by Terry Spear
Everyone knew Hunter wouldn’t go for it if he learned the truth. Meara hooking up with one of the members of the team was too risky, Hunter would say. He wanted his sister to have a mate who lasted longer than any of them might if they continued to take care of dangerous business like they were bound to do. That was one of the reasons Finn was so surprised that Hunter had taken a mate of his own. Tessa had to be someone really special.
Picking up on what had happened, Anna quickly glanced at Finn, her gaze shifting to his trousers. She raised her brows and looked up at him. “Well, you really did make yourself at home.” She motioned to the fire as if that was what she was referring to, but he knew better. “Have any more s’mores?” she asked.
“Help yourself. Anna, this is Meara, Hunter’s twin sister.”
“I gathered that.”
“And, Meara, this is Anna, one of our operatives.”
“I’d shake your hand,” Meara said, “but I’m afraid mine is a little sticky.”
Finn noted the distinct annoyance lacing her words. But Anna was acting like a smart-ass and riling up Meara.
“No need,” Anna said, reaching for the bag of marshmallows.
“You two probably have business to discuss alone,” Meara said and rose to get up. “I’m getting chilled anyway. See you in the morning, Finn. Nice meeting you, Anna.” Before he could object, Meara headed through the sand to the steps that would take her to the house above.
Anna cooked her marshmallows as they both listened to Meara’s footsteps on the wooden stairs until she reached the top, then walked across the deck to the house, opened the back door, and shut it.
Neither Anna nor Finn spoke for a moment, making sure they were alone. Then she said, “Wow.”
“Don’t. Say. Anything.”
She shook her head and combined the chocolate, marshmallow, and graham crackers. “Wasn’t going to say anything but ‘wow.’ Have you thought how Hunter will take this?”
“Anna.” His voice was firm. He didn’t want any discussion concerning his private affairs.
“All right, all right. Not a word. But you know how fiercely protective he is of her. When Paul said something that one time about how hot Meara looked, I swear Hunter was ready to tear him to shreds.”
Finn raised his brows at her.
She threw her hands up in the air, one still clutching a half-eaten s’more. “All right. Okay, not another word. It’s your ass that’s at stake, not mine.”
“Have you found out anything about the man who attacked Allan?”
“Not yet. But the guy they found dead on the cliffs? He was a contract assassin. Worked for anyone who would pay the bills.”
“Hell. But who was paying the bill this time, and will they send another to find us?”
“They will, and they have.”
Finn stared at her. She smiled with a look of pure innocence, and yet he recognized that look. She’d killed the assassin without blinking an eye. “He’s dead. He found your car at the dealership up the road. I made sure he didn’t learn where you went after that.”
Finn cursed under his breath. Who the hell wanted them dead? “And you don’t know who he worked for, either.”
“Nope. You had to know this case wouldn’t be easy. There was a second one, too. But I found him dead just a short distance from the other. I suspect he might have been killed by the same man who killed the assassin at Meara’s beach. He has to be on our side, and I believe he lost you at the car dealership. So what do you want me to do next? Want me to baby-sit Hunter’s sister?” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. She had to know his answer to that question. “You probably need some relief.”
“No.”
A small smile percolated as she made herself another s’more. “Because?”
“I’ve promised Hunter. He trusts me.” Although after he said so, he chastised himself for giving her an explanation. And he realized that Hunter’s trust didn’t extend to Finn tackling his sister in the sand and rutting her—even though they were fully clothed—like some primeval beast.
“Hmm.” Anna took a bite of her s’more. “Can’t eat just one.” She looked up at the house. “Better watch yourself.”
He knew she didn’t mean in regard to assassins, but to watch himself with one hot female gray.
“Hell, even if Hunter doesn’t kill you for going after his sister, the other guys on the team will be waiting in line to wring your neck for not having the chance to pursue her.”
“Anna.”
She shrugged. “I’m just saying. You know how they all are. They’ll all be p.o.’d if they learn you…” She smiled when she saw the scowl he was giving her. “Everyone said she was a handful. I just didn’t know that was what they were referring to.”
Finn stood and brushed the sand off his jeans. “Take care of the fire before you leave.”
“As if you had to tell me.”
“And I want you to track down this Joe who wasn’t Joe. I have a hunch that if he killed the other man near the dealership, our Joe’s still there searching for any clues of where we’ve gone. He’s got to be trying to track us. He stuck a bug in Meara’s jeans pocket. Standard issue. Anyone can pick them up anywhere.”
“Was she wearing the jeans when he did it?”
Ignoring Anna’s annoying comment, Finn gave her a warning look. “Be careful when you look for this guy. I don’t think he’s one of the bad guys, but he’ll be watching for anyone who might be looking for him next. And I haven’t a clue what his reaction would be if he got caught in his game. Or what his business is.
“Something tells me he’s damn good at what he does—and like you, I’m pretty sure he killed the first of the assassins. No evidence of a crime, although a gun was most likely fired—which was what we heard, probably the assassin’s gunshot—and this fake Joe was as cool as the breeze whipping off the ocean as he took care of the man. He’s good, Anna. Don’t let your guard down.”
“I won’t. Be careful yourself, Finn,” Anna said, sincerely. Then she smiled. “With her, too.”
“Watch yourself with this Joe character, Anna,” he reiterated, not about to comment on her dig about Meara.
Finn really didn’t like Anna ending up with the raw end of the deal where that guy was concerned. But he also knew she might succeed where the men on their team couldn’t. He shook his head at her when she waggled her brows at him, and then he headed through the sand to the stairs, ran up them two at a time, and stalked across the deck.
When he pulled open the door to the dining room, he found the whole house dark. He walked inside and then locked everything up. Meara’s rifle was no longer where he’d left it on the kitchen counter, so he figured she had hidden it underneath her bed.
The place had three furnished bedrooms, and the couch folded into a bed. He should have taken one of the beds. The one Meara wasn’t sleeping in. He should have. But on the other hand, he told himself, what if someone broke into the house and he couldn’t get to her in time?
That meant he really needed to sleep with her. After he’d kissed her in the sand, he wasn’t sure how trustworthy he could be. And she sure as hell wasn’t discouraging him.
He stalked into the bathroom to take a shower, breathed in the damp air where she’d taken one a few minutes earlier, and imagined what running soap over every delectable inch of her would be like. That made him hard all over again, and he quickly started the water—cold water. He took a Navy shower, lathering up with the water off and then turning it back on to rinse off. He’d never get used to a luxurious Hollywood shower. Then he smiled. Unless he was sharing it with one hot little gray female, and he wouldn’t be taking it then cold, either.
Shaking his head at himself, he realized he didn’t want to go there again. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed down the hall to the bedrooms, breathing in the air and tracking her like a wolf hunting for his prey. He stopped at the first closed bedroom door and meant to rap on it, but he listened instead. The room was
dark and quiet. She had to be in bed already. Probably asleep. He opened the door and stared at the empty bed. His heart did a triple flip. He swung the door wide. Unless she was hiding under the bed or in the closet, she wasn’t here.
He stalked out of the room and down the hall to the next bedroom, barely registering that her scent was down, too. He realized she had probably checked out each of the rooms before she settled on the one to sleep in. He pushed the door open and stared at the bed. Empty.
Hell. He stormed down to the last room—the master bedroom suite, threw open the door, and stood frozen in the entryway for a split second, staring at the mattress. The bedcovers were still undisturbed, just like the others.
He whipped around and hurried for the kitchen, hoping to God she hadn’t hot-wired the Hummer and taken off, that somehow Anna had gotten to her and she’d just said to hell with everything and—well, where in the world would she have gone? Back to her cabin? Or maybe to Hunter’s place? Damn it to hell.
Movement in the living room caught his eye, and he turned and stared in the direction of the couch. There, curled up under a blue-and-yellow starred quilt, was Meara, her dark hair splayed out over a white pillow, her eyes shut in sleep, her breathing soft and sleepy.
Relieved didn’t even touch the insurmountable way he felt at seeing her safe and secure. He just stood there watching her, unable to stop observing her, his heart still pumping up a storm. She looked like an angel, when he’d thought she’d been the devil, slipping away from him for some unknown reason. Or maybe not so unknown. Was she afraid he’d ravish her in the middle of the night? Was that why she preferred sleeping on the couch?
He walked over to the couch and touched her shoulder. When she didn’t stir, he lifted her into his arms, one hell of a soft bundle of woman, and carried her into the first of the three bedrooms. He wouldn’t ravish her, and he had to prove he could be trusted, but he sure as hell was going to stick close to her. Two assassins had come for them. He wasn’t going to risk her being in another room alone.
Not until this was all over.
Chapter 8
Before Finn went to sleep with Meara, he set up his laptop and checked email messages while monitoring the camera in her living area and kitchen. Although he had meant to use the cameras to monitor whoever came to Meara’s home while she was living there, he’d continue to watch from time to time to see the new cabin renters as they came in, take pictures of them, and forward them to his associates. But he also wanted to see who was staying at her place to check in the renters. He heard movement down the hall in her home where he hadn’t placed any cameras, footfalls getting closer, indicating the person was headed for the living room.
He tensed a little in anticipation of seeing who it was. Chris Tarleton, Hunter’s sub-leader. Finn couldn’t imagine Chris would be checking in renters, not when he was a sub-leader and had the additional duty of watching that newly turned reporter, Rourke. So Finn wondered why he was at Meara’s place. Ensuring no one else was there? Or something more personal? Maybe whoever he had assigned on such short notice had to be relieved for a while to take care of other business and Chris was just filling in.
Chris peered around the room as if looking for something. Then he spied the notebook that Meara had written in and the notes she’d made about the renters. Finn suspected Chris wouldn’t like it. Sure enough, he read a couple of pages and scowled. After he flipped through the rest to find nothing else but blank pages, he tossed the notebook on the counter with a mumbled curse.
Chris stalked out of the house and shut the door. No sense in watching an empty house any longer, Finn figured. So he did some looking into Imposter Joe himself, since he hadn’t received word that anyone had been able to uncover who he was.
But after a good hour, Finn gave up the search and shut down his laptop.
Nothing. Not a known assassin. A phantom. Who the hell was he?
* * *
Bjornolf pulled into a service station, began filling his tank, and shook his head as he stared at the coast road, which was virtually deserted at this time of night. One minute he was tracking Finn and Meara and listening to them making out in the car. He figured that was a ruse, but damned if it didn’t sound like the real thing—and all he could do was envision himself in Finn’s place and ended up with a hard-on he couldn’t do a thing about. The next minute, Bjornolf was pursuing an assassin. Well, two, but they’d split forces, and he had been obliged to track down one before he could go after the other. And then?
After he’d taken care of the one, the other had vanished, only to reappear dead in his own car a couple of miles from where Bjornolf had first spotted him. Bjornolf swore the contracted assassins they were hiring weren’t half as well trained as in the good old days. Lucky for Bjornolf, the second one had been human, not lupus garou, and appeared to have died from a heart attack. What kind of idiot would hire assassins with weak hearts?
But he didn’t think that actually was the case. Someone from Hunter’s team must have gotten to the man. Worse, Bjornolf had lost Finn. His Hummer was at a dealership, where he’d traded it in for a new model. Now, Meara’s and Finn’s trails had grown cold.
Bjornolf shook his head as he again thought about the scene they’d played out for him—as if they were having sex in the vehicle. He knew Finn had to have been looking her over for bugs and found the one in her pocket. But hell, Bjornolf figured Finn wasn’t faking the way he’d sounded so hot and bothered. Bjornolf smiled evilly, sure that Finn would be ticked off to know her cabin renter had slid his hand into her pocket, and she had let him without even a reproving look.
He finished filling his tank, climbed into his car, and wondered where to go next. He’d find them. He always did. He just hoped he wouldn’t be too late this time.
A navy Dodge pickup truck drove by slowly. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it except that he was damn sure he’d seen the vehicle headed in the direction of the second assassin who’d turned up dead with a heart attack shortly thereafter. Now the pickup was headed this way again?
Through the truck’s darkened windows, he studied the petite driver, who appeared to be a woman. She didn’t look in his direction, but she didn’t have to. She could have spotted him way before he noticed the truck again. She continued on past without slowing down. The coincidence probably didn’t mean anything.
But he had no other leads to pursue at the moment, and he wasn’t ready to call it a night. He pulled onto the road and headed in her direction. If she wasn’t anyone to worry about, he’d soon learn that. If she was, he’d discover that before long also. And if she was with Finn, eventually she’d lead Bjornolf to him and Meara.
There was something intrinsically satisfying about pursuing his prey when the object of his attention knew he was following him or her. Although hunting on the sly appealed as well, he loved to see the reaction of the one being pursued when he or she realized the pursuer was hot on the trail. Good guy, no reaction. Unless she was worried he might be stalking her.
He backed off on the accelerator.
Bad guy, he’d get a reaction sooner or later. The woman would try to ditch him or kill him. Try was the operative word.
He smiled. The night was still young, as far as a wolf’s sense of timing went, and perfect for the hunt.
* * *
Anna Johnson didn’t have to look at her rearview mirror to know she was being followed. She’d suspected something was off when she’d spied the silver four-door sedan sitting at the service station. The driver—male—had already finished filling the gas tank and was staring out the windshield as if he didn’t know where to go next. Who wouldn’t know that?
Unless he’d just broken up with his sweetheart, or received bad news or good news, and was lost deep in thought.
But the thing that had caught her eye most? His haircut.
Sure, men other than those in the military wore their hair short, but she bet he was military or had been. She would bet one of her contract fee
s that he was the one Finn had warned her about. Although on this mission, none of them were getting paid. It was more a rallying of the Musketeers in support of one of their own or, in this case, four of their own—a whole SEAL team.
The man had been headed in the same direction as Finn and Meara, and that made Anna suspicious. Maybe the guy in the sedan was sitting there wondering how to locate them, since Finn had successfully ditched his older Hummer at the dealership, bugs and tracking devices and all. Most of all, the man looked suspiciously like the one in the picture Finn had emailed to all the team members who were working this case.
Yeah, she’d just bet he was the one. He hadn’t looked in her direction when she came upon him at first. Wolf types, particularly those in the business they were in, were always wary, always watchful. Then he’d turned his head to look at the vehicle she was driving, and she’d quickly refocused on the road, her skin prickling with worry heat. Had he made her? She feared he had.
The telltale sign he had was when he started the vehicle’s engine and swung around to follow her instead of heading in the direction Finn and Meara had taken. All of a sudden, he had both a mission and a direction. And she was the focus.
He wasn’t being sneaky about it, either. He wanted her to know he was after her, that he knew she was with Finn. Or assumed it. Or… maybe he thought she was one of the assassins after Finn. His actions told her that he was letting her know he could take her out whenever he wanted.
He didn’t know her that well. Let him make the first mistake.
At first he was too close, his headlights pressed tightly against her back bumper. And she didn’t like it. Even if he wasn’t pursuing her and was just a man about town, she hated when someone crowded her. Probably that had to do with the time she was on a mission and had been shoved and pushed in an open market, arrested, and thrown into a South American jail on trumped-up charges. Before that, crowds hadn’t bothered her. But since then, they made her leery, afraid of a repeat performance. She meant to keep her body relaxed and her mind cool to deal with the perceived threat like she had been trained, but her skin prickled with heat and every muscle was tightly wired.