Shadow Pact
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Tally Adams
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2,8M
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83
Chapter One
Emily
Emilyâs foot tapped impatiently against the ugly municipal carpet in the small interview room. Her eyes were glued to the door as she tried to will the detective to hurry up.
Piles of paperwork detailing all the information sheâd collected over the last six monthsâsince her sister had first disappearedâlay on the table in front of her.
Back in May, the police had said there was no evidence that anything was wrong and no clues to even start an investigation. So, Emily started her own search.
Now it was November, and sheâd followed the leads all the way from Florida to this small, frozen town in Maine. This morning, after more than a month of searching the area, sheâd finally gotten the call she was waiting for.
The private investigator hadnât been able to give her a name yet, but he had gotten a hit and a work address for the man last known to be with Amber. All the police had to do now was go pick him up.
âIâm sorry to have kept you waiting,â said the chubby, middle-aged detective, entering the room with the air of a man who was more annoyed than apologetic.
He didnât even look at her when he spoke, paying far more attention to the coffee cup in his hand than the woman heâd left waiting for more than an hour.
No matter, Emily decided. He was here nowâfinallyâand at last, sheâd be able to get some help to end this nightmare.
She gave him her most understanding smile as he took the seat across from her. âI realize youâre very busy,â she said, proud of how sincere her voice sounded when she felt anything but calm and patient.
He merely gave her a grunt and pulled a pen from his shirt pocket. âI understand youâre here to make a report?â
Emily hesitated, frowning at him. âMake a report?â she echoed. âNo, Iâm here because my sister has been missing for half a year, and I finally know how to find her.â She searched through her paperwork and handed him the one picture sheâd been working from.
âThis is the man she was with. I just learned he works at the old factory in the industrial complex. They get off work at five oâclock, so weâre running short on time.â
The detective gave her a look of utter confusion. âTime for what?â he asked.
Emily frowned at him. âTime to go get him,â she said slowly.
Now he looked more confused than ever. âGet him?â
Frustration welled in her gut, and she did her best to fight it down. Maybe no one had explained the situation to him in the last hour.
âHe kidnapped my sister, so yes, go get him,â she said, aware her voice was taking on an edge of impatience she was unable to banish.
The look he gave her was one of skepticism and pity and made Emily want to launch herself across the table at him.
She remained in her seat with effort and steeled herself for what she knew was coming. âDo you have any evidence she was abducted?â he asked.
Emily started shoving papers at him indiscriminately. âI have all this,â she said.
He went quiet and slowly perused the closest paperwork. After a few minutes, he held up a printout of the only correspondence sheâd received from Amber since the night she disappeared. âThis is from her?â he asked.
Emily nodded.
âThere are a few things that make me question if your sister is missing at all, let alone abducted. Nothing here shows she didnât just take off with this man.â
Emily shook her head in stunned disbelief. This could not be happening again. Impotent tears stung her eyes, and she tried to hold them back. She already knew the speech that was coming; sheâd heard it from another cop in May. âNo,â she breathed.
âIâm sorry, but this looks more like a mentally ill woman is off her meds.â He tapped the email for emphasis. âWerewolf?â he said, pointing to the word.
âBut what if itâs true?â Emily cried, knowing full well the very notion would make her look as unstable as Amber. âShe says right on that email he was biting and hurting her.â
He gave her a look but went on. âI spoke with the department in Florida. This is the third time your sister has been listed as missing. The first time,â he looked down at his clipboard, checking his notes.
Emily had heard enough. They werenât going to help her. She leaped to her feet and started shuffling all the papers back into the manila folder, suddenly desperate to be gone before she started to cry.
She wanted to scream, to rail at him, but it would do her no good. The system had decided Amber wasnât worth their trouble and had essentially washed their hands of her.
On her way to the door, a hand on her arm stopped her progress. âI know the man in the picture,â the detective said more gently. âHeâs well known by local law enforcement and is not a nice guy. Iâll do a wellness check to make sure sheâs safe.
âBut let me give you some free advice. Even people we love canât always be helped if they donât want help. There comes a time to cut the ties and move on.â
âSheâs my sister,â Emily snapped. âSheâs in trouble, and nobody cares except me. If you wonât help her, I will.â She shrugged off his hand impatiently and stormed through the door.
She drove the streets with no real direction, a hollow feeling swelling inside her. Tears streamed down her face, tears of broken faith and hope. Sheâd really thought the police would help her if only she gave them a place to start.
For months sheâd continued this damn quest, confident the authorities had her back. Now she was all alone with no one to ask for help.
There was no telling what Amber had been through already or if she was even still alive. The single email was the only contact sheâd made, and that was back in June.
It was three pages long and went into detail about how sheâd been chosen and bitten by a werewolf, but it hadnât worked right, and she was scared and in terrible pain.
And still, the police shrugged it off.
Emily knew it was farfetched to think Amber was being held captive by a werewolf. But still, sheâd seemed so earnest that Emily started to entertain the concept, if only from a hypothetical perspective. But werewolf or not, the letter clearly showed she needed help.
Emily impatiently pulled a napkin out of the center console and wiped her face. She dried her eyes and blew her nose, determined to get herself back together. A few deep breaths and she felt better, stronger again.
She rolled down the window and let a rush of cold November air blow through the car, washing away the sadness and despair. There was no point in wallowing. What she needed was a plan, not a pity party.
Her eyes slid to the clock on the radio. It read 4:35 p.m. In less than half an hour, the factory would let out for the day. She was supposed to be there with the authorities, all swooping in like an avenging army to put an end to this nightmare and reunite her with Amber.
She wanted to scream and break somethingâa lot of somethings. That she had gotten the same speech a second time was just unbelievable. The first time, she could sort of understand since all she had to report was that Amber wasnât at home or work.
But this time, she had evidence and was still essentially shown the door.
Her knuckles went white as she gripped the steering wheel. Her eyes flicked to the clock again. 4:37 p.m. The factory was only about ten minutes away. She could make it over there with time to spare.
She may have no authority to arrest him, but if sheâd learned anything in the last six months, it was stealth and snooping. If she could spot him leaving work, she might be able to follow him straight to Amber.
It wasnât the safest plan, but she hadnât come all this way to give up now. Besides, it wasnât like she planned to confront him. As long as she was careful, she wouldnât have to deal with him at all.
With a feeling of nervous excitement, she made the turn that would take her to the industrial area. Her fingers drummed against the steering wheel with the beat of her heart until the old building came into view.
She drove past it slowly, looking at the employee parking lot and the exits, which showed the lot was not monitored and anyone could park there.
She chose a spot just a couple of rows from the exit door where sheâd have a good view of everyone coming out. After just a few minutes, the whistle blew and announced quitting time.
With the expected noise and chaos, workers filed through the door, some talking and laughing in small groups and others meandering toward their cars alone.
She paid no attention to them. The moment her quarry walked through the door, she recognized his face and locked onto him like a radar. Nothing could break her focus.
She was surprised her hot stare didnât burn a hole in the side of his head as he walked along the sidewalk that hugged the building.
Emily had a heart-stopping moment of panic when he suddenly stopped walking and looked around. In those few seconds, she was sure he knew she was there. But the moment passed, and he got into his truck just a few rows away.
Emily waited until the old truck pulled past her before she started her car.
She wouldnât have much trouble following it since it was white with a big orange stripe down the side, and something in the engine knocked loudly.
Using the rush of workers as cover, she pulled into the flow of traffic almost a block behind him.
At first, she was comfortably hidden by the vehicles. But every few blocks, more people turned down side streets, slowly dwindling her cover until there was no one left to act as a buffer.
Her heart was beating so hard it made her chest feel cold. Her left leg bounced hard, and her hands were so tight on the steering wheel that her palms ached. She was so close.
Ahead, the truckâs blinker indicated a left turn onto a country road. Emily quickly decided to go straight through the four-way stop instead of following him directly to avoid drawing his attention.
She crossed through the intersection and turned her car back around as soon as he was out of sight. With a deep breath to calm her jangling nerves, she turned onto the dirt road heâd taken and began to follow the cloud of dust left in the wake of the ancient truck.
It was even easier than she expected since the old gravel road gave her nearly half a mileâs worth of dust clouds, which was plenty of distance to go unnoticed and acted as a perfect cover.
It wasnât a long drive, maybe fifteen minutes at most, but it seemed like forever to her.
She passed by the property heâd pulled into without even slowing down. It only took a glance for her to mentally map out the lay of the land. Two buildings stood apart by maybe two hundred feet.
One was an old farm-style house, run down with peeling paint and at least one broken window covered with plywood. The other structure looked like a large yellow workshop-style metal building. It appeared much newer than the house itself and was in better repair.
Just under a mile from the house, she pulled her rented car onto a service road and parked.
She saved the address on her phone and turned it to silent before sliding it into her back pocket, then closed her eyes for a moment to gather herself.
What the hell was she doing?
She had no delusions of grandeur. It wasnât like she was She-Ra the Warrior Woman.
She tipped the scale at a whopping one hundred and forty poundsâmuch of it muscle, she told herself firmlyâand she had no chance in a physical confrontation.
Even if Amber was completely nuts and only human men were involved in this mess, she was no match for them.
She did have a gun, though. A class on firearms and countless hours at the range meant she knew how to use it. So, she wasnât as helpless as she looked.
Somewhere, sheâd heard that real courage meant being afraid and doing something anyway. With that in mind, she decided she was the bravest woman on the planet. Now, if she could just get her knees to stop knocking, she might be able to sell herself a little more on her courage.
She tucked her gun into the waistband of her pants and pulled the gaudy, silver cross from the glove box. It was a ridiculous thing, with rhinestones and a beaded chain.
Sheâd bought it on a whim while entertaining the notion Amber may have been telling the truth in her email. Couldnât hurt, she decided, and shoved it and an extra clip into her other back pocket.
The car door opened quietly, and she moved stealthily toward the house. Her plan was simple. Just peek into the windows for any sign of Amber. If that yielded no results, sheâd ring the doorbell and start demanding answers.
Maybe not the smartest way to go, but she wasnât leaving without finding out what happened to her sister. One way or another, this ended today.
Her senses seemed heightened as she neared the edge of the property. Somehow, every twig and rustling leaf was loud, and the crunching of her own footfalls seemed to echo. Her mouth was dry, and her palms were sweating, but she plowed on with sheer, stubborn determination.
A willow tree offered additional cover right before the driveway, and she took advantage of it. The low-hanging vines gave her a chance to scan the windows and the driveway for activity before she darted across to the back of the house.
Pressed up against the old wood, she peeked into the nearest window and almost giggled at the idea of someone seeing her creeping around like a peeping Tom.
There was little to see in the room. It was mostly empty, with just a few pieces of cheap furniture that looked ready for the garbage. The next two rooms were similar, with one set up as a bedroom and the next some sort of office.
Dreading that she was out of windows at the rear of the house, she pressed her back against the siding and stuck her head around the corner. Still no one in sight. Staying as low as she could, she crouched and made her way around the corner to the next window.
A sound came from the room and nearly made her heart stop. It wasnât empty as the others had been. Someone was in there. She remained beneath the window, listening. There were no voices or footfalls, just the one lone sound that came again and again.
After a while, she decided the sound was distinctly female, but she couldnât tell anything else. Braving a look, she slowly raised onto her tiptoes and peered into the room.
On the bed in the corner lay a dark-haired woman. Between the shadows and the blankets, though, it was impossible to tell if it was Amber.
Emily tapped softly on the glass, trying to get her attention without alerting anyone else to her presence. It was no use.
The strange sound was coming from her, and closer to the glass, it sounded like whimpers. If that was Amber, there was something very wrong with her.
Metal screeching against metal broke into her thoughts, and Emily started and dropped back to the ground.
She essentially crawled around the edge of the house to find the door to the metal shed screeching open.
She watched as the lights flicked on inside, and the sound of someone tinkering could be heard.
Emily let out a deep, relieved breath and glanced around again. To her left was the porch and the door to the house. She stared at it for a moment, then looked toward the shed again. Did she dare?
Hell, yes, she dared.
Without ever taking her eyes off the shed, she inched toward the door and into the house. It was a sorry little shack with old paneling and ratty carpeting.
She made her way quickly to the bedroom and eased the door open. With two quick strides, she was at the side of the bed.
âAmber?â she whispered, reaching a hand toward the figure. No response except another whimpering moan that sounded far too deep.
Emily slowly pulled the blanket down and gasped in horror at the sight that met her eyes. She took a step away from the bed and bumped into something large behind her.
It didnât process what sheâd hit until a rough hand clamped around her mouth, and she was lifted off her feet.
