© 2016 By Radclyffe. All Rights Reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-646-3

This Electronic Book is published by

Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 249

Valley Falls, New York 12185

First Edition: March 2016

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

Credits

Editors: Ruth Sternglantz and Stacia Seaman

Production Design: Stacia Seaman

Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

By Radclyffe

Romances

Innocent Hearts

Promising Hearts

Love’s Melody Lost

Love’s Tender Warriors

Tomorrow’s Promise

Love’s Masquerade

shadowland

Passion’s Bright Fury

Fated Love

Turn Back Time

When Dreams Tremble

The Lonely Hearts Club

Night Call

Secrets in the Stone

Desire by Starlight

Crossroads

Homestead

Against Doctor’s Orders

Prescription for Love



Honor Series

Above All, Honor

Honor Bound

Love & Honor

Honor Guards

Honor Reclaimed

Honor Under Siege

Word of Honor

Code of Honor

Price of Honor



Justice Series

A Matter of Trust (prequel)

Shield of Justice

In Pursuit of Justice

Justice in the Shadows

Justice Served

Justice For All



The Provincetown Tales

Safe Harbor

Beyond the Breakwater

Distant Shores, Silent Thunder

Storms of Change

Winds of Fortune

Returning Tides

Sheltering Dunes



First Responders Novels

Trauma Alert

Firestorm

Oath of Honor

Taking Fire

Wild Shores



Short Fiction

Collected Stories by Radclyffe

Erotic Interludes: Change of Pace

Radical Encounters

Edited by Radclyffe:

Best Lesbian Romance 2009-2014

Stacia Seaman and Radclyffe, eds.

Erotic Interludes 2: Stolen Moments

Erotic Interludes 3: Lessons in Love

Erotic Interludes 4: Extreme Passions

Erotic Interludes 5: Road Games

Romantic Interludes 1: Discovery

Romantic Interludes 2: Secrets

Breathless: Tales of Celebration

Women of the Dark Streets

Amore and More: Love Everafter

Myth & Magic: Queer Fairy Tales



By L.L. Raand



Midnight Hunters

The Midnight Hunt

Blood Hunt

Night Hunt

The Lone Hunt

The Magic Hunt

Shadow Hunt

Acknowledgments

When I was small, I wanted to be a cowboy, or an astronaut, or a doctor on horseback. I wasn’t drawn so much to adventure as I was to the idea of getting away to a place where life was what you made it—I never minded being alone, and a few good friends were enough for me when I needed company. I learned to love the “wilds” at an early age, camping every summer with my parents in the Adirondacks in an untamed stretch of mountains before the state park system discovered it. That meant no water except what came from one hand pump carried a bucket at a time down a dirt road, no showers, no toilets (flush or non), and no rules or regulations. The same ten families or so returned every summer to this uncivilized spot on the shores of a chain of lakes to spend a few weeks with nothing to do but fish, read, explore, and escape. This place was a sanctuary all on its own—for the people as well as the wildlife. As I wrote this book, I thought of Putts Pond and how little I appreciated the specialness of the experience at the time, and am ever grateful to my parents for their idea of the perfect vacation. So this one is for them.

Many thanks also go to: senior editor Sandy Lowe for keeping the show running while I write, editor Ruth Sternglantz for keeping an eye on the work as I go, editor Stacia Seaman for finding all the things I missed, Sheri Halal for a super cover, and my first readers Paula, Eva, and Connie for encouragement and inspiration.

And as always, thanks to Lee for every new adventure. Amo te.

Radclyffe, 2016


To Lee, for making life a surprise

Chapter One

Austin was right in the middle of scripting a fight scene between Charos, the demon overlord, and Ciri, the Guild Hunter, when her cell phone vibrated. Wincing, she pulled her attention from the storyboard to check the number, already calculating outcomes. Depending on an assortment of variables, a phone call from Private Number at three a.m. had the potential to shoot the rest of her night and probably the next day all to hell. If she was unlucky, and if she took the call.

Between the third and fourth rings, Austin mentally factored in the likelihood there was a family emergency—low probability, no one in her family blocked their personal numbers, and if her parents or brother were in trouble, one of the others would call—versus an automated or highly motivated human solicitor for lowered credit card rates or zero-interest car loans—a slightly higher possibility, safely ignored—against a callout from the company. While the last would not be unusual, seeing as how disasters invariably happened in the wee hours, she’d just gotten back in-country after handling a high-profile personal injury suit in Malaysia and hadn’t even scheduled the after-action report meeting yet. She couldn’t be that unlucky.

She let the call go to voice mail and inserted a text bubble next to Charos’s sneering, horned head.

Today is the day you die, Guild Hunter.

I’ve heard that before.

She sketched Ciri’s smirking face in profile, the sheathed sword with its magically bejeweled pommel extending from the leather scabbard between her shoulder blades, her signature braid flowing over her shoulder. Red eyes for Charos, along with thin black lips, a scale-covered snout-like face, and curved protruding canines completed the panel.

Her cell danced on the drafting table again and she caught it with her free hand before it toppled to the rough plank floor.

“Germaine,” she said, carefully keeping her irritation from her tone as she penciled out the next sequence.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor,” Eloise’s cultured tones announced.

“You know by now,” Austin said for perhaps the hundredth time, “you can skip the honorific. A doctorate in engineering might make me capable of changing the oil in my car, if I really wanted to, but beyond that, my therapeutic skills are limited.”

“I’m quite sure I’ve heard you referred to as a miracle worker.” Eloise laughed, her melodic voice belying her analytical mind and death-defying efficiency. “I’m afraid we might have a situation that needs your very particular attention.”

Of course she did. There’d be no other reason for the VP of Operations of the U.S. division of General Oil and Petroleum to be calling personally at any time of the day or night. Austin set her drafting pencil aside, pushed her wheeled stool back from the table, and pivoted away, staring across her cabin to the dark windows that looked out over the Hudson. “How much of an issue? I’ve only been back in the country a few days, and I was hoping to go off the grid for a bit.”

She didn’t add that she had a deadline in a few weeks for the first draft of the graphic novel she was adapting from a paranormal urban fantasy series. That part of her life was private and bore no relationship to what she did for GOP. Even her family didn’t know about her secret career, not that they’d put much stock in it. They’d far rather see her embroiled in a big burn or a high-profile media extravaganza with the potential for fireworks—no matter how metaphorical. Drawing and texting comics was something for teenagers.

“Rig 86 has a breach,” Eloise said coolly and without apology for derailing Austin’s plans, giving no indication of precisely how serious the situation might be.

Serious was a given. The company had land and offshore drilling sites throughout the world, and breaches were not uncommon. Usually they were small, confined, and repaired before anyone outside the company was really aware of the potential problem. If they were calling Austin, the company was worried.

“How large?” she asked.

“At the moment, a flow rate of only a few thousand barrels a day.”

Austin walked through the living room to her bedroom beyond, opened the closet door, and pulled out her go bag. “Chance for containment?”

“Uncertain at this time.”

She transferred shirts, pants, socks, and underwear from the rough oak dresser against one wall into the bag. Her toiletries and work boots were already loaded. Anything else she needed, she’d buy wherever she was going. Her wallet was on the dresser and she slid it into her back pocket. “Escalation potential?”

“Moderate at this point.”

“Where is it?”

“About fifty miles from the Maryland shore.”

“Damn.” Why didn’t these spills happen in unpopulated areas far from TV cameras, fishing waters, and beaches?

“Your flight has been scheduled to leave Albany at six,” Eloise went on as if they’d been discussing a board meeting. “You’ll transfer to a regional plane at BWI that will take you to Rock Hill Island. The present point of operations is at the Hilton nearest there.”

“Who’s the incident commander?”

“Ray Tatum. He’s aware you’ll be arriving.”

“How long do we have before we need to go public?”

“We’ll make that assessment when you arrive.”

“You have a marine meteorologist available?”

“We will have. She’s flying in from Philadelphia at about the same time you are.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch.”

“There is one other thing,” Eloise said in the same cool, even tone.

Austin tensed. Eloise was about to drop the hammer. “What would that be?”

“There’s a large wildlife refuge on Rock Hill Island and surrounds. It’s a well-known stopover for migratory birds and this is apparently the beginning of their nesting season. The area is a popular tourist destination.”

“Where is it relative to the rig?” Austin locked the cabin, tossed her bag in the back of the Jeep, and climbed in.

“The island is almost directly in line with our rig and presently represents the outermost point of contact should the spill progress toward land.”

“In other words, a PR nightmare.” And now she understood why she’d been called at such an early point. Eloise wouldn’t say it, but the company was counting on her to keep a lid on news of the breach. What she needed to do was plug the leak in terms of publicity, and if this wildlife refuge became threatened, to minimize the bad press.

“I’m sure you’ll handle it.”

“What do we know about this place and the people?” It was probably too much to hope they’d find someone sympathetic—environmentalists generally were opposed to any kind of drilling and, once an accident occurred, took full advantage of the situation to lobby against the whole industry.

“I’m afraid not very much,” Eloise said. “I have people working on that now, but you’ll probably never need to interface with them.”

Austin read between the lines. Make sure the environmentalists don’t get wind of the threat.

“Right.” Austin backed down the drive. “By the time I get there, the problem might already be solved.”

“Precisely.”

“Right.” Austin disconnected and drove toward the river, a black ribbon under the moon, quiet and still and deadly. Right.

❖

“We’ll be landing through a bit of a storm moving in from the south,” the pilot announced. “Might be a bit bumpy for a few minutes, so I’ll ask everyone to keep your seat belts on and close up your electronics at this time.”

Gem flagged the page in the latest population report she’d received from the Carolina Coastal Observatory, closed her iPad, and slid it into her computer bag under the seat in front of her. She’d known the storm was coming and had caught the earliest flight out of Hartford she could before the anticipated fog rolling in with the front grounded planes along the East Coast. She’d been lucky to get one of the last coach seats still open. She didn’t mind stormy weather—in fact, she often stood on the shore waiting for a front to roll in just to watch the beauty of the clouds roiling in the sky, dark blues and purples swirling and dancing, as if an invisible artist mixed the colors on a wild palette in a frenzy of creation. She loved the way the wind buffeted her hair and plastered her clothes to her body, the stinging bite of the first needle-sharp raindrops bringing every sense and cell to life. The sea felt it too—cresting and crashing as to the call of the wind. While she was often the only human on the beach, life around her pushed on as if in a race with the storm to lay claim to the shore. Terns and gulls scurried along the edge of the frothing waves, plucking up the sea creatures that struggled valiantly against the battering push and pull of the tides.