by KH LeMoyne
Lately, he needed the patience for himself.
“Alpha, I need to talk to you.”
“I was here first.”
“My issues are higher priority.”
Deacon swung his muzzle in the direction of his omega, lounging at the edge of the reception room, and made eye contact.
Deceptively relaxed and leaning against the desk outside Deacon’s office door, Wharton eased forward with a smile and a wink in his direction. He waved a pad of paper previously tucked under one arm. “I already told all of you. If you don’t sign up with me, you’ll get no priority whatsoever. So who’s first? Deacon always gets back to everyone.”
A disgruntled snort ripped the air as several members attempted to circumvent Wharton.
Deacon forced his expression to calm. He’d been told that his wolf’s scowl only exaggerated human expressions, revealing his thoughts to everyone and inducing fear. No matter how annoying the whining for his attention became, he’d kill to protect every one of them. The last thing he wanted was their fear.
Unfortunately, the day-to-day administration for a shifter territory encompassing one-third of the North American continent snowed him under in paperwork and minutia. And complaints.
Petting and stroking, he could handle. Meting out justice wasn’t a problem. Clan defense was right up his alley. Resolving everyone’s mating issues, sibling disputes, business squabbles—well, that took a toll. He’d long ago adopted stoicism and silence as the best line of defense, keeping his wolf present and his human self reclusive.
Committed to that approach, he edged past Wharton and trotted through the half-open office door. In peaceful quiet, he shifted back.
“That’s your biggest problem.” Trim, his second in command, said from behind him as she pushed his door shut. “You do get back to each of them. What you need is—”
His growl stopped her, openmouthed.
She raised her hands with a smirk that fit perfectly with her painted fuchsia nails and auburn hair spiked with white tips. “I was going to say you could use a secretary. A gatekeeper for all these requests and”—she leaned closer and tapped her lower lip—“someone to help prioritize.”
Waggling her forefinger in his direction, she spun away. “Don’t for a minute think about dumping that on me.”
“We wouldn’t want a revolt,” he snapped back. At least she hadn’t brought up the popular sentiment making rounds in town. Again. She found it funny, but it made his claws emerge and his teeth itch. Everyone had a sister, a cousin, a female of worth that would raise the family status and settle Deacon’s life. Not happening. Between responsibility for the safety of several thousand shifter families and his international commitments for the Shifters Unlimited board, he didn’t need more input on his personal life. Especially with his power’s growing instability.
While his second in command was a formidable soldier and a good investigator, she was the last person to give him guidance. He ignored her halfhearted teasing as easily as he did everyone else. Secretly, he’d even considered meddling in her affairs to distract her. Pushing her to stop hiding behind him and seek her true happiness would certainly be in her best interests, but no decent alpha sank to matchmaking in order to gain a few moments of peace. Or he didn’t get caught doing it.
Besides, her personal life was her own. They agreed on that topic.
“I’m not that bad with people,” she said, frowning.
“That wasn’t you who tried to resolve the issue between the Svenson triplets over their mate claim? I could have sworn those sisters decided they couldn’t work together. They were ready to dismantle the bakery in town and leave—after your recommendations.” He held back laughter. Two hours of Trim’s negotiations for the love-torn trio and they’d been ready to flee for the big city, prepared never to set eyes on one another again.
“Their issue was petty. Two of them are still expanding their bakery to Seattle, but neither of those women displayed a whiff of pheromones for your lieutenant from Tucson. He was lucky he got away unscathed.” Scowling, she shook her head. “If they’d had real trouble, I’d have handled it.”
True. Sensitive to every situation of abuse, neglect, or injustice, Trim had her ear to the gossip and a heavy hand with violent offenders. A reason he’d convinced her to join his team.
“A wife wouldn’t hurt you either.” She quickstepped a few paces away as he snarled. “Hey, put away the canines. Just figured you needed a laugh. Hell, what would I do if you mated?”
Deacon frowned, wondering what had brought about that line of thought. “Same thing you’ve always done. Now, about work.”
Stepping back more warily, Trim continued. “I do need to talk to you about something before you handle anything from Wharton’s list.”
“Is this about the meetings?”
Mouth half-open, she crossed her arms and shook her head. “No, but I should update you on that too. The territory alphas have all confirmed their attendance for the international board meeting six weeks from today.”
“Agenda item requests?”
“No word yet, but if we’re still going to host in Vancouver, we need to find someone to work the details. I’ve got a list going for security items and several people on the short list for the team.”
Deacon nodded, half listening as he scowled at the map on the far side of his office wall. More time away from Black Haven, but at least it was still within his territory. Exposed outside his territory during a power surge wasn’t an option. Only dispelling into the sacred land worked for any length of time. He had no idea what consequences there would be for other shifters, much less unshielded humans if he couldn’t control his power.
“I’m also receiving texts from the other alphas’ administrative assistants. For the record—again—you obviously need your own, since I’m not it.”
“How many have you responded to?”
She rolled her eyes. “Four. Each had a special request.”
“Stop answering them.” Deacon flipped the top file folder open, casting a quick glance at the budget priorities for his territory. “The eastern and European contingencies have always been a bit pretentious, but none of the alphas who have met you would dare consider you a lackey. As I remember, Alarico’s second receives calls from the other alphas.” Deacon glanced up and saw her shoulders relax.
“That’s because the alphas and lieutenants consider him in charge. Though, I’ll admit, Alarico called me directly.” He raised a brow, waiting for her to get past venting. “All right, Whitman also called.”
“Did those two alphas request special tasks?” he asked, holding back a smile.
“They wouldn’t dare.”
Whit’s territories bordered Deacon’s along the east, as Alarico’s did in South America. Based on Deacon’s interactions with them over the decades, both men were formidable but fair-minded. More importantly, both were more modernized in their thinking than some of the Asian alphas. “Not only wouldn’t they demean you in that fashion, they’d snatch you for their own teams if they stood half a chance.”
Trim clicked her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere, so I’m not leaving.”
He held her gaze for several long seconds. “You have as much authority as any other second, and more responsibility.”
“I know that.” Trim frowned again. “You know I’m not afraid to do the hard work. Send me in anytime as the heavy or to scout out trouble. We both know you’ll get more payback from my time having me take care of something less politically sensitive than handling your calls.”
With a snort, he nodded, accepting her point. They all had more on their plates than they had time to handle. Matching personalities to tasks was half the battle of making headway.
“Our clan meeting is set for here later next week,” she continued. “Three of your lieutenants submitted feedback for initiatives that require funding from the budget. I added my notes, as well as those from our accountant, for your review.” She dug into the
satchel over her shoulder and then dropped a thick folder on his desk.
The files landed with a loud crack that had him wincing. Hours of reading loomed ahead of him, but more important was the issue Trim had avoided.
“Marsh shouldn’t have skirted you in my chain of command. I’ll clarify that when I speak with him, but he also has a history of levelheaded thinking. You might consider giving him a pass until we find out the reasons for his secrecy.”
She shrugged and turned away. “He’s kept the peace in Seattle for the last twenty years, so he doesn’t need my approval. He just wouldn’t stop calling. As if he thought I wouldn’t consider his request urgent otherwise.”
Deacon punched in Ashton Marsh’s number and immediately got voice mail. “Well, he didn’t leave me a message and isn’t taking the call. If I don’t hear back from him in the next twenty-four hours, I’ll send you to find out what’s going on.” No one would dare circumvent his second to her face, which was how it should be. “What is really bothering you? Because whether I have an admin or not isn’t your highest priority. I do have voice mail, after all.”
Shoulders squared, she dug several postcards from her back pocket and held them out to him. “I received these from Shanae Payne. I think something’s wrong.”
He took the postcards without reminding Trim that Shanae had been Mrs. Philmont for some time now. Shanae’s decision to marry her human mate and not return to the stronghold had severed a longtime friendship between the two women. Turning over the postmarks, he read the dates and the brief notes from Shanae.
Just like home, sent Monday from Spokane, Washington.
Wonderful vacation, from Coeur d’Alene, Idaho.
Can’t wait to see everyone, from Hayden, Idaho.
Four-star accommodations, from Sandpoint.
Trim read each card at his side and flicked one with her index finger. “Four postcards over a five-day period? They say absolutely nothing. Hardly worth the ink and postage.”
Carefully examining the deepening frown lines marring Trim’s face, he waited. She might not be the most tactful point of contact for his business associates, but he’d trust her keen insight any day. This wasn’t about lamenting wasted ink. “What do you read into this?”
“Shanae’s mind is like a steel trap, always juggling six things at once.” Lips pursed, she nodded at the postcards, then perched on an armchair in front of his desk. “As vapid as those notes look, she never does anything without a reason.”
Pretty much his thoughts as well. He walked to the huge map of the Northwest and methodically planted a yellow pushpin at each of the four cities. Since the postmark stamp on the last card was two days ago, it made calculating Shanae’s location impossible. After a second, he selected two more pins—one for home and one—no, not yet. Holding back his gut reaction, he returned to lean on his desk and stared at Trim as he handed back the cards. “She sent these to you, and you used to be able to read each other’s thoughts. She’s been gone for seven years, so why send these now?”
“She knows my role here. I can call in your help without alerting anyone who is monitoring her behavior.” She slid into the chair, her expression guarded.
Deacon glanced over his shoulder at the board. The locations weren’t haphazard. He agreed that Shanae Philmont was likely in trouble. She was following her instincts and running for home, a rule he taught all the young shifters in the clan. If trouble is on your heels, run quiet, run fast, and seek out a defensive position where you have the advantage. Most important—no matter what, you can always come home. That she was headed to Four Star, a name she’d coined for a hideaway she’d scouted during youth training, wasn’t a coincidence. As his best pupil, she’d learned every nook and cranny, providing her with home-field advantage.
“She’s on the run.” Trim stuffed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, slouched farther down, and stared out his window toward the mountains. “If she’d gotten tired of playing with humans, she could just drive home. I think she’s hiding from someone. That leaves her husband.”
What a wild leap of judgment. Deacon raised a brow and received only a harsher frown in return as she turned back.
“If she’s running from him—if he did something to her—I want clan justice.”
Withholding a groan, Deacon spun away from her. “If the facts indicate abuse, I will take appropriate action for any threats or injuries to Shanae.”
“He’s had her for seven years,” she persisted. The scent of her anger permeated the room in a toxic wave. “She wouldn’t be coming home if he weren’t at fault.”
“You don’t know that.” Deacon stepped forward and planted his hands on the arms of her chair. Trim had the good sense to lean back. “We are not a vigilante group. We will find her, and I will talk to her. If her husband harmed her, I will deal with him. If I find that you’ve started recruiting a lynch mob for the man Shanae chose as her partner, then you and I will be having a very unpleasant discussion. He’s her mate. A bond she wanted. You’re smart enough to respect her choice, Trimbal.”
She dipped her head, but between the furrowed eyebrows, her eyes still glittered with anger. She wanted payback for losing her best friend. “I understand.”
“Understand what?”
Her nose twitched. “I’ll wait until we bring her back. Alpha.”
Really? Passive-aggressive from his second in command. He growled, and she dropped her shoulders and cleared her expression.
He didn’t have the patience for this shit. Maybe he was getting too old. Or maybe he wasn’t old enough. “I trained her not only to hunt and defend, but how to blend in with human society.” Something he hadn’t adhered to with Trim and might have to correct. “While I agree it looks like she’s headed home, we’ll find her on my terms.”
She glanced away, arms still crossed over her chest, but she dipped her head in agreement.
“Get Brindy to start the plane. Tell her to be ready in thirty minutes. We keep a low profile. No vehicles. No shifting. We’ll jump near Shanae’s first location and track behind her. We’ll have an advantage. If someone’s following her, they won’t expect a tail. Grab Wharton to join us.”
Trim leaned forward, poised to leave, but waited, alert.
He continued, “After we’re down, Brindy will meet up with Grizz and Breslin on the edge of the stronghold. They’ll approach from this side, and we’ll gather up Shanae somewhere in between. Chisholm can coordinate here for any immediate problems.”
“Wolves aren’t meant to jump out of planes,” she muttered, but rose quickly and jogged to the door, her cell phone out and to her ear.
He clenched his teeth as the door slammed behind her, then strode back to the map and considered their options. Whatever was driving Shanae to the safety of their old training ground in the Kootenai National Forest, he didn’t believe it was her college boyfriend—her human husband.
Besides being Trim’s closest friend and protégé, Shanae was one of the youngest shifters he’d ever trained. As a result, he’d done due diligence on Shanae’s behalf, though he’d never told Trim.
He’d checked the young man’s background for any sign of substance abuse or violence. Not that records were perfect. However, the two had been together for three years in college before her decision to marry him. They weren’t strangers. They’d seemed happy during Deacon’s brief investigation. In love, though Deacon hadn’t experienced such a thing. When they both graduated with jobs, Deacon at least felt certain the couple wouldn’t starve. They had a chance at happiness, and he couldn’t keep watch over every married couple in his clan.
What stood out in his recollection was that Shanae, out of all the students even five to ten years her senior, had excelled at evading detection. Even eleven years later, she still held the record for staying hidden from her instructor and alpha longer than any other trainee. She had that in her favor.
At the irritating buzz in his pocket, he withdrew his cell phone and, with a quick
glance, turned it on. “How soon before you head out?”
“I’m leaving now,” Grizz responded. “Breslin’s meeting up with me at the edge of the Black Forest Reservation. Brindy will bring us the SUV at Whitefish after your jump.”
“Cover every back trail and designated hiding location we have.” He waited on the silence. Nothing was wrong with his phone. Grizz’s caution was on par with Trim’s heightened sense of suspicion. Relationship problems wouldn’t send one of the clan’s smartest and brightest fleeing through the national forest to get home. Shanae had cherry-picked her path where she could best defend herself. The place where her alpha could find her. Since she’d avoided phone lines and computers, he suspected she fled from a sophisticated predator. A human, perhaps, but her path to the forest pointed more to one of his own kind. Unacceptable. “I also want a briefing in several hours from Breslin on the attempted child abduction cases he was working on.”
“Got it,” Grizz said. “One of the security team should keep an eye on our back door.”
Deacon hated adding someone outside his immediate team for this job, but he wouldn’t discount Grizz’s instincts. “Fine. Pick one of our park volunteers. Tell them not to shift. I want an account of every car, glider, or tracking dog that crosses the mile stretch between our stronghold border and the forest. Caution them to scent for rogue shifters.”
“Right. How are you getting Trim to jump out of the plane?”
“When it’s time, I’ll push her out.”
A cough, maybe a rumble, echoed across the line. “Tell me she’ll have a parachute.”
“Don’t worry. Her self-preservation instincts will have kicked in once we’re on the plane. She’ll be strapped in and ready to go. As always.”
“Bitching the whole time.” Grizz paused. “She might be right, you know—about wolves and planes.”