Alpha Shifter Protectors: Paranormal Romance Collection Read online

  Jack tried, but he could find no fault in Layla’s logic. His brows reaching up on his forehead, Jack could only say, “We’d have to prove it. It’s not just a publicity stunt, it’s two counts of attempted homicide.”

  “Right,” Layla said, “we have to prove it. But… how?” Jack’s instincts lit up, and he looked up and into the rearview mirror. A pair of headlights were just turning on, a car keeping a distance behind them. It was a green Honda hatchback, and it had been on Mulholland behind them for a good ten minutes.

  Layla seemed to think a bit before inspiration made her eyes light up. “I could go to him, bluff him; tell him I know what he’s done, that I’ve got proof. We can tape him from nearby, you can use my phone—”

  “Dangerous and unlikely to succeed,” Jack said. “And you’d only be tipping our hand. And if he is guilty, he could turn the tables on you.”

  Layla smiled and rolled her eyes. “With you around to protect me? I don’t think so.”

  “Layla, I’m a lupine shifter, not Superman. I don’t want you to rely on me.”

  After a tense pause, Layla said, “You mean… I can’t rely on you?”

  “No, I… of course you can, but you’ll need to stay on your toes. That means not charging headlong into a risky situation.”

  Layla sighed, nodding as she went on reviewing her imagination. “What if I told him I was freaking out, too afraid to perform? At this point, my profile’s really high. Maybe he’ll confess just to keep me placated?”

  “If he could cut the Rolling Stones loose, you think he’d worry that much about you?” Jack looked into the rearview, that pair of headlights keeping a reasonable but consistent distance behind them.

  Layla leaned back in the passenger seat, but only until inspiration pushed her forward again. “You could intimidate him! Do that thing you do, all snarly and mean…” She did an almost comical impression of what Jack knew he looked like.

  “No, Layla—”

  “Or you could beat him up. Not… kill him, or anything, but just sort of—”

  “Layla!”

  “I don’t kn—oh, wait! You could shift, visit him in your wolf form! We’ll both go, he’ll tell us anything we wanna know!”

  “And then what? He’ll know my secret. I can’t have that.” Layla slumped back again, and Jack went on, “I don't think there’s anything there, with the promoter. Unless… could he and your mother be working together?”

  “Jack! What is it with you and my mother? You stood up for her, what was that all about?”

  “She wasn't wrong, and I don’t like that man Mathers. We do have to go with what little we know when we know it, after all.” Jack glanced up into the rearview mirror again, a chill running up his spine to see the same pair of headlights cruising behind them.

  Layla finally took notice of Jack’s returning attention to the rearview mirror. “Jack, something wrong?”

  “Unless I’m wrong… we’re being followed.”

  Jack kept the Audi cruising along Mulholland, holding the twists in a nice, easy fashion. Layla started looking around nervously, blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. “What are we gonna do? Jack, I can’t go over the side again! It’s dark this time, and I don’t wanna go over again!”

  “Take it easy,” Jack said in a low, calming tone, “we won’t go over again.”

  “Okay, good, good. So… what's the plan, what’re you gonna do?”

  Jack shrugged. “Keep driving.”

  “Keep driving, what kind of plan is that?”

  “The only one I can think of. You have any better suggestions?”

  Layla kept looking around, eyes round and nervous. “Where’s your gun? We’ll shoot at ‘em!”

  “Layla, they could be innocent. It’s not like they’re running us down like the last time. Anyway, my gun’s at the side of the road where we crashed.” Off her look, Jack explained, “You dropped it out of the car the last time we were being chased, remember?”

  “You didn’t pack a fresh one?”

  “They’re not like overnight bags, Layla! I do have a few more back at the house—”

  “Shit!” Layla looked back at their pursuers, then turned and faced forward. “That’s it, I’m getting a gun, learning to shoot. The only thing that can stop a mad jerk in a car on Mulholland is a pop singer with a gun.”

  “Right,” Jack said, “just ask David Crosby or Rick James.”

  “I don’t know who either of those old dudes are. Shit! Shit-shit-shit-shit—”

  “Layla, take it easy.”

  “Right, take it easy… okay… okay… I got it!”

  “No,” Jack said, pulling over onto a small side street peeling off of the main road. “I got it.” He stopped the car, letting the engine idle.

  “Jack, what’re you doing?”

  Jack sat motionless, looking up into the rearview mirror as the headlights came and went, driving onward on Mulholland. Layla watched, then broke out in a long, relieved sigh followed by nervous laughter.

  “Oh, um, right… of course.”

  “Too bad you didn’t have a firearm, you could have unloaded on them.”

  “Okay, well, you were the one who said we were being followed.”

  “No, I said I thought maybe we were being followed. I can be wrong, y’know.”

  “Now you tell me.” After a few calming moments, Jack turned the car around and turned right onto Mulholland, heading back toward their rented house. They rolled without another car in sight, and Layla chuckled again. “Being followed… maybe I’m just stressed out, all this nonsense with the concert, somebody after me, or they’re not after me… I'm not even sure anymore.”

  “Maybe we’ve been hitting it too hard. A lot of times, you concentrate on something so hard, you lose sight of what you’re looking at. Gotta take your mind off things, do something else.”

  “What’d you have in mind?” She let out a little chuckle, then leaned back into the seat. “I need to unwind, relax.”

  “Definitely,” Jack said as they turned right and followed the smaller street up to the top, where the manse awaited. “I think that jacuzzi might be a good start.”

  “Definitely,” Layla repeated with a sexy smile.

  They pulled up to the house, the gate drifting open before Jack slid the Audi in, then closing automatically behind them. They pulled up to the Spanish villa, car in the courtyard, red tile roof over the beige stucco walls. Jack opened her car door and Layla stepped out, the two of them walking up to the front door and making their way in.

  The house was dark and quiet as Jack closed and locked the front door.

  “Burglar alarm wasn’t on,” Jack said.

  Layla switched on a light, a golden glow filling only a portion of the vast and complex house.

  “Can’t wait to get into that water,” Layla said with a sigh.

  “Sorry to interrupt ya plans, luv.” The unfamiliar voice grabbed Jack and Layla’s attention, the man walking toward them from the shadows of an unlit adjoining room. He had long, shaggy blond hair, a thick Australian accent, and was carrying an automatic handgun in his right hand.

  Layla said, “Cy!”

  He smiled. “Glad to see me, baby? Daddy’s home!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Layla said, “Cy! What are you doing here?”

  Cy stopped and stood, gun fixed on them. “Been followin’ you fer days, luv. Easiest thing on earth, gettin’ into this dump.” He looked at Jack and said, “Yer the security guy?”

  “How’d you get past the alarm?”

  “Only been in show biz fer a few years, mate; was a thief before that. It’s me specialty!”

  Jack looked at Layla, who could only shrug, both of them standing with their hands raised, palms flat out and empty. “I didn’t know.”

  “S’not the kinda thing a fella spreads around,” Cy said. “Me bio says I worked in the outback. You lot probably took it fer a rest’raunt!”

  Jack and Layla shared a gl
ance, Jack hoping that she’d take his meaning—that she should be the one to try to reason with him. He had a weakness for her, that much was clear.

  And, as if on cue, Layla returned her attention to Cy. “What do you want, Cy?”

  After a moment of tense silence, Cy answered, “You really have to ask? You, Layla, I want you!”

  A strained silence crawled by before Layla said, “I… I know, Cy, but… it’s just not that easy.”

  “Why not? We can do what we want! If you loved me the way I loved you, it would be that easy!”

  Layla looked at the pistol in his hand. “Well… no, Cy, you’re holding a gun on us, that makes it more complicated.”

  Cy looked down at the gun in his hand, but he was quick to refocus on Layla and especially on Jack. “I’m sorry, but… it was necessary.” Focusing on Jack, he added, “Wouldn’t you say, mate?”

  Jack shrugged a bit, hands still hovering near his shoulders. “Look, pal—”

  “I’m not your pal, mate!”

  “Mate—”

  “I’m not your mate, pal!”

  Jack shook his head. “Look, Cy… Mr. Davenport… I know you’re stressed out right now. You been on this road for days now. You need to take a rest, get some sleep. When you wake up fresh, you’ll come around, see how crazy this all is.” After a brief lull, Jack went on, “You got everything in the world, people would cut off their left arms to have what you have. It may look like you’ve blown it now, but put the gun down, spend a few months in a rehab somewhere, we’ll all get together and laugh about all this.”

  Cy shook his head and looked back at Layla. “This isn’t just about me, Layla, it’s not; it’s about us. I love you, Layla! I always loved you!”

  Layla hesitated, and Jack knew she was measuring her words carefully. The wrong ones were about to get them both killed. She finally said, “I… I don’t know what to say about that, Cy. What we had, whatever that was—”

  “It was glorious, you gotta admit.” Cy’s voice cracked with a new and steadily increasing desperation. “You can't deny that, you can’t! Not now, not now…”

  “It was special, Cy, yes.”

  “Special,” Cy repeated with a disgusted sneer which reminded Jack of the one he used so often and to much better effect. But Jack could tell that Cy meant it no less than Jack did. Cy went on to Layla, “You don’t love me, you never did. You couldn’t have! Love… when you love someone, you’ll look past the hundred imperfect things to that one special thing, that single redeeming quality that keeps you going. So either you didn’t love me… or you’re saying I haven’t even got one redeeming quality, not one out of a hundred.”

  “Cy,” Layla said, “you’re drunk.”

  “Not too drunk to pull this trigger, you heartless bitch!” He raised the gun, and Jack’s spine tensed. He sense the time to make a move was fast coming, the window about to close with the sound of several shots coming in quick succession. “Please… please don’t make me do it. Please don’t…”

  Layla said, “I did love you, Cy, and I always will… in my way. Two people can love each other in all kinds of ways: lovers, friends, family. But that doesn’t mean they’re meant to live together, side by side.”

  Cy shook his head and spat out a contemptuous huff. “Different kinds of love.”

  “Of course,” Layla said, leaning forward a bit to help make her point. “And the kind of love we have now, as good friends, that’s a different kind of love than the kind we had before. But it’s still love, right?”

  “Still love,” Cy repeated, gun still firm in his grip even as his attention seemed to fade. “But not enough, Layla, not enough! That’s not the love we used to have—”

  “But that love is over now, Cy. It’s been over a long time. I guess we’re both responsible for that, or maybe neither one of us. But it’s over and that’s the way it’s going to have to stay. I’m sorry if that hurts you.”

  Cy looked like he was about to cry. Jack felt a window opening, knowing he might have only seconds to close the distance between them. After a tortured quiet, Cy said, “My life… s’falling apart.”

  Jack and Layla shared a glance. Layla said to Cy, “We all feel that way sometimes. I… I’ve felt like that since coming home from my first audition. You… you remember your first time, Cy? How difficult it was?”

  Cy cracked a nervous smile as a recollection seemed to distract him. Good girl, Jack thought, keep it up.

  But Cy snapped out of it too quickly, refocusing on them, on the gun, on the moment.

  “Just take it easy, pal.”

  “Cy, please, you don’t have to do this,” Layla said, “it doesn’t have to be this way. You… you need help, Cy.”

  “I need you, Layla! Nothing else is gonna help me.” Cy started to break down, body cramping forward a bit. “Nothing’s gonna help me now.”

  Jack made his move, jutting forward. But Cy was quick to react, pointing the gun and screaming, “I’ll shoot you both if you don’t jump back, mate!”

  Jack’s instincts were keen and his body quick to react, stopping in his tracks and standing his ground now a step in front of the cowering Layla. “That’s better.” Cy sneered at Jack, looking him up and down. “So you’re the one, you’re the bastard stole her from me.”

  “He didn’t do anything like that,” Layla said.

  “What has he got that I ain’t? What can he do that I can’t?”

  “Be a man,” Jack said.

  “You shut yer mouth, mate, I’ll blow yer head off!”

  Layla said, “Leave him out of it, Cy. This is between you and me.”

  But Jack said to Cy, “Unless you’d like to make it between you and me.”

  Layla cautioned him, “Jack…?”

  “Pull a gun on a woman,” Jack went on, “c’mon, you’re better than that. You and me, man to man.”

  “I’ll tear your throat out.”

  Jack winked. “Announcing your plans, that’s a good way to hear God laugh.”

  “God,” Cy repeated, “God? Tell him hello for me… both of you!” He raised the gun and Jack jumped into a rolling tumble.

  Bang, bang!

  “Jack!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Jack threw himself into a somersault, a duck and roll that sent him flinging up to his feet much closer to Cy and before he could get a second shot off. Jack’s right hand bolted out from his side, crossing in front of his chest to strike Cy’s right hand. But the gun remained in Cy’s big hand, and the two men were suddenly grappling for the gun, locked between their mutual grip.

  Cy threw his head forward, trying to head-butt Jack, crack his nose or maybe send that cartilage into Jack’s brain. But Jack had done the move himself several times, with much better results. It was easy enough to dodge the move until Cy realized another tack would be required.

  The gun pointed upward as they struggled for control, but it swung quickly downward in Layla’s direction, pointing directly at her. Layla screamed and ducked out of the way just before the gun discharged, shattering a vase which had been behind where Layla was standing.

  “I’ll kill you,” Cy rasped, “I’ll wear your guts for a necktie, you Yankee sack of shit!”

  Jack cracked a little strained smile. “Sounds like just your style. But here in the US, we wear our own hearts on our sleeves, not somebody else’s.”

  They wrenched and pulled, Jack turning to spin and throw Cy off, hoping to keep hold of the gun. But Cy wasn’t so easily dislodged, and he grinned as he hissed at Jack, “That the best you got?”

  Jack was impressed with the man’s strength. Much of it, he knew, was born of anger and pent-up frustration. But there was also natural power, a deep-rooted aggression, and what Jack’s senses were telling him were well-honed skills through countless hours of practice.

  This was a man who knew how to fight.

  But Jack knew he had to take him on in his human form. While killing this Australian in his lupine form would be n
o problem at all, Jack would have to kill him; that was a resolution Jack still hoped to avoid. Beyond the man’s murderous impulses, his sinister motivations, he was only succumbing to his lesser instincts; Jack knew that, and he knew those instincts himself. But it was his sense of self-control which told Jack to spare the man if he could, lest he wind up no more a man than his adversary.

  Jack assumed a combat stance, bouncy and light despite his size and density. But he knew how to be graceful too, and how to use that grace to utterly destroy his adversary, if necessary. Cy took instant notice and assumed a similar stance. Jack knew at once that the man would be a worthy opponent, perhaps even too worthy.

  Layla scurried around the sides of the living room to the landline telephone on a small end table, looking more like a quaint decoration than a life-saving necessity. She picked up the phone and pressed three buttons. Jack knew immediately which buttons those were, and he returned his focus to Cy—and just in time.

  Cy attacked Jack with a series of jabs and a sidekick, each strike just inches from contact with Jack’s face, his chest. But Jack pulled back as Cy advanced, a roundhouse kick finally hitting Jack in the side of the head.

  Layla called, “Jack!”

  The strike snapped Jack to the side but didn’t put him off his feet. Cy moved in to exploit his advantage, but Jack met every jab and swing with one of his own, forearms blocking fists and knees thwarting kicks amid a series of screams and grunts.

  “Yes,” Layla said into the phone, “well, tell them to hurry, for Christ’s sake!”

  Jack could see the growing frustration in Cy’s face as his assault became more furious. He was a man used to winning a fight early, and Jack knew that this would be the secret of his undoing.

  But Jack was also pinned in the corner, and his room to move was becoming limited. He landed a hard right cross into Cy’s face, a jab with his left hand, and an uppercut from the right to send the big Australian stumbling back. The two men separated, staring each other down. Layla stayed as far from the fray as she could, and Jack was glad she was following her better instincts. Any interference from her could throw the advantage to Cy, perhaps for good; definitely for ill.