Hiding In Plain Sight

by Bru Baker

  “Stop overthinking everything and come to bed,” Harris murmured. “I want you here.”

  Jackson climbed under the covers and molded himself to Harris’s back. He draped an arm across Harris’s stomach, his heart skipping when Harris laid his own over it and twined their fingers together. Harris was already out, and Jackson listened to the steady beat of his heart as he drifted off himself.

  JACKSON woke when the sun hit his eyes. Neither of them had thought to draw the blackout shades when they’d collapsed, and Jackson was too comfortable to get up and do it now. He was a master of sleeping when he needed to, since his shifts at the station were all over the place, but his mind was racing now. Waking up next to Harris made him feel complete in a way he hadn’t known he was missing, and he was enjoying basking in it for the moment. Harris had burrowed into the blankets, visible only as tufts of unruly black hair. Jackson hadn’t known he was a blanket hog. Or that he liked to curl up as he slept. Having that kind of intimate knowledge about Harris was oddly endearing.

  His hip scraped against something cold when he tried to scoot closer to Harris’s blanket burrito, and he dug under the sheets and pulled out his phone. It must have fallen out of his pocket when they’d climbed into bed. The battery was almost dead, but he saw a notification on the screen that stole his breath.

  The Tribunal recruiter had emailed.

  He opened it, eyes flying across the small screen and not believing what he was reading. He was in.

  They wanted him. He was a regional Tribunal Enforcer. Part of the elite squad who carried out missions for the East Coast Tribunal, which governed everything from the Atlantic to the western borders of Louisiana up through Minnesota.

  Elation swept through him. This was everything he desired. It would be a stepping stone to a position as a Second with any Pack he wanted. Retired Tribunal Enforcers could have their pick of Packs when they stepped down. In five, ten years, he’d be able to settle down and live out his dream as a Second in a strong Pack.

  Harris mumbled something in his sleep, bringing Jackson’s joy to a screeching halt. He couldn’t ask Harris to wait that long for him. It wouldn’t be fair to Harris, and it might even get Jackson killed. An unrequited mate bond was still a bond, and he’d be putting himself and everyone else on his team at risk if he joined the Enforcers with one intact.

  Fuck.

  Chapter Eleven

  HARRIS knew something was wrong before he opened his eyes. He’d gone to sleep wrapped around Jackson, but now the only heartbeat in the room was his own.

  Of course Jackson wouldn’t stay. Why would he? They were just having fun, playing around with dating until he got called up to the big leagues. Harris was nothing more than a diversion to help him pass the time.

  Which he’d known and agreed to. It didn’t do any good to be bitter about it now. They were both adults, and he’d fully consented to being Jackson’s good-enough-for-right-now.

  He rolled over and buried his head in his pillow. It still carried Jackson’s scent, which made him angrier at himself. He hadn’t even been smart enough to do this in Drew’s guest room instead of bringing his mate’s scent into his den. What had he been thinking?

  The truth of it was, he hadn’t been thinking. Not with his head anyway. Definitely not in the wee hours of the morning when he’d woken up exhausted, horny, and missing Jackson and heard him out on the couch. Or yesterday when they’d barely gotten across the threshold before Harris had rolled over and shown Jackson his proverbial belly.

  Still, he should be able to enjoy the morning after before guilt and regret set in.

  Harris rolled over and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It wasn’t there, and he had a moment of panic before remembering he hadn’t put himself to bed last night.

  Jackson had folded his clothes from yesterday neatly on the chair. Harris reluctantly threw back the covers and forced himself to get up. He needed to go meet with Anne Marie and check in with Kenya and Nick about the game plan for counseling. They’d been through two stressful events in twenty-four hours; there was definitely going to be fallout. He wouldn’t be surprised if a few fights broke out today because of the tension.

  His phone was in the pocket of yesterday’s jeans, but it was dead. He plugged it in next to his lamp and pulled on the jeans, the stale scent of the sheriff’s holding cell mingling with Jackson’s scent. He must have rubbed his palms on the fabric while he’d been folding it. Coincidence or attempt to mark him?

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Harris had been reading too much into things and overanalyzing everything Jackson did for the last two years. It was time to accept that sometimes an apple was just an apple, and a fuck was just a fuck.

  Harris didn’t want to waste time showering—lie; he didn’t want to wash Jackson’s scent off—so he washed his face and wet his hair, doing his best to tame it. He wandered back out into the bedroom as he brushed his teeth, tidying up. His boxers were in the middle of the floor, and the T-shirt Jackson had been wearing yesterday was puddled on the rug. Had he gone back to Drew’s shirtless, or had he borrowed something clean?

  Harris slipped the dirty shirt into a drawer by his bed. It would come in handy later when his wolf was howling for its mate after Jackson left.

  He hesitated in the doorway and jogged back in, taking the shirt out and putting it in the laundry hamper. He was going to need a clean break when Jackson left. Keeping things that carried his scent would only draw out the process.

  If Jackson was able to walk away, it meant Harris had no hope of ever completing a mating bond with him. Instead of nursing his unfinished bond, Harris was going to have to knuckle down and sever it. It was going to royally suck, but in the end it would be better to have a clean break than to let his wolf pine for Jackson.

  IT hadn’t been a coincidence that the FBI had come knocking. Harris’s mind was still whirling at the news Anne Marie had delivered in their emergency staff meeting twenty minutes ago. Richard, the staffer who had been fired for refusing to follow protocol during the first breach, had gone straight to them.

  Or rather, he’d gone straight to the nearest paparazzi he could find. He’d sold his story to them for $10,000, and the gossip rag that bought it called the FBI for comment. Richard hadn’t exposed their secret, but he’d painted a picture of Camp H.O.W.L. as a place with disturbed teens and reckless staffers. One of the stories he’d told them was how these teens—who were all over the age of majority—were kept against their will, committed by their parents.

  That amounted to kidnapping, which made the questions the FBI had thrown at him yesterday make a lot more sense. There was also the question of how they were able to operate on federal land, which was what the main story of the day seemed to be. A few legitimate news sources had picked up on that, and the gates were crowded with photographers and reporters.

  Luckily the clamor was removed from the wolflings since only the administration building was near the gates, but someone with a telephoto lens could easily see farther into the camp.

  Because of that, they were operating on a modified lockdown. No wolflings were allowed outside unless they were moving from building to building, and even then they had to have a staff escort. Anne Marie unearthed an old box of Camp H.O.W.L. baseball caps, and everyone was wearing them with the brims pulled down.

  Poor Anne Marie had been fielding calls from concerned parents all morning. Harris didn’t blame them. The camp was in the spotlight, and the wolflings’ parents were right to worry about the staff’s ability to keep them safe.

  Jackson and Jordan were stationed out by the gate, stoic in reflective sunglasses and Camp H.O.W.L. polo shirts. It was a blessing they hadn’t packed their tactical gear—Harris could only imagine the stories that would crop up if it looked like they had military-style guards.

  Unfortunately, all this craziness meant Harris hadn’t had a chance to talk to Jackson. As much as he wanted to avoid him and nurse his ego, that wasn’t the mature thing to d
o. He needed to have a face-to-face talk with Jackson so he could tell him this casual dating thing wasn’t for him.

  That wouldn’t happen until after dinner at the earliest, thanks to Harris’s full therapy load today, as well as the afternoon class he was teaching. It was even more important than ever now to make sure the wolflings were getting the best training they could provide. Today’s seminar was about passing as human.

  “You good? You look like you’re a million miles away.”

  Harris offered Scott a weak smile. “Just trying to wrap my head around all this.”

  “Man,” Scott said, shaking his head. “I heard the Tribunal has issued a warrant for Richard. He’s in some deep shit.”

  The Tribunal was the least of his problems. There were a lot of angry Weres out there right now. Anne Marie could murder him with her bare, unshifted hands. Luckily for Richard, she was so busy handling this cluster she hardly had time to blink, let alone go hunting for him.

  “I give no fucks about what happens to that dickbag,” Harris said with a shrug. “But he’s left us a giant mess here. I had three wolflings in my office before lunch crying and asking to go home. Anne Marie’s phone is ringing nonstop between parents and the press, and she’s making the senior staff take turns helping her answer it. I’ve been yelled at by more Alphas than I can count today, none of them mine.”

  Scott grimaced. “Yeah, that blows. I’m not sorry I wasn’t tapped for it, though.”

  “It’ll pass. We just need to ride it out.”

  That’s what he’d been telling upset wolflings all day. He and Nick were planning to set up some fun activities later to help make up for the restrictive atmosphere. They’d do the scavenger hunt like they did every month, with modifications for safety. This time all staffers would be out in the woods to stand guard, not just the counselors whose cabins were competing. They were going to set up a big screen and a projector out on the lake too, so the wolflings could float on inner tubes and watch a movie. He’d already made arrangements to rent a floating screen and projector from a place in Bloomington. The inflatable obstacle course had looked like fun, but he didn’t want to risk an overexcited wolfling popping claws.

  Wolflings trickled into the auditorium for Harris’s next class, so Scott gave him an awkward bro hug and left. Harris usually would have made fun of him for it, but they all needed the contact today. All of the wolflings were hanging out in clusters, draped all over each other at every opportunity. Intimacy and physical affection would calm their nerves, and sharing their scents would help their wolves. Camp H.O.W.L. and the other Turn camps were some of the only places teens were actively encouraged to get physical with each other. It was why their first day included orientation and a sex-ed lecture. Many of the wolflings would never progress to that level of intimacy at camp, but they wanted to make sure those who did were safe.

  Harris waited a few more minutes for the last of his students to arrive. They were all there before the official start time, probably because they weren’t allowed to mill around outside.

  “This is the second class in our series about Werewolfing in the Community,” he said, grinning when a few wolflings snickered. “I know, it’s a ridiculous name. But that’s exactly what you’ll be doing for the rest of your lives. Unless you choose to live on a secluded island or bunk up at one of the werewolf communal ranches out in Montana and Utah, you’ll be living under scrutiny every day of your lives.”

  The faces in front of him ran the gamut from bored to terrified. He hated scaring the wolflings, but it was a necessary evil. They were nineteen—the impulse control part of their brains was still essentially goo. Unfortunately, they were going to have to grow up fast now that they’d gone through the Turn.

  “Dr. Perry talked about social media last week, and I know you all thought it was funny, but he was dead serious when he said a careless Snap or Instagram post could out all of Were society. It’s why we have such stringent rules about what you can and can’t post. But we also have to figure out how to pass for human in the real world, and that has even more challenges.”

  “We’ve been human all our lives,” Stephanie said with a sneer. “I think we can handle it.”

  Harris took a breath and counted to ten in his head, holding her stare. When she looked away, he relaxed. She was still trying to flex her muscles at camp, but she wasn’t nearly as dangerous as Harris had assumed that first day.

  “Thank you for volunteering, Ms. Chastain. Adam, Sam, Jennifer, come on up with Stephanie. We’re going to do some role-playing.”

  Everyone groaned, but he was sure this was secretly their favorite part of the seminar. It got them up and out of their seats, and even if they felt silly repeating rules back to each other and playing out scenarios, it was less boring and more effective than lecturing.

  “For the sake of this exercise, we’re going to say we’re on a platform waiting for a train,” he said when the four of them came up. “Stephanie, you’re in front. Everyone else, I want you to crowd in around her. Really get up in her space like someone would on a crowded platform. The next train is coming, and you’re all late for work. You can’t miss it. You shoulder up next to her to get a good position.”

  Harris used his body to add to the fray, pushing up until his shoulder was right in Stephanie’s face. Jennifer gave her a little push, which sent her straight into Adam, who didn’t budge. Sam shuffled in closer, his chin almost touching the top of her head.

  A growl tore from Stephanie’s throat, and her eyes flashed amber. Harris reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it.

  “All right everyone, thanks. Go sit down.” Stephanie glared at him but stayed where she was, since he was still holding on to her.

  “Sometimes we get into physical situations that are uncomfortable. Your wolf processes that as danger, and as you can all see, we’re at higher risk for shifting when our wolves feel like they’re cornered.”

  “That’s not what a train platform is really like, though,” Stephanie said, jaw set into a defiant clench.

  “No, it’s not. But you will run into a situation like that at some point in your life, I guarantee it. A concert, a Black Friday sale, a crowded train station because the last two trains were out of service and everyone is antsy to get home.”

  He squeezed Stephanie’s shoulder again and motioned for her to take her seat. She bolted for it.

  “Now, what Stephanie did, flashing her eyes, is a pretty low-level reaction. She did a great job not shifting under the discomfort. That’s something we’ll be practicing in small groups, but we’ll wait until next week for that.”

  The exercise bore too much resemblance to being herded into the bunkers, so Harris figured they should skip it for now. The wolflings cheered, and Harris grinned, shaking his head.

  “You’re not getting out of group work that easily,” he told them. He held up a box of canisters. “Another thing you need to be in complete control of are your reactions. You’re faster and stronger than you were before the Turn, so obviously you have to work on keeping that in check when you’re with humans. What else along those lines do you need to worry about?”

  Candice’s hand shot up, and Harris called on her, pleased to see that yesterday’s craziness hadn’t caused her to retreat back into her shell around her fellow wolflings.

  “Our senses,” she said. “It’s harder to pretend we don’t hear or smell things.”

  He beamed at her. “Exactly. It will be starker when you go home, since this is an unfamiliar place and you have nothing to compare it to. But at home, you’ll find you’re able to scent your parents’ emotions, hear your coworkers when they’re in other rooms—all sorts of things.”

  A movement at the back of the room caught his eye, and Harris looked up, startled to see Jackson standing near the door. He slipped into a seat and motioned for Harris to continue.

  He’d lost his train of thought completely. What had they been talking about? “Anyone else have an example
?”

  “We’ll hear our neighbors having sex,” Adam yelled out, and giggles erupted in the room.

  Right. He’d been talking about the importance of pretending to have human senses. He was an expert on that, since he’d successfully ignored the fact that Jackson had smelled like arousal around him for years. Chemosignals weren’t the same thing as consent, which was something he’d address with the wolflings in a later class. Harris knew he was attractive, and as a result a lot of strangers and even friends smelled like arousal around him. As he smelled around every reasonably attractive person who caught his eye. It didn’t mean anything deeper than an appreciation of the other’s appearance. Unless the person addressed it or flirted, it was just background noise.

  “Yes,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That too. We’re going to talk about chemosignals later, but for now let’s split up and get some practice ignoring a pungent scent.”

  He handed Emma the box of canisters. “These all have scents that are designed to be distracting. I want each member of your group to take turns having a normal conversation with the group and continue to talk as if nothing is wrong after the canister is opened. The goal here is to practice playing human while your supernatural senses are running amok.”

  The class split into their groups, and Jackson made his way down to the desk.

  “Hey. Missed you this morning,” Harris said, trying to sound casual.

  Jackson opened his mouth to respond, but a wolfling dropped a canister across the room. It rolled down the steps and everyone started sneezing as the scent permeated the air. It had been full of pine-scented air freshener beads and now they were everywhere.

  Thank God. He didn’t need his love life playing out in front of a roomful of wolflings.

  Harris shot Jackson an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’ve got to go deal with this. Did you need something?”