Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset

by Dee Bridgnorth

  “Hey.” A deep voice just over her shoulder. For a split second, she tensed, thinking it was Jace. It sounded like him. A hundred ugly, embarrassing scenarios ran through her mind in less than the time it took to blink an eye. Her blood turned to ice. Her stomach clenched hard enough that she almost lost what little she’d drunk by then.

  An upward glance told her it wasn’t him. This guy couldn’t have been any further from Jace if he tried. Tall, sure, but with more of a runner’s build. Jace had to be a bodybuilder—though when he had time to lift when he was guarding clients was a mystery.

  Maybe that was one of the things he had to do while they were apart.

  The stranger had blue eyes that danced and shone even in dim light. He wanted to have fun. Hmm. Maybe this would turn out well.

  “Hi,” she grinned, gesturing to the seat next to hers. “What’s your name?”

  “Mason. What’s yours?”

  “Krista.” It came out before she could think about it, sliding out of her mouth like water. By the time she realized what she’d said, it was too late. Rather than correct herself and scare him off, she held out a hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

  He took her hand in his. It was big, callused. Hmm. So far, he was doing all right.

  He leaned in close enough that she could smell his cologne and the faint hint of perspiration. It wasn’t an unpleasant combination. In fact, it was one she’d always enjoyed.

  “You here alone?” he asked, speaking right into her ear so she could hear him.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “I’m supposed to meet a few friends, but I’d rather spend time with you if that’s okay?” He leaned back a little so he could look at her, and when she nodded, he flashed a sexy smile.

  “Buy you another?” he asked upon settling into his seat.

  “Oh, no. Thanks. This is my limit.” She shrugged. “Driving. You know.”

  “Oh, come on. Just one more? It’s not gonna hurt anything. Besides, it’s not like you’re driving right away. And you can always dance it off, right?” He winked and smiled again.

  She didn’t actually have to drink the thing, after all. If he wanted to waste his money, that was his business. “Okay,” she shrugged. “Vodka tonic and water to go with it.”

  “No problem.” He signaled to the bartender while she sized him up more fully. Thick, wavy brown hair. She could imagine digging her hands into it already. Firm thighs, muscular shoulders. Not bad.

  Though not as good as Jace.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

  She looked out over the floor, trying to distract herself from the comparisons going on in her head. Even when he wasn’t with her, he was on her mind. It wasn’t fair.

  “So what do you do?” Mason asked, leaning in again.

  “Hmm? Oh!” She’d turned her head to look his way again without realizing how close he’d leaned. They almost collided. “Sorry! What was the question?”

  He chuckled. Okay, he had a good sense of humor. This was looking very good. “What do you do for a living?”

  “I’m a dancer.”

  “Really? I can’t wait to see you work on the floor then.” He looked her up and down in a way that made her body flush all over. Not that she was a stranger to being looked at that way—she’d sort of expected it, wearing this dress—but the way he did it so openly was a new twist.

  She didn’t hate it.

  “What about you?” she asked, swirling the ice in her first drink. The second hadn’t come yet. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too disappointed when he discovered she had no intention of getting drunk.

  “I work at my uncle’s firm. Investments.” He rolled his eyes. “Boring.”

  “Why do you do it?” she ventured.

  “The money’s good.” He shrugged. “I mean, you’ve gotta make money in this city if you’re gonna survive.” What would he think if he knew about her trust fund?

  Why did that make her think of Jace again?

  She looked out over the floor just like she had before, chewing her lip. What was with her? He was nowhere nearby. She didn’t know where his office was, but it wasn’t in that club at that exact moment. So what was the problem? Why couldn’t she get him off her mind?

  When she turned back to Mason, her mouth open and a boring, polite question ready to pour out, she saw something that made her jaw slam shut instead.

  His hand passed over her glass—the one he’d just ordered, the one the bartender had just placed in front of her.

  She hadn’t imagined it. It definitely happened. And there he was, sipping scotch or something. Mr. Innocent.

  Her head spun. She’d heard of girls getting drugged. Who hadn’t? It was a reminder her father and mother and Sally and a dozen other people had given her over the years. Never leave your drink unattended. Never let anybody else bring you a drink, at least not if they weren’t already a trusted friend.

  Yet here she was. She might’ve been at this dickhead’s mercy if she hadn’t turned around just in time.

  Something roared inside her, something she rarely experienced, like another presence deep down in her heart. A presence she did everything she could to hold back, to keep under control. A presence she only ever managed to revel in while working out, while practicing self-defense classes and kickboxing.

  There was more to life than yoga.

  When their eyes met again, she smiled. No sense giving herself away too soon. “Hey, can I add my number to your phone?” she asked, grinning. “In case we get separated or something?”

  “Sure.” The idiot never thought twice. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and typed in the code to unlock it—a code which she made a point of committing to memory before he handed it over.

  “Thanks.” She opened the phone app, only instead of adding a new entry, she scrolled through. “Hmm. Mom. That’s your mother, I’d assume?”

  “Um, yeah. I mean. Who else would it be?” His laughter was warm and rich.

  “Cool, cool. Babe. Who’s that?” She met his gaze. “A girlfriend? Do you have a girlfriend, Mason?”

  The light left his eyes. “No. What’s your deal?” He reached for the phone.

  She pulled her hand away while relying on his distraction to allow her free hand to cup his balls. “My deal?” she asked, and all flirtation left her voice as quickly and completely as if she’d flipped off the lights in a bright room. It was now flat. Deadly.

  “Hey!” He tried to squirm away.

  Her grip tightened. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “Here’s what’s gonna happen, Mason.” She leaned in close, the way he’d done to her, her hand tightening a little bit at a time with each quick, hitching breath he took. “I’m gonna keep your phone. It belongs to me now because I saw what you did, you asshole.”

  “Wh—what?” he gasped. “Get off me!”

  “Nope.” Her grip tightened further. “Don’t think so. I’m not finished talking. Understand?” She twisted a little to drive her point home.

  He whimpered. “What do you want?”

  “I want you to never, ever do this to another woman ever again. I lied when I said I was a dancer. What I am is somebody who with a single phone call could bring twenty Secret Service agents into this club. Do you doubt me?” Another twist.

  “No!” he gasped. “Please, just let me go.”

  “I can get your address from this phone, Mason. The address of your company. Your girlfriend’s address. On and on. I can have a detail on you so fast, you won’t know what to do with yourself. You won’t be able to leave the house, go to work, go to the men’s room, anything without somebody knowing exactly what you’re doing and where you are. Do you doubt me?”

  “No!”

  “Good. And if I ever, ever find out you’ve dropped another drug into another woman’s drink, I will call your mother so fast. Your girlfriend. Your uncle. Everybody you work with. And then, I’ll call the cops. The FBI. Your head will spin. You’ll wish I’d killed
you right here and now by the time I’m finished. You hear what I’m saying, Mason?” By now, she was hissing like a snake. She’d never felt so powerful.

  This was what she’d needed, even if she hadn’t known it until this very minute—the chance to let somebody know she wasn’t weak. She wasn’t defenseless or stupid or naïve. She could handle herself and bring a little pain to somebody who deserved it.

  “Yeah! Yeah, okay, okay. I only ever did it this once.”

  “Don’t hand me that pathetic lie.” One final twist, one more squeeze, and she released him. He was out of breath, panting like he’d just run a mile, and sweat rolled down his face and neck. He might’ve been crying, but she wasn’t completely sure. “Now get the hell out of here before I make good on my word and start making phone calls.”

  Just before he got away, she caught him by the back of his shirt collar. It was soaked with sweat. “I might start making them tonight if I feel like it. You got me?”

  “Yeah!” He might’ve said something about a psycho, but she was willing to let it go so long as he left. She watched him the entire way out, staring at the back of his head until he walked outside.

  Which was when she let out a long sigh. That felt good. She was powerful, in control of her life. “Get rid of this,” she called out to the bartender. “I think he slipped something into it.”

  “I have his credit card on file,” the bartender muttered, disgusted.

  “Yeah, well, I have his phone and the access code.” Just to be on the safe side—in case he found a way to brick the thing after the fact—she entered his mom’s number along with a few others into her phone.

  She was powerful. Invincible. Let somebody try something on her. They’d find out they’d messed with the wrong person, just like Mason had. She imagined what he must be doing with himself, and the thought made her smile as she finished her original drink.

  The only thing she could do to ease the rush of adrenaline was dance. Picking up her purse—now with two phones—she worked her way onto the floor. Nobody out there had any idea who she was or what had just gone down.

  She started to dance, to feel the music flowing through her body. No matter how yoga centered her, it was nothing compared to the way dancing made her feel. She was connected to her body, fully present, feeling each muscle moving as she found her rhythm.

  The music and the movement could help her forget. She needed to forget in that sea of bodies, lights from a dozen different places up in the corners shining over them in a mix of blues and purples and reds. She was just one of them, nobody special.

  Spinning, she looked up to the balcony which spanned three sides of the dance floor and found herself being watched by a familiar pair of dark, knowing eyes.

  Chapter Twelve

  What kind of game did she think she was playing?

  The red wig was a nice touch. He had to give her that. It reminded him of Kool-Aid, which made him think of summer days when he’d save up enough change to buy a packet from the corner store.

  There was no sweet reminiscing going on in his head as he watched her dance, however. Quite the opposite. He wasn’t feeling sweet or particularly sentimental just then.

  What did she think she was doing, dancing alone in the middle of a crowded dance floor where anybody could get to her? Red wig or not, she could’ve been followed the way he’d followed her.

  Their eyes met. Her face contorted for just a moment, her mouth twisting in a defiant sneer. The energy coming from her was palpable, tangible, enough to stand the hair on his arms straight up. She was fierce. She was deadly. Powerful.

  And she knew it. Whether it was the dancing that did it to her or something else, maybe the drink she’d probably enjoyed by now, he didn’t know. Or maybe it was the sense that she’d pulled something off, that she’d fooled the people tasked with keeping an eye on her.

  She thought she was so clever, didn’t she? Climbing out her window, shimmying down the trellis. It was the only way he could imagine her doing it—he’d already staked out the entire property and made a list of the methods she could use to sneak out.

  If only Zane had paid attention.

  It didn’t matter, thanks to the tracker on her car. She thought she was so much smarter than everyone around her, the little brat.

  He smiled, staring down at her from the balcony. She stood out like an exclamation point, even in the middle of so many writhing bodies. It was the wig and the dress—a scrap of fabric that barely covered what it was meant to cover.

  And it was her. He would’ve known her anywhere, no matter how she tried to disguise herself.

  The song changed, the beat slowing. A driving, thumping beat, resonated up from the floor, through his boots, up his legs.

  Her mouth tipped upward at one corner.

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  And she started to move.

  His wolf howled over the music, howled so loud Jace was sure somebody around him had to hear it. It howled at the sight of her hips swinging, her ass dipping when she turned to give him a better look. Every move made the hem of that ridiculous dress pick up a little, offering a peek at what he knew from sitting in on her yoga class was a truly magnificent sight.

  His mouth went dry, leaving him licking his lips and practically panting at the sight of her down there. He could easily have vaulted over the railing and landed on the dance floor without even pulling a muscle, and he imagined himself doing just that: landing behind her, taking her in his arms, and crushing her supple body against his unyielding one.

  Grinding against her, the two of them moving as one.

  Biting her, mingling his blood with hers, completing the ritual.

  The image stood out in his mind, crystal clear and almost frightening in its power. He’d never thought anything like that before—mainly because he’d never had a reason to. He couldn’t explain it, had no idea where it came from, the thought of mating with her, of making her his forever. Binding them. Binding her to him.

  The howling filled his head again. He was rock hard and grateful for the dark balcony’s concealment. Every one of his senses sharpened, honed to a fine point, and all of them focused on that curvaceous body down below.

  She was lost in the music now but keenly aware she was putting on a show for his benefit. He would’ve staked his life on it. Her eyes were closed when she swung around again, obscenely red hair swinging around her face in a cloud. Her arms were crossed over her body, and she allowed them to push her breasts together and up like she was offering them to him.

  He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in them, to tear that scrap of silver fabric from her and make her claw his back while screaming his name. He gripped the metal railing, his hands tightening around it until it bent slightly.

  And the unwelcome sight of a guy in a polo shirt sliding up behind Kara didn’t help Jace loosen his grip.

  His wolf was no longer howling in his head.

  It was snarling.

  He saw red, smelled blood, wanted nothing more than to taste it on his tongue, to feel its warmth sliding over his lips and down his throat. Not just any blood. The blood of the guy who now had an arm around Kara’s waist. It didn’t take a genius to know the stranger was grinding himself against her.

  And she didn’t appreciate it.

  That was all it took. In a flash, Jace made his way through the crowd and hurled himself down the stairs in spite of club-goers trying to make their way up. He barely heard their exclamations, their curses. What did it matter?

  What mattered was that silver dress, that red wig drawing him to it like a beacon. He followed it, elbowing his way across the floor, hardly noticing the way people parted in front of him like they felt his raw energy and backed away from it, knowing it would be a mistake to get in his way.

  “Get off!” Kara was shouting, though her voice was lost in the music. “I said get the hell off me!” She landed an elbow against the guy’s ribs, but he was either too drunk or high or both to notic
e or care.

  “Hey.” He didn’t bother taking it easy when he grabbed the guy’s shoulder and spun him in place. “She told you to get away from her.”

  Yes, this guy was under the influence of something or other. His eyes took a moment to focus, and he was unsteady on his feet, but that didn’t stop him from facing off with Jace like he had a chance in hell of walking away from a fight under his own power.

  “And who’re you?” he slurred. “Her father?”

  “No. I’m a friend, and you’re not wanted here.” He made a move toward Kara, intending to place himself between her and the idiot who still thought he’d stand a chance in a fistfight with a Navy SEAL who also happened to be a wolf shifter.

  “Get off her!” the drunken idiot shouted. He then made the mistake of grabbing Kara’s wrist, making her yelp in pain.

  A single blow to the chin. That was all it took.

  And then it took every ounce of Jace’s self-control not to keep punching, even when the stranger dropped like a sack of potatoes.

  Only then did a bouncer work his way over to them, looking stormy, like he was ready to throw everybody out. Kara was too quick for that. “He was harassing me, and he grabbed me,” she shouted. “My friend was only trying to protect me.”

  “I warned him,” Jace shrugged.

  The bouncer gave him an appraising look. “Musta been pretty messed up if he didn’t take one look at you and run with his tail between his legs.” To Jace’s surprise, the guy then offered a fist to bump before picking the unconscious guy up from the floor and practically carrying him to the door.

  “You okay?” he asked, turning to look down at her.

  She was staring up at him, her mouth slightly open. “Yeah. Fine. Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it.” They were inches apart, just like they’d been beside the truck earlier. Only this wasn’t the same, not even close. They were both overheated now, in the middle of a packed club where no one knew who they were.

  No one but the person standing in front of them, looking into their eyes.

  Before he knew what he was doing, one arm shot out and snaked around her waist. She let out a soft gasp as he pulled her to him in one short, decisive movement. Her body pressed against his, warm and sweating and ready. The scent of her arousal mixed with so many others, leaving him helpless.