel and main street. I stood there, wondering where Logan had been when he’d received that anonymous call.

I rubbed the palms of my hands over my face and pressed my heels against my eyes until I saw stars. I was exhausted. I needed rest. I turned and crawled into bed, determined to get a few hours of solid sleep.

***

I woke briefly when Logan slipped into bed behind me. I wanted to turn and face him, but the gentle stroke of his fingers through my hair and the warmth of his body pulled me into a deeper slumber.

The smell of coffee and toast woke me next. I stretched lazily and opened my eyes. The sun slanted into the room, indicating it was well past noon. Logan was propped up beside me, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and his laptop resting on his lap.

“Breakfast is ready. Join me,” he said, not looking away from the screen.

“What’s so fascinating?” I asked, shifting closer to see what he was reading.

“Some story about terrorists blowing up a military bus in the Mojave Desert. You made the news again, though in a much less glorified way than last time.”

“What?” I leaned closer for a better look.

“It says here that none of the SEALs inside were hurt. Listen to this: ‘All I can say is that whoever these terrorists are, they will soon be dealt with,” says General Jacob Parkinson, a veteran Field Marshal in the Iraqi territory. The bus was attacked just after midnight from multiple angles with sleeping gas and firearms. There are rumors of a very dangerous criminal escaping during the altercation, although nothing has been confirmed yet. Our source informs us that, despite the complete incapacitation of our highly-trained soldiers and the destruction of their transportation, there were no casualties as a result.’”

“I guess that doesn’t look too good for General Parkinson,” I yawned. As long as I wasn’t mentioned, the news didn’t bother me.