Alpha’s Mission: A Special Forces Shifter Romance

by Rose, Renee

  “Give her the helmet and your jacket.”

  He scowls but does as I ask him.

  “Silver Camry, far left lane.”

  He walks toward the car, giving us one searching look over his shoulder.

  “We’ll leave your bike where the police can find it,” I tell him.

  “You’d better,” he calls gruffly back. I almost smile. He reminds me of the wolves in the pack in Tucson, a motorcycle gang of shifters who run cage fights and nightclubs and own the city streets at night.

  “This will be hard to manage without shoes, but I’ll do the driving,” I tell Annabel as I stow the gun in the holster taped to my back and pat the seat. She pulls on the jacket and hikes up her skirt to mount the bike which is way too big for her. I place the helmet on her head and adjust the strap, then mount the bike in front of her.

  “Hang on, sweetheart,” I say and gun the engine, zooming in between cars.

  About a half mile ahead, I see the police have blocked the exit and highway, and they’re working their way back. I pull the motorcycle over to the far-left lane and stop it. “Get off.”

  Annabel dismounts. I follow, then heave the bike over the guardrail.

  Annabel gasps. I pretty much gasp in my head, too—I shouldn’t be able to lift a Harley Davidson in the air like that. Certainly not without straining something. But every day, it seems like my strength increases, along with endurance and heightened senses.

  If I stay in the secret agent business, being a wolf could really come in handy.

  But that’s a huge if.

  Annabel and I leap over the guardrail and climb back on.

  The police catch sight of us and shout. I gun the motorcycle, skidding out as we roar off in the opposite direction.

  They’ll have to do a lot better than a roadblock to catch me.

  9

  Annabel

  I crane my head to watch the lights of the cop cars recede behind us. Charlie drives like a madman, guiding the bike down narrow trashcan-lined alleyways. We don’t stop until we’re on a street lined with respectable brick townhouses.

  “Think we lost them?”

  Charlie shrugs. The wariness hasn’t left his shoulders. With everything that’s happened, I’m running out of shock, but the sight of him lifting the bike like it was a toy is forever burned into my brain.

  I guess these super spies eat their Wheaties.

  “Why are the cops looking for us?”

  “Someone put a bulletin out. I’m burned, you’re probably wanted as an accomplice.”

  I let my head sag against his shoulder. He reaches back and squeezes my knee.

  “Let’s get to the safehouse. Then we can work on clearing you and your father’s name.”

  And figure out who sent men to grab me. I can’t even deal with the thought of the wolf. I’ve reached my quota of crazy.

  Charlie doesn’t think I’m crazy. I’m actually surprised he didn’t question me further about the wolf. Maybe he knows something I don’t, and there’s a new trend of using K9 units for surveillance and/or hit squads. What the hell else could it be?

  By the time we reach the park where we’re to meet Otis, my stomach has settled. I may not know what the hell happened back at the hotel, but one thing is clear—I feel perfectly safe with Charlie. Even when he whips the motorcycle through the tiniest possible spaces between traffic-stuck cars. Any other guy, I’d be screaming to get down, but with Charlie, I tuck my arms tighter around him, close my eyes and relax into the ride.

  As the roar of the bike fills my ears, I tilt my face into the rushing wind. Charlie’s hard abs flex against my forearms as he wheels and swerves the bike like a stunt devil. When we stop, my heart is pounding, and I feel a little weak, but not with fear. Charlie puts his legs down, steadying the bike for me to hop off, and I linger, bowing my head to catch a little of his man-and-leather scent.

  Across the small park, Otis sits on a bench, eating peanuts. Reluctantly, I slide my arms from around Charlie’s middle. He catches my hand and squeezes it, keeping it even as we stroll from the motorcycle. I’m still barefoot, but the grass feels nice.

  “Nice bike,” Otis drawls as we approach.

  “Thanks, man.” Charlie hooks his arm around my shoulders. “A friend let me borrow it—I promised to give it right back. You ever ride one?”

  “Missus won’t let me. Got a boring beige sedan.” Otis hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the car parked under a row of maples, then holds up the brown bag. “Peanut?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” Charlie takes the bag. There’s a slight clink inside. He offers it to me, and I slip my hand in, feeling the car keys inside there along with the peanuts. I grab the keys and nod to Charlie, who pulls the bag away, slipping the motorcycle key inside before handing the bag back to Otis. At least, I think he slips in the motorcycle key. I don’t actually see anything even though I’m watching for it. We crack peanuts and eat them for a few seconds before Otis stands.

  “Keep the rest.” Otis dusts off his hands. No sign of the key although I’m sure he has it. These spy guys are better than street magicians. “I have to get home before the missus gets antsy. Wish I could be off to my fishin’ shack. I always keep an overnight bag and map in the car, just in case I need to get away.” He grins and ambles off.

  “He’ll do a few loops, watching to see if we’ve been followed,” Charlie tells me.

  “We’ll take his car, right? And it’ll have an overnight bag and map to his fishing shack?”

  “Yep.” With his hand on my elbow, Charlie steers me up the sidewalk toward the ‘boring beige sedan’ Otis pointed out. “We’ll stop to get some clothes.”

  * * *

  Dusk settles by the time the car rolls down a long, dusty dirt road. The wheel hits a pothole, and I blink awake.

  “Almost home,” Charlie murmurs, and I flash him a little grin. I’m wearing a “Virginia is for Lovers” shirt, courtesy of a tourist shop. I wriggle my toes in my new, sparkly flip-flops. Out of D.C. traffic, on a nice back road near the Maryland coastline, I feel like I’m on vacation.

  “If it wasn’t for all the shooting and dead people, this spy stuff would be kinda fun,” I tell him.

  He nods, the corners of his mouth turning up. I sense he’s been worried about my state of mind after the near-kidnapping, but once the adrenaline left my body, I dozed all the way from D.C. The little nap did me wonders.

  It’s crazy how much I trust Charlie. I couldn’t have slept so easily next to anyone else in the world. I feel a little guilty, having the weight of my problems rest on his super spy shoulders, but he’ll take care of them—I know it to my bones.

  The car lights hit a small structure made of grey boards, leaning a little to the side.

  “This is it,” he announces after checking the map.

  When I get out, I smell the salty, somewhat swampy scent of water. We’re not quite on the ocean, just an inlet.

  Otis gave us more than just a map to his place. Charlie pulls out burner phones, two laptops, and four guns. We have been resupplied.

  “I need to check in with my sister. And call Flack,” I realize. “He’s probably wondering why I was a no-show.”

  “Set up another meeting for tomorrow,” Charlie instructs. “We need to find out what he knows about American Trade Assets.”

  * * *

  Charlie

  I picked up steaks at the grocery on the way in, and light the grill. I bought four, but I swear, I could eat ten. Annabel’s going to be on to me when she sees me wolfing—heh—these down.

  Hell, I can’t believe she hasn’t put two and two together already. I guess werewolf is just so far out of people’s minds as a real possibility, they refuse to see what is.

  I’m speaking from experience, of course.

  I was so sure my father and Nash had been the subject of some government gene modification or enhancement project. I just never put the wolf thing together. Not even with the memory of my father’s death
.

  Not until I saw it with my own eyes.

  I throw the steaks on the grill, along with corn on the cob still in the husk. Annabel comes out and hands me a beer.

  “I didn’t get Flack. Just left a message. Sarah and Grady are fine, just restless.”

  I clink the mouth of my beer bottle to hers. “Cheers.”

  She smiles, her expression soft and full of gratitude. “Charlie? Why are you doing this for me?”

  “I owed you one.” I deflect in an effort to ignore the discomfort of my heart squeezing in my chest.

  She shakes her head. “You didn’t owe me this much.”

  I stare through the trees at the water beyond. “You mean something to me,” I say at last. My heightened senses note her held breath, her racing pulse. I turn to face her. “It’s true. You have a life. Maybe you don’t get out much, but you still have a family. A sister and a nephew. I have nobody—by design.”

  Her eyebrows draw together in concern, but she says nothing, lets me talk.

  It comes as a relief, really, to unload my burden on her.

  “My mom thinks I’m dead. As far as she knows, I died serving my country ten years ago. I don’t exist anymore. I can’t maintain ties—you know that. So, in a twisted, pathetic way, you’ve become family to me.” I open the grill and flip the steaks and corn.

  Her lips part.

  “That sounds creepy and stalkerish, doesn’t it?” I laugh into my beer. “I’m not as mal-adjusted as it sounds, I promise. It’s just that you’re the only person I see on a regular basis. The only person who knows what I do. Where I am. How I live. When I asked you for help, you gave it. Without demanding answers.”

  “I demanded a favor in return.” She sounds rueful.

  “I was thrilled. I wanted to give something back to you. I guess I secretly craved more of a connection with another human being.”

  She nods, looking away, and I realize I said that wrong.

  “No, not just any human being. With you. My beautiful, brilliant handler. The woman who gives me my orders and rides my ass when I miss a meetup.”

  “We don’t even know each other,” she says, but she’s staring up at me with stars in her eyes. Like she’s willing me to make her believe what I’m saying.

  “I want to know more,” I say honestly. “I want to know everything.”

  She looks away again, out to the water. “I always knew I’d fall for an agent.” She sounds rueful like it’s a bad thing. Which, I guess, it is.

  It would be hard enough if I was just a spy, but considering my wolf problem, it’s downright dangerous.

  “I’m sorry.” And I am. I never meant to pull her heart into play. Hell, I didn’t even realize mine was in the game until it was far too late. I think I forgot I even had a heart, to be honest.

  She shakes her head. “No, I am. I don’t mean to be a downer. It just figures the only guy I’m ever attracted to is unavailable.”

  I frown. What is she talking about? “Why does that figure?”

  She takes a long swing of beer. “I mean girls usually pick men like their daddies, right?”

  “I see.” I want to tell her I’ll be different, to promise to be available, but of course, I can’t. I have nothing to offer Annabel Gray. Not even my heart which wasn’t much worth having, to begin with. No, I left my heart back in Kentucky the day I enlisted and became one of the government’s human weapons.

  Except it turns out I’m not human. I guess the joke was on them, huh?

  I pull the steaks and corn off the grill. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”

  “Starved,” she says.

  Good. Because my monster is dying to feed you.

  Whatever the fuck that’s about.

  * * *

  Annabel

  Charlie watches me eat like it’s an erotic act. His gaze never leaves my lips as he shovels food past his own.

  Three steaks.

  I’m not kidding you. The guy ate three steaks. It’s incredible. He must have the highest metabolism in the history of the universe. Well, how else would he be able to lift a Harley Davidson over a concrete divider?

  Spending this time with him is like getting wrangled into a thriller. I’m holding my breath, squeezing my eyes closed, but still enjoying the ride. Loving watching the strong, brave, and handsome hero defeat the bad guys. At least I hope that’s how this one ends.

  Charlie certainly makes me believe everything will come out all right even though logic tells me differently. When I stop and think about how deep I’m into this thing—how meaningless my life may soon become… Well, I can’t think that way. It’s too morbid. Plus, Sarah and Grady’s lives hang in the balance too. So, Charlie and I have to figure this out. We have to make sure they can walk away unharmed when it’s all over.

  And Charlie, too. I should be more concerned about the trouble I’ve gotten him into.

  “What are you thinking?” He has another beer open, sipping from the bottle.

  “I’m worried about your job.”

  “Sweetheart,” Charlie scoffs, “that’s one thing you don’t ever have to worry about.”

  “Why?”

  “I can take care of myself. No matter what happens. Let’s just worry about you. Plan our end game. We need definite proof about what happened in El Salvador. Then what? You want to take those responsible down?”

  I chew on my lip. Do I? This started as a mission to find the truth. Now, am I going after justice?

  “If you don’t, they’re going to keep coming for you, baby. You knocked over the wasp’s nest. They’re already swarming and stinging. There’s no half-assing the rest of this. Either you finish them, or they’ll finish you.”

  I think of my father. The starch of his uniform against my skin when he’d pick me up and hold me on his hip. The medals he wore on his chest. The hero I believed him to be. Still believe him to be.

  He’d want me to do the right thing. For Sarah and Grady. For our country.

  I lift my chin. “Yes. I’m going to take them down.”

  Charlie smiles like he already knew what I was going to say.

  “That’s my girl. So, let’s get busy.”

  10

  Charlie

  It’s late. I pace up and down the length of the cabin as Annabel’s fingers fly on the keys. She’s hacking back into the CIA, searching for anything we can find on who’s behind American Trade Assets, the political action group that appeared on Director Scape’s bank deposits.

  My thoughts, normally so ordered and neat, are a jumbled mess. I’m sweating, practically feverish as if the moonlight is stronger than the sun, and it’s burning me through the thin curtain hung over the rustic cabin window.

  I need Annabel so bad, I’m sick. Nausea quakes in my belly, my fingernails dig into my skin. Not even the desire to shift and run can tear me from her side even as it kills me to be close to her. The muscles in my arms and legs begin shaking. Okay. I need to get out of here.

  “I’m going for a run.”

  Annabel’s fingers stop moving, and she turns. Whatever she sees in my face makes her draw back. She stands up and catches my arm.

  “Charlie.” There’s fear on her face.

  She should be afraid. Afraid of what will happen if I stay.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m restless. And staying here with you... it’s making me crazy.”

  Hurt creases her face, so I glance down at my rock hard bulging cock—awareness blooms.

  She swallows at the same time she palms my crotch, taking me by painful surprise.

  I groan. “Baby, I can’t.”

  “You look like you could use some help with that.”

  “I could—I mean—oh.”

  She already has my zipper down, cock out and fisted.

  I almost come right then. My hand tangles in her hair, pulling her mouth to it even as words like, “No... I can’t…” rasp from my lips.

  Then it’s all over. She takes my cock between those beautiful, full
lips, and my eyes roll back in my head.

  “Christ, Annabel. Don’t. I mean, do. Please. Oh, fuck.” I thrust my hips forward like a jackass, gagging her with my cock, but I can’t hold back. There’s no way to stop the monster now that he’s been let out.

  My vision changes, her scent grows stronger in my nostrils.

  Annabel.

  Only Annabel.

  My lovely, lovely Annabel.

  I must have her.

  Must. Claim.

  I’m way too rough. Grasping the back of her head, I hold her captive and fuck her mouth, shoving deeper and with more force every time.

  A salty scent brings me up—tears from gagging glisten on her lashes.

  Unacceptable.

  Somehow, I manage to pull out of her mouth, to stumble back. But she moves with me.

  The crazy, beautiful female won’t allow me to retreat. She stands and follows me, shoving me down onto the sofa.

  “Yes, no,” I pant. Heat prickles all over my skin as Annabel shimmies out of her jeans and panties and straddles my lap.

  She leans over and bites my ear. “Do you have a condom?”

  I can’t even decipher her breathy words. All I know is a mad desire to claim her in every possible position, in every orifice. To make sure she knows she belongs to me.

  But that’s not right. I can’t lay claim to her like she’s a piece of property. That’s the monster talking.

  Annabel searches my pockets, and I finally realize what she’s after. I produce the condom. She rips open the foil packet and rolls the rubber over my massively erect cock.

  I catch her and pull her down to my lap, claiming her mouth with a possessive, dominating kiss. She tastes like honey and apples. Like perfection. My tongue sweeps between her lips as I thrust my sheathed cock into the notch of her legs. I fill one palm with her ass, and she squirms over my throbbing manhood. I spin our bodies around. Lips locked, she tumbles back on the couch, my hand protecting the back of her head. I yank her into position and line my cock up with the place it’s dying to be.