by Vella Day
He nodded.
“Mendez shot her,” Drake said.
He knew the man?
Kurt placed a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Take her to Deland. I’ll meet you at his office as soon as we put Jeffrey to rest.”
From the jostling, her arm began to bleed again, and she held her palm over the hole. “Don’t you have to wait for the coroner to arrive before moving the body?” Or, had she watched too many crime shows on television?
He shook his head. “We take care of our own.” He turned to Drake. “I’ve called Trax, Clay, and Dirk. Once they make sure everything is good, I’ll meet you.” He picked up the heels she’d dropped when she ran and handed them to her.
Drake wrapped an arm around her waist and squeezed his fingers. “We really need to go.”
“Aren’t you going to go after that creep? He couldn’t have gone more than a few miles.”
“We’ll get him. Don’t worry. Come on.”
Drake led her to his car and helped her in. She tossed her shoes at her feet. So she wouldn’t mess up her savior’s seats, she looked around for something to sop up her blood besides her torn panties.
Drake slipped in on the driver’s side. From behind the seat he pulled out a blue-striped towel. “Use this if you want.”
A small smile tugged on her lips. “Thanks.” She wiped off as much blood as she could, careful not to let it splatter. He pulled into the road, and as he left the neighborhood, she looked in the rearview mirror, not convinced the killer would give up so easily.
She glanced over at Drake. If he shot at the man, he must have known he was evil. “You said his name is Mendez. I’m guessing you know him?”
“I’ll answer your questions later.”
“Fine.” She probably wasn’t ready to learn the truth right now anyway. It was hard enough to deal with what had occurred. She drew in her bottom lip, leaned her head back on the headrest, and closed her eyes.
Suddenly, she sat up and studied Drake. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go the police and report the assault and murder?”
He winced. “We’ll take care of everything. You need medical help first, then we’ll let you tell us what happened.”
The murder, the attack, and the blood loss were taking a toll on her. Maybe she should worry about the cops later.
For the next few minutes, she wasn’t sure of much, other than Drake insisted she see his doctor. He was probably out of network and would cost a mint.
“I should probably go to the health clinic on Linton Street.”
He exhaled. “If you’re concerned about the cost, don’t worry. Besides, you really don’t have a choice. That bullet in your arm isn’t your typical 38 mm.”
Why did he have to complicate matters when she was just beginning to calm down? “What do you mean?”
“The gun the man used is unique to werewolves. The bullets spread poison throughout your system and only a shifter doctor has the antidote.”
“Werewolves are real?” Sure, her best friend claimed her mates were ones, but Chelsea hadn’t come to grips with what Liz told her. Now Drake confirmed it. Holy shit.
“Yes, they are.”
This insanity had to stop. Nothing made sense. He mentioned werewolves as if the whole world knew about them. “Since when do bullets contain poison?” She’d voiced her concern with amazing calm.
“I know this is a lot to take in. I’m sorry, but you need to understand that werewolves are different from humans.”
No shit, Sherlock. “Besides the obvious, in what way?”
“For one, the only way to kill a werewolf is either to poison them or shoot them in the heart.”
This couldn’t be real. She jiggled the handle to see if he’d locked her in.
“Take it easy.”
He would say that. He was driving.
“All of this creeps me out.”
He shot her a glance and nodded. “I know. I’m sorry to dump this on you. It’s not easy to buy into all this. Once the doctor fixes you up, you’ll be able to think more rationally.”
She wasn’t being irrational. The fear morphed the truth. The car ride didn’t help the pain in her arm either. With every turn and bump, it was like having knives driven into her wound.
Finally, he slowed and pulled in front of a residence.
“I thought we were going to a doctor’s office.” She prayed her trust hadn’t been misplaced.
“The doctor likes to keep a low profile.”
That made sense, but she would have felt safer being around more people. She slipped on her shoes and reached for the door handle. Drake insisted on helping her out and up the walkway. When they stepped inside the lovely old home, a pleasantly plump woman who sat behind a beautiful teak desk smiled. Instead of the usual scrubs, she wore a pretty pink blouse, and her white hair was short and stylish. Behind her was a living room, complete with a painting of a family over the mantel. It now made sense. The low profile doctor must live in the back.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. Stanton.” She stood. “Come with me, Ms. Wilson. The doctor is expecting you.”
How had she known they were coming, since Chelsea didn’t even remember Drake calling?
Once inside the examination room, a tall man, looking no more than thirty, with broad shoulders and a nice smile, waltzed in and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Deland.”
He motioned to the exam table. “Hop on up so I can assess the damage. Let Drake help you.”
After she was situated, Drake stepped off to the side. Did he plan to stay throughout the exam? He’d already seen almost everything, and while she normally would have asked him to leave, she found something comforting about having him with her to explain things, should the doctor share more strange tales.
“I need to remove your shirt to see the wound. Are you okay with that after your attack? Because if you want, I can have Melanie supervise.”
Melanie must be the nurse. Chelsea shook her head. “There’s no need.” Drake would make sure the doctor didn’t do anything inappropriate. Her body told her to trust him.
Since she was in an oversized T-shirt and Drake was shirtless, the doctor probably pieced together what happened.
“I’m sorry to bring up the nightmare, but from your torn clothes, I need to ask. Did your attacker rape you?”
Shivers rippled up her spine and goose bumps emerged at what could have happened. “He didn’t get a chance.” She rubbed her face and winced. “He did hit me, however.”
“I can see that.” The doctor pulled down her lower eyelid and shone a bright light. He repeated on the other side. “He winged you pretty good, too.”
“Yes.” An involuntary shudder sped through her body. The adrenaline was wearing off and had been replaced with shock and fear.
He lifted her wrists. When he lightly pressed on the skin, she jerked. “That’s tender, huh?”
“A little. The bastard knelt on my wrists to hold me down.” Her throat closed up, and she squeezed her eyes shut. The tears she’d held at bay dripped out.
“We’ll get an X-ray of both wrists. Expect the bruising to get worse before it gets better.”
Great. He handed her a tissue, and she wiped her eyes.
Dr. Deland lifted her shirt, but when she raised her arm, she groaned.
Drake stepped forward. “If you don’t mind lending us some scrubs, you can just cut the shirt off.”
“That would make it quicker.”
She was impressed with the easy relationship between these men. Because the doctor had this antidote, she guessed he was a shifter, too. She didn’t ask because, in part, she didn’t want confirmation.
Dr. Deland cut off not only the T-shirt, but also what remained of her torn shirt. “We can leave the bra on.”
“Thanks.” She’d be tossing it as soon as she got home. Little hope existed that she’d get all the blood out. Having it as a reminder wouldn’t be healthy either.
He cleaned the wounded area. The bleeding from
the opening slowed down.
“How’s your stomach feeling?”
That was an odd question. “A bit nauseated, but my cheek hurts worse.” She bet her face would be totally black and blue by tomorrow. “At least, I don’t think that ass broke anything.” Her nose was sore, but he hadn’t loosened any of her teeth when he’d struck her.
“We’ll take an X-ray to be sure, but if you put some ice on it, the swelling will be minimized.” He turned to Drake. “Help her lay back. I want to numb the area before I stitch her up.” He stepped over to a cabinet and took out a needle and a vial.
Drake wrapped his arm around her and lowered her to the table. She had a high pain tolerance, but she’d never tested her level against bullet removal. The doctor’s comment about only stitching her up registered. “You’re going to leave the bullet in me?”
His smile came out gentle. “The bullet has already dissolved. The man who shot you used a special type of projectile. It acts like shrapnel except the small pieces dissolve into bits of poison. To a werewolf, they immobilize him immediately and make him very sick. Humans have an immunity, however, a higher tolerance to the poison.”
“I don’t feel very immune right now.” In fact, her stomach ached and she couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.
His second comment about werewolves registered. When her best friend told her Harvey Couch, the man who raped her mother, was one of them, Chelsea hadn’t really been a believer. She guessed she’d had her head in the sand too long if she didn’t even believe Liz when she’d told her about shifters.
Dr. Deland handed her a glass of water and a pill. “Drink this to counteract the poison. It should help settle your stomach, too.”
Not wanting to vomit all night, she did as he instructed and handed the glass back to him. “Thanks.”
“How’s your head?”
“It hurts.”
He looked at Drake. “Keep a watch on her. If she becomes nauseated, bring her to the emergency room. She might have a concussion from the blows to the head.”
Dear God in Heaven. Her stomach caved and her blood pressure skyrocketed. Here she believed this couldn’t get any worse.
“Now, I’m going to numb the area and stitch you up. You’ll be good as new in a few days.”
That brought some relief, although her face might need more than a couple of days to heal. “Then I can go home and back to work?”
“Yes.”
Her ordeal had been terrible, but knowing there would be no permanent effect helped soothe her. A knock sounded on the door, and Kurt stepped in.
“How is she?” He glanced between her and the doctor.
His concern amazed her. Here his brother had been brutally slain, and he’d taken the time to check on her.
“Give me a sec to suture her, and she’ll be ready to go home.”
Kurt’s expression hardened even more, if that was possible. “She’ll be coming with us. Her place isn’t secure.”
Her body stiffened. Perhaps her friend lucked out and enjoyed the time she spent being with her men after her life had been threatened, but Chelsea had a career with clients and houses to sell. She didn’t want to hole up in someone’s loft apartment and not see the light of day for weeks or months.
One glance at Kurt’s serious face told her it might be wise to keep her opinion to herself until the doctor finished his repair. The voice in her head reminded her that the man who shot her was still at large.
The procedure only took fifteen minutes. The doctor placed a small patch on her arm, then thoroughly examined the other cuts and bruises. When he finished, he handed her a short-sleeved green top. “Here you go. Next time, don’t tangle with the Colters.” He smiled. “I’ll have Melanie X-ray you.”
Liz had told her not only about the bad shifters being called Colters, but about the shifters’ ability to communicate telepathically. Either Kurt or Drake had probably told the doctor how much she knew.
Melanie came in with a wheelchair. “Special delivery.”
She had no choice but to comply. Melanie took pictures of both wrists and several shots of her face. “I’ll process these and get them to the doctor. Wait here.”
Alone in the darkened room, the terror returned. She closed her eyes and willed the images away. Mendez had been incredibly strong. Now she knew why. He was a werewolf, too. She touched her wrist and winced. Bruises had popped up on both arms, and touching her face hurt.
The door opened a few minutes later. “You’re good, Ms. Wilson. Nothing is broken.”
Nothing but her belief in the good of man. “Thanks.”
Melanie wheeled her to the reception area where Drake and Kurt waited. They helped her stand on unsteady legs, but all in all, her stomach hurt less and the throbbing in her cheek had waned.
After they stepped outside, Drake took her good arm and escorted her to his car parked behind her Camry. A shot of pure joy filled her at seeing something familiar.
“How did my car get here? I mean, how did you...? My keys were in my purse.” She frowned. When Mendez had dragged her from the brushes, she’d dropped her bag.
Drake placed a hand on her back and heat raced up her spine. “Kurt found your purse near where I found you.”
“I put it in the back of Drake’s car,” Kurt added.
She’d have been lost without it. “Thank you.”
At least she could go home now and not have to depend on anyone. Even though these men might be heroes, and hot ones at that, she didn’t know them well enough to allow them to escort her home.
She held out her palm to Kurt. “I’m truly sorry about your brother. I appreciate everything you have done, but I can see myself home.” She stepped toward Drake’s car to get her purse when Kurt stopped her.
“Sorry, that’s not an option. You need to come with us.”
Her dad used to tease her, saying he should have had a son because girls were too damn stubborn. He was right. She planted her good hand on her hip and faced them. “As much as I appreciate the offer, that is so not going to happen.”
The killer is on the loose. She shook her head to push the thought from her mind.
“You can’t drive with a possible concussion and a wounded arm.”
“I’ll be fine.”
Drake turned her to face him and smiled. “Oh, baby. You really don’t know who you’re dealing with, do you?”
Chapter Two
Drake’s nickname was usually Mr. Cool. If anyone had seen him today, he would have lost that title in a hurry. He’d been standing next to Kurt when he received the call. The sound of the gunshot had reverberated through the phone and nearly stopped his heart. He’d almost shifted on the spot. It had been Kurt who’d kept it together.
Chelsea groaned and he forced his mind back to the present. What the fuck was wrong with them? Standing on the sidewalk in front of the doctor’s office where anyone could take another shot at her wasn’t smart. Forcing her to do anything wasn’t his style, especially since she’d been through so much, but right now they had to take control. While Mendez might not have known Chelsea’s name when she saw him, rest assured he would learn her identity soon enough.
The killer wasn’t a rocket scientist, but the sign on the front lawn had the name of the realty firm on it, and it wouldn’t be hard to find out who she was.
Drake bet not many women working for that company would fit her description. Damn the woman and her killer long legs. She had luscious breasts, lips he could spend hours kissing, and long auburn hair. Nope, she was one-of-a-kind, but right now she was also a sitting duck.
Her hand slipped off her hip. He waited another few seconds until he calmed, fearing he’d do something he’d regret. He exhaled. Boy, their timing sucked. The moment he’d spotted her at Liz’s Christmas party, he knew she was their mate. She was gorgeous, had a sharp wit, and seemed to love life, but his body told him this was the woman he would spend the rest of his life with. The saving grace was that after the party, Kurt had
expressed the same sentiment. Now Drake feared their pursuit of her would have to be put on hold until they took care of Mendez.
The moment Chelsea balked at going with them, Kurt had moved to the end of the walkway, lost in his own thoughts. Drake totally understood.
Once Kurt had located Jeffrey’s GPS phone signal, they’d rushed to the car, and while Drake drove them to the house, Kurt kept redialing. When Jeffrey didn’t answer, his friend had turned inward, refusing to discuss what might have happened. His only words had been to urge Drake to drive faster.
As they neared, only one werewolf life sign registered. Hope sprung inside him until they found Jeffrey dead. Seconds later, he heard Chelsea’s scream and sensed the wolf was outside the house. Drake ran toward the sound.
Even though the fucker dashed off before he reached him, Drake immediately recognized him. He would have known the funky-eyed Ricardo Mendez anywhere despite his connection to Harvey Couch and his drug smuggling operation.
They both got off one shot each. Mendez missed, but he hadn’t. Drake hoped the stinking Colter suffered a whole lot of pain before he found help.
He refocused. Kurt remained glued to the spot. Hey, Kurt. Why don’t you go back to our place, gather some of our things, and bring them over to Chelsea’s?
His friend glanced between the two of them. She can’t stay at her house. It isn’t safe.
He must not have been listening to her argue. I agree, but we aren’t going to kidnap her like Trax did with Liz. Just pack some stuff and let me handle her.
The fact Kurt put up little resistance was a sure sign he was staggered by his brother’s death. He shrugged and walked over to them. “Chelsea, where do you live?”
The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease, as if she’d won a war. She rattled off her address. Kurt nodded then walked away and hopped in her car. The engine started and he took off.
Chelsea looked over at him. “Where’s he going with my car?”
“Back to our place.”
“Then why did he want to know where I live?”
Nothing seemed to get by her. “Kurt has to take care of something, and then he’ll bring your car back to your house. Once you’re settled, we’ll be on our way.” Although he disliked lying, it was necessary to get her to cooperate.