The Mercenary and the Shifters (The Turning Stone Chronicles) Page 2

  Chapter 2

  Six months later.

  Fiona hesitated as she punched in the last digit of Hugh Allen’s home number. She needed her brother Rhys, or a shifter she could trust, and only Hugh might know how to reach him.

  “I’m in trouble, Hugh,” she said as soon as he answered the phone.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Remember the company Rhys warned me about?”

  “OmniWorld?” His voice held a note of caution.

  “I’m dealing with them again, and I think I’m in over my head.”

  “Walk away, Fiona. That’s what Rhys would tell you.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Don’t get involved with OmniWorld. They’re dangerous.”

  “Which is why I need help. Do you know where Rhys is? I need him to return to Cleveland.”

  “I don’t think he can.”

  “Why not?”

  “There are things in Cleveland, and the world, you don’t understand.”

  “I understand more than you think, Hugh.”

  “Just believe me when I say Rhys had good reason to leave Cleveland. Just like LJ and I did.”

  “What reasons?” When Hugh didn’t answer, she continued, “He left without telling me. There’s never a valid reason for abandoning family.”

  She wondered if she should confide further in Rhys’ associate. Telling him why she needed Rhys might loosen his lips. But then, how much did he know about Rhys’ involvement in the shifter world? For a second she considered blurting out her secret, but decided against it. The fewer people who knew, the safer she would be.

  “If you can’t contact Rhys, can you come to Cleveland? I need security backup. Maybe even some physical protection.”

  “I can’t come. It’s too dangerous for LJ and me to return.”

  She understood danger. It clawed at her door. OmniWorld had broken their promises. Six months had passed and she had no mentor. In spite of their insistence they were not interfering with her company, she’d seen things which appeared off. New men on the dock she couldn’t find records for. Missing computer files. A ripple of unrest among the workers. A couple of times she would have sworn she sensed shifter tingles while inspecting the ships. But without the training she’d been promised, she couldn’t be certain. She needed a good security sweep to check things.

  “If you can’t come, do you know someone you trust? Someone with computer skills, to insure the security system doesn’t get hacked again, would be great.”

  “I have a buddy, Mike Corritore. He’s an ex-Marine, who hires out for security jobs. He’s not cheap.”

  “Money’s no problem,” she lied, fingering the pearls her father had given her for her birthday right before he died. How much could she get for them at a pawnshop? “Will you contact him and let him know I’m interested?”

  A heavy sigh came over the line. “How can I convince you to stop dealing with OmniWorld?”

  “You can’t. I have to do this.”

  “All right. Hold on and I’ll call Mike on my cell and see if he’s available. I just hope your brother doesn’t skin me alive for this.” A couple of minutes later, Hugh returned. “Mike’s between jobs. He’ll accept your offer as a personal favor. Expect him in Cleveland this evening. Where should he meet you?”

  “The mansion.”

  “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

  “I will.” Even as she said the words, she hoped she could keep the promise.

  Mike Corritore wheeled up the circular drive of the impressive house on Lakeshore Road and cut the engine on his motorcycle. After a quick glance around, he shouldered the bags containing his clothes, ammo, pump shotgun, and talwar sword. Then he headed for the carved front door. The doorbell echoed inside indicating the mansion had a cavernous entry hall. He searched the entrance stoop for security cameras and found none.

  What the heck had he gotten himself into? A rich bitch, with no security on her home, mixed up with a bad syndicate spelled major trouble. With this chintzy level of security, it would take more time than he originally anticipated to make her house and business secure.

  After a couple of minutes the door opened.

  “Can I help you?” asked an attractive redhead.

  “I’m Mike Corritore. Here to see Fiona Kayler. Will you tell her I’ve arrived?”

  The redhead looked him over, then braced her legs shoulder width apart and crossed her arms over her curvy bust. “Do you have identification, Mr. Corritore?”

  Mike returned her once-over. Her porcelain complexion blushed pink at his bold examination, and she tossed her mane of wavy, mahogany hair defiantly.

  Damn, she was gorgeous.

  If she thought her insolent pose enough to keep him, or intruders out, she’d better reconsider.

  “Hugh sent me.” He stepped forward but she blocked him.

  “A driver’s license for your very expensive motorcycle will suffice,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him. When he didn’t comply, she stepped back and reached to the side of the door.

  The distinct cachung of a gun cocking sent him flying to the right of the doorway.

  “Identification, Mr. Corritore. Please,” she said as she leveled a pistol at him.

  Mike dug in his rear pants’ pocket. “Hugh lied,” he said as he held out his driver’s license. “You don’t need protection.”

  After inspecting his identification, she lowered her weapon and waved him inside. “For my business, Mr. Corritore. I’m capable of protecting my home, but I can’t draw my gun just anywhere.”

  “You should get a conceal and carry license,” Mike said as he entered.

  She put the safety on the gun and stashed the weapon in the table beside the front door.

  “I take it you’re not the help,” he said, glancing around the entry hall.

  She held out her hand. “Fiona Kayler. Nice to meet you, Mr. Corritore.”

  “Mike,” he said, taking her hand. Her palm, warm and soft, told him she lived a life of leisure. But her strong grip screamed no patsy. He held her hand a bit longer than he should have. She wriggled free and waved him to the left.

  “Ladies first.”

  With a nod, she led him toward a sumptuously decorated room. He followed, his eyes taking in the soft curves of her rear as she sashayed across the marble-tiled floor. Mike’s body reacted to the seductive wiggle of her bottom. She walked as sexy as she looked.

  Keep your mind on the job, Corritore. He shifted his gaze away from temptation, searching the ceiling and corners of the entry for security cameras. If she had them, they were well hidden.

  The measured click of her high heels on the hard marble tile floor disappeared as they stepped on the thick, white carpet of the living room. This room appeared cozier than the entry. A huge gold, gilt-edged mirror hung over the fireplace reflecting the scene outside the oversized plate-glass window.

  She motioned to a seat beside the fireplace. Mike chose a location less exposed to the exterior, where he could watch the entrance to the room. Fiona dragged a side chair across the room to where he sat, positioning it at a right angle to his seat. Two vertical furrows appeared in the carpeting, bisecting their shoe impressions and the vacuumed paths in the thick fibers. Apparently, she didn’t use this room much.

  “So, Ms. Kayler—”

  “Fiona,” she corrected.

  “Fiona, exactly what do you need me to do?” As he said the words, he had a lurid vision of what he’d like to do to this lovely woman. He shook it off. She was Hugh’s friend and in trouble. He had no business screwing around with damsels in distress. They were needy. The last thing he wanted.

  “A couple of years ago I had a problem with smugglers. They brought in some hazardous materials which got me
in trouble with Homeland Security and the FBI. They cleared me, but my business took a pretty big hit. To keep things afloat, I’ve had to get in bed with some rough characters recently.”

  At the phrase get in bed with Mike cocked his eyebrow at her.

  “Not literally,” she amended quickly, as a dusky pink blush crept over her pale complexion. “I need my security beefed up so I don’t have a replay of two years ago.”

  “Any good security company could upgrade you.”

  “I also need someone I can trust implicitly. Hugh vouched for you, and I trust Hugh.”

  “We should start with your home security. I didn’t see surveillance cameras at the door.”

  “My home is perfectly safe. It’s my business I’m concerned about.”

  Fiona crossed her arms over her chest, her body language closing off to further suggestions. Mike followed her motions. As he did, he spotted a red dot on her chest. The dot wiggled.

  “Get down!” Mike shouted as he dove for Fiona.

  They hit the floor as the pottery on the raised fireplace hearth exploded, sending shards across the room. Mike shoved Fiona behind the nearest chair then scrambled across the rug to the blown-out window. Removing his gun from his back-of-the-waist holster, he peered over the windowsill. Seeing no one in the driveway, he swiveled around to check on Fiona. The red laser point danced around the room, searching for a target.

  Mike followed the trajectory of the beam. The shot came from across the street in something high. He remembered seeing a tree house in the yard across the road from the mansion.

  “Who lives across from you?” he asked.

  “No one right now. The house is for sale.”

  “I didn’t see a ‘For Sale’ sign.”

  “We’re in an exclusive neighborhood. The HOA forbids sale signs.” Another shot rang out.

  Mike whirled around in time to see Fiona’s head sticking out from behind the chair. The image of her head reflected in the fireplace mirror. “He’s using the mirror to target us. Do these curtains close?”

  “Yes. The cord’s on the other side of the window.”

  “I’m going to crawl under the window and close them. He’ll probably see my reflection in the mirror and start shooting, so stay hidden. As soon as the curtains close, crawl to the window as fast as you can and follow the wall to the entryway. Then get the hell out of the front of the house. Got it?”

  “Got it.” Fiona’s voice quavered up the scale.

  “You okay?”

  “Scared, but okay.”

  As Mike crawled along the floor, a volley of shots rang out. The remainder of the pottery displayed on the hearth shattered. When he reached the other side of the window, he yanked the drapery cord. The curtains billowed closed.

  “Now, Fiona!” he shouted.

  As she belly crawled across the floor, Mike held his breath. Bullets sprayed the room, punching through the heavy draperies, the shots veering from floor to ceiling.

  Don’t ricochet! he commanded.

  Fiona reached the cover of the exterior wall, and he let his breath out in a whoosh.

  “Hurry!”

  When she came within arm’s reach, he grabbed her hand and yanked her the rest of the way across the room and into the entry.

  “Do you have a panic room?”

  She nodded, her eyes filled with fear. “In the basement, behind the trophy wall.”

  “Get in it, and don’t come out until I tell you to.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get the SOB who’s trying to kill you.”

  Chapter 3

  Mike headed for the porch he’d seen on the side of the house, then wound his way along the garden bushes toward the front of the property. The gunfire had stopped by the time he reached the perimeter. Assessing the road and the property where he thought the shots came from, he dashed across the street and took cover behind a large oak tree. The tree house stood empty. The rope ladder, hanging from the platform, twisted in the air. Not a tree leaf stirred, leading him to believe the rope’s gyration had nothing to do with a breeze. Someone had set the ladder in motion, and recently.

  Drawing a set of folding binoculars from his vest pocket, Mike inspected the area. Convinced the shooter had fled, he moved to the tree house and climbed the ladder. Spent shells littered the wooden platform. Using his handkerchief, he gathered them. Maybe he’d find some fingerprints to help him discover the shooter’s identity.

  Returning to the mansion, Mike located the panic room.

  “It’s safe to come out,” he called at the door. “The shooter’s gone.”

  He heard the door’s latch release. A second later a white-faced Fiona appeared.

  “Who wants to kill you?” Mike asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What’s the name of the cartel you’re mixed up with?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know that either.”

  He could clearly see she lied. He opened his mouth to bark out more questions, but she started shivering. Shock had her in its grip. Wrapping his arm around her, he gently led her upstairs.

  “Where’s the kitchen?”

  Fiona pointed, and he followed the direction she indicated. The kitchen lay at the rear of the house, the back of the room lined with glass doors, wide open to a massive portico and the lake beyond the seawall. All the glass screamed, Not secure. He’d never understand why the rich didn’t pay better attention to their security.

  She reached for the kitchen light, but he stopped her. “After what just happened, we’ll work without lights, at least until I get some kind of covering for all this glass. People who have enemies shouldn’t live in glass houses.”

  Fiona gave a short laugh. “I think the saying is ‘people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones’.”

  “Either version works.” After checking the backyard, he parked her in one of the bar seats at the kitchen island. “Tea or something stronger?”

  “Stronger. There’s whiskey in the pantry.”

  As he poured her drink he asked, “Do you have somewhere you can go tonight? A friend or relatives?”

  “No. It’s just me.”

  “No help in this big mansion?”

  “Remember, I mentioned the smuggling incident cost me a bundle? I had to let everyone go. A cleaning service comes in once a month. A lawn service mows twice a month, and a gardener comes in to do the landscaping in the spring and fall.”

  “Ever consider selling it for a condo?”

  Her eyes flashed fire. “It’s my home. My family home, and I will not let anyone run me out of it. Besides, my father put the house, the jet, and the yacht in an irrevocable trust. I can’t sell them.”

  He set her drink on the counter and shoved it toward her. “Just saying, it’s a lot for one person.”

  She grabbed the tumbler and gulped the amber liquid in one swallow. Then she set the glass gently on the granite counter.

  “Do that often?” Mike asked, amazed at how smoothly the whiskey went down for her.

  “A bit more now than I used to.” She moved the empty glass closer to him, indicating he should refill it. “What’s next? Do we call the cops?”

  “Considering your history, and your current mix-up with someone who is possibly on the illegal side, informing the police may not be good. You might be implicated more than the shooter. In fact, I’m surprised all the gunfire hasn’t caused law enforcement to descend on us already.”

  “The neighbors are far enough away they probably think fireworks are going off. From Labor Day through July we hear a lot of fireworks in the area. Sometimes they even start earlier.”

  “In that case, I suggest we clean up the mess in the room, call the glass company, and order a new wind
ow. If no one’s the wiser, it gives me time to figure out who’s after you. In the meantime, you need a safer place to stay.”

  “I could stay in the guest house. The windows are intact and the doors lock. What about the house?”

  “I’ll stand guard tonight. Tomorrow I’ll get some wood from the local home improvement store and board the windows until you can get them fixed.”

  “And afterwards?”

  “Once you’re secured, I’ll go to my hotel.”

  “I’d feel safer if you stayed.” She lifted the tumbler he’d filled. The liquid trembled in the glass.

  Mike studied her. Fear etched her face. Something flickered in her eyes that he couldn’t read, and he looked deeper into the green depths. A man could get lost in eyes like hers.

  She’s a job, he reminded himself. Nothing more. I’m not rescuing her for some altruistic reason, so nothing’s going to go wrong here. Cold hard cash is my commitment. As long as I stay on the path, all will be well.

  “You could bunk in the east wing. It would be easier to keep track of whoever’s installing the security system if you were here, wouldn’t it?”

  Now she wants a security system, after the damage is done. But she had a valid point, and she had hired him to update her security.

  “We’ll see.”

  Her face brightened, the panic in her eyes flickering out for a moment. She smiled at him, her expression sucking him into the vortex of her charm.

  Cold, hard cash, he repeated. Cold, hard cash.

  Mike’s presence in her bedroom as she gathered overnight items for the guesthouse comforted Fiona. It also set jitters off in her stomach. The man was hot and muscular and very alpha. He’d removed a sword and gun from his duffel bag and slung them, along with a bandolier of ammunition, over his shoulder after they’d been attacked. The sight of his weapons and his protective behavior did unfamiliar, disconcerting things to her.