A Pack of Blood and Lies

by Olivia Wildenstein

  “Candy, you’re alive!” a chirpy voice said.

  I rolled into a sitting position so fast I had to clutch the nightstand to avoid keeling over. “Hi, Sandra.”

  “I’ve got a job for you, girl.”

  “A j-job?”

  “A client saw your profile—”

  “I thought you took it down!”

  “I did, but he screenshot your pic and begged me to get in contact with you.”

  Creep. “I’m not interested.”

  “Hun, you got gypped out of your last payment because of the unfortunate demise of the customer. This is me trying to make it up to you.”

  “It’s okay, Sandra.” It’s not like I would’ve taken said customer’s money.

  “What about all those bills you still need to pay?”

  I let go of the nightstand. I did need money for the overdrafts on the joint bank account I’d shared with Mom, but I didn’t want to earn it doing…that.

  “Why d’you think Everest insisted I pair you up with Heath Kolane?” she continued.

  Sandra believed my cousin, whom she’d met through Becca—one of her girls—had pimped me out so I could earn fast cash. I hadn’t played escort for Heath’s money, but explaining my true intentions would’ve earned me a restraining order instead of a job.

  “Real shame he died. He was one of my best customers. Real shame. Anyway, the customer I’m calling ’bout is offering three grand.”

  I coughed. “Three grand?”

  “You interested now, hun?”

  Escort was a job like any other, right? Besides…three grand. I couldn’t exactly turn that down. I still had debts, plus I wanted to reimburse Evelyn for the money she’d loaned me to pay for Mom’s funeral. Even though she insisted she would never take a dime for it, the funeral had been pricey, because we’d wanted to give my mother an ending worthy of the woman she’d been.

  “Can you tell me more about the gig?”

  “Dinner at Pelligrini’s.”

  “No sex, right?”

  “Absolutely no sex! I don’t run a brothel.”

  I could do dinner. Dinner was safe. “Why would someone pay three grand for dinner?”

  “Can’t give you any details until you agree to it. So, what’ll it be?”

  If Evelyn found out… I couldn’t even finish that thought without shuddering. I wasn’t a prostitute—this was just about being arm candy to men who didn’t want to spend time getting to know a person—but most people wouldn’t see the distinction.

  I hadn’t, until Everest explained it to me. He’d met Becca through the agency. Too shy to ask a girl out on a date, he’d paid someone else to do it for him.

  “Okay. But, Sandra… Don’t keep me on the roster after this, okay?”

  “You got it, Candy.”

  She finally proceeded to give me the details of my date, which I jotted down on the small pad of paper next to the bed, and told me to wear something fancy.

  I had two nice dresses: one was the black sequin number I’d worn for my “date” with Heath Kolane; the other was a cherry-red silk slip with spaghetti straps that used to be Mom’s.

  Even though donning something of hers sent a chill straight through my breastbone, I went with the red.

  I didn’t want to be reminded of Heath tonight.

  I was ready early. I’d applied foundation to my fading bruises. Most had already vanished anyway. And I’d swiped mascara over my lashes and lipstick as red as my dress to my healed lips.

  Instead of lingering inside the inn and incurring more of Lucy’s inquisition: “Where was I going dressed up like a…like a…” She hadn’t finished the sentence, but I’d heard the end loud and clear. I told her I had a blind date and not to wait up. Not that she would have waited up. She told me not to get knocked up. I thanked her for her unsolicited advice.

  I waited in the inn’s driveway, eyes closed, face raised toward the dying sun. The weather was unusually warm for early July, which suited the L.A. girl in me. Winter in Boulder—if I stayed that long—would be especially brutal now that I was used to mild temperatures.

  “Someone’s looking mighty fancy.”

  I snapped my lids open and found Lucas hopping out of the passenger side of a dark Mercedes SUV decked out with oversized off-roading tires. And then Liam was there, too, in a short-sleeved, black V-neck, his hair artfully tousled, as though he’d finger-combed it back with styling wax but missed a couple locks.

  How I wished he was covered in warts; it would’ve made disliking him way easier.

  “Where you going, Clark?” Lucas drawled, coming to a stop in front of me.

  I was glad I’d worn heels, glad for the extra inches. “I’m going to dinner with a friend.”

  “You have friends?” he asked.

  Jerk.

  Liam jabbed his companion. “You look nice, Ness.”

  I frowned, unsure what to do with the compliment. I tightened the black leather jacket I’d added to my dress. “Thanks?” Why, oh why, did it have to come out as a question? “What are you guys doing here?”

  “We just came to have a couple beers at our favorite inn,” Lucas said. “Did you think we were coming to hang out with you?”

  I balked. “Why would you ever think I’d want to hang out, Lucas?”

  He disregarded my comment. “Ready for trial number one?”

  “Absolutely.” I wasn’t ready. I still hadn’t changed into my wolf form—I hadn’t even tried. I’d been too busy licking my wounds from paintballing to worry about much else. I’d worry about it tomorrow, and if by Saturday I couldn’t change, I’d fake an illness. They wouldn’t force me to compete sick.

  Or would they?

  Lucas rubbed his hands. “So…excited to go back to L.A.?”

  “Why is everyone so convinced I’m going to lose? And don’t you dare say it’s because I’m a girl.”

  His stupid grin widened.

  “Leave her alone.” Liam shoved Lucas toward the revolving doors just as a black limo pulled into the driveway.

  My ride had arrived. I traipsed down toward it. An impressively large driver came out and drew the back door open for me.

  I thanked him and got in.

  “Mr. Michaels is waiting for us at the restaurant.” His voice was as big as he was.

  I’m pretty sure Liam and Lucas, who were rooted by the entrance of the inn, had heard the driver speak. They seemed star-struck by the limo, which I guessed wasn’t a common car to see in Boulder.

  Sandra had sent me a little background information about Mr. Michaels. He was a hotel promoter who owned five-star resorts in Denver, Beaver Creek, and Las Vegas. An extremely wealthy sixty-year-old who’d grown up in Boulder but dropped out of high school at seventeen and moved to Vegas, where he worked his way up to management, then gambled his way to a large bank account, before receiving a consequential amount of money from a deceased grandmother.

  I was sort of excited about meeting him, not because of his wealth or status, but because I assumed that anyone who could ascend so far up in the world was worth meeting…worth learning from.

  The restaurant was thirty minutes away, in a barn that had been refurbished with cowhide banquettes and lacquered black tables. Modern glass chandeliers swathed the dim interior in a tawny glow that made everyone look handsomer.

  The romper-clad hostess led me to a table all the way in the back, toward a man sipping an ochre drink with a snowball-sized ice cube.

  Aidan Michaels stood when I arrived, looking me over through wire-rimmed glasses. “Your picture doesn’t do you justice, Candy.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Michaels.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t pick you up myself, but I had an important call with my lawyer.”

  “That’s fine.”

  He walked around and held out my chair. “Would you like some wine? Or maybe a glass of champagne?”

  “Champagne would be nice.”

  He asked the hostess for a glass of their best champagne,
and then he tucked my chair under the table before returning to his seat. “You don’t look like a Candy. What’s your real name?”

  “You’re not paying me enough to get my real name.”

  His gaze tightened, but then his teeth flashed, and he laughed.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  He leaned back in his chair and raised his tumbler to his lips. “Go ahead.”

  “Why does a successful man like yourself go through an agency to find a dinner date?”

  “Aha. The million-dollar question. I was married once, and she broke my heart. So I decided never again, and I’ve stuck to that thanks to treating dating like I treat my businesses.” He shifted forward and placed his drink down. “A tidy social transaction.”

  His honesty had my shoulder blades un-pinching.

  “My turn. Why is a pretty young thing like yourself doing this?”

  I unfolded my napkin and laid it on my lap. “I need the money.”

  He nodded his understanding. “How much is it that you need?”

  I bristled. “That’s private.”

  “I apologize. It was brash of me. I was simply considering how many more dates I could get with you.” He ran a hand through his silvery hair, then readjusted his glasses and leaned in. “So tell me about yourself, Candy.”

  Candy wasn’t Ness. I didn’t want her to be anything like Ness. “I lived in New York until a month ago.”

  “What a fabulous city! Did you enjoy it?”

  “Yeah. I had a great place on the Piers.”

  He frowned a little. “The Piers? You mean, Chelsea Piers?”

  Without breaking eye contact, I said, “Yes.”

  “And what brought you back here?”

  I’d been about to say college, but I was supposed to be twenty-one. “Family.”

  “Ah…family.”

  “Do you have family?”

  “My wife’s gone, my father’s dead, and my mother has Alzheimer’s. So no. No family. I have a dog though.” He handed me his phone, where he’d prepped a slideshow of images showcasing his pet.

  I liked animals—after all, I was one—but Aidan’s love for his dog was something else.

  “Do you like hunting?” he asked.

  I sucked in a breath. “Hunting?” I took a bread roll from the basket and chomped on the chewy crust. Hunting reminded me of my father. I swallowed the lump of masticated dough. “Not especially.”

  “You’re not a Greenpeace advocate, are you?”

  “No. I’m just…I don’t like guns.” Act normal, Ness, I chastised myself. “What do you hunt?”

  “Bears, cougars, deer…wolves. Have you noticed how many of them we have in our forests?”

  I forced myself to look him straight in the eyes. “I never noticed,” I said, just as the waiter came back to take our order.

  My appetite had vanished, so I ordered a salad, which led Aidan to ask if I was watching my weight, because if I was, it was silly. I answered that I wasn’t, and he went on to tell me about all the diets he had to go on when he was married because his wife was a terrific cook.

  “Only damn thing she was good at.” A smirk ghosted over his reedy lips. “I take it back. She was good at keeping secrets.”

  I stiffened. The man had serious baggage. What he needed was a shrink, not a date. But I supposed, for three thousand dollars, I could provide him with a dinner’s-worth of therapy.

  Chapter Twelve

  After the main course, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, even though what I really wanted was to bolt. Before each bite of food, Aidan would wipe his fork down on his napkin. And then, every couple seconds, he’d rub his earlobe.

  I felt his heavy gaze on me as I crossed the crowded restaurant. I eyed the exit with longing, but I’d sat through most of the meal. Only dessert remained—I wouldn’t order any and hopefully he wouldn’t either—and then I’d get paid.

  I asked a waiter where I could find the bathroom, and the man pointed me toward the bar. As I walked past it, a pulse erupted in my temples. There, aligned on the cowhide barstools, sat Liam, Lucas, Matt, and Cole, Matt’s older brother, another massive blond with a buzz cut.

  I crossed my arms. “Did they run out of beers at the inn?”

  Lucas spun on his barstool. “How’s your date? Looks mighty cozy.” He twirled the neck of his beer bottle between his long fingers.

  “Is it a coincidence you’re all here?” I asked.

  Cole cocked one of his honeyed eyebrows up. “Aidan Michaels is as sleazy as they come, Ness.”

  “And what? You came to warn me?”

  Matt leaned back against the bar. “Yeah. We take care of our own.”

  “Your own? I’m not even part of the pack.”

  “You could be, if you drop out before Saturday,” Liam said.

  “Like I’d ever trust your word.”

  “Ouch.” Lucas slapped a hand over his heart.

  “Look, thanks for the warning, but I’m fine.”

  Liam and Cole hopped off their barstools and walked over to me.

  “You will be fine.” The smell of cold cigarettes clung to Cole’s sunburned skin. “If you come back with us.”

  “I can’t.”

  Liam frowned. “Is he forcing you to be here?”

  “No one’s forcing me to do anything, but I can’t leave.”

  I tried to step around him to go to the bathroom, but Liam clamped his hand around my bicep. “Why can’t you leave?”

  “Sorry. Did I say can’t? I meant I don’t want to.”

  “You can’t hang out with a guy like Aidan Michaels.”

  I shrugged Liam off. “No one tells me what I can or can’t do.”

  He glowered down at me.

  “The dude is sixty and only dates whores and call-girls,” Cole said.

  “Maybe that’s why she’s here,” Lucas drawled.

  Liam’s eyes widened.

  “I’m not a whore,” I snapped.

  Lucas raised a cocky grin. “Which leaves call-girl.”

  “He’s paying you to be here?” Liam’s voice was dark, as though the shadows crowding his face had creeped down his throat.

  “Just leave me alone. All of you. And stop fucking pretending like you have my best interest at heart. None of you do.”

  I started toward the bathroom, but Liam grabbed my arm. Again. “Do you need money?”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “You’re a Boulder wolf, so it is our concern,” Matt said.

  “I’m not a Boulder wolf,” I bit back.

  “Is there a problem, miss?” the bartender finally asked.

  “I’m fine,” I gritted out. Then, to Liam and the other three, I said, “You…all of you…you all better be gone when I come back out.”

  “Or what? You’ll throw a tantrum?” Lucas sneered.

  “Maybe I will.”

  Finally I went to the bathroom. When I was done, they weren’t gone, but at least they were sitting back down. I returned to the table where the waiter had set out a giant chocolate sundae and a thick slice of apple tart topped with cinnamon cream.

  “I didn’t know which you’d like, so I ordered both.”

  I glowered at the desserts.

  “We can order something else if you—”

  “No. No. It’s fine. Thank you.” I dunked my spoon into the sundae and took a bite to settle my swishing stomach.

  “Are those boys friends of yours?”

  My breathing hitched a couple notches.

  “I noticed you chatting with them.” He rubbed his ear.

  “They’re not friends. Just acquaintances.”

  “I own a lot of land and concessions. Money and power attracts detractors.” Even though he smiled, it looked strained…and I felt a twinge of pity for the man who had no friends and no family, just a dog, a couple rifles, and a real estate empire. His smile vanished, and his eyes deepened to navy as he tilted his neck. “If it isn’t Liam Kolane in the flesh.”<
br />
  My gaze climbed up the length of Liam’s rigid body and then landed on his incendiary glare.

  “My deepest condolences,” Aidan continued.

  “I’m taking Ness home.”

  I cringed at the use of my real name.

  “I’ll be the one taking her home.” Aidan reached under the table and crinkled the red silk hem of my dress.

  I jerked my knee so hard his hand fell away. Just yuck.

  “Have you considered that she might not want to go home?” he continued.

  I hoped Aidan had said that simply to annoy Liam, because there was no way in hell I was going anywhere else.

  “Ness, now.” Liam’s voice brooked no argument.

  “Liam, you’re being rude. I’ll grab a cab.” Dinner was minutes away from being wrapped up. I couldn’t leave now. Because he was still standing there, glaring, I said, “Liam’s been very emotional since his father…passed away.”

  “It’s understandable. Especially considering the way he died. Have the police caught the murderer yet?”

  “Murderer?” I blurted out. “I thought Heath committed suicide.”

  Liam’s face turned to stone.

  I blinked at him, then blinked down at the pool of cream surrounding the half-eaten slice of pie. Heath hadn’t committed suicide? Someone had killed him? A chill curled deep inside my belly.

  “Oh, no.” Aidan’s eyes sparked. “Apparently someone killed him.”

  Liam muttered something under his breath and then yanked me up by the bicep.

  “Liam!” I tried to bat his hand away, but he held on tight.

  Aidan didn’t cause a scene by interceding, but he glowered. I dug in my heels as Liam tugged on me. Even though Aidan was a strange man, the least I could do was be polite. Plus I needed my bag and jacket.

  I grabbed both. “Thank you for dinner, Mr. Michaels.”

  Aidan studied the place where Liam’s fingers connected with my skin. “I see you treat your women the way your father did.”

  Aidan’s comparison made Liam free my arm. Staring at the skin he’d gripped—the skin I was now rubbing—he muttered, “Let’s go. Please.” It sounded painful for him to add that last word.

  Without hesitation, I headed toward the exit.

  The second we were outside, he said, “I can’t believe you went out on a date with that…that rat.”