Robin Bielman: Veiled Target

But he did hold a gun. And it was trained on Tess. Shit. Could she see it?

Only a fraction of light lit the room now. Fragments of reflected color from the cityscape slashed through the window here and there. Shadows cast doubt on exact body locations.

“You forget who trained you. Who made you what you are,” Christian said. “I’m responsible for your capabilities, Tess. There’s not a move you make that I don’t take credit for.”

“That’s bullshit. I make my own decisions.”

“And you’ve decided the wolfen’s life is more important than your friends? More important than the organization that saved you from destroying yourself?”

“I don’t give a shit about myself.” She remained focused on Dane. From Hugh’s point of view, a sliver of white light bisected his body.

“Precisely.”

Christian swiveled his arms the necessary distance to meet Hugh’s chest, now a mere couch length from the mouth of the gun.

Hugh suspected the man’s bullets wouldn’t have the same effect on him as Tess’s. With lightning speed, he raced to Dane’s side to make getting an accurate shot more difficult. He hoped like hell the guy valued Dane’s life. At least, it would cause a distraction and give Tess time to figure out a way to protect herself. Or so he hoped.

He grabbed Dane by the shirt collar and lifted a knee to the shifter’s groin. Dane retaliated with his own knee, but Hugh held onto him, not wanting any extra space between them.

“No!” Tess shouted, either catching the glint of her boss’s gun when it moved in Hugh’s direction, or not wanting Hugh in the way of her taking a shot at Dane.

Too late to wonder.

Two shots rang out, a split second separating the deafening sounds. Hugh was forced backwards, Dane’s weight pressing him several feet back as he absorbed the impact. Hugh kept his arms around Dane’s torso as he grappled with what happened. Dane wasn’t moving. Wasn’t breathing. His body slumped against Hugh’s like dead weight.

Tess’s boss had taken his shot. And missed.

Hugh laid Dane down on the floor and knelt beside him as his head swam with sadness. For Dane’s mother and father, his sister. For the pack. Despite Dane’s flaws, he had people who loved him, people who would feel his loss. He knew firsthand what death did to survivors. This wasn’t supposed to happen, dammit, but his priority had been protecting himself so he could get Tess out of the suite alive. She ruled his every action and he didn’t regret that. That was what a Night Runner did for his mate. The sting of it costing another life didn’t lessen with that knowledge, though.

Tess.

He looked up, frantic to see her.

Across the room, Christian sat in a pool of blood. His eyes were open but there was nothing there. The second shot that rang must have hit him, not Dane.

Which meant Tess had pulled the trigger.

Hugh shifted to human form and shot to his feet, anxious to wrap his arms around her. He had no idea how long he’d been lost in his musings but he suspected it was longer than he’d thought.

Because Tess was gone.

The surf at Maverick’s Beach pounded Tess wave after wave. Saltwater entered her nose and mouth with each crash that followed the towering wall of water. Her eyes stung. Her lips burned. Every limb suffered from exhaustion. And yet the punishment from the roughest surf in Northern California wasn’t enough to pull her under and set her free.

That was what she wanted.

She wanted the ocean to swallow her, take her away from her life and make her forget. Forget about everyone and everything, and float into the depths of the mind-numbing frigid water.

Wasn’t it?

But as she marched out of the bitter cold ocean and onto the soft, sandy shore, her surfboard tucked under her arm, all she could think about was staying. With Hugh. And how he’d broken down the walls around her heart. How he’d known her better than she knew herself. How he wanted her to be his mate.

Hugh had led her away from the world she knew and set her heart free. She couldn’t stop remembering how it felt to be in his arms, to laugh with him, to care more about someone than she thought possible.

That night in San Diego had been the worst of her life. She’d killed a human being. She knew Christian’s gun had mercury bullets, so without hesitation, she’d taken her shot. Her aim never faltered. Not even with only a sliver of light to guide her. But the impact of what she’d done had immediately swamped her with shame and guilt and fear. She’d needed to escape before Hugh could discover it. She needed to run and keep running.

So that was what she did.

She didn’t regret her actions. Hugh’s life took precedence over everything else. He was the destination at the end of the dark and lonely road, the whisper that whisked all her worries away. He’d made her think about things in a new light, and she didn’t want to go back.

She’d repeatedly told herself that the knowledge he was alive was enough.

“Rack off!” Kensie said, pulling Tess from her thoughts. She was waving her arms frantically back and forth to shoo the seagull edging a little too close in its search of dropped food.

Tess let go of her board and collapsed onto the towel next to her friend.

A couple of quiet minutes later, she turned to her side. Her elbow sunk into the towel as she propped her head in her hand. “What day is it?”

“Friday. Which means we only have two more days before we need to be back at work.” Kensie licked her fingertips to rid them of the orange from the Cheetos she’d been eating.

“I’ve been thinking about that.”

Kensie pulled her hand away from her mouth and turned her head. “You have? Oh my God, Tess! Your lips are blue.” She jumped up and grabbed another towel.

The sun hid behind gray clouds. The crisp air carried a strong saltwater breeze. The only other inhabitants on the beach were a couple of other surfers, an older guy with a metal detector and a few pesky birds.

“Thanks,” Tess said, accepting the towel Kensie put around her. “But I really should get out of this wetsuit first.” She stood, reached behind her back, and yanked the zipper down and the suit off. Goosebumps prickled her skin as she pulled her sweatshirt and sweatpants on before burying herself under the towel.

“So back to work,” Kensie said. “Are you ready to talk about it? Talk about what happened that made you disappear for a week?” She paused, eyes narrowed. “And if it has anything to do with Christian’s death.”

Good onya, Tess. Ask a question and look where it gets you. Who gives a shit what day of the week it is. And if she added in this mini-vacation with Kensie, she’d been gone almost two weeks.

After fleeing the hotel room in San Diego, Tess had hopped on a train and rode for days. The passing scenery, constant motion and continuous hum of passengers supplied enough distraction for her to remain close to sane. Eventually her stiff body couldn’t take any more of the railroad, though, and she’d had to pump some adrenaline back into her system. She’d ended up at Half Moon Bay to surf, hang glide and bike ride until she couldn’t feel her legs.

She’d hoped that if she jumped back into her favorite pastimes everything would go back to normal. But it hadn’t.

“How would I know about his death? You were the one who tracked me down to tell me.”

Thank God for that too. Tess had been so relieved to find out her friends were okay. Christian had sent them each on secret assignment and told them no contact with anyone whatsoever. She had no idea what would have happened to them upon their return if things had gone down differently in San Diego, and chose not to even think about it.