Missing Ch. 71-80

Damn. These guys thought of everything. I headed left, parking my Explorer on the broken concrete and gravel behind one of the shipping containers. We got out, and I put thin leather gloves on. Mr. Black had never taken his off. I lifted the hatchback and pulled the blanket aside. I unzipped a bag, exposing the weapons and the rocket-propelled grenade. I slung the strap over my shoulder and reached for the bleach. "Is your AK-47 clean?"

I nodded. "No serial number or fingerprints."

"I'll take that and the Molotovs and wait behind that boat. Remember, fire that thing and get the fuck out. Don't fucking miss, or we are ALL dead."

"I won't miss. Good luck." He walked off, and I checked my watch. We had fifteen minutes until the meetup. I grabbed the bleach and closed the back of the SUV.

The best firing position would be an elevated one, so I climbed on top of my car and jumped from the roof to the top of the container. The shot would be about twenty-five yards, plenty close even for this weapon. I took the lid off the bleach and pocketed the cap, making sure it was ready. I'd have seconds to cover my tracks and get out.

I went prone at the near corner of the container and unslung the RPG. There was enough moonlight to make out the crude sights as I set up my shot. The wind was in my face, and I had trees at my back. It would be difficult to spot me in time.

I watched as the other familiars set up the three were-coyotes to take the fall for this. They put them near one of the T-ruins, leaving a bag of meth next to the cook. The three were in a fog and barely able to stand. They were going nowhere. The humans took up ambush positions, and we waited.

A few minutes before midnight, I heard a car approaching. Master Hans traveled in style, as a silver Cadillac Escalade turned into the driveway leading to the gate. Cassie opened the gate for them, and they pulled in without stopping.

The Cadillac came to a stop, and I pressed the trigger. There was a loud WOOSH sound as the anti-tank missile streaked towards the car, striking the bulletproof rear window dead center. The explosion tore the armored car apart, blowing pieces of metal and glass everywhere.

Before the shrapnel hit the ground, Mr. Black and his associates opened up with their guns on the car. After a few bursts, the others shifted fire to the were-coyotes while Mr. Black rushed to the burning Escalade. He lit the Molotov, throwing it inside and ensuring no vampires survived.

I poured bleach on my firing position and moved back towards my Explorer while they did their thing. I jumped down, using the rest of the bleach around my car and tossing the empty bottle. I jumped in the driver's seat and drove towards the gate, past the dead coyotes and the burning Escalade. Mr. Black waved as he lit another Molotov, lobbing this one towards the dead coyotes on the concrete.

If they were going to double-cross me, this was the time. Cassie was already in her car, and she got out just before me. I went back to County Road 46 and headed east to Hastings, letting the adrenaline dump work its way out along the way. A few minutes later, four squad cars passed me on the east side of Highway 52 as they sped west to the crime scene.

I made sure I didn't violate the speed limits as I drove down to Red Wing again. I opened the passenger side window and tossed the launcher mechanism out when I got to the river. I made sure it cleared the railing before continuing to the airport.

The pilot was waiting at the base of the plane's stairs when I walked into the hangar. "Mr. Ramesey will meet you inside," he said.

Maybe the betrayal would happen inside the plane? I pushed down my fear and walked inside. The luxury jet was well-appointed, with a rear bedroom area that I'm sure didn't have windows. Master Ramesey was sitting in one of the leather chairs and talking on his phone. He ended the call as I walked in. "Clyde, can I offer you a drink?"

"Coffee, please. I have a long drive ahead of me."

"I know. Be careful of deer on the drive to Green Bay." I sat in the chair across from him as the young, blonde stewardess brought me a coffee. Master Ramesey beckoned her over and whispered in her ear. She pulled her uniform dress off with a smile, tossing it onto an empty seat. She wasn't wearing underwear, and she had the body of an Instagram celebrity.

She came towards me, and I refused. "I'm sorry, I have a mate," I told them.

"You don't know what you're missing," she replied. She turned and dropped to her knees between her Master's legs and reverently took his cock out. Her heart-shaped ass wiggled in front of me as she went to work.

She began sucking him to hardness while he talked to me like this was normal. "Master Andersen is dead?"

"There was no way he could survive that," I said. I described the events as the stewardess gagged on his cock, taking him into her throat with a 'gack gack' sound before leaning back to catch her breath. "Will there be any repercussions from this?"

"From what?" He grabbed her head and began to roughly face-fuck his familiar. "A werewolf killed the Master, and vampires killed the were-coyotes. No one broke any of their Council rules. Everybody wins."

"Killing a Master Vampire isn't something to be dismissed. The Vampire Council could see this as a cause for war."

"No, they won't," Ramesey replied. He pushed his cock into her throat and groaned as he came. She fell back on her ass when he finally let her go, catching her breath and catching the leftover semen from her face. "Master Cyprian Pontalba won't care because this whole thing was his idea."

Mind. Blown. "The Master Vampire at the head of the Vampire Council sanctioned my execution of a fellow Master?"

"The drug trade threatens our kind as well, Lassiter. When I told him of our deal, he saw the opportunity to dispose of Master Andersen without upsetting the other Masters. Pontalba brought in Cassiopea Turner, who would get their Coven out of the drug trade. She will be a much better ally to me than Hans ever was." The blonde finished licking his cock clean and put it away. "Summer, fetch the carrier, please."

"Yes, master," she replied, getting her feet. She walked wearing only heels to the bedroom, returning with a baby in a car seat and a diaper bag.

She set it next to me, and I gazed in horror at what it was. "Why would you bring a were-coyote baby girl to me?" The child was maybe nine months old, and her eyes looked up at me innocently.

"I don't kill children, and I don't leave loose ends. She was in the house when we captured the three. The mother was human, so we drained and buried her. What happens to her now is up to you. She might be useful as a hostage, or you can get rid of her, but a supernatural child cannot go into the human system. Now, go."

Holy shit.

I didn't have a choice. "Thank you for your help, Master Ramesey."

"Working with competent people is always a pleasure. My plane departs as soon as my people return. You will not contact my people or me again, Clyde. Of course, you will never speak of tonight's events with anyone, and I would stay out of Minneapolis forever."

"Of course." I slung the diaper bag over my shoulder and picked up the car seat. Returning to my car, I strapped the seat into the back behind me.

How the hell was I going to get out of this mess? I couldn't kill her, and how could I give her back without exposing my part? I'd have to talk to Bonnie about it first. We hadn't mated and weren't in the same Pack, so it would have to be in person.

I drove out of the airport and headed north to the interstate. I'd make Green Bay by sunrise.

Ch. 77

Bonnie Woods' POV

Green Bay Police Jail

Sunday, June 21, 2020

I'd managed to catch some sleep in the holding cell between the booking procedure and the wakeup from Alpha Anthony. I knew the drill; they'd hold me until the reports got submitted and the initial investigation finished. The cops caught me beating them, so there was no question of guilt. They would have to wait until the County Attorney reviewed the case and decided on charges. They might even bring it before a Grand Jury. In any case, they had 72 hours to hold me until I was arraigned or released.

The rest of the prisoners went on the bus to County Jail first thing in the morning; the Police Jail didn't serve food or deal with people longer than necessary. I was pulled out of lockup, chained up, and brought upstairs to Detective Division. The officer handcuffed me to a chair next to a desk. Detective Herbert Frank tossed my file on his overflowing desk and sat down, groaning as he did so. "Knees going?"

"Yeah," he grumbled. "Why didn't you tell us you were a retired cop, Bonnie?"

"It didn't matter at the time," I replied. "It's not like you can let me go on your own."

"You're right. We impounded your motorcycle and found your firearm and identification in the saddlebag. Nice damn weapon, by the way. Can you use it as well as you can fight?"

"Better," I said. "You'd be surprised how much crime you get in rural Maine."

He laughed. "I responded to too many 'officer needs help' calls from the Sheriff when I was on patrol to believe that." He flipped through the file. "I'm sorry to hear about your husband. I've been to too many police funerals as well."

"Thank you."

"I don't suppose you'd like to make a statement before I submit the reports," he asked.

"I'll invoke my right to counsel, Detective."

He nodded. "It's probably a wise thing. I got the security video from the bar; it showed the fight, but with all the people, you don't see him grabbing you as the bartender described. Patrol got inconsistent witness statements. A few heard you tell him to get lost, and he didn't listen, while another said you attacked him without warning. Others just saw the fight. It does show you smashing his nose with your forehead before knocking him into next week with your beer bottle. The second and third guys jumped in to help their buddy and didn't catch what started the fight."

Not surprising. Good witnesses and clear camera footage were rare. Investigations weren't wrapped up in ten minutes like on television. "How are the guys who left in ambulances?"

Herbert shook his head as he looked at the text message on his phone. "They're all in the hospital. Your pool player has a broken jaw and will need serious dental work. He's better off than guy number three. The orthopedic surgeon pieced that knee together with duct tape and baling wire; he's not going to walk for a month. They are both better than the first guy. He's got a broken nose, severe concussion, facial lacerations, and a skull fracture. If the first guy makes it, you're still looking at three counts of felony assault with great bodily harm."

I didn't say anything in response. The door to the detective room opened, and a guy walked in with a McDonald's bag and three coffees. "Bonnie Woods, meet my partner, Michael Thompson. Mike, this is retired Detective Sergeant Bonnie Woods."

"Nice to meet you, Bonnie," he said as he set the stuff on his desk. "The groper is still in intensive care, but the Doc says he'll make it. He should wake up later tonight."

"It doesn't matter. There's no way the County Attorney acts on this before tomorrow," Herbert replied. "Bonnie's invoked her right to counsel, so we're not taking her statement."

"Works for me," Michael replied. He leaned over and unlocked my right wrist, leaving the left wrist and ankle cuffs in place. "We held you back from the transfer because we don't need a cop getting stuck in County Lockup. I know you can take care of yourself, but why chance it?" He reached into the bag, pulled out an Egg McMuffin, and held it out for me. "I brought breakfast. The coffee is black and tastes better than the crap that comes out of that pot in the corner."

I laughed at that; cop coffee was the worst. Some pots didn't get cleaned out ever. "Thanks." I set the sandwich down to open the wrapper one-handed, then bit into the still-hot goodness.

"Nice bike you have," Michael said as he sat down and started eating. "Did you ride here straight from Maine?"

"Nothing but time now," I said. "I have my pension and my widow's pension, so I don't have to work. I thought I'd travel and see the country. Riding clears my head."

"This isn't your first arrest for a bar brawl," he replied.

"Now you're getting too close to interviewing me," I replied. "Let's talk about something else."

"Fine. What's your favorite ride?"

That was a tough one. "The Green Mountains in Vermont are great. Sean and I would ride Route 1 along the Maine coast every summer, and that's always good. We've done Sturgis a few times, and the Badlands are great. I'll hit some famous rides in the Mountain West and California, like the Cascade Loop and the Northwest Passage. Then I'll take the Pacific Coast Highway south to Los Angeles. The Superior Loop is next, though."

"That's one of my favorites, too. My wife likes to look for agates on the beaches. By the time we get home, I've got twenty pounds of rocks in my saddlebags." He reached into the bag. "Want a sausage one?"

"Sure." We talked Harleys and road trips for another hour, stopping only when the front desk called. My lawyer was here.

I spent an hour with Mike Hunt in a conference room, laying out my story. "What are my chances of avoiding a charge?"

"I don't know," he replied. "The District Attorney is one of those liberal activists. He's all-in with the anti-police rhetoric sweeping the country after the George Floyd riots. He won't want to give cops a break, even if the fight was self-defense. It's also possible he looks at your Martial Arts training and makes an issue of that, saying you could have used less force than you did. I bet he takes it to a Grand Jury."

"Wonderful. Do we give a statement?"

"I think we have to. If we say nothing, you'll get charged for sure. Take your time, stick to the facts, and stop if I tell you." He left, and a few minutes later, a female officer took me out of the room. I used the restroom, then got locked to the table in an interview room. The detectives came in, but my lawyer was missing. The officer poked her head out. "Is Mike Hunt out there? Has anybody seen Mike Hunt?"

"Not yet," someone yelled from down the hall. The detectives struggled not to laugh.

"I'm coming," Mike replied.

He sat down at the table, the detectives turned the video camera on, and I read the statement I wrote with Mike. After that, I answered their questions for another twenty minutes. There are only so many ways you can describe something that took about a minute and a half to play out. "Interview concluded at ten-fifty-seven," Michael said before turning off the camera.

I got to eat bratwurst and some chips before I had to catch the transport van to County. I walked into the place like the predator I was, staring down the few challengers I saw. County was rookie league; I wouldn't run into serious predators unless I went to state prison, and they didn't like cops. I watched television and didn't socialize with the other inmates. It was a shock when Alpha Anthony told me about Luna Adrienne. "I'm driving there. I'll send Clyde to get you tomorrow if they let you out."

"Go. I'll pray for her." With him gone, I couldn't get any updates. It made for a restless night.

Two hours after breakfast, the jailers came for me and took me out of General Population. "You're lucky, Woods," one said. "The County Attorney isn't filing on you. Some girls were live-streaming from the bar last night and caught everything on their phones. They didn't talk to the cops, but they did post it on Youtube. That guy deserved to get his ass kicked." She escorted me to an out-processing room, where I got my clothes and possessions back. She gasped when she saw the whip marks on my back. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Child abuse," I said. "No one gives a shit about a skinny Irish orphan."

I quickly dressed and waited by the door. The guard walked me outside, then handed me a large, heavy envelope. "It's your identification and firearm. Here's the address of the impound lot where they took your motorcycle. Good luck, Bonnie."

"Thanks." I walked towards the street, wondering if I'd have to call a cab. Instead, a familiar Ford Explorer pulled up to the curve.

I grinned as I saw my Clyde roll the passenger window down. "Hey, baby, need a ride?"

"Sure thing, mister!" I slid into the seat and leaned over to kiss him when I caught movement in the back seat. "What the FUCK?"

"Language," he said. "Buckle up, and I'll explain."

"This is more than 'I bought a new rifle without telling you' explaining," I said as we pulled away from the curve. "She's a were-coyote."

"She is an orphaned supernatural baby we are bringing home," he replied. "Where to?"

My head was spinning. "We have to pick up my Harley here," I said as I handed over a card. "Maybe we should trailer it home?"

"It's that, or you drive my car, and I'll take your bike. I'm a Council Fixer. The closest I came to child care was changing her diaper this morning, and I needed to ask a guy for help doing that. You're better at this kid stuff than me."

I rolled my eyes. "Clyde, I can't have children. I never bothered to learn how to take care of them because it hurt too much knowing it was never for me."

"Trailer it is." He pulled to the side of the road and found one for sale not too far away on Craigslist. I got the reader's digest version of Clyde's deal with the Vampire Master as we drove there. "I can't kill her, and I can't give her back."

My wolf had already started bonding with the orphaned child. "She's ours to raise, Clyde. We'll figure it out."

We arrived at the house, and Clyde bought the trailer for cash. I managed to feed and change our girl while he hooked it to his hitch. Clyde got back in and looked at me. I was holding the little girl against my shoulder as she slept. "What should we call her?"

"I don't know," I said. "It's not like I expected to be a MOM when I got out of jail!"

"Harleigh?"

"No." I looked down at her, thinking she had the face of an angel as I buckled her into her car seat. "Angela?"

We didn't think of a better name before reaching the impound lot, so Angela became her name. Clyde knew people who could get a birth certificate listing us as her parents, but the paperwork was the easy part. I paid the $200 to get my bike back, and Clyde loaded it up. We were on the road soon after.

He looked over at me, baffled at what to do next. "How in the hell can we hide this? One sniff of our daughter, and there's nothing but questions we can't answer."

"Then no one sniffs her," I replied. I'd had enough of them all. "I'm not turning this innocent child over to the Council or anyone else. We go rogue if we have to. Nobody knows where our house is, Clyde. We can live there. Fuck the Alphas, fuck the Packs, and fuck the fucking COUNCIL!"

Clyde looked over at me, and I stared him down. "Fine," Clyde replied. We had a lot to think about as we headed west.

Ch. 78

Werewolf Council Chairman Daniel Sanders POV

Council Headquarters, Pisgah Mountains, NH

Monday, June 21, 2020

My phone rang, waking me up and causing my mate to roll away from me. Only my senior staff could call directly to my bedside phone. Anyone else went through the security switchboard, and only the duty Enforcer could authorize disturbing my sleep. I picked it up before the third ring. "Sanders."

"Sir, we received a phone call from Master Charles Ramesey." That woke me up. The Master Vampire of Montreal was calling me? Perhaps Bonnie had stirred up more than we suspected. "He will be landing in forty minutes at the Orange Municipal Airport and needs to meet with you urgently."