19. Chapter 19
Chapter 19
Gage
We worked all day. We worked until my vision was blurry and my hand was cramped. I followed every question to every possible lead, down winding and endless rabbit holes. At this point I could probably recite Cargill’s entire history from birth.
Joseph Cargill lived a very ordinary life, on paper. He travelled more than the average person, and he was certainly wealthier, but there was no shiny, obvious evidence of heinous intent.
Abby must have watched over twenty hours of footage on double speed, pausing every time the camera indicated motion. Half the time we couldn’t tell what motion we were meant to see, the camera registering no obvious heat signature. There were a dozen saved clips where a shape passed on the periphery of the camera hours before the shooting. Maybe a tail or the shoulder of a large animal, maybe a weird angle on a fox.
The camera facing the front of the house was no different. From two days ago to the moment they began shooting, the intruder made no appearance on the camera. There was an artful row of shrubs along the driveway and somehow Cargill’s attacker found their way behind them without alerting the camera until the last moments.
Even a world class assassin wouldn’t have seen every single one of those cameras.
“I need to stretch my legs or they’re going to be permanently asleep.” Abby stood abruptly, reaching her arms over her head to arch her back.
I tore my gaze from the computer, following the curve of her spine with my eyes. Damn. She was like a hot meal, and I was absolutely fucking starving.
I forced myself to look at anything else. “You want to walk for a bit?”
“I, uh, okay.”
We never made it past the back porch. Evening sunlight washed over the treetops, transforming the droplets dangling from fir tips into rubies. Tiny birds chittered and danced through the branches of an evergreen shrub, pausing to perch on a crumbling tree stump and cast a wary eye at me before flitting off.
Abby’s discomfort was obvious. She was still wearing a rain jacket—without insulation—and the temperatures were in the thirties. I sent her back inside, directing her to a coat closet where she would find one of my extras.
“Gage,” Abby called from the hallway. “Who is this?”
I came back in, stomping snow off my shoes. She was pointing to a framed picture on the wall. Levi was front and center, with me at his side. The guys surrounded him, heads buzzed, faces beaming. It was our last day of Shifter Basic Training.
When I followed the tip of her finger to the man standing with me, his arm over my shoulder, my heart lurched.
“That’s Dallas. Dallas Garcia.”
“Dallas Garcia ?” Abby scowled, pulling at the ends of her hair. “Are you still in touch with him?”
“No,” I said sadly. “He’s the one that died on our last mission five years ago.”
“He’s dead?” She questioned, her breath shaky. “But I—Gage, I saw him.”
I snatched the frame from the wall, holding it up to the light to give her a better look. “That’s not possible. It couldn’t have been him.”
“It was him,” she pressed.
The tone ripped down the left side of my neck, piercing the short-lived serenity I found here. I flinched.
“He’s dead, Abigail.”
“He was there. That night at the bar.” She covered her mouth. “After everything that happened with Cargill, I completely forgot.”
“This man?” I was grinding my teeth to hold in a snarl. Why would she do this to me? “He took three silver bullets to the head!”
Now she was the one flinching. “On the left side, through his cheek?"
I dropped to the floor, my legs giving out.
“His hair was longer, and the right side of his face was covered in scars, but I’m positive this was him.”
“On the street?” I barely whispered the question. “You saw him?”
The bond was like a lie detector test. If she was making this up, I would know. Even if she wasn’t, I wanted to say she was wrong. It didn’t make any sense. It wasn’t possible.
I didn’t just watch him die. I felt him ripped from the pack bonds.
But some part of me knew she was right—had always known he was alive. It was why I never stopped looking for him, never once gave up on the idea that I would find him.
I recognized him that night. The shape of him, the way he moved. It hadn’t clicked then because my focus was on Abigail, not him.
Dallas was alive.
“He is alive.” It became a chant. “He’s alive.”
Abby knelt beside me. “Yes, Gage, I think he is.”
“But how?”
A silver bullet to most parts of the body could kill a shifter.
Dallas took three to the head .
I shuddered at the memory, spiraling rapidly into that cold, dark place. It was like I was still standing frozen in the middle of that warehouse, watching the blood pool around his shoulders, trying to make sense of it.
Dallas, on the ground. Blood. So much fucking blood. I need to get him up. I need to get him cover, I need to—He’s dead. They knew we were coming.
I killed him. I killed him.
A small, warm hand closed over my fist. Abby didn’t say anything. No apology, no reassurance that it wasn’t my fault. She didn’t bring up survivor’s guilt or mention the stages of grief. She was just silent, unmoving, her presence somehow blocking the flow of memories trying to course through me.
I met her eyes. They were soft and brown. Full of kindness. She didn’t pity me. I could see on her face that there wasn’t an ounce of it. Just strength, this gentle, unexpected strength.
Her lip quivered, the slightest hint at nervousness, and I realized I was growling. That vicious otherworldly growl that only happened when my wolf wanted to go for the kill. It wasn’t directed at her, of course, but she didn’t know that. She would never understand the complex language of the wolf.
The snarling didn’t send her away though. She held her ground, keeping level with my gaze and not breaking contact with my hand. My fist opened, fingers lacing with hers. Her hand was so small in mine. Pink nails contrasting with my roughened skin.
It flooded me then. The delicate shape of her wrist, the way her long brown hair spilled over her shoulders, the curve of her breasts as the hair framed them. Her lips, pink and shining with some minty gloss, rubbing together. Another nervous gesture.
The round of her cheek bones added to her softness. Without makeup she looked younger, more innocent. Untouched by the darkness that shadowed my world. It felt wrong to expose her to it, to admit the things I’d seen. The things I’d done.
At the same time, I was desperate to. As if telling her would cleanse me somehow. Bearing my sins before her would give me a chance at redemption. She could grant me forgiveness and I needed it. I needed her to forgive me. To tell me that I was worth saving. That even if it was my fault, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t want it to happen.
I would do anything to rid myself of this guilt and just live.
I missed the man I used to be.
I can’t trust her.
It was a lie. I wanted it to be a lie because as I sat with her, felt the eager thrum of the bond come to life at her touch, I saw it happening. That thread of light stretching between us, growing stronger. Weaving together two souls into one piece. A matching set.
I was starting to question my own bias. Humans betrayed my team for their own gain. A human woman betrayed me and nearly bound my life to hers for her own gain. They were inherently selfish, it seemed.
Except for Abigail. Abigail that went out of her way to take care of the people around her. Abigail that was here, despite how terrible I’d been to her.
Abigail who believed me. She had no reason to believe me, and she did.
She believed me . She trusted me when I didn’t deserve it.
It would be so easy to fall in love with her.
Not because she was my mate but because of who she was. Because of the gentle way she moved through the world. Because she searched for the good in everything—in everyone .
Even me.
Now I was panicking threefold, feeling myself on the precipice of that thought, slanting closer, and I couldn’t.
Not yet. Not yet.
“We have to find him.”
“We will.” She turned those watery eyes to mine, and repeated, “We will, I promise.”
“What did he say to you?”
She chewed her lip. “I—I don’t remember.”
I grabbed the sides of her face, drawing her so close my eyes unfocused. “Think, Abby. Did he mention Silver Bullet? Me? Levi? Anything familiar?”
She licked her lips. “Just give me a second.”
I stood, pacing to the glass wall parallel to the bookshelf, staring into the darkening forest.
“I thought he was drunk,” she recounted, coming to stand beside me. “He said something about his dog. Dogs, plural. Okay, wait, yes, he said—I’m paraphrasing here—that his dogs were missing, and he had to find them because they’re vicious.”
“Dogs?”
“I think so.” She was biting her nails down to the cuticle. “He asked if I’d seen them. I told him I couldn’t help, then he pulled his hood back, and he said, ‘they’ll bite the hand that feeds them when they realize it’s poisoning them.’ Or something like that.”
“Bite the hand that feeds them…”
“You said Dallas Garcia ?”
“Yes.”
“This is like really out there,” she said slowly, “but do you remember when you walked with me to get lunch after Cargill came to the office that first time?”
“Maybe?”
“You said I looked scared. I was.” Abby brushed hair over her shoulders, face sheepish. “I was kind of following Cargill, and I overheard some of his phone call.”
“Why the fuck were you following Cargill?”
“You were right. He was super suspicious! The vibe was weird.”
“The phone call?” I pressed.
“Well, he mentioned that he was looking for someone named Garcia. It could be a coincidence…”
My chest iced over. Blood drained from my face.
There were no coincidences. Ever. From the start my instincts were going haywire around Cargill, and I couldn’t figure out why.
Military access. Classified information. Shifter extremists.
It all added up to the very worst conclusion.
“Pack your stuff,” I demanded, hurrying back into the dining room and shoving my laptop haphazardly into my bag. My head jerked sideways, the tone increasing as my tension did.
“Why?”
“We’re going to talk to Cargill.”
Abby touched my forearm, pausing me in motion. My shoulder relaxed, jaw softening. “Is that a good idea? Shouldn’t we talk to your brother first or—”
“Levi’s going to stop me. He won’t believe any of this without proof, and if he gets proof, he’ll want to question Cargill himself.” I ground my teeth. “He won’t trust me to stay in control.”
“What is ‘this?’ Do you really think Cargill knows Dallas?”
“Yes. I’ll explain on the way. Let’s go.”
“But I saw Dallas.” She put her free hand over her tablet to protect it from my frenzied packing. “Isn’t that enough proof?”
“No.” I angled my body toward her, dipping my chin so our gazes met. At the same time, she lifted hers. The tone grew weaker as the silent ease of Abigail’s touch washed over me. “You are so—good work. I’ll take you home first.”
“Home,” she laughed. “Home drove us here.”
Dammit.
“My place, then.”
“No, I’m going with you.”
“I shouldn’t have asked you to do any of this. It’s about to get messy.” I infused my next words with dominance, letting them weigh down on her. “You’re not coming with me.”
“It’s a little late for that.”
“Don’t argue with me, Abigail.”
She stepped away from me, carefully repacking her stuff. “I’m not arguing with you, because I’ve already made up my mind. You’re not doing this without me.”
I glared down at her.
She smiled back. “I think you’re going to regret kidnapping me.”