Dead Shifter Walking by Kim Schubert Page B

shields.
    His hands froze mid-shuffle, blood draining from
his face.
    “Why is my file missing these?” I whispered,
moving closer pulling a rope of confidence from my core to bolster
my claims. I needed to know who the fuck this guy was playing for.
If I had to break into the police station, I wasn’t above it.
Honestly, I wasn’t above much when I was determined.
    My phone buzzed, interrupting my
interrogation.
    “Olivia,” I answered straitening up quickly.
    “Hey, it’s Kass.” Her tone made me move away
from Mercer.
    “What?” I asked, wanting to get to the heart of
the matter.
    “I’ve been helping Hannah learn control and just
overheard that Logan is going to be in town Saturday morning.
Darren is livid. I don’t know what Logan said, but Darren asked if
I knew of any safe houses. Apparently, Logan owns this house and
Darren is worried about Logan’s goons trying to take Hannah,” she
finished quietly.
    Ice moved through my veins. “Relocate Friday
night. Do you know where?” I asked softly.
    “Yeah, Olie, I know. You really think…” she
paused before finding the courage to continue, “you think he would
hurt his own niece for being one of us?”
    “Absolutely,” I answered. “I’ll be over this
afternoon. Isn’t it a bit early for you?” I asked checking my
thick-banded watch.
    “Um, yeah. Early start to the day and all that
jazz,” she answered unsteadily. Hannah’s cry came from the
background. “I gotta go, Olie.”
    I stared at my phone, wondering what in the
three rings of hell was going on there. Shrugging, I turned back to
Mercer. His color had returned; time to make it flee again.
    As I took a few steps forward, he stood,
stopping my progress. I gave him my wide-eyed innocent look.
“Don’t,” he warned, buttoning his black jacket and stuffing his
hands into the navy blue pants. “Let’s go.”
    “Where to?” I asked with fake enthusiasm.
    He didn’t answer me, walking away instead. This
was not going well at all. Following him, I saw nothing but the
blasé interior gray walls and yellow linoleum as we twisted through
corridors, pressing open a metal door into the blinding morning
light.
    Squinting, I followed him around the squad cars,
pristinely lined up and squeaky clean, to a rusty old pickup
truck.
    As I opening the door, it gave a warning creak.
Sliding into the newly reupholstered seat, I gave his square side
profile a disbelieving look.
    “What?” he asked, cranking the engine.
    “Country much?” I asked as Hank Williams belted
out on the stereo.
    He grunted, leaving the parking lot and the
police station with its steel gates behind.
    Paranoia tapped my shoulder, pointing out that I
was in a truck with a man I didn’t know, traveling to an unknown
destination with no one knowing where I was. That sounds like a
brilliant plan, she screamed at me. Those were some valid points. I
mulled over whether I could take Mercer. It wouldn’t even be close,
it was much easier for me to drop bodies than it was for him.
    That hesitation would undoubtedly give me the
upper hand and get him killed. I leaned against the worn
upholstery, feeling the gun in my back push back with reassurance,
not to mention the hidden blades as well. I pushed paranoia back
down and paid attention to the city outside of our windows, the
homes had become larger, newer, with landscaping that required a
crew to maintain.
    Mercer checked his paperwork, flipping open a
manila envelope before pulling into a home with tall wrought iron
gates and a curved driveway. I like the idea of gates, but these
were easy to scale and easier to bend for a shifter. The Manor had
real wrought iron gates that could conduct electricity if needed,
and I always thought it was needed.
    The gates opened automatically as he approached,
another huge no-no in security; although, it did prove the family
thought it had nothing to worry about. I was, of course, assuming
this was the crime scene. The grumbling truck ceased its