by Aline Hunter
“A description,” Shane goaded the male, keeping his fingers at the base of the glass.
“Tall and curvy. Good and clean. Dressed nice.”
“Hmm.” That wasn’t nearly enough information. Lots of women fit that description. Rotating the container between his fingers, Shane asked, “Anything else?”
“Brunette. Long legs.” The man studied Shane’s fingers, licking his lips. “Real pretty.”
“Is that all?” He knew it wasn’t. The male was holding back.
“I didn’t see her, remember?” The rogue’s dark black eyes bore into Shane’s, something a lesser wolf wouldn’t do to an Alpha male unless it was reckless or totally insane. “Are you going to drink that?”
“Maybe,” he drawled, staring the moronic werewolf down. “Maybe not.”
“She was muscular and trim. Built well enough to be full-blooded were.”
“Gyms and steroids have advanced the human race.”
“My friend said she liked to throw money around. He thought she had plenty to spare.”
“Your friend?” Shane questioned, still holding the idiot werewolf’s gaze.
“More of an acquaintance,” the male quickly amended, looking away. “A braggart really.”
Bullshit. Loners didn’t brag to wolves they felt were weaker than them.
“You expect me to believe someone told you he fucked a bitch who wanted members of my pack dead? That seems like something a man should keep to himself if he wants to keep his head on his shoulders. Loners avoid wolves for a reason.”
“Unless they’re blowing through town.”
“Like you?”
“Just like me.” The mongrel nodded.
“So what have you got to hide?” He pushed harder, needing to know. “Would your acquaintance be the same male who attacked the females in our pack? Seems to me that’s where this conversation is headed.”
He saw the panic flare in the rogue’s eyes, noting how quickly the male lowered his head. The lack of response sealed the rogue’s fate. As soon as their meeting was over Shane would escort the poor bastard to a bunker used to do things humans couldn’t know about—mostly involving torture and eventual death. The rogue deserved no less. Secondhand information was one thing. This fucker had known a male was going to attack female members of a pack yet he’d done nothing to prevent it.
“Are you hard of hearing? Do I need to repeat the questions?”
The male balled the hand he’d rested on the table into a fist, lips sealed.
No answers. Not that Shane had expected any…yet.
That’s a bingo.
“It’s cool. I understand. Like I said, I have questions and you have answers. That’s why I came. Here, this is yours.” Shane passed the drink over and glanced around for the waitress. What he had in mind would call for a bottle of triple-strength whiskey—the kind werewolves needed to get good and buzzed. She returned, waiting for instruction. “The hardest whiskey you’ve got. Four glasses, double shots.”
In another town the order might have raised eyebrows. One double shot of the hard shit could put a werewolf on his ass. But this wasn’t another town. This was Atrum Hill, nestled in an area where humans refused to roam. Packs existed in the open, uncaring if humans knew where they were. They didn’t like hiding their nature, pretending they still existed in the shadows. There was a good reason mortals avoided the area. Once they came here they’d be lucky if they made it out alive.
“Whatever you say,” the waitress responded dismissively.
She vanished and Shane reached into his jacket for the money he’d flashed at the rogue. He pulled it out slowly, making sure he made a show of it. “No troubles here, I just need you to work with me. Why don’t we start with your friend’s name?”
The rogue still wasn’t convinced, shaking his head. “I don’t know.”
“What’ve you got to lose?” Shane asked. “With this,” he thumbed his finger over the bills, “you can split and we never have to see each other again. We don’t want you. We’re only after the person responsible for the attack. If the pack wanted you dead they wouldn’t have sent me. I’m too new. Think about it for a second.”
After several seconds the grungy werewolf replied, “I don’t know much. I really don’t. My information is secondhand.”
You’ve already said that and I call bullshit.
“Then tell me what you can and answer a few questions. Then you can take this,” he tossed the bills onto table and the metal clip holding the money in place rapped against the table, “and go about your business.”
The money called to the loner, Shane knew it did. If there was one thing rogue wolves lusted after more than booze and sex it was cold, hard cash. He’d offered the incentive, tempting the male to jump the fence into luscious green pastures.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
Touché. “How do I know you’ll keep yours?”
“Good question.” The mongrel studied the cash in front of him. What he couldn’t know—and never would—was Shane had piled the center with small bills so the amount was far less than it seemed. “You’re not going to give me time to think about it, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” Shane reclined in his seat. “You want to help me out or you don’t.”
“All you want me to do is tell you what I know, right?”
Not really. “I need you to answer questions as well.”
“That’s it?”
Two words—a question that wanted more reassurance than an honest answer—and Shane knew he had the bastard. The promise of alcohol was nice but the allure of money was even better. He’d known it was only a matter of time. Given enough rope, a lone wolf would always hang itself. Since there wasn’t anyone around to look after them, they usually dangled and rotted to death.
“That’s it,” he answered, thrumming his fingers on the table. “The money is there. Two grand just like you asked. You can be in, out and on with life in a few minutes.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you do.” Soon he’d be able to contact Jackson with information. The pack would take care of matters, get things in working order, and he could breathe easy for a change.
“That’s a helluva lot.”
Yep, he definitely knows more than he’s letting on. “A man gets what he pays for.”
The server returned with the drinks and he motioned for her to put them on the table. As she did he thought about the mate he’d yet to see, wondering what she looked like. Would she be blonde, brunette or maybe a redhead? Tall or short? The one thing he knew was she was she’d be slim, like all werewolf females—soft skin, lush curves, a sexy as hell shape.
She’d also be soft-spoken.
That was the only glimpse he’d been given of her. Each word breezed from her lips, a soft caress in his ears. It had been enough to put him on the edge, his teeth lengthening in his mouth. He wanted to take her, mark her and claim her. The trouble was he couldn’t find her, not matter how hard he tried. And she couldn’t find him.
Where are you?
Come to me.
Why do you keep doing this?
He didn’t understand her questions. To his knowledge he wasn’t doing anything.
Were females initiated the dreams, drawn by inner awareness. Each time he’d tried to answer he’d stumbled over his tongue, his breath catching in his throat. There were no words, only whining sounds that roused him back to reality and ripped him from sleep.
Tearing them apart, leaving him completely empty.
He yearned for her, ached for her and couldn’t stop thinking about her. Soon he’d lose every ounce of his control and go fucking crazy. Even as a born Alpha there was only so much he could take. A mated man needed the other half of his soul.
Why does mine have to be so hard to find?
“Damn this is good shit.”
Shane came crashing back to reality. He’d drifted again, thinking of his female at the most inopportune time. She
was close. Even if he couldn’t see her he could feel her. Still, if he lost his rank in the pack—even if he found her—he’d have nothing to offer her. He had to make sure she had adequate protection and family, those who would love and care for her. He couldn’t go back home. His pack had made that clear before he’d left.
“Here,” Shane said, handing the man a fresh glass. “Have another.”
“I don’t know where to start,” the cur slurred and downed his drink.
“The beginning is usually best.” In your current state, sooner is probably better. “Go with the flow. Tell me what’s easy.”
“His name is Randy. He came from Cali.” He snickered. “Easy to remember.”
“Randy from Cali.” No sense in asking for a surname. Most rogues didn’t use them. “How long has he been here?”
“A month, I think? Something like that.” The rogue shook his head, shoulders relaxing. The liquor was doing its job. “He didn’t like talking about the past but he did love to brag. I ain’t shitting you. The man loved to talk some trash.” As he cackled, spittle formed around his lips. “He had some crazy stories to share. Insane fucking stuff. He’d been all around the world.”
“Which is how you found out about the female who’d hired him?” Yes he was leading the witness but he didn’t give a shit. At this rate happy-go-drunk-me asshole would walk off the beaten path and start telling Shane things he didn’t need to hear. He threw a pawn across the board, viewing their talk like a game of chess, hoping for a shot at the queen. It was all about strategy. “You don’t know her name by chance?”
“You’re trying to trick me.” The drunk snorted. “It won’t work.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself. I told you why I came. You sent out a call and I responded.” He shook his head, his agitation very real. “You want money. I want answers. It’s not rocket science. I’d prefer not to waste any more time. You want to ditch town. I want to help you. The sooner you answer my questions, the quicker you can hop a train to wherever the fuck it is you want to go.”
Perhaps he should have felt ashamed for outright lying but he didn’t. This rogue was beyond hope, living a lost life. It was awful to see but it was a reality with some werewolves. Something inside them never felt the need to connect with a pack, making them dangerous and untrustworthy. There was no loyalty, no devotion. Death was probably the best thing for him. He’d only bring misery to everyone he met.
“That’s true.”
When in doubt, rely on reason. “Yes, it is.”
“I think it was…Sonja?” The dirty mongrel scratched his mud-crusted hair. “No, that’s not it. Sarah? No, that’s not it either.”
“Serena?” Shane offered, setting what hoped was a decent trap.
“No.”
“Sabrina?”
“No?”
“Desiree?” he asked, wondering if it might be that easy.
“Nah, it started with an ‘S’. It was definitely an ‘S’ name.”
“An ‘S’ name,” Shane repeated, pretending to think it over. There was only female with an ‘S’ name he was interested in. “Serephena?”
“Pfft,” the mongrel blew bubbles from his lips and it was a nasty sight, “no.”
“Selena?”
“Nope.”
“Stacey?”
“Another no.”
With an open board, Shane took his shot. “Simone?”
“Simone…” The man rolled the name off his tongue. Then he laughed, floating on a whiskey high. “Simone. Yeah, that’s it. You know her?”
I certainly do. But I’m not telling you that.
“More like a lucky guess, but the name is familiar.” Smiling, he passed over the other drink. “Go ahead and take this. I’m on call tonight. If the boss finds out I’m slouching on the clock he’ll kick my ass.”
Shane thought the man said thanks but he couldn’t be certain.
In a few more minutes the pitiful male would be so sloshed it would take a wheelbarrow to roll him out the door. Thankfully Shane had supernatural strength and could carry him over his shoulder. It would create less of a scene. He wanted to get the loner good and drunk. Everyone in the bar—if they were inclined to care in the first place—could assume what they wanted.
That’s it, buddy. Almost there. Drink up.
“By the way,” Drunken Louse informed him matter-of-factly, “I don’t like this town. Everyone likes starting shit. And they’re always running their mouth about something. Blah, blah, blah. You listen long enough and you’ll know everybody’s secrets. I’m not like that, you know. I keep to myself.”
By offering up information to strangers for cash? I don’t think so. “I can see that.”
“It’s been a crummy fucking week, man.”
And it was only about to get crummier, not that Shane was sharing that information. A call to Jackson was definitely on the day’s menu. It was time to get cracking. Not knowing who had been responsible for Chloe’s attack made things difficult. They couldn’t reach out and ask questions if they didn’t know who they could trust. The pack needed a hard target and now they had one.
Simone Wilson just fucked with the wrong wolves.
With a bit of manipulation Simone could be fooled as easily as the shitfaced male across from him. She didn’t know the wolf that had attacked Chloe had been killed. Jackson made sure to keep that under wraps. They had to plant seeds, start the rumor mill churning. If she was afraid of exposure, Simone might slip up and reveal herself. With a bit of luck this would be over in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
“Hell, go ahead.” Shane gave the rogue the last drink. “You need it more than me.”
“I sure fucking do.”
Pawn takes queen. Rook takes king.
There was a glory in the game of chess, a thrill like none other.
Even if his opponent wasn’t up to snuff, he accepted victory.
Check fucking mate.
Chapter Six
“It can’t be that easy,” Declan said, peering across the room, keeping his mate in sight. “No one is that lucky.”
“Of course it can,” Shane drawled through the phone. “When I work it’s easy-peasy.”
Declan watched Rachel inspect the walls of his room at the tattoo shop. She leaned closer to the framed work above his station, studying his sketches. She’d calmed down as she’d promised, the paragon of control. He didn’t like it, his wolf warning him something was off. If the phone hadn’t shrilled and Shane’s name hadn’t blasted through speakers running through the parlor he wouldn’t have answered.
“You have him with you? Right now?”
“He’s totally inebriated and passed out in the back seat,” Shane replied. “I think he’d sleep through a natural disaster at this point.”
“And he said it was Simone?” The information came from a rogue but it was damning given the state of things. “You’re sure?”
“He did, and I wouldn’t call if I wasn’t.”
“What did you give him?” Declan still couldn’t believe it. Either Shane was a lucky fucking bastard or the clouds had finally parted and the water-deprived earth was finally getting much-needed rain. “Elephant tranqs?”
“I offered the man a few shots of whiskey, not that it matters.” Shane sounded annoyed. “You should know I’m taking him to ground. I tried to call Jackson but didn’t get an answer. I left a message. Once I get to the location my signal blows. He won’t be able to get in touch. You need to tell him what’s going on and stress the importance of him getting here. If we work this right we should be able to get down to business in the next day or two.”
“We just saw her,” Declan snarled quietly, seething at the memory. “Not even thirty minutes ago.”
“Who?”
“Simone,” he hissed, keeping his voice down. “She was in town acting like everything was totally fucking cool. She even started shit with Rachel.” He recalled how angry his mate had been, full of piss and vinegar. �
��It wasn’t good.”
“You have to hand it to her,” Shane said. “She’s got balls.”
Balls that are about to be clipped. “If I talk to Jackson I’ll tell him you’re trying to get in touch. Keep your phone outside the basement when you make it to the bunker. The signal is better and calls roll through.”
“Why are you at the shop? I thought you were on vacay.”
Declan didn’t like answering questions but he didn’t have a choice. “I needed my appointment book. I’m driving Rachel to her place before we drive back to mine.”
“Appointment book?” Shane hesitated. “Are you taking more time off?”
“Only a week or two.”
“What should I tell the pack?”
“I’m not sure.”
Declan kept his gaze on his female, trying to see into the future, wishing he had a crystal fucking ball. The pack knew he’d been preparing for a trip, they just didn’t know why he’d decided to cut and run all of a sudden. He hadn’t bothered telling them, stating he needed some time to himself. Eventually they’d want to know why he left so abruptly. Since he intended to return to his position as Beta, they had the right to ask questions.
“I’ll keep things cool if they ask about you,” Shane finally said. “I didn’t sign on to be a Beta long-term. When you decide on a course of action I need to know.”
“I’m working out the kinks. As soon as I do you’ll be the first to know.”
“Much appreciated.”
The line clicked off and Declan hung up the phone.
Son of a bitch.
On the way to the shop he’d tried to formulate a plan. Since he hadn’t known if Simone or Desiree had been responsible for the attack he hadn’t been sure if he could take Rachel home. He’d seriously considered asking for permission to skip town with his mate. Now he knew he didn’t have to. Simone was running around like a duck on the water because she thought she was safe. Maybe it was because she hadn’t been apprised of the crime. Or perhaps she truly was that simple-minded and arrogant.
Either way it didn’t matter.
He could take Rachel home.
She could transition to her new life surrounded by those who could support her.