Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset

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Wolf Shield Investigations: Boxset Page 83

by Dee Bridgnorth


  “I’m flattered.”

  “I’m sorry. Did anything I just said have anything to do with you, personally?” she sighed. He was too much—it would’ve been bad enough if she wasn’t exhausted and hungry. The fact that she was both of those things only made her situation that much worse.

  He pulled into the driveway and killed the engine before climbing out of the truck. Even now, she had to admit to herself that he moved with startling grace for someone his size. There was a fluidity to his motion, something sensual.

  Hardly the time to be thinking along those lines, but again, she was exhausted. She chalked her strange turn of thought up to that.

  He opened her door and leaned over her to unbuckle the seatbelt. She couldn’t escape the scent of him—he didn’t wear cologne, she noted, yet there was an alluring smell coming off his skin just the same. Musky, spicy, intriguing. For one wild moment, she imagined burying her face in his neck and inhaling deeply.

  Boy, did she need a good night’s sleep and a cold shower, for sure.

  He helped her out of the truck, large hands capably positioning her when she couldn’t do it herself. It wasn’t easy to do simple things like climbing out of the back of the truck when her hands were tied behind her back. Even now, he didn’t feel like he could trust her.

  Maybe he was right.

  At least she was wearing her own clothes again as they walked up to the front door. She felt more like herself now, stronger. More capable. And she would need every ounce of her strength and her ability if she was going to survive however long a stay this turned out to be.

  He opened the door, ushering her in with no fanfare. “Welcome home,” he snickered as he closed and locked the door behind them.

  Home. Lucky her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  He must’ve pissed somebody off in a former life.

  That was the only explanation for this, the only thing he could come up with as he wandered what little there was of the house. They would’ve gotten an alert at headquarters had anybody so much as tried to open a window while the house was otherwise empty, but still. There was nothing quite like the security of knowing he had checked things himself and found everything to be all right.

  And it was all right. Right down to the laptop which still sat, unopened, on the coffee table in the living room.

  “Well? I wasn’t going to take it with me,” she pointed out when he gaped at her. “It’s not mine.”

  Was she for real? Was this all just a scheme to get into his head? It had to be. “You must’ve known she would never come back for it.”

  “So? Whatever.”

  “Did you search the house for her?” He couldn’t help but ask as he performed his inspection, making her trail behind him from one room to the next with her wrists still bound. He wouldn’t let her out of his sight for anything, not when he was the only one charged with her care.

  “No, I knew she probably wasn’t here anymore. She’s not a stupid girl.” He chose not to inform her that Marnie hadn’t been alone at the time. It had been Kara who had the presence of mind to call Val and ask what she thought should be done.

  “No, she isn’t.” He tested the windows, the lights, all of it. Everything seemed to be in working order, untampered with. Only once he was absolutely sure could he breathe easier.

  Though she didn’t give him much of a chance to relax. “Can you please untie my wrists now?” she asked, plaintive as they walked to the kitchen. He had to get a hold on what sort of supplies they needed and how they could have food and such delivered without setting off suspicion.

  “Why should I? You’re still a flight risk,” he reminded her as he went through the cabinets, which were mostly empty save a few boxes. Crackers, cookies, cereal. All the things a growing boy or girl needed, he thought with a snicker.

  “Are you serious? Where would I go? How would I even get there?”

  “Don’t be cute,” he warned. “We both know you’d find a way. It’s what you do, right? You find a way. You find a way to get into someone’s home; you find a way to track someone.”

  “That’s true,” she acknowledged, nodding slowly. The worry lines between her eyes told him she wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but she didn’t trust him, that much was plain.

  Good.

  He turned to her after closing the last cabinet door. “You might—I don’t know—follow somebody from their office to a restaurant where all they want to do is have dinner with a friend.”

  She let out a long breath, something between a sigh and a groan like she had a feeling all along what he was getting at but was still disappointed that he’d gone there.

  “And maybe you wait outside the restaurant for them to finish up. After all, they had a really difficult week or two, with two of their colleagues dying in tragic accidents.” He clicked his tongue, shaking his head, reveling probably a little too much in her reaction.

  She looked at the floor, a waterfall of golden-red hair falling in front of her face.

  “And then, when they leave, you might follow them. You might trail them down the wooded road and start chasing them—driving right up on the back bumper, flashing your high beams, scaring the shit out of the driver, making her go faster and faster to try to outrun you, though you know there’s no use. She couldn’t outrun you, but you have to make her go faster anyway, so there’ll be a greater chance of her dying on impact.”

  “Stop it,” she whispered, her head still hanging low.

  “And then, finally, you might pull up beside her and start veering closer and closer, taunting her. Tormenting her. The poor girl was probably scared out of her mind, completely terrified by the maniac trying to run her off the road. And finally, you would succeed. And you would drive off while that poor, innocent girl runs off the road and crashes into a tree and dies on impact, just like you planned. That would be so skillful of you, wouldn’t it? And you could rest easy that night in your little house or apartment or whatever—I don’t give a damn where somebody like you lives—while that dead girl lies on a slab in the morgue. Somebody who never hurt anyone in her whole life. Somebody you didn’t even know. But if you had known her, she probably would’ve shown you a lot more compassion than you ever showed her.”

  He was almost breathless by the time it was over, trembling from the effort of keeping himself away. Of not tearing her heart out and letting her watch it beat its last before she closed her eyes forever.

  Because no matter how many times he reminded himself she’d only been doing a job, performing her duty because that was what she did—what people like them did—he couldn’t help but imagine her being satisfied with herself when she did it. A job well done. Efficient, like they’d said before.

  “Congratulations,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Was it his imagination, or was she crying? The trembling of her shoulders told him she might be, but her face was still hidden by a thick wall of hair.

  “For what?” he sneered.

  “For finally breaking me down, then kicking me while I was there. Great job.” Her weeping was audible now and heartbroken. For a second, he wondered whether she was for real or not. Did it really hurt her to think back on what she’d done, or was this all for show?

  Well, she’d done what she could to protect Marnie. The fact that she hadn’t even taken the laptop meant something, though he still wasn’t sure exactly what. If she’d only been interested in finding information Marnie had, she could’ve taken the thing from the beginning rather than placing a device on it.

  And when the device had gone into use, she could’ve called her contacts to give them the heads up. If any of them had shown up, they most certainly would’ve taken the computer with them. Unless that was a decoy laptop on the coffee table, that hadn’t been the case.

  He decided to believe her, at least when it came to that. Believing her meant she still had a human bone left in her body. There was still a conscience there, a sense of guilt over what she’d done, the lives she’d
ruined.

  There he was, feeling smug and proud of himself. And for what? For making her cry? It didn’t take a strong man to make a woman cry.

  For the first time since they’d started this whole thing, he saw her as nothing more than a person. Just a young woman who’d done what she needed to do to survive. By the time she’d left the service, she probably couldn’t find any other work that would capitalize on the skills she’d picked up. Maybe she was an excellent sniper, for instance.

  And maybe somebody had taken notice of how special she was and had groomed her for the job she’d eventually stepped into. Maybe all of this happened without her even knowing what was being done to her.

  There was a heaviness in his heart as he took a step toward her, then another. She was standing in front of the sink, across from him. He went to her, arms outstretched, intending to—what? Comfort her? Apologize? Untie her wrists even though he knew there was a chance she would grab a knife and slash him from stem to stern for the things he’d said?

  There was something in him that couldn’t stand the sight or sound of a woman crying. That something hadn’t left when the wolf stepped in. If anything, it had only strengthened. No matter how glad he was to crack her cold shell, he couldn’t help but regret having to do it.

  He leaned down, one hand reaching out to brush the hair from her face, pulling back at the last second as he thought better of it. It wouldn’t do any good to know for sure how soft it was, how full. How silky between his fingers. Safer to touch her shoulder—and even that didn’t feel so safe once he touched her and felt both firm, toned muscle and the way it trembled as she cried.

  What could he say to make it better? And should he say anything? Did she deserve it?

  It didn’t matter, because the moment an apology bubbled to his lips, her head snapped up.

  And then, it slammed forward.

  Because she’d known he would go to her, that her tears would stir something in him, that he would feel sorry for making her cry, that he would bend down to speak softly to her, to apologize.

  She’d known his head would be nearly level with hers. That when she head-butted him, she would make contact.

  Stars exploded behind his eyes as he staggered back, more surprised than anything else. He bumped the refrigerator, knocking down whatever was inside.

  Aimee tossed her hair away from her face, snarling in disgust. “Go to hell,” she snapped, green eyes glittering beneath a red mark spreading across her forehead.

  Zane touched a hand to his own forehead, surprised to find his fingers stained with blood when he pulled them back. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, angrier with himself that he was with her. He should’ve known better, shouldn’t have let his guard down for anything. Of course, she would know all about how to capitalize on her opponent’s weakness, perceived or otherwise.

  He had to harden himself against her. He’d only thought he had himself under control. Now, he knew what she was willing to do to knock him off balance. There was no room for sympathy. He couldn’t even think of her as a woman because it weakened him.

  She tossed her hair back again, snickering at the sight of his blood. “Let me ask you something. How did you feel about killing people? I mean, it was your job, right? To kill as many people as you would when you were in the Army?”

  “I guess you think you know all about that,” he muttered, going to the sink and pushing her aside without much effort. She even knew what branch he’d served in. How did she know?

  He ran the water, soaking a towel beneath the tap before touching it to his head. It wasn’t even worth getting mad at her—it would be like punishing a dog after it attacked. She only did what her instincts told her to do. It was his fault for letting his guard down, was all.

  “I do know all about it,” she agreed.

  “Because you’re the same way. You were trained just like I was.”

  “Right. I know how it is, which means I know somebody with your credentials knows what it means to kill. So I’ll ask you again: how did you feel about it?”

  “Before, during, or after?”

  “Dealer’s choice,” she smirked.

  He eyed her warily. Even with hands tied behind her back, she was a threat. He had to give her credit for making the most of what was available.

  With the wet towel still against his head—whatever she’d done to him would heal, had probably already begun to heal, and he wanted to hide that—he considered her question seriously. “I wasn’t happy about it,” he mused.

  “Good to know. I don’t like spending time with psychopaths.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “Then you have nothing to worry about,” she assured him. To his jaw-dropping surprise, she even winked. Like this was all a joke. Was it to her? Had she still not quite grasped the situation?

  No. She was many things, but slow on the uptake wasn’t one of them. She knew exactly what was happening every minute.

  He was warier than ever when he continued. “It was tough. It was really tough. I knew what I was doing. I knew it all the time. That was my job. I couldn’t afford to think about it too much, or it would stop me. My own thoughts would get in the way.”

  “And that would get people killed—not just you but your friends. Your brothers.”

  “Right.”

  She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his. He could practically hear the wheels turning—it was surprising not to find smoke coming from her ears from all the work her brain was doing as it churned out so many thoughts at once. He held his tongue, more interested in what she had to say more than anything else. What would she make of what she’d just heard?

  “I think you’re full of it.” She smiled when his jaw dropped. “Sorry, but that’s the truth.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? What gives you the right—”

  “Don’t get high and mighty on me,” she sneered. She was good at sneering, excellent at putting someone in their place without much more than a dirty look and tone of voice. “Don’t act like you’re so innocent, like your motives were always so pure. I would bet good money that after the first kill, maybe the second—once you really broke in and got comfortable with it—that you never gave so much as a thought to the people you were killing. It became routine. It was something you were good at too, I bet.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “You said it yourself. You were trying to be efficient.” She looked him up and down, raising one brow. “You don’t strike me as the type of guy who half-asses anything.”

  “I’m not.”

  Her brows lifted, challenging him. “So you admit it? You were efficient? You did what you were told, and you did a good job of it.” She looked him up and down, scoffing. “And you still think you’re so much better than me?”

  “Tell yourself whatever you need to tell yourself,” he sneered right back. “The targets I eliminated were dangerous. They weren’t innocent people—they did terrible things, and it was our job to eliminate them to protect the innocent.”

  “Dangerous, huh? You mean the way Marnie and the others were?” She tipped her head to the side, smiling sadly. “I hate to break it to you, but that’s exactly how they were described to me. And I guess to someone, yes, they were dangerous. But to anybody else? They were just innocent people. Funny how perspective can change things.”

  And he knew that. Hearing it from her, though, set his teeth on edge. Like she was in any position to be handing out philosophy, like she had some wisdom he didn’t.

  “Tell yourself however many times you want that you aren’t a bad person,” he growled. “Whatever it takes. But you and I will know the truth, won’t we? We both know you’re not a good person.”

  He expected her to shut down or maybe to explode. Maybe she would bolt at him, throw herself at him, do everything she could to knock him off-balance before attacking full out. She would scream the entire time, of course, cries of fury and vengeance and deep, throbbing rage.

  And
what would she think when she found she was no match for him? That any wound she delivered healed quickly, painlessly?

  Then again, he reminded himself, she might already know. She’d bragged of her knowledge of the group—he didn’t know how far that knowledge went, but he had to consider the possibility of her knowing too much.

  He braced himself for what was to come.

  “See? That’s where you made your first big mistake,” she informed him, her smile holding steady. “I never said I thought I was a good person.”

  Somehow, that simple statement knocked the breath from his lungs even though she’d never laid a hand on him. How was he supposed to respond to that? Was there any suitable response at all? Did she expect one?

  While he tried to figure this out, she crossed the kitchen with a single, disdainful glance his way and walked into the living room. “If you wouldn’t mind, I want to lie down. Spending a night tied in a chair isn’t exactly restful.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “You can’t be serious.” Aimee looked at the bed, at the floor, then back at him. “There’s more than one bedroom in this place, isn’t there? There’s a comfy-looking couch out there, too.”

  Zane nodded, blank-faced. “Sure, but I’m not letting you out of my sight. That’s all there is to it.”

  He then glanced down at her hands, newly untied, which she’d clenched into fists at her side. “And don’t make me regret untying you.”

  She snickered at this, though she loosened her hands just the same. “Please,” she muttered, sitting on the bed. Firm, not overly springy. “Don’t act like you’re some sort of hero. I wasn’t about to try to sleep with my hands bound behind me. You only freed me so I wouldn’t make you miserable for hours.”

  “Anyway,” he sighed, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling, “I’m not taking any chances. It would be one thing if there were more than just the two of us here, but there isn’t. So, I’m staying here in this room with you. You’re not about to change my mind, so don’t bother trying.”

 

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