Page 140 of Price of Angels

Jacob smiled. “There she is.”

Michael gave up on finding the Jessups himself. They had no fixed address, and short of going back to Loving Embrace and asking Shaman if he had any ideas as to where they might be hiding out, he was going to have to leave the tracking to the trackers. So that’s just what he did. In the most awkward exchange of his life, he asked Hound and Rottie if they could please, would they mind please, if they weren’t too busy with club stuff, find the Jessups. They’d stared at him with shock before their manners kicked in and they agreed, saying they’d enlist Ratchet’s help.

“Shouldn’t be too hard,” Hound said. “We’ll have ‘em pinned down by tomorrow, you can put money on it.”

With plenty of assurances from them, he left the clubhouse and headed for home – Chaceaway, which at the moment was the home that had raised him, and the place where his woman waited. It didn’t get much more home than that.

The roads were clear, and though the cold seeped through his clothes and into his skin, the ride out to the farm was a pleasant one. Lighter inside than he’d been in – well, in a long time, he let the wind and the road and the feel of the bike between his legs shake the tension out of him. He breathed in the smell of snow and thought about Holly’s blinding smile when she laid eyes on him, and he felt…he felt happy. Truly, simply happy.

The driveway was going to be tricky, he realized, when he reached the turn and saw that the gravel tracks through the grass were completely snowed over. Then he came to a halt when he saw that there were fresh tire tracks cutting through the snow. Just one set, and they hadn’t been traveled over more than once. Coming or going, who could tell. Maybe Wynn hadn’t had the fridge stocked and he and Holly had gone shopping.

That was what he told himself, as he navigated his Dyna down one of the car tracks. It seemed to take forever, and his pulse knocked harder with each beat, as the bike slid and fishtailed against the snow.

Finally, he reached the clearing where house and barn stood.

His eyes went straight to the Buick. That now-familiar rustbucket that didn’t belong here, at his home. With Holly.

They’d found her.

Michael experienced the most acute, painful panic of his life. It gripped every blood vessel, every nerve, pressed him tight like a vise.

And then he let the sergeant at arms for the Lean Dogs take over. He let it command every part of him that was a screaming, terrified little boy holding onto Caesar’s collar, and propel him into action. He wasn’t nine anymore. Wasn’t helpless.

He was going to draw and quarter the bastards.

He threw his helmet down into the snow and sprinted to the house. Doors locked. Lights on, but no answer to his knock. Delilah came to the door and whined at him through the windows, but Cass wasn’t with her.

He saw the tracks leading away from the house, out the back door, down the steps, toward the trails. Pawprints alongside them. Wynn and Holly had gone walking, and they’d taken the huge stud dog, thank God.

There was no sign of the Jessups, save their bootprints, sized somewhere between Wynn’s massive tread and Holly’s tiny boot marks with their stacked heels. All the tracks led into the woods, down one of the old game trails. Presumably, the Jessups had come to the same conclusion he had, and had followed Wynn and Holly’s prints into the woods.

Michael went to the kennels, ignoring the cacophony of welcoming barks and yips. He needed old, mature, smart trackers, not green pups. He loosed Sammie and Bear, not bothering with leads, snapping his fingers and bringing the two hounds to his heels.

He led them to the head of the trail, pointed out the tracks to them.

“Seek,” he instructed. “Boys, seek.”

They snuffled for long moments, then took off galloping across the snow, headed down the trail.

Michael sprinted after them. He could follow the tracks, yes, but he didn’t want to take chances. He was counting on the baying of the dogs to rattle the Jessups. And he was counting on Cass’s help when he reached them.

Holly rested a hand on the back of Cassius’s thick neck. It quivered as he growled again, a vicious, sinister sound. The sight of the giant dog had halted the men; their eyes flicked toward him nervously.

A dozen thoughts crowded her mind. How had they found her here? Did Michael know? How much of a deterrent would the dog be for them? Could she make a run for it?

She edged back a step. Her pulse was a sick pattering in her ears and throat; it throbbed in every inch of her skin, contracted at the roots of her hair.

All the old fear and helplessness fell over her, a familiar blanket of immobility. It strangled her. It turned her from human to mindless victim. The mantle of the sightless, voiceless receptacle for their abuse.

No, a voice inside her screamed.No, no, no, NO!

Abuse her they might, but she didn’t have to accept it. After all, when had compliance ever spared her?

She curled her gloved fingers around Cassius’s collar. “How did you know I was here?” Her voice only shook a little.

“Shaman knows everything about everyone,” Jacob said. He’d always been the more talkative of the two. “He even knows where your little Michael would hide something he wanted to keep to hisself.” He grinned.

She hated the way he saidMichael, the mocking slant to his voice.

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