"I know it won't be easy. But after fifty years of hunting ... I can't sit on my ass another day and hear about someone else raking up on kills that should be ours."
"Since when do you keep count?” That was my job. Or at least, I had kept track of what I killed in my leather-bound journal. Unfortunately, I left the book with Graham when I left the Club.
"I'm not keeping count,” he grumbled. “But I can't stop going to the movieinfo website and seeing the number of bounties that have tripled since we've been out of the game.” Another pause. “I've already placed some calls to see if the guys are still interested."
"And if they're not?"
"They're interested. Even Chris and Jocelyn want a piece of the action."
Now why did he have to go there? I adored Jocelyn because she was the only other female in the group. Both she and her husband were full-bloods who had as much passion for the hunt as they did each other. I envied that ... in my sniper days. Today was a brand new day.
"But there's something else eating you,” Dane probed.
Though I couldn't see him through the phone, I had a pretty good picture of him in my mind, leaning back in his leather chair, feet propped on his massive desk. Nothing short of seriousness most likely etched his tanned face. That man must have baked twenty-four hours in the sun to get a tan like that. Most of the time, he wore a relaxed look, brightened with a silly grin. Judging by the determination in his voice, I bet he had run his hand through his black wavy hair at least twenty times. Despite his bean-pole body, Dane lifted weighs for the sole purpose of filling out his clothes. Nonetheless, he looked like a muscled toothpick.
I sighed, knowing how hard it was to keep anything from him. “Dane ... I have a husband of four years now. These past few months have been the happiest of my life because I didn't have to lie about where I was going or how long I'd be gone. We've even talked about starting a family."
He chuckled over the earpiece. “If it's maternity leave you want, then all you have to do is ask."
I grumbled under my breath. That man was lucky that he wasn't in the room with me right now. I would have smacked him. “You're a jackass, you know that? For once in your life, can you be serious?"
"But that's the gist of it, Angel. You and your ... mate ... have settled into your lives and you want to have kids. As a former father, I understand that. But like I said, nothing is etched in stone yet. I want to make sure I've got a skilled team that can take care of themselves at all times. It could take another month before I pull this thing together, so that gives you plenty of time to think about it."
A knock at the door, jarred me from my seat. I bolted upright and tried to wrangle in my nerves. The last thing I needed was one of our houseguests coming here to harass me about joining the rest of the party.
Matt, my handsome husband, opened the door and poked his head inside. A huge smile pinched popcorn-size dimples into his cheeks. Oh, how I loved running my fingers through his black, goose-down hair. If it weren't for him being a lawyer and needing to look professional at all times, I'd ask him to grow it out. He pushed the door open, and in strolled six feet of chiseled physique. His hungry gaze locked onto mine. Every time he unclothed me with those dark eyes, I swore he could see all the way down to the tingle in my crotch. Of course, something about his animalistic pheromones probably had something to do with it. Regardless of his beauty, most females couldn't help being attracted to him. Too bad only female werewolves respected the fact that my husband was hands off.
Yanking me out of the chair, he sat down and pulled me onto his lap. If all sixty year olds acted like this, we women would be in trouble. Thank goodness werewolves aged two to three times slower than the average human.
"Who's on the phone?” Matt whispered.
I covered the mouthpiece. “It's Dane. Be quiet before he hears us—"
"Too late,” Dane sighed. “I take it your husband's harassing you."
Damn werewolf hearing. I pursed my lips to a smirk. “Well, of you must know, he's a bit horny right now.” I knew because I could feel the thickening bulge underneath my left buttock.
Matt tickled my sides, adding more truth to my statement. At least, I think he did. I squirmed and giggled in his lap.
"Too much information, Angel."
Matt plastered a smacking kiss to my cheek. Dozens more followed, lining the back of my neck and up to my earlobe. His tickling lips perpetuated a string of lust spasms all the way down to my groin. I loved it when he touched my cappuccino-colored skin—a quick thank you to my Navajo father and African-American mother for that. He lifted my black, wavy hair and continued his invasion of my senses. A slight tug and I knew he had one of my black locks spiraled around his finger. Thank goodness I kept it cut to three inches pass my shoulders. Matt always seemed to marvel at the length. He said it was my almond eyes and pert nose that got his attention. I say it was “human éclair with bitch-in-heat cream filling” scent. His words, not mine.
"I've got to go,” I breathed.
"Uh-huh. Sounds more like His Royal Horniness might be in need of a run. I'm sure your houseguests would love that kind of after-dinner entertainment."
Two Alpha males vying for my attention. What more could a girl ask for? Well ... Perhaps a little civility between the two would help. Matt knew how much of a role Dane played in my family's life. Still, I doubt Matt would apologize for “stealing” me right out from underneath his and my uncle's overprotective noses. Why should he when I went voluntarily?
Through some of the hardest times in our lives, my family had always relished Dane's company. He had been a part of our lives since my diaper days. In fact, he had changed a few. When Matt came along and stole his little ward's heart, Dane was less than pleased, though he'd never outright admit it. Then again, I knew both he and Uncle Graham would never see Matt the same way I saw him. I figured if Matt made it through my parents and my older sister, Genevieve, then he was as good as in with my family. Had it been left up to Dane and Graham, they would have stuffed and mounted my mate over a fireplace. At first I thought him being a werewolf had something to do with it, but that wasn't the case. They would have preferred it if I hadn't waited until my wedding day to introduce the three of them for the first time. Matt wasn't pleased about that faux pas either. Too bad. My husband knew nothing of my bounty hunting days and I wanted to keep it that way. Knowing those two idiots, Dane and Graham would have used it against me and told Matt every heinous aspect of my assassinations. Who in their right mind would want to marry a sniper? So ... I never told Matt or the rest of my family about my “second” job.
"The sooner you hang up that phone, the closer we come to having wet, passionate sex tonight,” Matt whispered, hot breath steaming up my ear. “I'm going to make you come until you're squealing my name, begging me to stop. And just when you think I will, I'll ground your sticky, sweet core all over again."
Aw hell. It was time to throw everyone out.
With talk like that, I clicked the off button without so much as a goodbye and let Matt drag me to the floor for a preview of our X-rated play. It wouldn't be the first time that we've slipped away for a quickie.
* * * *
Last night's barbecue and the sex that followed had worn me to the bone. Even telecommuting from home seemed like a hassle. Thank goodness being a software engineer allowed me that privilege, though I couldn't wait to finish my real estate course.
The phone rang, adding to my exhausted mood. Whoever it was, it had better be important.
"Thank god,” Matt said, sighing. “You're all right."
"Of course, I'm all right,” I said, a smile coming over in my voice. “Are you okay?” No answer. That couldn't be good. “Matt? Are you there?"
"Oh, sorry.” A deep sigh. “There's been a change in our vacation plans. No Amelia Island this Friday."
"What?"
"We've got problems."
I slumped in the chair and folded one arm under the other. A tension heada
che had wormed its way between my temples. “Like what? We had our hearts set on a nice weekend getaway for the past—"
"Werewolf problems, Lex. Okay?"
My heart couldn't decide between skipping or stopping, but the numbness was certainly there. Trembling lips gave way to a light, detached voice. I hardly recognized it. “Don't play games, Matt. This isn't funny."
"Does it sound like I'm laughing?” he snapped. Rustling came over the line as if he held the phone between his cheek and his shoulder while trying to do something else. “They left my office a few minutes ago. The Georgia Pack."
Georgia Pack? Please, Lord, tell me this isn't what I think it is. We spent all of our newlywed lives on the run from Matt's former pack—the Boston Pack sons of bitches—moving from state to state, staying one step ahead. Now this. Please God, don't tell me they found us. Not now, not after more than two years of peace and quiet and settling down to a normal life.
My fingers curled around the arm of the chair to knuckle whiteness. “Other than our heads mounted on their Alpha's wall, what do they want?"
"My help with a case."
"What did you tell them?"
"What could I tell them? If I said they're on their own, they would be waiting for me in the parking garage. When one of them picked up your picture on my desk ... They know things about us, Lex. They wouldn't say anything specific, but they sure as hell did enough hinting around."
Let's see ... only one pack in the world hates us enough to give us grief and all of a sudden the Georgia Pack shows up on Matt's office doorstep. Gee, I can't image who would fit that bill.
The phone cracked. Or rather, the plastic cracked under my viselike grip. I loosened up. “That Boston Alpha prick told them.” I paused long enough to smolder a bit. “Matt, I don't want to run anymore. We've made a life for ourselves here, dammit; we can work around this."
"Hon, I know how you feel. But face facts: I'm a freaking lawyer. That makes it easy to find me no matter where we live. And I'm not about to downgrade to a paralegal so that we can live in secrecy for the rest our lives. Not as long as we're planning to have kids."
I snorted. “Another plan up in smoke."
"Look, I'm on my way home. We'll talk about it when I get there. In the mean time, keep the doors and windows locked. Anyone comes near the house, you call the police. Werewolf or otherwise."
He hung up.
I slammed the phone on the base.
Anger tightened in my chest. Thank goodness I worked from home. But that didn't mean I could afford to have a tirade in a rented house filled with rented furniture. Had everything been paid for, I would've sent the chair through the window.
Chapter 2
Matt traipsed into the house with the details. Normally the attorney-client privilege thing would have clamped his mouth shut. But in a case like this, Pack By-laws superseded human laws.
As I had guessed, the pack got an anonymous tip that a couple of rogue werewolves had moved into the area. One posed as a lawyer to con people out of money, and the other worked as a computer hacker who liked breaking into people's bank accounts and stealing their life savings. With reputations like that, we would've raised an eye or two and had a stack of warrants out for our arrest. After staking a claim on a territory, the last thing any pack wants is a hooligan coming in and starting trouble. So, the Georgia Pack acted on the tip and investigated my husband.
Bottom line: the Georgia Pack needed help ... and fast. One of their brothers got slapped with a DUI charge even though he had passed the breathalyzer and the hand-eye coordination tests. While one cop administered the tests, a second one did a surface sweep of the car's interior and found an extinguished marijuana butt in the ashtray. To sum it up, their DUI brother was facing 30 days behind bars if convicted. Because werewolves change every couple of days, being locked away for more than a week would break his mind. One uncontrolled change ... and our race would be front page news.
Had they wanted Matt for anything less, they would have settled for rousting us out of town. To make matters worse, even Matt getting the charges dropped didn't guarantee our safety. Our butts were cooked regardless of the outcome.
* * * *
Days had passed, and not a word from Stephan Carlisle, Matt's contact in the Georgia Pack. A magnetic talking toilet held Carlisle's oatmeal-colored business card on the side of the refrigerator, covering most of the gold and black lettering and half of the ivy trim. For some bizarre reason, my husband thought a toilet that sang the “Hallelujah Chorus” made perfect sense stuck on a refrigerator. Go figure.
Every time I entered the kitchen, that business card caught my eye and flooded me with anxiety—not that I would tell Matt. We postulated, argued, and slept on the idea, agonizing and waiting for another intrusion into our lives.
It never came.
No matter. Each night we double-checked the bolts on the front and back doors and made sure the alarm system remained activated whether we were in the house or not. When we walked passed windows, we peeked through curtains and blinds. After everything we had gone through, we had a right to be paranoid. With the backyard being our most vulnerable spot, Matt walked it every night before going to bed. When he changed, he ventured to the edge of the woods behind our home, far less than his usual thirty acre roam. Though we rented the house, this was our territory and ours to protect. We didn't want to own any expansive amounts of property. We wanted the same things most people did. Stability above all. So we stuck to our normal routine and assured ourselves that everything would be okay.
Although we changed our mini vacation into a full-blown week and stayed home, it didn't stop us from tending to other matters. One of them being, I promised our neighbor, Kristen Stancil, that I'd go Halloween shopping with her to help decorate the community center.
Kristen was the epitome of a happy homemaker. She had two kids, ages seven and five, and her whole world revolved around them, making sure they had the best that money could buy. With bouncy blond curls, green eyes, and a figure that most likely paid for her plastic surgeon's Hummer, she loved turning heads but liked the one that belonged to her college-age landscaper the most. Matt and I joked about how her strawberry blond kids were a complete divergence from her dark hair, dark eyed husband. Not that I'd point any fingers, but with Kristen anything was possible. Only she would marry a nerd who went by the name Stan Stancil.
"You know, Alexa,” she said, stepping out of her Toyota Avalon, “you should think about quitting your job if you guys are planning to have kids. That way you'd have more time to devote to the children and the house. It's not like you guys need the money, with Matty being a lawyer and all. That's almost as good as my Stan being a cardiac surgeon, right?"
I rolled my eyes. Minuscule pebbles ground under my heels as I stepped onto the second level parking garage. “I like my job.” Sort of.
Kristen leaned across the top of the white car, twirling her keys on one finger. “But you're going to be the real estate agent, right? Why not put your heart and soul into that? Besides, that's like being your own boss. You make you own hours, see who you want to see."
"Because I believe in having a fallback in case things don't go as planned. Anyway, I telecommute. I get to sit around in pajamas all day and make a sweet bank roll on the side."
"Bank roll?"
I rolled my eyes. Every now and then, what little urban slang I have sometimes seeps out and leaves the middle-class neighbors scratching their heads. Thank goodness they didn't know I grew up in the projects or that could open a door to some real stupidity on their part.
Kristen shrugged. “I guess you're right. But I'm telling you you're going love being a mother. Sure, it gets a little crazy at times, but if you shed enough tears and pluck his guilt strings about not spending time with his kids, your job gets ten times easier. Just like that."
If I rolled my eyes any more at this chic, they'd get stuck at the top of my skull.
Had Kristen not been the grapevine quee
n, I would have chosen my friends more wisely. Still, we couldn't refute her knack for nosiness.
Without warning, her eyes went wide, staring over my shoulder.
Great.
Scuffling footfalls said it was too late to turn and defend myself. My personal space sensors crept up the back of my neck as the intruder made his approach. When the footsteps halted, the assailant slammed me against the car, covering my entire body with his putrid, sweaty one.
Kristen shrieked. Tears blurred the fear in her bulging eyes. She clutched her fists up to her mouth, sniffling and whimpering. Just what I needed, a woman who lacked a backbone. That's what I get for hanging around with a housewife who's been rumored to fluff more than her husband's pillow.
"Move, cunt, and you're as good as dead,” our assailant seethed. “The same goes for you, rich bitch. I want the purses and the keys. Now!"
Bullies ... I can't stand them.
I rammed my three inch heel on his foot, grinding until something popped underneath the top of his sneaker. His little-girl cry yelped throughout the empty garage. Sinking my elbow into my would-be mugger's ribs sent him staggering backwards. He met my eyes, fury steaming through the black ski mask. He held onto his bruised, if not broken, ribs, seething through clenched teeth.
Was that supposed to be intimidating? I've handled monsters that left me quaking in my shoes. With this guy, I had to stifle my laughter.
I slugged him with a right upper cut. He stumbled backwards, landing hard on the pavement. Not letting up, I took his denim collar in my fist and lifted him off the ground until his legs dangled. His eyes grew as large as half dollars.
"Life is full of surprises,” I said in a low voice, smiling daggers. “Here's another one for you."
I threw him over the hood of a nearby car. He rolled to the other side and flopped onto the ground. As I skirted the front bumper, thoughts of more damage crossed my mind. My would-be mugger got to his feet, swinging his fist. My spine bowed backwards, curving my upper body out of his line of fire.
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