He spared her the briefest look over his shoulder and closed his trunk. “The clinic is now closed, I’m afraid.” He turned to face them. “You need to—” His eyes widened as they focused on Jolene, and his entire body went stock-still. He gave a whole new meaning to the term “deer in the headlights.”
“Ah, I see that I don’t need to introduce myself,” said Jolene. “That’s good, and it will save us some time. We have a few questions for you, Dr. Sheridan. It’s in your best interest to answer them honestly.”
“Q-questions about what?” he stammered, skimming his frantic gaze along each of them. A cold fear flashed across his face when that gaze landed on Tanner. But it didn’t show even the smallest flash of recognition when it slid to Devon. Apparently, the guy was going to play dumb.
“Let’s start with your interest in Devon Clarke,” Jolene proposed.
“Devon Clarke?” Sheridan gave a quick shake of the head. “I’ve never heard of her.”
Jolene sighed. “There’s little point in feeding us lies. Maddox Quentin told us of his dealings with you.”
Sheridan’s head jerked back. “I’ve never spoken to Maddox Quentin. I go to his club a lot, I know who he is—most people do. But I’ve never officially met him, let alone had a conversation with him.”
“That’s not what he said.”
“Well, then, he lied.”
Jolene lifted a brow. “You didn’t hire him to compile a dossier on Devon for you?”
“No!” Sheridan denied, his voice bordering on hysterical.
“You hadn’t considered her as a potential female to breed with?”
“No! I have a mate, for God’s sake!”
“Then why did you want that intel?” asked Devon, speaking for the first time. She’d agreed in advance to let Jolene take the lead on this one, but it was hard to stay quiet. She’d come there prepared to rip the guy a brand-new ass hole unless he could prove he hadn’t been behind her kidnapping. As she stared at the male, she felt a niggle of doubt slither through her mind. He was either telling the truth or he was an exceptionally talented liar.
“That’s a question I think you should answer,” Tanner told him, taking a single step toward him.
Eyes flickering, Sheridan backed into his vehicle and licked his lips nervously. “Look, whatever Maddox Quentin told you … he was lying.”
Devon gave him a bored look. “Really?”
“Yes,” insisted Sheridan. “I’m telling you, I never tried making any deals with him.”
“Then just why would he name you?” Devon challenged.
“I don’t know! I do know I didn’t hire him at any point for any-fucking-thing.” Sheridan shook his head, swallowing hard. “I swear, I had nothing to do with whatever this is.”
Tanner lunged at him and fisted his shirt. “You thought you could use Devon to have Asa freed,” he accused.
Sheridan spluttered. “I don’t even know an Asa! I don’t! Swear to God, I had nothing to do with any of this! N-noth …”
Devon frowned as his voice faltered and faded away. His face slackened, and a strange glaze fell over his eyes, making them look almost dead—he was staring right at her, but she knew he wasn’t seeing her at all. He wasn’t seeing anything. But he wasn’t dead. No, she could hear his heart beating steadily in his chest. Yet, there was nobody home right then.
Tanner eased back slightly but didn’t release Sheridan. “Did one of you brain-fuck him?”
Ciaran and Devon shook their heads.
“I had thought about it.” Jolene waved a hand in front of Sheridan’s face. Nothing. He gave no response whatsoever.
Tanner gripped the guy’s jaw and studied his eyes. “It’s almost like he’s—”
Sheridan abruptly sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly as he seemed to … burst to life—it was hard to describe. His eyes then homed in on Tanner. Sharpened with intelligence. Those eyes no longer glimmered with fear. No, there was sheer arrogance there. Superiority. “Ah, Thorne’s hellhound.”
Devon’s feline hissed, unnerved by what was playing out before it. That was Sheridan’s voice, though steadier and pitched lower. But she knew it wasn’t Sheridan who was speaking right then. No, someone was speaking through him.
“I’m impressed that you made the connections that led you to Sheridan,” it told Tanner. “But you really should back away from this matter. It doesn’t concern you.”
Tanner’s grip on the shirt tightened. “It concerns me, you son of a bitch.”
“I should probably warn you that hurting this body will not hurt me.”
“Who are you?” demanded Jolene.
Arrogant eyes swung her way. “That’s not important, Miss Wallis. What’s important … is standing right there beside you.” His gaze cut to Devon, and those eyes smiled at her in a way that chilled her blood. “You and I will meet soon enough, hellcat.” Then Sheridan’s eyes rolled back into his head and his body shook violently.
“He’s seizing.” Tanner lowered the male to the floor, who quickly began foaming at the mouth. “Shit, do we—” And then the shaking stopped, and Sheridan’s lifeless eyes stared off into the distance.
Ciaran felt for his pulse, but Devon already knew the guy was dead—she’d heard his heartbeat stutter to a halt.
Breathing hard, Ciaran jumped to his feet with a curse. “Well, what the fuck was that?”
*
For the second time in the space of a few days, Devon found herself sitting at Jolene’s kitchen island with Tanner and some of her lair members. All were in a deep debate about—to put it simply—what the fuck was happening.
Her feline was pissed. It hated that there was an ongoing threat to Devon, and it absolutely loathed that it couldn’t eradicate said threat until it discovered just who and where it was.
Adam sat one side of her, massaging her back. Tanner sat at her other side, his large hand splayed on her thigh. And neither seemed to like that the other was touching her. She’d shrugged them both off several times but, like herpes, they just kept coming back.
It wasn’t Beck who’d called Adam this time, it was Devon. Because she knew that Hunter’s sister had the ability to speak through others, so if anyone could help them understand how the ability worked, it was Hunter. Tanner had been firing questions at the guy for the past twenty minutes.
Looking somewhat frazzled, Hunter rubbed at his temple. “I know I’m not doing the best job of explaining the mechanics of the ability, but it really is hard to describe. To speak through someone, you basically need to insert yourself firmly into their mind.”
“But you said your sister doesn’t leave her physical body,” said Tanner.
“She said it’s a little like putting shoes on over socks.”
“I’m assuming that, in this metaphor, the shoes represent the other person’s mind.”
“Yes, and the socks represent her body. She slips into another mind while still wearing her body, but her consciousness is divided. Shit, that’s not making things much clearer, is it?”