Dragon's Treasure (BBW/Dragon Shifter Romance) (Lords of the Dragon Islands Book 1)

by Isadora Montrose

  Then his phone rang again, and it was the Corps canceling his leave. Well, shoot and damn.

  * * *

  Hannah watched CNN openmouthed as a clearly exhausted, battered and wounded Jack Enright stoically answered questions from a roomful of overexcited reporters. His hair had been shaved close to his scalp so that his head wounds were visible. His black eye, torn ear, and bruised jaw spoke of a close escape. His left arm was in a sling.

  CNN replayed an earlier clip. Hannah gawked as the President pinned the Medal of Honor to Jack’s chest and shook his hand. Jack stepped back smartly and saluted the Commander in Chief. The President congratulated him on returning safely from his dangerous and arduous mission.

  The anchorman announced that Master Sergeant Jack Enright was a twenty year veteran of the Marine Corps. That his mother was Olympic shot putter Katharina Zhadanova who had defected from the USSR in 1976 after winning a silver medal in Montreal. Enright’s twin brother, William, was a Navy SEAL. His older brother, Douglas, had served two tours in Iraq in the Infantry and had been awarded the Distinguished Service Cross.

  The camera panned to show Jack Enright’s patriotic family side by side in dignified solidarity. Five men with Jack’s black hair and massive build stared proudly back at the cameras from their position head and shoulders above the audience. Two of them were also in military uniform. All four looked as though they had come from the same damned shifter litter as Jack.

  The shortest man was graying, but he was clearly as strong and fit as his gigantic sons. The lone woman was fully as tall and curvaceous as Hannah. But she looked almost diminutive in the protective phalanx of her towering males. She beamed as her son lied to the American people.

  Hannah’s cell rang as Jack yielded to the head of Military Intelligence who read a prepared statement.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” said Jools.

  “Uh huh.”

  “How much of that was true?”

  “I don’t know. Not much. For sure he got those injuries at the Sanctuary not Uzbekistan. Just where the hell is Uzbekistan?” demanded Hannah.

  “It’s one of the countries that shares a border with Afghanistan,” Jools told her.

  Hannah grumped. “Do you think it’s true that’s where he’s been?”

  “I dunno. I mean, the fricking President thanked Enright and the other members of Operation Thunderclap on behalf of the American people. He got the Medal of Honor. There must be something to it. He didn’t make that story up by himself. Listen, I gotta go. Secretary of Defense is gonna take questions.”

  * * *

  In a shabby one bedroom apartment in Juneau, Alaska Pavel Dobronravov, Leskov’s erstwhile lieutenant, watched as Kirill Kovolenko returned from the dead to give a news conference in company with the American president and a room full of men in uniform. He summoned his confederate with a snap of his beefy fingers.

  Andrei Alyokin came and peered at the grainy Youtube video on Dobronravov’s tablet. “What is it?” he demanded his mouth full of cold pizza.

  Dobronravov started the video again and the pair watched incredulously as Kovolenko stepped forward and received a medal from the president. The news anchor related the story of his mission in Uzbekistan to assist the Uzbeks to root out corruption in their army and bring down the Tashkent mafia.

  Alyokin slapped his hand against the table so that the empty vodka bottles rattled and the take out boxes tumbled to the floor. “That bastard,” he shouted. “Can you understand what they’re saying about that bastard Kovolenko? How can he be an American?”

  Dobronravov shrugged. “It’s crazy. Kovolenko claims he took us down for the Uzbek government. I don’t believe it, Sergei. He was with Leskov when we were ambushed.” He stopped as the dubiousness of his logic occurred to him. “Maybe he and Leskov were in it together.” He played the video again and listened carefully.

  “They are saying he got that medal for breaking up the Tashkent family, and for sending Besfamilny, Grekov, and Yesipov to prison for arms dealing and drug trafficking,” he said slowly, trying to make sense of this new information.

  Alyokin pulled out one of the rickety chairs, reversed and straddled it. “We need the Russian news channel.”

  Dobronravov typed furiously and eventually found the same video with Russian commentary. They both listened in incredulous silence.

  “Nothing adds up. Besfamilny, Grekov, and Yesipov were supposedly running the Tashkent operation. But they were paying Moscow dues. We collected for Leskov. You think those were the guys Leskov got to ambush us?” Alyokin asked.

  Dobronravov shrugged. “This is all just lies. We thought Uzbek bandits had ambushed us and Leskov also, but suppose it was these men and he and Kovolenko were behind it? Did you notice no one is saying a word about Leskov?”

  Alyokin nodded. “I noticed. And nothing about what happened to the heroin, and the guns either. I tell you, Leskov and Kovolenko took that shipment and arranged for the ambush.”

  “So where’s Leskov?”

  “With the money.”

  The two thugs looked at each other. They had been congratulating themselves on having escaped from the ambush and gunfight on the way to Kyrgyzstan that had left the others dead. Of course they had had to take some out their companions, but they had counted on the Uzbek bandits being blamed for those deaths too. They had even managed to sell their cargo in Bishkek, although they had been in no position to drive a hard bargain. Those Kyrgyz bastards had laughed as they offered them a fraction of its worth.

  They had realized too late that this money was the only shield between them and the Boss of Bosses. Of course, they had had to abandon the loot they had amassed in Tashkent. They couldn’t just return to Uzbekistan as if nothing had happened. Moscow would blame them for losing the shipment.

  Everything they made in Kyrgyzstan had gone to pay their way to Alaska on a series of stinking fishing trawlers. But at least they were alive and had all their body parts, and likely Moscow thought they were dead. Just like they had thought Leskov and Kovolenko were dead.

  Even if they now had to work at a fish packing plant and live in a dump, that was better than dealing with Moscow. Living in a dump and not being able to afford a woman was better than the inventive death the Boss of Bosses would order for them if he found out they had double-crossed him. But if Kovolenko and Leskov had escaped to America with five hundred kilos of heroin, they had money and all they had to do was track them down.

  “I dunno,” Alyokin said. “Maybe it’s not Kovolenko. This guy’s some kind of soldier. And look at his family, all Americans.”

  “You cretin, didn’t you hear them say the mother is that Ukrainian shot putter that defected during the Montreal Olympics?”

  “But her name was Zhadanova not Kovolenko.”

  Dobronravov clouted his companion. “So is your name Sergei Babikov?” he demanded. “Of course he didn’t use his mother’s name. But now we can find this Kovolenko or Enright or whoever he is, and maybe Leskov. They will pay good to keep their location from Moscow.”

  “And Moscow will pay better to get their hands on them.”

  They shook hands in triumphant concord.

  * * *

  “What do you mean, you’re not coming back with us?” roared Edward Enright. “Your mother’s been crying over your sorry ass for two years and you are going back to Hanover to let her spoil your ungrateful hide.”

  “Dad I’ve got to make things right with Hannah,” Jack protested. He looked apologetically at his mother who looked dry eyed back at him and shook her head. How could his parents make him feel like a dumb fourteen year old instead of a battle hardened Marine?

  “Over my dead body. You’re coming with us if I have to cold cock you and drag your ungrateful carcass behind the car,” Ed told him.

  Will coughed behind them. “Keep it down, Pop,” he rumbled, looking around Jack’s motel room. “Press is swarming outside looking for a story.”

  He put a hand like
a ham on his twin’s shoulder. “Man you are so screwed. Mom’s mad at you. Lady’s mad at you. But do you think she’s going to thank you if you bring those reporters down on her?”

  “What do you mean?” Jack asked startled.

  Will waved at the window and Jack cracked the curtains to peer into the parking lot. Flashbulbs immediately went off. TV crews with cameras jostled with each other to capture the tiny movement. The occupants of the other motel rooms stood around telling their stories to the reporters, even though Jack knew he had barely nodded to any of them. He swore softly.

  “They want a story,” said Will. “They want something a little more colorful than, ‘I have no information on the involvement of the Navy SEALs in Thunderclap.’“ Will laughed. “They want you to tell them how it really went down. And why your handsomer, smarter, stronger brother who’s a damned Navy SEAL didn’t join you in some armed and bloody mayhem.”

  Jack shook his head. “You know I can’t speak to the press,” he said. “I gave my word.”

  “Here’s what you’re going to do, hero,” Will said. “Sam is going to put your blues on and wear that damn sling, and he and Doug are going to get into your rental and head for Dulles and get on a plane for Portland.

  “You are going to put on Sam’s clothes and get into Mom and Dad’s rental and go to Regan with them and get a flight to Seattle. Then you’re going to get in their truck and head for Hanover without making any stops.”

  Jack shook his head and tried to speak.

  Will held up his hand. “Tom and I will wait a day and then head for Seattle. We’ll get your mate and bring her to Hanover. You can do your fence mending in the Compound. And we can watch.” He rubbed his hands in delight.

  “This is a plan not so good,” said Katrina Enright in a voice that brooked no argument. “For why should this young woman go with you two strangers? Instead, I will come with you Will. A mother will convince better than two men.”

  Her round and cheerful face assumed a look of deep sorrow. She patted Jack’s arm. “This I will do for you, my son. After you can tell for why we hear nothing for two years, six months and five days.” She smacked the back of his head with her open palm. “For why your father must think you dead.” She smacked him again.

  Will smirked. “You are so screwed, bro,” he said.

  * * *

  Hannah looked through the glass in her front door at the people standing on her front porch demanding entrance. The man looked like her shifter lover, but he was taller, had more hair, and wasn’t bruised. For sure the woman standing beside him was Jack’s mom. Hannah sighed and opened the door.

  Katrina Enright, nee Katharina Zhadanova, took one look at Hannah’s face and put her arms around her. “Welcome, daughter,” she said hugging hard. She stood back and looked at Hannah with approval. “My son has chosen good. Only one day and a grandmother I am already.”

  Will stood in Hannah’s small hall staring at her as if she had two heads. But he grinned like a fool at his mother’s words. Hannah’s face flamed.

  “He told you,” she gasped.

  Katrina scowled. “Nothing. That lummox has told me nothing. Two years dead and, even now, nothing.” Genuine outrage quivered in her voice.

  Will cleared his throat. “Jack told us he had only had a day of leave before the Corps recalled him to Washington. Mom worked out that he, um, visited with you that day.”

  Katrina nodded. “What I say. Already I am grandma. Samuel and Thomas, they already make me grandma many times. Six grandsons and six granddaughters. This litter will make more.” She beamed happily at Hannah.

  Will shrugged. Hannah was just going to have to deal with Katrina. Mom was a force of nature. He settled back to enjoy himself and examine his future sister-in-law.

  “This cake is good. You make for my son?”

  “I made it for my clan,” said Hannah weakly.

  “This clan is where?”

  “Seattle. There’s really just me and my friends Winnie and Jools and their kids.”

  “Why for not your family in this clan?”

  “I’m an orphan,” explained Hannah, “I don’t have any family.”

  Will leaned forward, but he didn’t say anything.

  “This is not so good. You will like to be part of our clan in Hanover. Is big clan. My boys, their wives and babies and my cousins from Ukraine. Already Jack is there. You will stay with Papa and me in the big house. Jack can visit.”

  “Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Will interrupted abruptly.

  Hannah shook her head. “I really don’t know much about my birth family,” she said.

  Will’s lips twisted wryly but he said nothing. Katrina elbowed him to silence and resumed her interrogation.

  Hannah goggled in bewilderment as Katrina planned her life. She protested that she couldn’t go to Hanover. She didn’t want to go to Hanover. And to all her objections Katrina returned sweet smiles, complete agreement, and ruthless determination.

  Her Jack was a worthless boar. Jack didn’t deserve a beautiful, fertile mate like Hannah. He was useless, lying bear trash but he was her son, and she had taught him better. He could improve. Already he had a house in the Enright Compound. He had built it himself. Himself and his brothers who were perhaps not so worthless. If he hurt Hannah again, he would answer to his father and to her. Of the two, Hannah figured Katrina was worse.

  In desperation, Hannah summoned Winnie and Jools. It was no use. Katrina hugged them and thanked them for taking care of her son’s mate. She co-opted them within ten minutes. Somehow Hannah found herself being tucked tenderly into the front seat of Will’s SUV by Winnie, while Jools put her bags in the hatch. Katrina hopped into the back. Winnie and Jools wore identical grins as Will pulled away from the curb.

  It was two and a half hours to Hanover and Katrina remembered many more things she needed to tell Hannah about Jack. Her words rolled over a suddenly exhausted Hannah whose eyes were closing. She slept. Katrina smiled knowingly and closed her own eyes. Kidnapping was tiring work.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JACK TOSSED THE CORNER of the white fitted sheet to his father and together they made up the king sized bed in the sleeping loft of his house.

  “What I don’t get,” said Ed to his son, “Is why you didn’t tell her your real name.”

  “Well, I was undercover, Pop,” Jack explained patiently. “I was in Seattle to create a background for Jack Enright. The CIA convinced the brass it would add a layer of deniability if I was caught. I could claim to be a U.S. mercenary with a sketchy past who just happened to have taken a contract with the Uzbekistan mob, and leave the Corps out of it altogether. I couldn’t know my mate was going to waltz into The Bear Trap.”

  Ed shook his head. He grabbed the white top sheet and opened it with a flourish of his long arms. Together they tucked it in and spread Jack’s red and grey striped woolen blanket over it. They turned the edge of the sheet down over the top of the blanket and stuffed pillows into the white pillowcases.

  Ed shook his head again. “It’s rough,” he said. “This is no bridal bower, son. You need to go shopping.”

  It looked fine to Jack. Between Uzbekistan, where a lumpy, stained mattress and a thin blanket of some no name fiber were luxuries, and the narrow cot provided by the embassy, and the unprepossessing bed at the motel, to say nothing of the bunk at the Sanctuary, his bed looked palatial and smelled of nothing but sunshine and fresh air. He pressed down on the firm mattress approvingly. “Huh? What do you mean?” he asked.

  Ed looked at the sleeping room dispassionately. The squared sides of the kiln dried logs the house was built out of were visible in this room. As was the chinking. The big windows were curtainless and looked out over the deck. Beyond the deck was a woodlot. Pretty at this time of year. On the horizon the Kittitas stretched green and leafy as far as the eye could see. The view was killer.

  When the sun came up it would shine on the bed. But the bed was made of smoothed and polished log
s. It was chunky and rustic like the tables, which were slabs of burl oak on tripods made of branches with the bark on. There was a closet. But no mirror, no dresser. A flat screen TV the size of a billboard hung on one wall.

  “It’s not a room for a woman,” he told his son. “Your mate won’t like it. What’s her bedroom like?”

  “Um, it’s pink and white. Sort of flowy curtains around the bed.” Until I ripped them down. “Real girlie. Couple of white dressers, these white bedside tables with drawers and cupboards to hide everything.” He trailed off uncertainly. No flat screen. Lots of prints on the wall. Curtains at the windows. Cushions on the bed. His mind wandered as he recalled putting a fat pink and white striped bolster under Hannah’s hips.

  “You need to ask your mother. This is kind of bare. What’s the rest of Hannah’s place like?”

  Jack grimaced. “She has sort of bitty designer furniture. White leather couch. Glass tables. Dinky, stiff chairs with hardly any room to sit.”

  “You see? You gotta go shopping. You ask your mom. Ask your mate. Let her buy stuff online,” his father advised him.

  “I’m not living with glass and steel.”

  “Son, is this woman your life-mate?” his father inquired.

  “Of course.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Hell, yes.”

  Ed looked pointedly at the room and then back to Jack. “Tell me again, why’re you limping, son?” he asked.

  Jack looked around at the simple spaciousness of the sleeping loft he and Will had designed as a tree house. He imagined Hannah’s elegant white makeup table in the corner, and filmy drapes covering up his view. He winced. Well shoot and damn. He was going to have to sit his sorry bear ass on whatever skimpy, designer delight she picked out and look like he was enjoying it.

  Ed’s cell rang and he took it out of his pocket and flipped it open. “Hello,” he barked. “Yes,” he said, “I have to go into the office for a bit, but Jack should be around when you get here. Drive safe.” He turned to Jack. That was Will, they’re in Midway getting gas.”