Page 24 of Hunted Mate (Stalked Mates #1)

Mark. Molly. They’re still in my New York place. I know that because they answer the phone.

“Hey. So. Got kidnapped and experimented on. Don’t get caught. Don’t get kidnapped. Don’t get…”

Ding dong.

I hear the doorbell ring.

“What’s that?”

“Pizza.”

“Pizza could be a trap.”

Molly pauses for a second. “It’s not a trap. It’s double pepperoni.”

“Okay. Good. But be careful, okay?”

“We’re being careful,” she says. “We don’t want to end up eaten. Like pizza.”

Molly and Mark are having the best time making themselves at home in my palatial mansion. I’m happy for them. I’m also worried for them.

“I’m on the run,” I say. “So if anyone comes looking for me, I’m not there. I’m also not here. You don’t know where I am. Also, don’t answer the door or talk to anyone, okay?”

“Okay,” she says. It’s now pretty obvious she’s eating her pizza, unconcerned.

“I know it feels like being in a fancy house means you’re safe, but it really doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” she says. “So what happened, you got like, kidnapped or whatever?”

“Yeah. I got taken to a laboratory by the wolves. They’re really into capture play.”

“Yeah,” she says, unbothered. “Okay, so we won’t do that.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Try not to. Also, I need you to get my card couriered to me. I’m going to give you an address.”

After that scintillating conversation with one of the two people I can still probably trust in the world, I hang up.

I have to wait a day or two for access to my money. It’s going to be different when I get it. I’m going to buy a very fast car. I’m surprised I didn’t do that already. I’ve had a lot of money for a very long time. I haven’t had a lot of fun. I’ve been grieving for a long time.

Red and blue lights are flashing in my rearview. I pull over and keep driving so they can get past me. Must be an emergency somewhere. It surprises me when they tuck in behind me all snugly.

What are they doing?

I wind the window down, stick my arm out, and wave them on.

But they don’t go around.

Alright then. Guess I’m the escort. I floor the accelerator, creating a big cloud of dust and gravel on the side of the road as I careen back onto the tarmac, across the center line, and then right up and off-road.

I used to do this in video games all the time, back when life was carefree enough that I had recreational activities.

Bump. Bump. Crash. Bump.

The terrain at the side of the road is rough as hell, so I swerve back onto the road.

Just makes sense. I’m starting to feel hungry again, so I start rustling around in the bag of stuff I bought from a gas station.

I got a whole lot of candy. I never used to eat candy.

I was worried it would change the shape of my body.

I laugh hysterically at that, at how hard I fought to keep my body generally the same size, but now others are trying to make it massive and furry. I saw the notes when I was dealing with the people who held me in the lab. I know they were trying to make me a shifter.

I don’t know if they succeeded.

Gray

I am in a small police station in rural Louisiana, speaking to two men whose dueling mustaches are locked in a battle for dominance.

They’re not kissing; they’re just both very good at growing facial hair.

They could be related. They look very similar.

They might also not be related at all. It doesn’t really matter, I suppose.

A father–son team maybe. I wonder what it’s like to work with a father who isn’t constantly undermining you.

“Heard there was an incident with a vehicle this afternoon,” I say, opening the conversation without preamble, speaking in a brisk tone that’s not too officious, but makes me seem like I know what I’m doing.

I slide an ID over the polished wood counter of the station desk.

Neither of the officers bother to look at it.

“Yep, she drove like a bat out of hell. Don’t know how she managed not to flip, but we don’t have enough cruisers or enough mechanics to be pulling those kinds of moves out here, so she got away.”

These officers had a run-in with my mate, so I believe based on chatter from their scanner.

I am using all the techniques I have learned over the years, along with all the resources available to me.

It’s not that it is hard to find Callie’s trail.

It’s just almost impossible to catch up with her, let alone try to predict what she might do next.

She has proven to be an almost impossible quarry. I am torn between some kind of pride and very real concern for what will happen if I don’t get to her before the full moon—which is just days away.

The scientists at the laboratory, or should I more accurately say, the survivors, are sending me information that indicates her escalating behavior is probably linked to the waxing of the moon. When it becomes truly full, we are all in trouble.

“So this is your lady friend, you reckon?”

One officer drawls the question at me in an unhurried and some might even say unbothered tone.

Rural places see a lot of chaos of various kinds.

They’re not as quiet as you might think, especially when it comes to vehicular misadventure.

Bored youths find ways to entertain themselves in cars that would make a lot of city people scratch their heads and ask why.

“I’m Federal Agent Ramses, and my wife is experiencing a medical event,” I explain. “She’s not herself at the moment. We need to get her back into treatment as quickly as possible.”

“Crazy wife, huh, buddy?” The older of the two men is immediately sympathetic to me. It’s sexist as hell, but it’s working in my favor. We can have a feminist discussion about mental health issues later.

I believe Callie is sane. She’s always been very logical and rational, even in the face of world-class gaslighting.

“Not crazy,” I say. “Unwell.”

“In that case, her driving was so… unwell, we had to abandon the chase. She was going to get somebody killed, and we don’t have helicopters out here to follow in the sky,” the younger cop says.

“She was lucky,” the older man says.

“She’s gotta be brought in. She’s a real danger.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to catch up with her.”

“You said you’re a federal agent.”

“I did say that.”

The cop leans on his desk. “You think they’ve got aliens at Area 51?”

Apparently the matter of the reckless driving is already forgotten about in favor of getting to ask a federal agent a few hard questions.

“They’ve got all sorts all over,” I say, letting my tone drop to a conspiratorial level. “I haven’t been inside the facility myself—it’s military, not federal, but there’s rumors.”

“You ever catch a serial killer?” the younger officer asks. I glance at his name badge as he turns to me. Johnson. Matches the older officer’s name too. Johnson and Johnson.

“Don’t get many serial killers these days. It’s gone out of fashion.”

“People don’t have the same work ethic they used to,” the older Johnson says.

The younger Johnson rolls his eyes.

“Was there any word from other jurisdictions bordering yours about the vehicle or driver? Have to assume she didn’t start being a model citizen after driving into the wilds.”

“Let us check,” Johnson says. “I can put a call through to nearby stations and see if anything’s come in.”

“Thank you, that’d be much appreciated.”

I sit in the waiting room and reflect on the fact that this is the opposite of what Orion and the pack wanted. They wanted the whole thing to go away, to stop drawing attention. Instead, she’s ending up on god knows how many internet videos, and is starting to attract a following.

She’s even got a hashtag: ‘#HeiressCrashout.’

I bring up one of the latest videos, hoping there’s some clue in it. Sifting through social media is tiresome, but occasionally there are cues.

“We love an heiress crash out. Calista Hart managed to hold things together after a super tragic childhood, but as she heads into her mid-twenties, she is freaking the fuck out. Very on brand given what her parents did,” a young man wearing a graphic t-shirt says.

“What’s that?”

“Crash out of the sky.” He grins like he said something funny. The young woman laughs politely, ensuring he makes more jokes like that in the future.

I close the app just as the younger Johnson leans over the counter.

“Car’s been abandoned in Moon Hollow, sir.”

“Where?”

“Middle of an intersection. Cameras caught her just getting out and letting the vehicle drift through it.”

“Is Moon Hollow a town?”

“Sure is. About two hundred forty miles from here. She must have driven like c— unwell to get there that quick.”

He’s trying not to be an asshole, and being even more of one in the process. That’s life in a nutshell. I don’t have time to police his language or his meaning. Maybe he’s trying, maybe he’s not. I’m more concerned that I’m not going to get to my mate before something bad happens.

I am starting to very much worry that Callie is going to shift in front of people and blow the whole shifters-are-real conspiracy wide open. It would be ironic as hell if all our efforts to contain her only ended up exposing us.

Sometimes, females don’t shift until they are mated. I have to hope that’s the case for Callie, but that would be almost too convenient—and nothing about this situation is convenient. She is leading law enforcement on a wild wolf chase across the state, and she doesn’t seem to be trying.

“Alright,” I say. “Thanks very much for your help.”

“You want an escort? Lights and sirens? Help you catch up with her?”

“That would be… very helpful, thank you.”

I am so glad I’m driving a big black SUV that fits perfectly with the federal agent cover.