by MJ Compton
Stoker jerked his head toward the unused bed, a silent invitation to sit.
Just as silently, Restin accepted.
Stoker sprawled next to Lucy, ready to interfere if he felt Restin was out of line.
Restin’s behavior was so out of character, something big must have happened.
“At least hear him out,” Stoker said to Lucy’s back.
Restin didn’t bother thanking him. “I had a communiqué from Jasper. I hate it when we don’t have all the facts on a case.”
Restin had Stoker’s complete attention.
“The ATF had a mole inside New Sinai.”
Stoker’s skin prickled. Even Lucy seemed to realize the import of Restin’s words. She turned and sat up.
“The mole never checked in last night.”
“Bill.” Lucy’s face paled to the same wash-worn white as the sheets on the bed.
“Danby?” Restin asked.
“He’s dead,” she whispered. “Randy murdered him.”
“He didn’t know about us,” Restin said. “And we wouldn’t have known about him, except he went silent.” His intense gaze never left Lucy. “You were engaged to him. What do you know?”
Lucy shook her head. “I wasn’t engaged to him. Randy decided we should get married. Remember? That night in the bar? I told you then I wouldn’t marry him.”
Stoker reached for her hand. It was as icy as a January morning.
“What happened yesterday?” Restin asked.
“You mean after you abandoned me?” Lucy pulled free her hand, rejecting his comfort, and buried her face in her palms.
“I smelled death,” Stoker said. “I was too worried about Lucy to be concerned about it.”
Restin focused on Lucy. “Danby must have done something to tip off Butler.”
She shook her head again. “No. He was killed because he questioned an order.”
Stoker nodded. That’s the way a good pack operated. Rogues could endanger everyone.
Lucy lifted her face from her hands, her complexion chalky. “When Randy decided that Bill and I didn’t make a good match, Bill argued. He kept trying to get me alone, saying we needed to talk.”
Stoker tamped down his possessive reaction. He had Lucy back, and Danby was dead.
“Bill was really upset when Randy told him that he would marry me himself. Given what you just learned, it’s possible Bill was only trying to protect me from Randy all along. If only I’d agreed to meet with him, maybe he wouldn’t be dead.”
Stoker caught his breath. Maybe in a decade or two he wouldn’t be so sensitive about Lucy, but he doubted it. His father still growled at anyone who looked at his mother. Protecting Lucy was Stoker’s responsibility, but Danby was human. He might not have understood.
Maybe he owed Danby’s spirit an apology.
“Why you?” Restin asked. “Why does Butler want you?”
“Not me,” she said. “My money. Haven’t we been over this already? Michelle and I inherited money when our parents died. Randy has already gone through Michelle’s portion.”
“And now he wants yours to fund his army. Right.”
“That’s the only thing I can think of. I offered him every cent of it in exchange for Michelle’s freedom, but he won’t give up his son. Last night, he did this–” she held up her injured hand–“to get the ring off my finger. He’ll probably pawn it. There are a lot of people living up there, and so far he’s spent every cent on guns, not food.”
Stoker loved her a little bit more for her tender heart.
“You’ve seen his arsenal?” Restin asked.
Lucy shook her head. “No, but there are buildings that are strictly off limits to the women and children. They were pointed out to me almost as soon as I arrived. Michelle told me later that’s where he keeps the fire power.”
“Fire power?” Restin scowled.
“That’s what she said. There are already two buildings the size of warehouses, plus he’s building a third. He commandeered my car to haul logs.”
“I’ll buy you another car,” Stoker said.
“She doesn’t need a car,” Restin said.
“I can file a claim with my insurance company. That’s not the point.” Her eyes widened. “Oh my God,” she whispered, reaching for Stoker’s hand.
The gesture thrilled and reassured him. “What is it?” He twined fingers with her.
“Insurance. The way my will is written, Michelle inherits everything when I die. I have a lot of life insurance. Randy threatened me, but–”
“He threatened you?” The man had already smashed her hand, stolen her ring, and locked her in a shed not fit for rats. What else had she endured while under Butler’s brand of protection?
“When I told him my lawyer is changing everything over to you, he said it wasn’t legal yet. Michelle will get everything.”
“And he may think you’re dead, because he believes a wolf snatched you,” Restin summarized.
Lucy nodded.
“He can’t produce a body. The insurance company won’t pay.”
“All I have to do is show up,” Lucy snapped. “I’m quite alive, thank you very much.”
“We don’t want Butler to know that yet,” Restin softly replied. “Jericho.”
She shook her head, emphatically, almost violently. “No Jericho. I won’t let you Waco those people. Even if Michelle weren’t up there, I’d feel this way. There are women living there only because they followed their men. There are children. New Sinai is punishment enough. There’s not enough food, and what there is, is awful. The army commandeered the food we took. The conditions are primitive and unsanitary. No running water, no electricity, no bathrooms.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Outhouses. The wind blows right through the buildings. Some of the mothers are trying to teach the children basic skills like reading, but nothing from the outside is allowed in.”
Her tone mirrored the haunted glaze in her eyes.
“Except money and armaments,” Restin corrected.
“The only reason Randy let me in is because I’m Michelle’s sister, and he wants my assets.”
“If you didn’t have your inheritance, I doubt even your relationship with his wife would have gained you entry,” Restin said. He leaned closer. “I want to reinforce the belief that you were killed by wolves. I want to use Stoker’s mistake to our advantage.”
Stoker narrowed his eyes and growled. “Rescuing my mate from a maniac was not a mistake.”
“Luke researched your Bible’s Old Testament on the Internet last night. Interesting stories.” Restin smiled. “A wealth of options to use against a man who believes he is the current prophet. But Jericho is perfect.”
A strange expression crossed Restin’s face. “I never thought I would say this to a human, and if you ever tell anyone I did, I’ll deny it, but the concept of using that particular strategy was genius.”
Pride warred with aggravation. Restin had finally acknowledged Lucy’s worthiness, and that was nice, but Stoker didn’t want Lucy proving her worth to anyone but him.
“But we must keep you safe,” Restin continued, not giving Lucy or Stoker an opportunity to react. “And we will do everything we can to ensure the safety of the innocents inside the compound, but we have to get to Butler before he makes his move. He has too much fire power to let him continue. And if he hocks Granny Hawkins’ ring, he’ll only bring in more arms.”
Lucy looked miserable. “How will you protect the women and children?”
“We want only Butler. Without him, the entire structure of his pack will fall apart. We respect women and children above all else, but can I promise that no one will be hurt? No. I can never make that promise.”
Lucy averted her face.
> “Would you rather he lied to you?” Stoker asked.
“No.” Her voice was so low, even Hank would have a problem.
Restin cleared his throat. “Luke found the lyrics to the song you sang, but not the music itself. Sing it again.”
Why couldn’t he ask instead of command? Couldn’t he see he’d already upset her?
Stoker was about to protest when Lucy said, “I don’t know the whole song, only the chorus.”
“All we’ll need is the chorus. We want to make sure Butler makes the connection. If this spiritual is as common as you say, all you really need to do is hum it.”
Lucy sang, her voice pitched in a minor key. Stoker had never heard such beautiful music.
Restin nodded. “We’re going to record Lucy at the studio then Luke and the roadies will rig up a playback system.”
“She doesn’t need to go back to New Sinai?” Relief filled Stoker.
“No. But you do.”
Stoker bristled. “I’m not leaving Lucy alone again.”
Restin shrugged. “Then bring her with you. We need seven priests, seven males of stature.”
“I’m mated. You kicked me out of the band,” Stoker reminded him. Not that he was bitter. “Use the drivers and crew.”
“I plan to ask for volunteers. Fargo and Parker may want to be included.”
The contradiction irked him. “You order me, but ask the crew to volunteer?”
Restin’s eyes gleamed, belying his careless shrug. Then he touched Lucy’s bruised hand, more gently than Stoker had ever seen him touch anything.
He was about to protest that Restin had no right to touch his mate when the wordless message slammed into him.
Revenge.
His gaze locked with Restin’s. “I’ll be there.”
Chapter 12
If one more person knocked on his door, Stoker was going to leave town, or at least change motels. He’d never been so popular in his life, and he hated it.
“What is it now?” he snarled at Luke.
The hapless omega thrust a package at him. “Your laundry from the other night.” Luke turned tail and ran.
Stoker slammed the door.
“Now what?” Lucy asked.
“Clean clothes,” he replied.
“My jeans!” She leapt from the bed and pulled the bag from his hands.
Okay, maybe Luke had a legitimate reason for interrupting.
Lucy dumped the clothing onto the unused bed then clutched her blue jeans to her breast. “Oh! And my shirt.” She lifted the spilled folds of buttercup yellow from the bedspread.
The jeans dropped to the floor. “Oh, no.” She held up the garment to the light. The fabric had shredded. “I knew I should have washed it out by hand.”
But she didn’t cry. Over the past couple of days, Lucy had encountered things a lot worse than ruined clothes, things that could really skew a woman’s perspective. She could handle a tattered shirt.
Still, she shouldn’t have to worry about what to wear.
“I’ll take you shopping later,” he said.
“Tell me more about this secret weapon thing Restin mentioned last night.” She climbed into bed, burrowing under the covers.
He’d hoped she hadn’t heard that. “No.”
“Why not? If I can’t be a butterfly, being a secret weapon might be the next best thing.”
“I don’t want to give you any ideas.”
“I’ve never been a secret weapon before.” She sounded almost wistful. “I’ve never really been anything important.”
Maybe she was joking, but she needed to understand her position. Even the mate of a delta had status. Each and every member of the pack would die to protect her.
“My job is to keep you from becoming a weapon.” And yesterday, I failed.
“But I have potential,” she insisted.
The thought of her in danger again terrified him. “You are already a weapon, because I will do anything to keep you safe. If Butler knew this, he could make me–make the entire pack–do anything he demanded by threatening you. That’s why mated males can’t serve on the treaty teams. Our mates and offspring make us too vulnerable.”
“Cool,” she said, sounding pleased.
As Stoker explained her new reality to Lucy, he realized something none of them had thought of while forming their strategy: Butler was expecting him to return. If he didn’t show up looking for Lucy, Butler might become suspicious.
Restin should have considered this angle when making his plans. He was the leader. Or Lucy should have thought of it. She was at least as smart as Restin.
Stoker picked up the phone. He would rather confront Restin face-to-face, but he wouldn’t leave Lucy alone. Couldn’t leave her alone. That meant needing help guarding her for as long as they were in Idaho. A male shouldn’t have to ask for protection for his mate, and he resented being placed in the position of having to do so by his leader’s short-sightedness. He was delta, damn it. Finding flaws wasn’t his responsibility.
He was tired of pandering to everyone else’s demands and expectations. If he weren’t so busy being a nice guy, he’d be better able to meet his obligations to his mate. Like buying her some clothes.
Lucy watched Stoker pace the room. He was on edge, and Restin’s demands weren’t helping. He’d agreed that Stoker had to return to New Sinai for a fake confrontation, but insisted that was all Stoker do. Michelle’s rescue had to wait.
Stoker fought Restin every hair of the way. Having a champion felt good. How could she have doubted him even for a moment? He was everything she’d thought she’d never find.
“I’ve always had to be the strong one,” she said, when Stoker hung up the phone. “I never had anyone to trust before.”
He stared at her as if she spoke a foreign language. “Are you talking about me?” He snorted, his disbelief obvious. “I haven’t done anything, so don’t go putting me in a white hat.”
He sounded oddly bitter, when she thought her confession would make him happy.
“What are you talking about? You saved me last night. You convinced Hank to rescue my sister and not . . .” She broke off, shocked by the pain and despair she saw in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he turned away from her.
“Nothing. I was very proud when Restin listened to you.”
His words should have complimented her, but didn’t. His answer might be true, but it was also evasive.
“Don’t change the subject.”
He shrugged, with a forced nonchalance. “Nothing is wrong.”
“Liar.” She rose from the bed and went to him, sliding her arms around his waist, and resting her cheek against his broad back. She wanted to comfort this marvelous man who’d rekindled her hope. “Talk to me,” she softly urged.
“I have a better idea.” He twisted in her embrace.
She recognized his tone. Her skin tingled in anticipation, but she ignored it. She wouldn’t let him distract her. “I always like your ideas,” she replied, “but I have a better one.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his nostrils flared while his eyes narrowed.
She’d said the wrong thing. Her instinct insisted that Stoker’s pain was too important to ignore. “Why won’t you talk to me?” She traced the contours of his lips with her finger.
He drew the finger into his mouth, gently sucking while his tongue swirled over it. She tried to withdraw, but he captured her hand. His lids drooped over his eyes as their gazes caught. The tingling shifted, centering deep inside her. There was nothing subtle about the way his mouth moved. She didn’t doubt his sincerity. Or that he was sincerely trying to distract her.
He lifted her from the floor and carried her to their bed. He fell o
n top of her, using his outspread arms and splayed knees to distribute his weight around her. The mattress rocked from the impact.
“What matters to you?” she asked.
“You.”
His answer warmed her down to her toes. Or maybe the heat was a reflection of his gaze.