by Bru Baker
He leaned into Jackson, resting his head against the crook of his neck. A few strokes in and his toes were already curling. He wrapped a hand around Jackson’s bicep, feeling the way his muscles tightened as he worked them over. Harris gave in to instinct and licked at the sweat-damp skin of Jackson’s neck, and that was all it took to send both of them spiraling over the edge.
Harris’s entire body clenched as he came, his senses so overwhelmed that he had to shut his eyes. Their scents were mingled to such an extent it was difficult to tell where one of them ended and the other began. Sweat, arousal, come—all of it blended together until Harris couldn’t smell Jackson; all he could smell was them.
As soon as the tremors of his orgasm eased, Jackson let him go. He pressed a kiss to Harris’s nose. “I’ve got to get out and patrol. When I get back, we’ll go for round two, yeah?”
Jackson ducked into the bathroom off the kitchen, and Harris looked at their clothes scattered around the room. They hadn’t done anything more than make out and share a hand job, and Harris was more sated than he’d ever been in his life. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what they could do if they had the luxury of time.
“Why don’t I go out with you?” Harris asked when Jackson reappeared with a damp washcloth. He’d already wiped himself down, which made Harris’s wolf want to whine at the loss of their scent. Instead, he took the cloth Jackson offered him and followed suit. It was bad manners to walk around smelling like a brothel. Washing wouldn’t mask the scent entirely, but it would make it more bearable.
“While I would love to have you with me,” Jackson said, leaning in for a quick kiss, “that doesn’t sound very conducive to me actually getting any patrolling done.”
Harris looked away when Jackson got dressed, focusing on getting his own clothes on. Getting undressed together had felt natural, but watching Jackson tie his shoes seemed too domestic.
“Why don’t I go relieve Jordan in the control room? Then you both can patrol and cover twice as much ground.”
With the added benefit of getting him back into Harris’s bed sooner.
“That’s a good idea.”
Jackson checked his phone, wincing at a text message. Harris followed him out onto the porch.
“I’ll go let Jordan know,” Harris said. “Text me to let me know you’re staying safe?”
Jackson hesitated, and for a moment Harris thought he’d gone too far. That was something a mate would ask, not a flavor-of-the-moment.
But Jackson nodded. “Sure. Let me know when you get to the control room, okay?”
Harris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Sure.”
Jackson took off in the direction of a path that led into the forest, and Harris made his way toward the center of camp. He hadn’t made it more than a few dozen feet before he heard the alarms going off. Shit. This wasn’t just paranoia.
Harris was probably the closest to the gates, so he decided to head there to secure them. He shot off a text to the group chat they used when they were out on patrol, seeing everyone checking in as their texts poured in. It was late, and all the wolflings were accounted for and going to the bunker, so he was fine to proceed to the gates.
During a lockdown, someone needed to run the perimeter outside the gates, so Harris let himself out through the walk-through panel. It locked behind him, and he started down the gravel to confirm the road was clear.
He heard heartbeats as soon as he broke through the trees. Headlights flicked on, illuminating the gravel drive and blinding him. Harris blinked and looked away, pain searing through his head as his eyes fought to adjust to the sudden wash of light.
“Put your hands up and identify yourself!”
“This is private property,” Harris snapped.
“I’m Agent Cahoon with the FBI. Hands up and identify yourself.”
Goddammit. This was the last thing they fucking needed right now.
Harris started to reach for his phone to call Anne Marie and Jordan, but stopped when his vision adjusted enough to see three people in front of him with weapons drawn.
“I’m going to get out my phone so I can call the director of this facility,” Harris said, raising his hands. Getting shot might not kill him, but he’d still rather not. Besides, with three trained agents shooting, he very well could end up with a fatal headshot.
“Keep your hands where we can see them,” Agent Cahoon barked. “We have a search warrant for the premises. Identify yourself and open the gates.”
Like hell. They didn’t exactly have protocol for the FBI coming with a warrant, so he’d go with the next closest thing—the procedure for dealing with park rangers and local law enforcement. Stall.
“My name is Dr. Harris Wick,” he said, keeping his hands up. “Camp H.O.W.L. is an accredited psychological detention center for violent juveniles. I’m afraid I cannot let you in without my director and our facility’s lawyers present. If you let me—”
“We are authorized to cut open these gates, Dr. Wick,” Agent Cahoon said. “I suggest you save us the trouble and open them.”
Harris could run faster than they could shoot, but that would cause more trouble in the long run. A human couldn’t sprint that fast. Harris took a deep breath. He had to buy time for all the wolflings to get to the bunker. Jordan would be monitoring the situation from the cameras.
“I need to call the director.”
“I’m getting tired of this game, Dr. Wick. Open the gate.”
“It’s not a game,” Harris said, his arms going back up when an agent crept closer, gun still drawn. “You will not gain access to the facility without our director and our lawyers. If you’d like me to call her now, I’m happy to.”
Two of the agents surged forward and knocked Harris to the ground. Knees pinned him to the gravel while someone cuffed him.
“Huntington, call for backup. We’re going to have to cut the fence.”
“Sir, we’ve tried,” someone said. “It’s not budging.”
Harris couldn’t bite back the grin at the string of curses that flowed out of Cahoon’s mouth.
“Arrest him for obstruction. Owens, take him to the temporary field office we set up at the sheriff’s department. I want to have him questioned. Somebody get me in touch with the facility director.”
“There’s a call button right there,” Harris called out when two men picked up him up, holding him by his arms, and stuffed him into the back seat of an SUV.
Chapter Ten
“WHAT do you mean, the FBI took him?”
Even the unflappable Scott looked shaken. Jackson found him manning the security office when he’d raced back after hearing the FBI was at the gates.
“The agent arrested him when Harris refused to let them in,” Scott said.
“How did they get to him? Why wasn’t he inside the gates?”
Scott looked around, uneasy. Jackson took a deep breath to calm himself. He smelled like panic and desperation, which would put any Were on edge. He didn’t need to add to this clusterfuck by making the people around him uncomfortable.
“The new protocol during a lockdown is for someone to run the perimeter and make sure the road is secure. He was the closest to the gates when the alarms went off.” Scott looked up, hesitant. “It was one of the new policies Fang and Fury put in place.”
Dammit. Jackson’s skin prickled with the need to shift. Someone had taken his mate. His mate was in danger and worse, it was his fault.
“Jordan and Anne Marie are down at the gates now. She’s got our legal team on the phone and someone will be here soon. I’m sure as soon as they get here we’ll be able to figure out where they took Harris and get him back.”
“Where they took him?” Jackson’s voice cracked. Panic thundered through his chest. How could he plan to get his mate back when no one knew where he was? “We don’t even know where he is right now?”
Scott put his hands out to placate him, stepping back when Jackson snarled at him.
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Jackson blew out a breath and closed his eyes. He leaned against the wall, letting it ground him as he focused on getting his wolf under control. He was in situations like this all the time. Hell, most of the time he was the officer taking someone’s loved one away. He could handle this. The FBI wasn’t going to hurt Harris. Irritate him, sure. But they wouldn’t injure him.
“Sorry,” Jackson said once he was sure he was in control. “What do we know?”
“The FBI agents at the gate have a search warrant. Anne Marie says it looks legit. Our lawyers have calls in to Senator Edwards. They think he’ll be able to get the judge to throw out the search warrant. After that I’m sure it will be easy to bail Harris out.”
Jackson blew a breath out and nodded. “Do we know what tipped the FBI off?”
“The warrant says something about a report.”
“The wolflings are in the bunker?”
“Safe and sound.”
Jackson nodded. He pulled up a chair and took one of the open terminals to see if he could find anything about Camp H.O.W.L. circulating online.
“What does the warrant say? What are the grounds for the search?” he asked after another twenty minutes of fruitless digging.
“Anne Marie said they were looking for evidence of human trafficking. Kidnapping, that kind of stuff.”
That was weak. It was an exploratory mission at best, since there was no evidence of any kind of wrongdoing. They’d be able to find a judge to toss it out. Who could have reported them for human trafficking? The selkie’s family, maybe?
A car turned onto the drive, and Jackson zoomed the camera. He recognized the driver—it was one of the camp’s legal team. Thank God. He and Jordan had used the same firm when they’d incorporated Fang and Fury.
The scene at the gate exploded into motion when the car drove up, but the lawyer didn’t seem the slightest bit ruffled by the guns drawn on him. He got out of the car with his hands up, but moments later they let him pull out his identification and everyone stood down.
He also handed over papers that made the agent in charge furious, so it was probably an order rescinding the search warrant. The Good Old Boys network was alive and well, except most of these boys could sprout fangs or fur. Senator Edwards had highly placed friends, and not just werewolves. Those who weren’t had other secrets they’d move heaven and earth to keep quiet.
“Jordan says Harris was taken to the Marengo Sheriff’s station,” Scott said, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he texted back.
Jackson got up, but Scott stopped him. “Another lawyer is already there. He says you don’t—”
“Oh, I do,” Jackson said, shaking his head. “Jordan knows better.”
Scott smiled for the first time since Jackson walked in. “He says to tell you his keys are in the cup holder, and to give them ten minutes to disperse the FBI vehicles before you tear out of here.”
HARRIS was waiting for him on the steps of the sheriff’s office when he pulled up. He looked rumpled but not hurt. It likely had more to do with the sleepless night than his treatment.
“I’d have stopped to pick up a coffee for you, but this godforsaken place doesn’t have a Starbucks,” he said when Harris opened the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Jackson leaned across and kissed him before pulling away from the curb. The less time they spent here the better. He wanted to get Harris back to Camp H.O.W.L. so he could shower off all the foreign scents that were making Jackson’s skin crawl.
“Not a lot of options out this way,” Harris said, settling back into the seat. “That really sucked.”
Jackson reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. Harris clung to him, so he didn’t try to take it back. “I bet it did. You did good, though. I wish it hadn’t been you out there, but you did everything right.”
Harris closed his eyes and chuckled wearily. “And see where it got me.”
Jackson wanted to pull the car over and do whatever it took to erase the worry lines from his mate’s face. He settled for squeezing his hand again.
“I’m starving.”
That, Jackson could do something about. He’d passed a twenty-four-hour diner on the highway. Four in the morning wasn’t too early for breakfast, was it?
“Do you think you’re up for a stop? We can grab something to eat on the way back.”
Harris opened one eye. “Thelma’s?”
“If that’s the greasy spoon on 64, then yes.”
Harris groaned. “They have the best blueberry pancakes.”
The tightness that had taken over Jackson’s chest hours ago eased. Harris was fine. Alive and unharmed and craving blueberry pancakes.
“It’s a date.”
Harris grinned and rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’d always envisioned myself a little more put together for our first date.”
Hearing that Harris had imagined dating him thrilled Jackson more than he cared to admit. “I think our first date was lunch in the boathouse.”
“God. Was that really yesterday?”
It was hard to believe. Once Jackson let himself admit his connection to Harris, things had snowballed. It felt like they’d been together for years, not hours. He already struggled to separate their history as friends from their brief time as lovers.
“It was, and it totally counts. You wooed me with food. Don’t deny it.”
Harris laughed. “Technically, Frank wooed you. I just asked him to make me a lunch to go.”
Jackson pulled his hand back and clutched it to his chest in mock horror as he turned into the diner parking lot. “Did you catfish me with food?”
Harris’s giggles were a little on the hysterical side, and as soon as he’d parked, Jackson rubbed his back. “C’mon, let’s get some food in you.”
“I’d rather have something else in me,” Harris choked out between laughs.
God, so would Jackson. But right now, Harris needed food and sleep. They could indulge in the rest later. “Show me why these pancakes are the best,” he said as he got out of the car. “I’m always an eggs and hash browns kind of guy at diners.”
He held his arm out for Harris to take and closed the passenger-side door. Harris was capable of walking on his own, giggles aside, but Jackson liked the excuse to keep him close.
The diner was empty except for a waitress sitting behind the register with a magazine. Jackson grimaced when he recognized Candice’s face splashed across it.
“Sit anywhere,” the waitress said, not even looking up.
“Let’s get a table. I have a feeling you’d slide right out of a booth, as out of it as you are,” Jackson told Harris.
The waitress looked up, her eyes widening and her scent blooming with lust and surprise when she saw them. He almost laughed. Jackson doubted they were her usual early-morning fare.
She gave the hand he had curled around Harris a speculative look. “Your buddy have a few too many?”
Jackson bared his teeth in a possessive smile. “My boyfriend has been up all night, and he’s a little loopy. If we could get some orange juice and a hot tea for him that would be great.”
She looked doubly intrigued by that development, and Jackson wished he’d kept his mouth closed. Now she’d hover around them even more. But at least she wouldn’t hit on Harris. He wasn’t sure how his wolf would deal with that, and they’d had enough drama already today.
“Sure,” she said after another lingering look. “My name’s Michelle. I’ll have that right out.”
“She wants you,” Harris whispered as Jackson settled him into a chair.
Maybe Jackson should have taken Harris home to sleep. Jackson could run two days with no sleep if he needed to, but he’d been trained to do it. Poor Harris clearly wasn’t used to being so tired—he was almost drunk with exhaustion.
“She wants you, and I don’t blame her,” he teased, his pulse jumping at the way a sleepy smile curved Harris’s lips. “I want you too.”
“You have me,” Har
ris said.
He didn’t, though. Not to keep. He was going to walk away from this if the Tribunal wanted him. Every hour they spent together made Jackson a little less sure he could.
Michelle appeared with laminated menus for them, a carafe of orange juice, and Harris’s tea, so Jackson buried that thought and busied himself with pouring Harris some juice.
“Have this first,” he told him, eyeing him when Harris reached for the little jug of hot water instead. Weres had higher metabolisms than humans and needed to eat more to keep their blood sugar up, and Harris probably hadn’t eaten anything since their interrupted lunch.
Harris rolled his eyes but downed the glass of orange juice while Jackson poured the steaming water into a mug and opened the tea bag for him. It was all so domestic, and Jackson wanted to hate it, but his wolf was luxuriating in it.
“What happened with the FBI? No one would tell me anything. The lawyer who came to spring me said everything was under control but didn’t give me any details.”
Jackson nudged a menu toward Harris and studied his own. “Anne Marie and Jordan held them off until the lawyers arrived, and Senator Edwards had the search warrant voided not long after that. No one got in.”
“How long did the wolflings spend in lockdown?”
Of course he’d be more concerned about that than his own arrest and detention.
“About three hours. Not bad, considering the circumstances.”
When they found out this time it was the FBI and not an intruder, they got angry instead of upset, which Nick said was a good thing. Jackson didn’t see how a room full of angry wolflings was better than a room full of scared ones, but that was why Nick was the psychologist and Jackson was the muscle.
Harris nodded. “We’ll probably have to add some sessions tomorrow. Or I guess it would be today, wouldn’t it? Just to make sure they’re processing.”
Jackson reached out and put a hand on Harris’s knee under the table. “How are you processing?”
Harris snorted out a laugh, then covered his mouth. “I’m sorry. It’s just weird, hearing therapy speak from you of all people. I’m fine. Tired, annoyed, but fine.”