He couldn't remember a more disastrous thirty-two hours.
Since meeting his mate, one calamity after another had blasted through their lives. He stared at the ceiling fan, his mind wandering and hopping over the last twenty-four hours.
Start from the beginning.
Fifteen years ago, Sorcha's father killed her mother, attempted to kill his only child, and then turned the gun on himself. Only Sorcha survived. She lost most of her childhood memories, and she remembered nothing of the night of the murder/suicide.
Though the house had been turned upside down, nothing appeared to have been stolen. Because born and bred locals considered anyone not of the same ilk eccentric foreigners, the Twisp police and the coroner ruled it for what it seemed to be—an obvious murder/suicide.
What about tonight's events made him think of the past?
His eyelids grew heavy.
Aileen, something about Aileen.
The next thing Gray knew, his cell phone woke him. He'd left it on ringer.
“Crap,” he grumbled. Eyes shuttered, he reached across the mattress, his fingers fumbling until they closed around the blasted appliance. He flipped the cell phone open and muttered, “Sheriff White.”
He lifted one eyelid and groaned when he caught sight of the digital readout on the alarm clock, 5:30. He needed twenty-four hours more sleep.
“We've identified the body. It's Kevin Hazard.”
Crap.
“This is all we need. Coroner finished with him?”
“Coroner hasn't even arrived. He's finishing up a case near the border.”
“We're dropping the ball on this, Henry. Bruce is going have a shit fit, and I can't blame him. How'd we ID him?”
“Wicks took prints off the body and ran them through the files. We printed him and his twin when Whitener insisted on going on record last year after one of them threw a fit in the diner and destroyed all that furniture.”
Unfortunately, they'd never been able to pin one twin for the offense, as they had only been able to locate the brothers several hours after the incident.
“Where're we at now?”
“Trying to establish the deceased's chronological movements over the last twenty-four hours. So far we have Kevin and a group of friends partying in a sports bar in Malott. Ken barged in, and a fight broke out between the twins. Their friends got involved, and all of the boys were literally thrown out.”
“What was the argument about?”
“Something about a cult. A Satan-worshipping cult practicing near Leader Lake.”
“It's not as if there aren't any number of religious cults hidden in the Washington hills. Why fight about it?”
“This one's members are Native Americans who sacrifice animals and wear black wolf pelts during their ceremonies. According to the bartender, one of the twins had gotten involved with the cult, and the other one disapproved. Since they're identical, the barkeep couldn't identify who thought what.”
Gray's blood congealed, slowing to a mere stammering through his veins and arteries.
His grandfather had eradicated the black wolves decades ago.
“E-mail me the details you got from him. Tox results in yet?”
“No.”
“Parents notified?”
“Couldn't reach either one on their cells or their house phone. I left voice mails asking them to contact either you or me. I warned everyone to keep their traps shut.”
“You done good, Henry. If either Hazard calls, redirect them to me.”
“I hear you. I'll leave a note and put it in the file.”
Gray snapped the phone closed. A swift glance through the bedroom curtains showed a sky as clear and blue as Sorcha's eyes.
Like a magnet drawn to the North Pole, his gaze returned to Sorcha. She'd curled into a little ball and hugged her pillow to her breasts.
Fucking lucky pillow.
Clutching his phone, Gray eased out of the bed like a thief stealing away from a robbery and padded through the cabin. Needing to clear his head, he opened the sliding glass doors and took a deep breath, relishing the early-morning chill, the clean scent of mud, dew-drenched leaves, and pungent pine. Stretching his arms above his head, he stepped onto the wooden deck, eyes sweeping the deserted bay.
Water lapped at the deck, the soft swishing breaking nature's momentary silence. As he mentally replayed the events of the previous two days, Gray thumbed One, the number preprogrammed to Chad's cell.
“It's frigging five thirty in the morning, Gray.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to know you do Vixen's five-in-the-morning feeding.” Married to Gray's oldest sister, Lizzie, Chad had mellowed with the birth of his first child seven months earlier. A white wolf from Arizona and a prime in his own pack, Chad's investigative expertise and renowned reputation underestimated his actual skills.
“When a man has a baby, he loses all his dignity. Not to mention he never has a frigging secret ever again.”
Gray got right to the point. “Rumor has it there's a Native American satanic cult living near Leader Lake.”
“Can't be. Your grandfather destroyed every last one of the black wolves years ago.”
“Suppose he didn't? I'm heading up there as soon as I can. I want you, Joe, and Mike covering my back. How much notice do you need?” Married to Susie, Joe hailed from a Colorado wolf pack while Mike, married to Melanie, had been born and raised in northern Michigan. Both men were powerful alphas with honed wolf senses.
“I'm good. Hour or two?”
“I wasn't thinking of today. Maybe tomorrow. What about Joe and Mike?”
“Joe doesn't need notice. Mike has a couple of pending cases, nothing crucial. You driving? We carrying?”
“Yeah to both.”
“I'll wait for your call. Later.”
“Yeah.” Gray slipped the cell onto a side table.
He needed to be clean, to wash this newest stain from his skin. Gray found a towel they'd used the day before and dropped it onto the porch banister.
Like most of his family, Gray loved the water, found solace under the surface of any cool Washington lake. He dived off the deck, his entrance quiet, unobtrusive, the requisite minimum disturbance diving contests required. The cold lake gave him a brain chill.
Treading water, he shook his head, and icy droplets flew in all directions. Adrenaline pumping, he took off, doing a record freestyle to the opposite bank.
When he stood in the shallows on the other side of the lake, Gray stared at the cabin, willing Sorcha to appear, preferably nude.
White trotted onto the porch wagging his tail.
Gray grinned and foolishly waved at the Lab. He pushed off a rock and did a butterfly stroke across the breadth of the lake. Exactly in the middle, he smelled the acrid aroma that had so repelled him the night before. He dog-paddled, swimming a circle in place, gulping in air, trying to pinpoint the source of the scent.
Nothing. He saw nothing unusual, heard nothing but birds chirping early-morning gossip. Yet every hair on his body, even his pubes, stood at right angles to his flesh. That lizardlike, back-of-the-neck niggle turned into a waterfall of sensation.
Who or what stalked Sorcha?
He had to get back to his mate.
Gray made it onto the deck in less than five minutes. Since mating with Sorcha, his strength and speed had doubled. None of his brothers-in-law had ever spoken of such a reaction. All had mated and married women bonded to the spirit of the white wolf.
It didn't make sense.
If his powers were affected by his choice of a human mate, shouldn't his strengths have waned rather than increased?
He toweled off before entering the cabin and found Sorcha dressed in jeans and a bright blue tank top, studying a book at the breakfast table. She never even noticed his stealthy entrance, and he realized even this talent had magnified.
“Morning, honey,” he said, then licked her neck and breathed in her soapy flower scent. “God, I love the way you smell.�
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She almost fell out of the chair.
“Don't do that again.” She glared at him before clamping her lips together. “My heart just 'bout jumped out of my chest.”
“What are you reading?” He tried to decipher the title of the book from the top of an open page.
“Nothing,” she replied, color climbing from throat to cheekbones as she stared at his twitching arousal.
“Dare I hope it's some sort of light porn? Sex-toy catalog, maybe?” She looked so pretty this morning, auburn hair all curly and tousled, eyes a tad sleep-fuddled. A smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose begged for his kisses.
She snorted. “If you must know, it's a cookbook. Explain to me why there are two methods for making the perfect hard-boiled egg.”
“Why do you want to learn to cook?” He loved watching her skin turn rosy, the naked, honest expressions crossing her face, the way she cocked her head and frowned when frustrated.
“Because you like it so much.” Her blush deepened, and she averted her eyes. “I thought it might be fun to help you in the kitchen.”
How had he been so lucky?
A surge of pure joy drove him to blurt, “I am so falling in love with you, honey.” The words simply popped out of his mouth.
Her sky blues widened, and she smiled that fucking perfect smile. “You are?”
“Fuck yeah. You know, we haven't had a shower together yet.”
She winced, and reflexively, he did too.
From now on he'd watch his language.
Slamming the book closed, Sorcha grinned and retorted, “You did shampoo my hair.”
“Ah, but a shower is mutual, honey.”
Sorcha pulled her tank top over her head, and she wasn't wearing a bra.
“God, I love your breasts. Last night, these,” he murmured, pausing to worship and lave a taut point with his tongue, “were a pale shell pink. This morning, they're cherry blossoms again.” His arm curled around her waist, and his eyes blurred as he stared at her nipple until he suckled the tip into his mouth.
Sorcha whimpered and tangled her hands in his hair, pressing him closer.
Gray scooped his arms under her knees. His mouth bolted onto her breast, tongue lapping the swollen underside, trailing the circumference of the pink areola, before his teeth joined the party and nipped the turgid point.
She yelped.
“Hurt?” he asked around a mouthful of slick flesh.
“Do it again,” she begged. “The other one.”
“Anything my mate wishes,” Gray promised. He headed for the bathroom.
All the phones started ringing as soon as they'd lathered up.
Gray groaned. “We'll have to speed this up, honey. I'm on call.”
He detached the showerhead and sprayed the soap bubbles off her body.
“My turn,” she said, her eyes twinkling at him. She changed the setting from shower to pulse and held it between his thighs.
Gray choked back a curse, braced his hands on the tiles, and edged his legs farther apart. The jets hit his groin, and he growled. She reached around and held his cock firmly at the base and aimed the spurting water stream at his crown.
His balls tightened painfully.
“Not a minute more.” He grabbed the showerhead, helped Sorcha into a position he'd long fantasized about, lifting one foot onto a low stool, and spread her legs. Curling his fingers around both of her wrists, he lifted her arms high above her head and held her in place with one hand. Sorcha leaned her forehead on the wet ceramic wall.
Gray entered her slowly, savoring the visual of her exposed and distended sex, cupping one palm around a breast and tugging at the nipple.
“You're so tight, honey. So wet for me. So hot inside.” He adjusted her bent leg, widening the angle. “Now I can reach everywhere.” His fingers stroked her folds while his thumb circled her clit.
Sorcha shuddered. “Oh God, Gray. Please, faster, harder.”
“Turn your head a little, honey. I want to kiss you through your orgasms.” Gray's tongue fucked her mouth, his fingers teased her pussy while his cock pillaged her vagina. Neither of them lasted through nine strokes, the stimulation too much, too everywhere, too potent.
Sorcha fell off the stool when she climaxed, and Gray's arm clamped her waist, supporting her through the explosive contractions. Yet he never broke their kiss, the deep, sensitive dueling of their tongues.
“I'm going to perish of pleasure,” Gray muttered when the blood returned to fuel a mouth and brain connection.
“I think I just did,” Sorcha said. “I never know what to expect. It's so different each time.”
“I hate to break the mood, honey.”
“I know. You're on call.” She giggled. “There's a small problem with this position. How do we get out of the bathroom?”
“Carefully, honey. Very carefully.”
A few bumps and bruises and many laughs later, Gray and Sorcha collapsed onto the mattress.
“Shush now. I have to call the station.” He checked the LCD on his mobile.
“I hope Kumar's okay.” All the worry of the night before returned to her eyes.
Gray kissed the tip of her nose.
“Call Jimmy on the house phone,” he suggested. “Hang on. I'll roll us over so you're closest.”
Unable to resist, he ate at her mouth while suiting his actions to his words.
Breaking the kiss, Gray ordered, “Call Jimmy.”
He hit Redial. “Ted, you called?”
“Thought you might want to know the coroner arrived not five minutes ago.”
“Great. Any updates?”
“Everyone's out trying to track the boys' movements.”
“No word from either Hazard parent?”
“Not a peep. We've kept everything battened down.”
“Good. The minute we hear from a parent, call me. Don't even hint about Kevin. Media hound that he is, Bruce will call a news conference, and his spin on what's happened is not likely to paint the 400th Precinct in a favorable light.”
“Understatement of the year,” Ted mumbled. “Howie Houndtree's called twice demanding to speak with you.”
“Next time he calls, connect him to my cell.” His early-morning vigor ebbed, and he heaved a big sigh.
“Gotcha, boss.”
“Later.” Gray stared at the phone and debated phoning Bruce Hazard for three seconds before abandoning the idea.
Sorcha shifted off his cock; the mate-lock had loosened.
He hated losing her warmth.
“I take it you have places to go to and people to see?”
He gave her a quick summation of the situation with the Hazards, Houndtrees, and the Leader Lake cult.
“How awful,” she said when he finished. “I've never liked Tonya much, but I wouldn't wish this on anyone. I didn't know Bruce.”
He hadn't even realized she remembered Tonya. Fuck. He flicked Sorcha an imperceptible glance. No way she could have heard about his brief fling with the head cheerleader, he decided. He stifled a sigh.
“You haven't missed much, believe me. He's been linked off and on to almost any crime related to large sums of money—drug laundering, Ponzi schemes—you name it, he's done it. But he's as slippery as an eel. We haven't been able to pin anything on him.”
“It must be very frustrating,” she commented, tilting her head to one side. “I watched a news report the other night. Is he really running for the senate?”
“Yeah—Can you believe the bastard's gall? And he'll probably win, even though we're not the only office after him. I know he's on the Feds' short list.”
“Really? It's hard to imagine anyone from Twisp being important to the FBI.” She frowned. “What about this cult?”
Automatically, he smoothed the lines between her eyebrows and replied, “My guess is it's bored teenagers on spring break.”
“Will you be at the station all day?”
“Nah, I have meetings at Central.” He
chucked her chin. “What did the vet have to say?”
Sorcha broke into a big, happy smile. “Jimmy thinks Kumar's going to make it. I'm going up there later on to visit him.”
His phone rang again. Gray saw the caller ID and asked Sorcha, “Would you get me a cup of coffee for the road, honey? I take it black.”
“Sure.”
Gray waited until she disappeared from view and then stabbed Answer. “Jimmy, any news?”
“Both birds had traces of chloroform on their feathers.”
“Chloroform?” He shook his head. “That means they were deliberately taken.”
“I know. It doesn't make any sense. Why would someone steal valuable birds simply to kill them?”
Satanic cults sacrificed animals as part of their demonic rituals.
Gray's grip on the phone tightened. “Thanks, Jimmy. Let's keep this between the two of us. Can you do up an official report and e-mail it to Henry at the station?”
“Sure. Catch you later.”
He hung up.
Crap.
Someone from Twisp had joined the cult.
Who else would know about the birds?
Sorcha picked that moment to bring in his coffee. “Something wrong? You have a funny look on your face.”
“Work.” Gray flashed her a grin and hoped she didn't notice how stiff he was. “Honey, how long ago did your grandmother get the birds?”
A shutter descended over her normally honest and open features. Gray had never noticed the muscle jumping under her eye before. “Grams adopted them after that night. My parents gave me the pair for my tenth birthday.”
Chapter Six
Less than half an hour later, Gray kissed Sorcha good-bye. White trotted alongside as she walked him out to the SUV. She stood watching the car's bumper disappear around a bend, wishing she could pinpoint what bothered her about his actions after he ended that second phone call.
Why was he so secretive? Why was it necessary for him to be secretive? She couldn't shake the feeling that Gray lived in a world of half-truths. Immediately, her conscience reared.
And you don't?
If she hadn't offered him spurious reasons for returning to Twisp and instead told the truth, he'd have committed her on the spot. Yet Gray had shared his most dangerous secret with her. Yeah, right, as if he could have hidden his true white wolf nature after they'd made love. Sorcha rubbed an aching temple. With the constantly resurfacing rumors about the White family, any confirmation, even from someone with her reputation, would be enough to unseat Gray as sheriff.
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