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m at Winsloe, denounce his "tracking exercise" for what it was. A game. Another juvenile game choreographed right down to leaping on Armen after the poor man was paralyzed by the sound of gunfire. You trying to impress me, Tyrone? Oh, I'm impressed. I'd never seen such a pathetic performance.
"There," I said, barely able to unhinge my jaw enough to force words out. "You have him. Good job. Can we go now?"
Everyone ignored me. Winsloe had Armen spread-eagled on the ground and was patting him down looking for weapons. Jolliffe sat in the shadows, as if too stunned to move. Ryman walked over and extended a hand, helping his partner to his feet.
"What happened here?" Winsloe said.
"He had a weapon, sir," Jolliffe said. "He forced me from the cell, took my gun, and made me open the doors, then dragged me into the woods. He tried to kill me. I escaped a ways back, followed, and caught up to him here."
At which time you held him until we arrived, I thought. After having probably been in radio contact with Winsloe since you escaped from Armen.
"He was hiding in those bushes," the guard said, continuing his story. "He shot at me. I disarmed him and we fought, then you showed up."
"Wh--what?" Armen said, struggling to lift his head from the ground. "I didn't--you came to my cell. You brought me out here. You--"
Winsloe slammed Armen's face back into the dirt. Again, it took every ounce of restraint not to fly at him. Then the impulse vanished and I couldn't move if I'd wanted to. My legs turned to cold lead as I saw the look on Armen's face, the confusion and disbelief beneath a layer of blood and bruises. Jolliffe said something. My gaze swiveled to him. I saw his face, really saw it, and recognized it, as I'd earlier recognized Ryman. Watching them together, I knew where I'd seen them. At the hunt. The two nameless men with Pendecki and Bryce the night we'd hunted Patrick Lake. That wasn't the last time I'd seen them, either. They'd been the two who'd accompanied me into the shower with Winsloe. His pet guards. Handpicked for another special mission.
Armen hadn't escaped. It made no sense. Armen was a thinking man, not the sort who'd take such a risk on a sudden impulse. He wouldn't know how to fashion a makeshift prison weapon. And he certainly wouldn't attack two armed guards, each twice his size. No, he hadn't escaped. He'd been brought here. Beaten and dragged into the forest. For what? To play a role in Winsloe's latest game? Winsloe wanted me to track someone, so he'd gone to the cell block, chosen a target, and enlisted his pet guards to help build the scenario. Was it worth it, you sick bastard? Did you get your rocks off this time?
"Can we go now?" I asked again, raising my voice to be heard over their conversation. "We have him. We should head back."
Winsloe shifted so he was sitting sideways atop Armen, leaning back like he was in a comfortable chair. "Can't do that, Elena. Wish we could, but we can't. We aren't done yet."
He glanced at Ryman and Jolliffe. The two guards grinned back, and my gut turned to ice.
"We can't have prisoners escaping, can we, boys? Escaping their cells, then escaping punishment. No siree. We have to set a standard. No one escapes my compound and lives."
I struggled for breath. "But--but I thought Haig was an important subject. Doctor Matasumi said--"
"Larry will understand. A prisoner escapes, we hunt him down, we try to bring him back alive, but ... well, things happen. Capturing a prisoner is a delicate matter. So much could go wrong, and of course, we can't risk letting anyone get away and put the project at risk."
I could not let this happen. I'd felt sick enough over hunting Patrick Lake, and he'd been a vicious killer. Armen Haig was no monster. He was a decent man, an innocent in a world where most of us, myself included, had forfeited our innocence when we became something other than human. The monsters here were the three with no excuses for their behavior.
What did Winsloe see when he looked at Armen, at me, at Patrick Lake, at the guard he'd killed, or anyone else who inhabited his world? Did he see people, conscious beings? Or did he see cardboard cutouts, actors, characters in some grand game designed for his amusement?
"You can't kill him," I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible.
Winsloe stretched his legs, settling his weight onto Armen. "You're right. I can't. Well, I could, but I won't."
"Good. Now can we--"
"I'm not killing him. You are."
CHAPTER 30
SACRIFICE
I stopped short, words jamming in my throat. "I--I--" "That's right. You're killing him. You're going to Change into a wolf and hunt him." Winsloe stood and put a foot on Armen's back. "Is that a problem, Elena?"
For one brief second, I was certain Winsloe knew about my collaboration with Armen, that this was his way of foiling our plans, killing my ally, and letting me know that he knew, but I quickly realized that Winsloe couldn't know. Armen had been too shrewd, had kept our discussions well disguised. We hadn't progressed far enough in our plans for even the most quick-witted listener to realize what we were plotting. If someone had been listening, he would have only heard two people carrying on a conversation. With an icy jolt, I wondered if that had been enough. Had Winsloe overheard me with Armen and detected a blossoming friendship? Did that explain why he'd chosen Armen from all the other captives, risking Matasumi's displeasure? Why not take Leah or, better yet, Curtis Zaid, the useless Vodoun priest? Because it wouldn't hurt me enough. It wouldn't be sadistic enough.
Winsloe stepped closer. "I said, is that a problem, Elena?"
"Yes, it's a goddamned problem," I snarled. "I will not kill a man for your amuse--"
I reeled back. Felt the imprint of his hand burning my cheek. Stumbled. Recovered. Spun around, fist barreling toward his jaw. A bullet seared my side. Threw me off-balance, half impact, half surprise. Grabbed a tree. Broke my fall. Stood there, facing the trunk, chest heaving, a serpent of rage whipping through my body. I gripped the tree hard enough to puncture bark holes in my palms. Closed my eyes. Inhaled. Fought for control. Found it. Took deep breaths and stepped back. I dropped my fingers to my side and felt the wound. Straight through, nicking a rib and nothing more.
"One more time, Elena," Winsloe said, walking up behind me. "Is that a problem?"
