Murder comes to the Black Hills Wolves….
On the one-year anniversary of Drew Tao defeating his father and becoming Alpha of the Black Hills Wolves, everyone looks to the future. On the heels of their celebration, a new threat emerges…. Someone is killing the human mates. The pack survived the reign of a madman, but will a single bullet shatter all their hopes and dreams?
Murder in Los Lobos
A Black Hills Wolves Mini Series
Look for it January 2016
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Naming His Mate by Melissa Limoges
Chapter One
Mike Hadley adjusted his gun holstered on the belt at his waist and tugged his jacket over the weapon, concealing it from clear view. There wasn’t any doubt he’d incite a riot if he walked inside with his piece visible.
Coming here, to this place in the middle of nowhere, shouldn’t have troubled him. He’d stepped into shittier, more unstable situations than this hole-in-the-wall bar, but damn if a thread of apprehension didn’t prickle the length of his spine as he stood outside of the entrance. One small detail kept him from strolling into the establishment like he owned the place, and he sincerely hoped that minor detail stayed home tonight.
He rolled his neck from side to side in a bid to loosen the tension in his shoulders. With an air of confidence he didn’t quite feel, he pulled open the heavy steel door and strode inside the Den.
Thirty seconds was all it took for activity to grind to a screeching halt. The drawl of a country ballad playing on the music box in the far corner thumped through the stifling air. Weighted stare after weighted stare met his gaze head on as he scanned the bar’s occupants. Their open hostility battered at his senses.
He wasn’t welcome. That much was apparent, but he would deal with it. Despite a bar full of unfriendly locals, the absence of one in particular shaved off a degree of his unease.
Of course, his anxiety hardly mattered. As sheriff of the small town of Collins, South Dakota, it was his job to investigate a rash of disappearances over the last several weeks. Unfortunately, the trail had led him to the neighboring, inhospitable town and people of Los Lobos.
Collins’ residents had learned years ago they wouldn’t receive a kind welcome from the little settlement. Most went out of their way to avoid it altogether, which wasn’t hard since Los Lobos had no key access route from the main highway.
Mike tipped his hat in a semblance of greeting and ignored the crowd’s glares as he moved toward the bar. It surprised him how easy the throng of men and women parted, allowing him an unimpeded path. When he reached the bar, he slid onto a stool and placed his forearms on the wood-grained countertop.
Mirrors ran the length of the bar, giving him an unobstructed view of the patrons behind him and the exit on his right. He might have projected a carefree air, but the truth was his nerves were as strained as the wire of a hooked fishing line. Surely everyone in the bar perceived that as well.
In front of him, a bulky Native American man stood opposite the polished counter with his arms crossed over his chest. Sizing up his opponent, Mike reasoned he could take the big bastard, but he sincerely doubted his capability to fight an entire bar full of people with much success. Yeah, just as well. He had no desire to leave battered and bruised. In fact, he’d rather get this shit over with so he could go home, period.
“A cold beer would be great.”
The bartender’s dark-brown gaze narrowed a fraction. After a minute-long staring match, he reached beneath the counter, raked through a chest of ice, and lifted out a bottle. Twisting off the cap, he plunked the drink in the center of the bar between them, all but daring Mike to grab it.
However, he had no such compunction whatsoever. He hefted the bottle to his lips and downed half the contents then burped in appreciation. “Man, I’ve needed that all day.”
For a second, he swore the bartender’s lips twitched, but his pinpointed stare never wavered.
“I suppose this makes more sense.”
He had to strain to hear the low rumble of the barkeep’s voice. “What does?”
The large man lifted a shoulder. “Nothing.”
As Mike drank his beer, he watched as the patrons slowly slipped into a normal rhythm, continuing a steady clamor of conversation and activity. While they might exude indifference, he wasn’t fooled. They were aware of his every move, just as he was theirs.
“So….” He leaned against the counter. “If you haven’t guessed, this is a business call.”
The bartender snorted. “Figured as much.”
“I just have a few questions then I’ll be on my way.” He extended his hand for a shake. “I’m Mike Hadley, sheriff over in Collins.”
The large man glanced down at the offering with an impassive expression. Just when he concluded the bartender wouldn’t accept, the Native American grasped his hand with a firm shake.
“The name’s Gee.” He released Mike’s hand and leaned forward. “How about you just ask your questions then be on your way, all right?”
Fair enough. “I’m looking for a few men from Collins who’ve gone missing in the area.”
“Let me save you the breath.” Gee shook his head. “Not a soul has passed through here lately.”
“Figured as much.” He fed the man his own words. “You sure about that?”
“Positive.” A hard glint entered Gee’s gaze. “Our town’s tucked away from everything. We don’t get a lot of visitors through here, and if you haven’t guessed, we prefer it that way, Sheriff.”
“Yeah, I sort of gathered that.” It was obvious this was going nowhere fast.
Rather than push his luck, he slid off the barstool and downed the last swallow of his beer. He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and dug out a ten and one of his business cards, placing the items in the center of the bar between them.
“If you have any information, give me a call, eh?”
Gee made no move to pick up the card. Instead, he grabbed the ten then the empty bottle, tossing it in the trash feet away with a clatter. Slipping the cash in his pocket, he tipped his head and moved on to the next patron at the bar.
Well, that could’ve gone worse. To hell with it, he would try again tomorrow. However, it would require an entirely different approach. Tonight though, he was damn tired and in need of sleep. He veered around people, making his way toward the exit. With one last look over his shoulder, he pushed open the door and slammed into a solid force.
He glanced around in surprise at the sizeable man blocking the exit. Anger simmered in the man’s narrowed, emerald gaze. Beneath a neatly trimmed beard, a muscle ticked along his jaw.
At that point, Mike wasn’t up for confrontation. Instead, he simply wanted to get the hell out of there. “You mind moving?”
Fury poured off the man in waves, and his nostrils flared, but he didn’t mutter a word. He stepped sideways and shoved past, their arms knocking into each other’s, as he strode inside the bar.
Asshole. Mike shook off his irritation and walked down the sidewalk to his patrol car. Another hour at the office then he could go home, collapse in his bed, and try to forget the uneventful night altogether.
***
When the vehicle rounded the bend and the high beams illuminated the long stretch of driveway, Damien balled his hands into fists at his side. Standing in a dense patch of trees off the side of the darkened ranch-style house, he willed his impatience to calm the hell down. Though the steady night’s breeze was chilling, his body still burned from the inside out.
As the car eased to a stop and the engine cut off, he growled low in his throat. He kept his gaze trained on the dark figure that stepped from the vehicle and ambled toward the backdoor. His steps blending with the silence of night, he stalked toward his target then seized the advantage of stealth.
With a burst of speed, he rushed forward and pinned the figure against the door, leaving the keys to dangle in the lock.
“What the hell did you think you were doing tonight?” His voice was as coarse as the gravel lining the drive.
At once, the tension drained out of his prey’s shoulders. “Fuck, don’t do that shit to me. You know I hate it.”
Damien affixed his fiercest glare in place and spun the human to face him. “I asked what the hell you thought you were doing tonight.”
The sheriff quirked a blond brow in challenge. “I heard you the first time. And to answer your question, it’s called work. You should try it sometime.”
For several heartbeats, he studied the man’s crystal-blue eyes and flushed, clean-shaven cheeks before he answered the need thrumming through his body. He weaved his fingers through the sheriff’s short hair and pulled his head closer to his own.
“You worried me, Mike,” he confessed in a rough whisper. Unable to bear their close proximity any longer, he fused their lips together and slid his tongue inside the welcoming heat of the other man’s mouth. He closed his eyes while he savored the spicy flavor.
Heaven.
His disobedient, sexy mate tasted of heaven.
Pure and simple.
Winter Secrets Page 8