“Not a chance.” Her hand fisted in his shirt, and with a yank, she dragged him down onto the bed, stretching herself over him. Her hands slid under his shirt, and Caine leaned up, tugging it off over his head.
“Do I have to beg?”
She grinned. “Would be a good place to start.”
She rolled off him, her hands going to her jeans. The zipper whirred, and Caine watched as she peeled them down. Ollie paused, a half smile on her face. “You know what else would be a start? Chucking the rest of your clothes, Mr. Wolf.”
Caine was on his feet, and within seconds he’d stripped off his jeans, leaving himself in nothing but boxer-briefs and socks. He’d barely managed shuck them off when he turned to see Ollie standing nude before him. His throat went dry, the pound of his heart enough to make a man dizzy. Christ, but he’d never tire of looking at her.
“You know,” Ollie said, stepping closer. “That look in your eye goes a long way towards earning my complete forgiveness.”
God, he hoped so. He raked his gaze over every inch of her, reaching out to cup the weight of one breast. It filled his hand, and he slid his other one around the curved swell of her hip. His groin tightened as her hips bumped his, and Caine started to push her back against the bed when she laughed, one hand finding his chest, spearing through the curls of his chest hair. “Oh no. I think you’ve done enough leading tonight, don’t you?”
She ran her hand over his chest and up to his shoulder, touching the fresh, pink, puckered scar. Turning, she spun him towards the bed, and Caine willingly collapsed on the mattress. “Have your way with me, then.”
He loved the smug twist of her lips, the cat-eating-canary grin on her face. “Oh, I will.”
Ollie picked up his jeans, filched out a condom. Rolled it on him. Caine groaned at the soft touch of her lips against his stomach, then lower. Shit. His hands fisted in the sheets as he watched her, teeth bared, with a hiss of breath escaping him.
“Oh, sure, take your time.”
Ollie slid up, her hips straddling him as she guided herself onto him. With her warm heat finally enveloping him, Caine gasped, thrusting up, loving the little whimper that slid out of her. He let her set the pace, her body arching, riding his, and he cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over the peaked nipples. He could get off on just watching them sway with every rolling thrust of her hips.
In the dim light of her room her eyes found his, steel on near-black, and held.
“Don’t ever do that again.” Her hands fisted against his chest, and Caine slid his hands down the curve of her sides to grab her hips, guiding her faster, harder. Her lips parted, but her eyes still held his, brimming with emotion. Fear, guilt, desperation, they ping-ponged through her eyes, and he made sure he didn’t look away. Not as they drove each other closer to the edge.
Pleasure rocketed between them, a blazing heat that had him driving deeper. “I won’t.”
His hands tightened on her hips, and she shattered, the orgasm slamming through her, and Caine let himself go then, driving himself over the edge as she quivered above him. Only when they were both done did he draw her down against him, rolling them over as she lay in his arms, his cock still buried deep inside her. He nuzzled into her hair, the spiraling black strands silky against his face.
Running his hand down her back, he smiled as she cuddled closer. “From here on out, it’s your call. You’re in charge, Ol.” He laid a kiss against her temple. “But I have your back.”
He’d help her in every way he could, but he wasn’t about to get in her way. Not this time.
“I trust you. No more playing hero.”
And oddly, the alpha in him didn’t object. Not as her hand wrapped in his hair, and he felt her small smile against his neck. “It’s about time you met your match, Mr. Wolf.”
He laughed, a rich, low sound in the room. A soft echo of what vibrated between them.
Yeah, it was.
Chapter Nineteen
Bosley plopped down at his feet, the golden’s head resting against the side of his leg as the dog stared out across the field with him. Dean reached down to run a hand through the dog’s fur, his fingers trembling. The Sanctuary Falls alpha had given one hell of a chase, but he was just as stupid as the rest of them. A laugh rumbled out of him then. Lucky he hadn’t been packing silver, otherwise that wound would have given Caine Morgan more than just a scratch.
It was Holly that bugged him, though. She was still thinking too much. Not acting blindly out of fear or revenge, still calculating everything. Still thinking she knew him. The muscle in his jaw flicked as his teeth ground together. She’d moved her grandmother, so obviously he’d scared her then, but the old woman wouldn’t have been much of a hunt.
Boring.
A woman whimpered from inside the house and he sighed. Nor would this one. She just lay there now, the will to fight already gone. Stupid bitch. He doubted she’d run at all, at least until he started hurting the little girl, but neither prospect sounded very entertaining. Bosley’s tail thumped the floor, and he turned to see the dog eyeing an old, ratty tennis ball.
Fun. That’s what he wanted. A good hunt. One that made him think. Made him work for it. The wolfhound would be all of that. He toyed with the idea of her running through the woods, the memory of her getting the best of him, snatching his gun. His blood pumped faster, heating with excitement. His jeans grew tight.
But he needed to give her a reason to run. She didn’t scare easily, didn’t turn that brain of hers off long enough for the terror to eat at her bones. His tongue touched his lips, brows furrowed. Remembered the panicked barks, the way she’d hashed it out with the Sanctuary Falls alpha. Lecturing him. Dean smiled, remembering the sweet taste of her fear on the wind.
That had at least scared her. The thought of losing him.
Dean glanced back at the house, heard Danielle Carson’s pathetic sniffling, and a low, pleased sound started low in his gut, rumbled up through his throat. The woman was useless to him. Both her and the child. They’d hardly give him a good run.
But Holly Lawrence, if he gave her something to fight for, protect, and she might just run for him. Might give him exactly what he needed.
***
Ollie woke enveloped in Caine’s arms, the sheet tangled between them, and she smiled, cuddling back into the pillow. It was still dark outside, the filmy gray light of morning barely starting to poke through the sheer curtains, and she glanced at the clock. Barely after five. She had a few minutes before her alarm would start buzzing, before she had to face the day.
One last shot to catch this bastard. After tonight, he’d have another victim. Again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, remembering the crack of the gun last night, Caine’s foolish chase. She’d thought she’d lost him. Careful not to wake him, she slipped out from under his arm and headed for the bathroom. She showered quickly. The fresh pine of Brandt’s aftershave told her he’d come home sometime during the night, and, sure enough, she padded into the kitchen to find her brother at the table, a bowl of cereal in front of him.
Brandt glanced up and she caught the amused glint in his eyes. “Where’s Caine?”
“Bed.” She grabbed a bowl and poured herself some breakfast. “Any news?”
“Lennox just called. Your resident genius got a hit off that partial plate. I don’t even want to know how long she’s been up.”
He cut her a glance, and Holly winced. She knew the Hound who found it, knew that the woman had probably pulled an all-nighter. His phone buzzed and he answered, his mouth flattening before he jerked to a stand, suddenly grim. “Text me the information and the address. Pass it to Ollie, too. We’re on our way. I’ll call Lennox for a pack. Thanks.”
Heart pounding, Ollie followed Brandt for the door. “Is it a definite hit?”
“Man’s driver’s license picture matches your sketch. Registered to a Dean Winters, lives up in Brooksdale.”
Ten miles north of Sanctuary Falls.
&n
bsp; “Lives in the goddamn boonies. He’s currently working at the auto factory up there. She said if it weren’t for the sketch, she’d have passed him over. He’s got none of the telltale signs. No priors, clean record, no history of animal abuse. Hell, he used to train dogs for a living. Seems to like them.”
“He’s a wolf-shifter though, right?”
Ollie dug out her phone, intending to call Caine and apologize. The last thing she meant to do was leave him in bed, but this couldn’t wait. She needed to be there. Needed to know for sure.
Brandt shook his head. “Not registered. There are a few that still slip through the cracks.”
True, though it was getting harder and harder to be an unregistered shifter these days. Ollie clenched her hand around her phone, but she couldn’t stop the trembling in her fingers. They might actually have him. Caine’s phone rang on the other end just as Brandt’s buzzed. He swiped a finger over the touch screen then turned it to her.
“He does look like the man in your sketch.”
Her heart caught as she saw the familiar face, the dimple blurred from the cruddy driver’s license picture, his hair was darker, longer around the edges. “It’s him,” she whispered.
Dean Winters.
Finally, a name to put with that bastard’s face.
“We also might have his first kill.” Brandt passed her his phone.
Irene Winters. She’d gone missing, no one had ever heard from her since. It would have been easy to guess the Hunter had killed his own mother. She might have even been the trigger that started him.
Caine finally answered, and she handed Brandt back his phone. For the first time in a long time, she felt relieved. Lucky. Like they had a chance.
“Ol?” Caine’s sleep-fogged voice came over the phone and tension eased in her shoulders. Amazing how one word, a half muddled mutation of her name, and he managed to help calm her.
Her heart tightened. She loved the way he sounded in the morning, all grumpy with his brain not all the way online yet. A rueful smile curved her lips. “We got a hit on the plate you got from Raj.”
Caine grunted, the bed creaking under his weight, and she knew he was rolling to get a look at the time. “You’re already at work?”
“One of our Hounds pulled an all-nighter. Called Brandt this morning.”
“And you couldn’t have waked me?”
“You’re not a Hound, Caine. We have a pack coming in for backup. Go home to your pack. I’ll be fine.” Trust me.
She bit her lip to keep the words from spilling out along with all the rest of them. “I’ll let you know if it’s him,” she said, soft.
Caine blew out a long sigh. “This is punishment for going after him last night, isn’t it?”
Brandt twisted to look at her, but she waved him off. “This is simply because this is Enforcement business. You were brought in as a consultant, to give you a better shot at protecting your pack. We can’t have civilians on a bust.”
Silence filled the air between them, and Ollie had to fight herself to keep from saying more, to keep filling the empty space. He’d promised it was her lead now. And she couldn’t afford to worry about him. If the Hunter, no, Dean Winters, managed to slip from their grasp, she didn’t need Caine there. She needed him home, protecting his pack members.
Because if they stopped him from killing the Carsons, he’d need another victim tonight.
“I need you with your pack. Doing your job.”
“I know.” His belt jingled, and she smiled. “I just don’t have to like it. Christ, but be safe. I’m crazy as hell about you.”
Her heart gave another painful twist. “My, my Mr. Wolf, you have such a way with words.”
“Yeah.” A grunt. “I’m going home; it’s your lead, love. But don’t scare me worse than I scared you last night.”
“Thank you.” She hung up the phone and leaned her head back against the seat, ignoring her brother’s ostentatious cough.
“Ol?”
“Had a run in with the Hunter last night. Someone decided to try and play big, bad alpha and got himself shot.”
“And yet you still managed to boink him.”
She cut her brother a glare and he laughed. “Just saying. You two sound serious.”
More serious than she knew what to do with. She had enough people worrying about whether or not she came home in a body bag, she’d never meant to add one more. Especially not one who’d hate himself for listening to her, for trusting her. Caine would eat himself alive with guilt.
Brandt turned off the highway, nothing but cornfields, the occasional scattering of trees, and distant mountains out the windows. They arrived in silence, the small log cabin looking homey. A rustic, man’s lodge type of house. But the moment her foot touched the gravel of his driveway and the blast of wind touched her nose, she knew.
“It’s him.” Far more certain than she’d been staring at a picture, she knew. And even more, she could smell the Carsons here. Their scent was still strong enough that it lingered around the house.
The Enforcement SWAT team moved in, and Ollie strapped on her vest, readied her weapon and waited. A man appeared in the door a few seconds later, waving them in. “All clear.”
A smile twitched his lips under the clear face mask. “Mostly. Got a dog, all bark, though.”
A golden retriever appeared in the hall, rust-red tail wagging as he loped around the crew, woo-wooing at them all. He gave a few gruff barks as someone reached to touch him, uncertain and watchful, but for the most part, the dog seemed curious about the company.
Ollie knelt and smooched softly, hand extended. The dog nosed over her knuckles, darting a wet kiss against her hand, and then he looked back up, cautious as more people entered the house. She sniffed, the waxy coat familiar. The same dog the Hunter had brought into her home when he’d trussed up her grandmother. Probably the same one that she’d smelled on the bird.
“He’s aptly named,” another of the squad said, and Ollie jerked her head around, spotting the dead animal heads that were hung all the way down the hall. “Avid hunter.”
She moved through the house, her stomach twisting when she found his room. The scent of stale sex still lingering in the air, blood on his sheets, revolted her. It’d been a few days since he’d raped Danielle, probably to give her time to heal.
They’d been here this morning, the scent was too strong for him to have left earlier. She headed for the kitchen, her eyes going to the dog. His coat gleamed, obviously well cared for. The dog was muscular, lean, but definitely well fed. And as wary as he was about the people storming through his house in full SWAT gear, he was already beginning to settle. Confident.
A well socialized, well trained dog.
His water dish was filled, an empty steel dish sitting on the counter, still smelling of the dog’s recent breakfast. “He takes good care of you, doesn’t he?”
The golden cocked his head and padded closer, ducking when she reached to touch him, but this time the canine didn’t move away. She ran her hand through the silky hair and caught the tags dangling from the dog’s collar. Bosley. Up to date on his rabies, a Canine Good Citizen, and registered therapy dog. Her heart slammed in her chest. God, the thought of this man going into hospitals, pretending to be an upstanding citizen, and she felt woozy.
There were guns all over the house, animal heads littered the walls, and yet, she glanced up at the calendar on the refrigerator and her insides went cold. A week ago, he’d spent the day at nursing home. Bell Park, more than four hours away. Her gaze darted to tonight, the full moon symbol highlighted in yellow.
They’d had sketches out that far, but who’d have even considered the possibility that a man walking in with a therapy dog, dressed in nice clothes, would be the same person? Especially with his nondescript face. The almost good ole boy looks. That was, for anyone who hadn’t seen him in that shack, seen the evil in his smile.
Bosley sat in front of her, the golden’s eyes solemn as he stared up a
t her, tail swishing across the hardwood. She cupped his head in her hands, rubbing the dog’s ears gently. One thing was very clear about Dean Winters. The Hunter.
She hadn’t known him at all.
***
Dean watched from the shadows of the trees behind Ollie’s house as the man headed out the front door, pausing to lock the handle before he pulled it shut. The Sanctuary Falls alpha still smelled like sex, though his shower had lessened it a bit. With a wry grin, Dean stepped out from behind the trees and gave a sharp whistle.
Caine Morgan drew up short, his head jerking around, and Dean watched as he reached for his phone, his whole body going stiff. Oh, no. No need to call in the Hounds yet. The alpha didn’t react fast enough; his knee bent to drop him behind a bush, but not before Dean had pulled out the gun, his finger tightening over the trigger. The gun jumped in his hand, the recoil familiar as the sharp pop filled the air.
The wolf grunted, staggering, and Dean fired again, watching as another red spot bloomed on the wolf’s shoulder. Unlike the bullet last night, these two were silver, and rumor had it they hurt like a sonovabitch. Just to make certain the wolf couldn’t run, he fired again. The man yelped as the bullet tore a streak of red through his calf.
“Oh, that one had to hurt,” Dean called out, watching as Caine’s eyes narrowed. The man started to rise, but his leg gave out beneath him.
One-handed, he covered the wound on his arm, head twisting around to look for the cell phone, but Dean didn’t need that complication. He strode over and plucked it out of the grass, shoving it into his back pocket. “Don’t worry. I’ll call our little Hound later.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “They know who you are.”
A cold jolt of fear stabbed down his spine, but Dean kept his voice even, face disinterested. “I doubt that.”
“Got a hit off your plate. They’re at your house now.”
Bosley. His eyes narrowed to keep the fear from showing on his face. The dog would let them in, be a bit jumpy, probably, but there was no reason they’d hurt his dog. He ground his teeth as he stared down at the alpha. “Well then, guess you just proved even more valuable.”
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