Stolen (Otherworld 2)

"Maybe they wanted a werewolf," Paige said. "Besides, we always cast protective spells around our meetings. They wouldn't have been able to get to us."

"So you expected trouble?" I said. "Thanks for warning us. But that doesn't explain how they got here. First they show up in Pittsburgh, then here. How?"

"They must have followed"--Paige stopped, then murmured--"someone."

"They followed you," Cassandra said, turning on Ruth. "You led them right to us."

"Perhaps you weren't behind last night's attack," Jeremy said, "but you can hardly be absolved of blame. Ensuring you weren't followed from Pittsburgh is an elementary safety precaution. If that's how this group operates, then I have no interest in aligning my Pack with you, even temporarily. As you can see"--he gestured at the bag--"we can take care of ourselves. We will continue to do so without your help. Anyone who comes after us or interferes with us again will be treated the same as those three men last night. Anyone. For any reason."

We left. No one came after us.

I drove the Explorer back to the motel. It was packed and ready to go. All we had to do was pick up Clay's rental car.

"Where to next?" I asked as we stood in the motel parking lot.

"Montreal," Clay said. "We need to return the car."

I turned to the econo-box rental, noticing the Quebec license plates. "Why the hell did you leave your car in Montreal?"

"You think I was gonna cruise Vermont looking for a rental agency when I was driving right past a big city?"

"How about I drive straight home and you guys meet me there?"

"You're coming to Montreal, Elena," Jeremy said.

Jeremy headed to the econo-box and folded himself into the tiny passenger seat. Yes, he would have been more comfortable in his Explorer, but that would mean listening to Clay curse the loathed SUV for a few hundred miles. Given the choice between leg cramps and a migraine, Jeremy would choose the former. Riding in the SUV with me and leaving Clay alone in the rental wasn't an option. Until the danger had passed, Clay would stick close to Jeremy, protecting his Alpha as instinct dictated.

Once Jeremy was in the car, Clay walked over, wrapped his hands around my waist, and pulled me against him.

"I'll make it up to you," he murmured against my ear. "Tonight. We'll go for a run."

"In the city?"

He grinned. "You arguing?"

"Jeremy will."

"We'll take him along. I'll talk him into it on the drive. Speaking of which, you wanna liven the ride up a bit?"

"Race?"

"You read my mind, darling."

"A four-banger verses a V6?"

"It's the driver, not the car."

"You're on. First one to Montreal gets to pick where we run tonight."

"One catch," Clay said. "We have to play safe and stay in sight. If I can't see you in my rearview mirror, I'm slowing down."

"Rearview mirror? Baby, you ain't seeing me through nothing but the windshield."

He grinned. "We'll see about that."

Racing through the back roads of Vermont was great fun. Once we got to Highway 87, things would get decidedly dull, but on the two-lane back roads we had to contend with mountains, valleys, towns, blind curves, lane-hogging campers, and poky sightseers. Plenty of close calls. Plenty of excitement. The bad guys didn't need to kill us. If they waited long enough, we'd do it ourselves.

After about a half-hour, I was stuck behind Clay. My fault. We'd been leapfrogging for miles. I'd been in the lead, then I'd come up behind a fifth-wheeler with a camper on the back and made the mistake of leaving a safe cushion between it and me, which Clay, of course, had zipped into. Now we were stuck on a winding road behind this dullard who insisted on doing the speed limit. Finally, I noticed a straightaway long enough to pass. But Clay didn't pull out. After a moment's thought, I realized why. He couldn't see past the fifth-wheeler. I could. The advantage of driving an SUV--improved vision. Hah! So on the next suitable straightaway, as Clay fishtailed trying unsuccessfully to see around the fifth-wheeler, I pulled out and passed. Once around the truck, I zipped past a car and a tractor trailer. Then I floored it. Clay's subcompact vanished amid an unending stream of tourist traffic. He'd be pissed that I'd broken his "stay in sight" rule, but it served him right, thinking he could outrace me no matter what he drove. Clay's self-confidence could always use a shake-up. He'd catch me soon enough.