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BRIAN
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A WEEK OF SEARCHING, and nothing.
Nothing!
It was hard to believe anyone could vanish without a trace, let alone a human woman. I knew she hadn’t gone too far. James and I checked every hotel in the city, every occupied room. We had people monitoring Elizabeth’s house.
Christian had talked to all Elizabeth’s friends and acquaintances once more, then once more scrubbed off their memories so that no one would raise the alarm. Nobody knew where she was.
We never found her Mercedes. Her house was vacated and locked.
Where the hell was she?
I was angry and frustrated, but oddly enough, not so worried anymore. Our bond, that wonderful, powerful, mystical connection between us, was telling me she was fine. I also sensed Elizabeth’s wolf had started taking shape. My wolf could feel hers. Our bond was now complete: our human spirits, as well as our animal counterparts, were connected. Her blaidd benywaidd was young and not fully formed. It wouldn’t be until she changed shape for the first time. I felt her instinctively rather than mentally or spiritually, but the subtle messages I was receiving were encouraging.
I called our search quits and we returned home. I still felt she was not far from Boston, but she wasn’t in the city. If she didn’t contact me in another week, then I’d start the most massive search operation ever conducted for a single person. Every blaidd, Tel-Urugh, and asyr who owed me a favor would get a chance to pay it off. I would find the little rascal and drag her here even if I had to tie her up and gag her. And I’d sit her on a chair, all tied up and gagged, and for once she’d listen to what I had to say: “Elizabeth Chatwin, you will marry me, or else!”
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THEN ALL HELL BROKE loose.
One morning, the second week into Elizabeth’s hiding, I started feeling antsy, restless. Cornered, like a barn mouse in front of a cat.
Something was wrong.
I was pacing up and down my office, trying to identify the source of my acute fear. It wasn’t Elizabeth’s wolf sending me a message. She wasn’t in imminent danger.
Not yet.
Then Lani Blackwell phoned. Two days before, an inmate escaped from the prison where Dennis Simmons was serving his sentence, injuring a guard and killing another inmate.
“Who was the inmate that was killed?” I asked.
“Dennis Simmons. Supposedly.”
His name had come out like a small explosion of rage and disgust. “How do you know Dennis Simmons?” I asked, more disturbed by Lani’s tone than relieved by the news of his demise.
“The man who attacked Elizabeth two years ago and my ex-husband who almost killed me are the same person. His name was different then. I told Elizabeth I’d keep tabs on him.”
Why didn’t I know that? “Why then ‘supposedly’? He’s dead, isn’t he?” I said.
A pause.
“Lani? Is he or is he not dead?”
“They identified him by the number on his clothing. His face and hands were destroyed with some acid.”
“How can someone smuggle acid into the prison?”
“I don’t know the details, but they’re doing a DNA and some other test to make sure it was Simmons.” Another pause.
Fuck!
“It’s not him,” I said.
“No, it’s not. I’m sure of it. And there are only two people he could be after. Elizabeth or me.”
I saw another call coming. Lily, with the same news, no doubt.
“Get ready, Lani. We’re going back to Boston,” I said. “She going back there,” I added, not knowing how I knew.
Lily didn’t know more than Lani, but she was also positive it was Simmons who’d killed another prisoner and escaped.
I called Jason to make the Cessna ready. Half an hour later, Lani, James, Jack, Ahmed, Christian and I were en route to Boston.
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I HAD NO IDEA WHERE exactly we should start looking for her, but combing street by street seemed as good an idea as any.
Or bad. It could take forever.
Fuck, what was I missing?
Six long hours later we landed at a small private airport on an estate that belonged to James’s friend. The same man provided us with two vehicles.
I pulled out my phone and called Elizabeth’s partners.
Rick answered. “Who else was Elizabeth close with? Who’d help her to hide?” I asked. “Think hard, Rick. Simmons escaped from the prison.”
“Shit! Shit! I don’t know, man! You said you talked with all the people she knew.”
“Anyone else? A doctor? A grocery owner? Domestic help? Anyone, Rick?”
“No, no. Oh, god, where is she? Where are you?”
“In Boston. A whole bunch of us are here.”
“Where is Simmons now?”
“I don’t know. He’d probably first check if she was in Montreal. Some of my friends are watching your place. Although I think he’s already been there. Did you notice anything out of whack?”
“Nothing. Hell, we didn’t pay attention.”
“Call me if you think of anything that might help us find her.”
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“WHAT NOW?” CHRISTIAN asked as we drove toward the city lights in the distance.
We’d split into two groups. Lani and Christian were with me. The rest were in the car behind us.
“Damn, Elizabeth, where are you?” I said, ignoring Christian’s question because I didn’t know what to say.
“Take me to her house and leave me there,” Lani said. “I’ll try to catch her scent.”
I turned to her. “Lani, you’re her close friend. Can you remember anything that might help us?”
“Oh, god. I’ve been over every one of our conversations hundreds of times. She loves Russian classics. One of her favorite painters is El Greco. She loves Italy. She likes classical music. Mozart, Bach, Vivaldi, Chopin, Schubert. I don’t know what is important, Brian.”
Music ... Chopin. A memory flashed through my mind, bringing the melody of Chopin’s Nocturne to my head.
“I didn’t even know you played piano.”
“My neighbor from Boston gave me lessons for a couple of years.”
My neighbor.
With shaky fingers, I texted Lily: Find out who gave her piano lessons. It was her neighbor in Boston. Hurry!
“Stop! Stop the car!” I said and pushed the phone into Lani’s hand. “We’ll be faster on foot. You two, stay close.”
Christian pulled over onto a gravel road and we jumped out.
I changed into a wolf and ran in the direction of Elizabeth’s house, oblivious to the passersby, who were horrified by the sight of a huge wolf with a feral glow in his eyes. Christian would later deal with their memories.
Soon we heard the sounds of police cars and helicopters, but not even that made me look for less exposed paths.
The phone Lani held rang. I turned my head. She and Enescu were right behind me, not more than dark shadows. “Olga Nikolaevna. 515 Arbor Crescent,” Lani shouted, without breaking speed. “Two blocks down from Elizabeth’s house, the only red brick house on the street.”
“Run there,” Christian said. “I’ll take care of the humans, damn them!”
So, I did, with a speed I wasn’t aware I was capable of.
The horror I felt inside me told me I was running late, nonetheless.