by Lynn Lorenz
Ted nodded. “And how much is missing from the business account?”
She swallowed. “Over seven hundred thousand.”
Ted whistled. “I had no idea furniture was such a moneymaker.”
“It’s not just the furniture, although there is a good markup on it. It’s also the financing. We finance, so we get all the interest too. That money floats in our accounts, making more money.”
Ted shook his head. “Nice work if you can get it.”
“We worked hard for our business, and it’s all on the up-and-up. Completely legal.” She glared at him.
“I wasn’t doubting that, Mrs. Buchanan. But I have to ask these questions.” Ted leaned back. “What’s your personal financial situation?”
“Well, if you mean do I have any money, yes, I do. See, that’s part of what’s bothering me. If Howard was leaving me, why didn’t he take all of our money?”
“All?”
“Our personal account. It had almost three hundred thousand. We were saving for our kid’s education, our retirement fund, vacation fund. The business money was for the new expansion and building Howard planned.”
“So, he didn’t take any of that money?”
“No. It’s like…” She shuddered. “Like whoever did this didn’t know we had that money, just the business cash.”
Or maybe the guy felt guilty about leaving?
“That is odd.” He’d never heard of a guy skipping town and leaving his wife with any money. Usually, they took it all. “How did he take the business funds?”
“Well, he didn’t write a check or get it in cash. When I discovered it gone, I went to the bank, talked to the manager. It had been transferred to an offshore account. Untraceable.” She put her hand up to cover her mouth as she struggled for control. “Howard wouldn’t leave me. He wouldn’t walk away from his business. This was his baby, not mine. You’ve got to believe me.”
“Was there any note? From him? An explanation? Ransom?”
“No. Nothing. Please. Can you find out what happened to my husband? I know he’s dead, but I still want to know, and I want whoever did this to pay.” Her gaze turned steely, and her hands curled into fists.
“Okay, I’m going to need some info. What was the make and model of his car? License plate number?”
“A gray 2012 Cadillac. It’s still missing. I don’t know the number, but I can get it for you later.”
“Okay. Did you two fight?”
“Hardly ever.” That was what they all claimed. Some people just never realized how much they did fight. If Buchanan were there, he’d probably say All the time!
“Do you have a picture of him I can use?”
“Yes, I brought one. Thought you might ask for it.” She pulled out a photo from her purse and then handed it to him. “This was taken at the last big sales event, for publicity.”
An average-looking man in a navy suit stood among a row of mattresses. Dark hair and eyes. He could be anybody. Ted slipped it into his jacket’s pocket.
“I’ll do my best.” He pushed a small business card toward her. “Here are my rates, per day, plus expenses.” He’d found having them printed easier than negotiating prices. People rarely questioned them once they saw them in writing.
She picked up the card, read it, and nodded. “This is fine. What do you need to get started?” She pulled out her checkbook.
“Five hundred as a deposit. The rest I’ll bill you for as I go. You realize I’m not promising anything, right? From what I’ve seen of these sorts of things, your husband has probably left of his own accord.”
“I know.” Her shoulders slumped.
“And I’ll need access to your business accounts, the office, anything at home he might have had pertaining to the business. Nothing is off-limits.”
She wrote the check and tore it off. “You got it. Anything. I want to bring Howard home, no matter what.” She handed it to him.
Ted glanced at it, then folded it and put it in the pocket of his jacket. “Let me do some initial investigating, and I’ll get back to you about further access to the business.” He stood and held out his hand.
She rose and took it, placing her hand over his. “Please find my husband, Ted.”
“I’ll do my best.” With a final shake, he turned and walked out.
As Ted drove away, he thought of Howard Buchanan. If what she said was true, then Howard was indeed dead or hopefully being kept alive somewhere.
For both their sakes, he hoped it was the latter. But with no ransom note, it seemed unlikely.
Ted put his money on a runaway husband.
Right now, he’d take a drive and check out Buchanan’s Furniture Barn. He’d grab some lunch, deposit the check, maybe give Scott a call, and then go home and finish the painting he’d started on a commission from the gallery.
He smiled, feeling better about himself and his fledgling PI business there than he had in months. Leaving New Orleans, where he had established a nice reputation as a private detective, had been hard, but if it meant being with Scott, he’d move to the South Pole.
Crazy damned wolf.
A silly grin spread over Ted’s face.
“Love you.”
Damn. Scott had finally said the words again, and it had blown Ted away. He’d thought he’d never hear them, even if he could see the love in Scott’s eyes when they were together. Hearing it, having Scott say it out loud, meant more than anything to Ted.
It meant Ted wasn’t wasting his time and emotions on a straight man who would never love him back. A werewolf who had to claim his mate or die. Scott lusted for him, desired him, and he knew that, but it wasn’t the same as loving him.
Now Ted knew Scott loved him, and that was all he needed in this life.
Chapter Four
Scott strode into the station, carrying two boxes of doughnuts for the deputies on duty. He plopped them down onto the desk of his longtime secretary and mother hen to most of the pack on the small police force. Terri looked up at him and grinned.
“Guess you got the message, Sheriff?”
“Yep. Loud and clear.”
She stood to take the boxes to the break room to put out for the on-duty men and women, but before she left, Scott stopped her. “Wait. There’s a strawberry-filled doughnut in there with my name on it.” He came over and picked it out with his fingers.
“Does Ted know about this doughnut?” She put one hand on her hip.
“No, and there is no need for him to know.”
She winked at him. “Got it.” She headed off down the hall.
Scott went into his office, hung up his hat, and sat, careful to put the doughnut on a paper napkin, then licked his fingers clean of the confectioners’ sugar. He turned on his computer and checked his calendar for today’s meetings. As sheriff, there was always a meeting to go to. Budgets. Staff. Equipment. Being sheriff meant being more of a manager than a lawman.
He loved it, but he missed his former duties. Still, their small-town department never had enough deputies to cover all the shifts, what with illness, injuries, and the like. And with most of the deputies being pack members, they were a tight-knit bunch. Every now and then Scott had to step in, and it reminded him of how much he had enjoyed the action.
Scott grinned. Right now, he had to tackle that doughnut. He opened a drawer and took out a couple more paper napkins to protect his uniform shirt and tie from the white powder and red jelly. He took a bite and groaned.
Sugar. Fried dough. Way-too-sweet jelly. Nothing better.
Only a little guilt rose, and he managed to push it down with his next bite. When it was all gone, he wiped his mouth with the napkins and then tossed them, disposing of all the evidence.
Not that Ted was going to just drop in or pop out from behind the door and shout Aha! Caught you! But the man was a detective, and he could snoop out the truth better than any bloodhound.
A rush of pride in his mate filled Scott. He smiled, and for a moment, thought about
their early morning lovemaking. He’d told Ted he loved him. And he did.
Amazing.
His intercom buzzed, and he hit the switch. “Yes, Terri.”
“Got a call from Billy. He’s got a situation up on the interstate and needs you there.”
Scott frowned. It wasn’t like Billy to call about anything. Billy Trosclair was one of Scott’s best deputies, and there wasn’t much he couldn’t handle. The man had stood up for him when he’d claimed Ted, and had even come out himself to the pack. So if Billy needed him, it had to be something big.
“Okay, I’m on my way. Any clue to what’s going on?”
Terri shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t say. The call came in on my phone, not through the dispatcher.”
Not good. Scott’s stomach flipped. If Billy stayed off the radio, it had to be bad.
Ted?
His belly clenched. No fucking way. Billy would have called him directly. Ted would have called. If he could. And if he couldn’t? Scott grabbed his hat and dashed out. By the time he hit the door to the parking lot where his cruiser sat, he was running.
Damn Billy.
He had his cell phone out and had hit Ted’s number on speed dial before he could get the car started and in gear. He slung the wheel and peeled out, trouble lights spinning, heading to the interstate.
On the radio, the chatter was about a wreck right at the exit to St. Jerome. He heard Billy’s voice barking commands to his men.
Ted didn’t answer.
“Fuck!” Heart pounding, Scott slowed down as he turned off the main street to the highway leading to the I-10. Ahead of him, flashing blue and red lights signaled the accident scene. He sped up, reached the site, and braked hard.
Billy spotted him and trotted up as Scott got out of the cruiser with his heart in his throat. If Ted was hurt…
“Sheriff.” Billy gave him a nod.
“What’s going on?” Scott scanned the accident. Looked like a semi had rode over a small SUV, crushing it under its front wheels. If Scott was right, no one had survived that crash.
“Semi driver says the SUV tried to pass him to get to the exit. Says the driver cut him off and then slammed on his brakes because he almost missed the turnoff. The semi couldn’t stop in time.” Billy walked next to Scott, explaining it all.
All Scott could do was reconcile the crushed SUV with Ted’s SUV. Not the same. His belly relaxed, but only a bit. So, why was he there and why the big secrecy?
They came up to the scene. The driver of the semi leaned against one of the department’s cruisers, holding his head in his hands. In what was left of the SUV, blue tarps covered the bodies of two people.
“Any ID?” Scott asked Billy.
Billy cleared his throat. “Yeah. That’s why I called you. They’re pack, boss.”
And Scott’s belly clenched hard. Again. This was bad.
“Who?” Scott turned to Billy, bracing himself. The car wasn’t familiar to him, so it wasn’t Bobby Cotteau. Or Scott’s best friend and beta, Mike Hawkins, who was also chief of their fire department; he drove a pickup truck.
Billy handed Scott a wallet. Scott opened it and stared at the name. Could barely take it in.
“Wyatt Boudreau. And his wife, Marie.” Billy’s face paled.
“Hol-y shit.” Scott clutched the wallet and stared at the tarps. “Good God.”
Billy nodded. “You said it.”
Scott stepped away and turned his back on the scene. He sucked in a deep breath to steady himself. Wyatt. The man who had almost killed him in the challenge fight to keep Scott’s place as alpha of the pack and Scott’s right to claim Ted as his mate.
Wyatt had been Scott’s rival nearly their entire lives. But he was pack, and that bound them together more than their differences tore them apart. Wyatt had married right out of high school and was a firefighter on the St. Jerome crew. He and Marie had two small boys.
“Fuck.” Scott turned back. He looked into Billy’s face and registered the mixed emotions dancing there. Billy had come out at that fateful pack meeting, telling everyone he was gay. He’d stood by Scott against Wyatt. But Wyatt was pack, and there was no closer bond unless it was between family.
After Scott won the fight, he’d spared Wyatt from exile because of his wife and their kids. The boys had kept their father, the pack had kept a member, the fire department hadn’t lost a man, and Wyatt had agreed never to stand against Scott again.
They’d kept a civil relationship ever since then. Scott didn’t wish Wyatt any ill will, and certainly not his wife. Poor woman. He glanced at the second tarp in the passenger seat. Only two tarps.
“Where are the kids?” Scott frowned.
“Must be at home or at a friend’s house? It’s summer break.”
Scott ran his hand over his face. Man, he hated this part of his job. “I gotta locate those kids before this gets out and they hear from someone else.”
Billy nodded. “That’s why I kept it off the radio, boss.”
“Good man.” Scott clapped him on the back. “Take care of this mess.” He began to walk away. “And call Father Francis. He might want to do last rites here.”
Billy nodded. “Got it under control.”
Scott headed back to his cruiser. After turning it around, he called Mike at the fire station.
“Hey, boss. What’s up?” Mike had been Scott’s best friend since high school, if not earlier. They’d grown up together as pack brothers since before their first change.
“I need to come by. Are you busy?”
“No. Unless we get a call.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, is this official?”
“Sort of. I’ll explain when I get there.” Scott disconnected and then tossed his phone onto the seat next to him. He exhaled. Mike would know more about Wyatt and hopefully, give him an idea about where he could find those kids.
Mike met him outside the fire station. Scott got out, they shook hands and clapped shoulders, and then Scott leaned against the fender of the car.
“I got bad news. There’s been an accident. Two deaths.”
Mike straightened. “It’s not my…”
“No, man. It’s Wyatt and his wife.” Scott put his hand on Mike’s shoulder to steady him because all the color had drained from Mike’s face.
“Fuck.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck.”
“I know. It’s bad. Pack.” Scott didn’t have to say much more.
“He was a bastard and a bully, but a damn good firefighter. He’s going to be a loss to us and the pack.” Mike looked up into the sky, anger, sadness, and frustration passing over his features. “And Marie. Such a sweet woman.”
“I got to find the kids. I got to tell them.” Scott exhaled. “Any idea where they might be?”
Mike bit his bottom lip as he thought. “Marie’s parents live in Baton Rouge. Both of them are elderly, and her father’s got emphysema. On an oxygen tank. Wyatt’s parents are both dead. Remember, his dad died in the oil refinery fire ten years ago, and his mom just didn’t last much longer once he was gone.” Mike shook his head and kicked at the gravel on the driveway. “Damn. He’s got no brothers or sisters. Those kids are pretty much orphaned.”
“No, they aren’t. The pack won’t let that happen.”
“I hope you’re right. The older boy is about ready to do his first shift. I remember Wyatt talking about it. He was so proud of that kid, even if he rode him hard. And the other one, he’s just barely a kid, only about four or five.”
“Names?” Scott would need to have all the info he could for this. He’d never met the boys, but as alpha, the oldest would have been brought to him for the change ceremony and induction into the pack.
“Charles is the older boy. And the baby is…” Mike closed his eyes as he thought. “I think his name is Timothy. Yeah, Timmy. That’s what Wyatt called him.”
“Would they have left them at home alone?” Scott didn’t think either of the boys was old enough for
that, but what did he know about kids?
“They shouldn’t. But Wyatt did what he wanted to do. Still, I can’t believe Marie would have gone along with that idea.” Mike shrugged. “They’re most likely at a friend’s.” Mike gave Scott Wyatt’s address.
“I’ll try the house first, then work from there.” Scott shook Mike’s hand. “Keep this under your hat, Mike. At least until I find those kids and let them know.”
“You got it, boss.”
»»•««
Scott hadn’t been to Wyatt’s house, but St. Jerome was a small town, and he found it without too much trouble.
He pulled up outside a small, well-kept brick one-story. Typical ranch with a two-car carport on the side. A small car was parked on the left, leaving space for Wyatt’s SUV. Must be Marie’s car.
Scott sat in the cruiser, staring at the house. Didn’t look as if anyone was home, but if the boys were in there, he needed to get to them and let them know about their parents.
The stomach acid in his belly churned. He hated death notifications, but when it was pack, somehow it made it worse. Personal. People he knew. His people. He didn’t like Wyatt, but Marie, well, she was a good woman. Good wife and mother.
They didn’t deserve this. And neither did the kids.
Maybe he should have someone there for the two boys.
CPS? Maybe, but these children were pack. No way could they get swept up into the system, not with Charles almost ready to change. Having that happen outside the pack would be disaster for Charles and for the pack.
The first rule of the pack was to protect the pack. But without someone to help take him through the change, like his father would have done, Charles could die in the change or shift to a wolf and not shift back. Ever. And if that happened, he’d have to be put down.
God. Scott couldn’t even think of doing such a thing.