by Paige Tyler
The man jerked a thumb at the poster on the wall behind him that said NO RETURNS! NO EXCHANGES! in big red letters along with paragraphs of fine print only a lawyer could love. “Like I told you yesterday, we have a strict no returns or exchanges policy, ma’am. No exceptions.”
Tanner bit back a snarl. They didn’t have time for this crap. They still hadn’t gotten any of the drugs and medical supplies, and he wanted to be back at the camp before dark in case those assholes with the automatic weapons decided to come back and hit the place again.
“Time for your first exception,” he told the clerk in a voice that was little more than a growl. “You sold cheap camping gear to a woman you knew had no experience in the mountains,” he said through gritted teeth. At least his fangs weren’t out—yet. “That sleeping bag you foisted off on her for ten times what it’s worth is so thin that if she’d been forced to depend on it last night, she probably would have died from hypothermia by morning.”
The clerk’s eyes narrowed. “Now, just a damn minute. I can’t be held responsible…”
Tanner stopped him with a glare. “Well, I am holding you responsible.”
When the man continued to glower right back, Tanner’s hybrid half itched to grab the man by the throat and jerk him out from behind the counter. Tanner might have done it, too, if Zarina hadn’t placed a hand on his arm while sliding the receipt across the counter.
“I’ve circled the items I’m returning.” She smiled at the clerk. “But I’m definitely keeping the pajamas. They’re very comfortable.”
The clerk seemed happy to hear that. Or maybe he was simply thrilled Tanner had stopped tearing gouges out of his countertop. Either way, he worked fast to apply a credit to Zarina’s card. A few minutes later, Tanner and Zarina walked out of the store with most of her money back. It was probably too much to hope she’d use it on that plane ticket he wanted her to buy.
“If I’d known you were so good at negotiating store returns, I would have taken you with me to the Galleria after the spring sales,” Zarina said. “I spent hours arguing about their store policies.”
Tanner snorted. “Yeah, I don’t see my technique working out nearly as well at the Galleria.”
“I see your point.” Zarina stopped and glanced back at the store they’d just left. “I wonder if I should have exchanged the sleeping bag and flashlight for more of those pajamas. They’re so comfortable. I could wear them around my apartment in DC in the winter.”
He stifled a groan as an image of Zarina and her pj’s flashed through his head. He immediately wished he hadn’t let his head go there, since it was damn tough walking with a boner. Shit. What the hell was it about her that got him hard at the drop of a hat?
Tanner was so focused on thinking about anything other than Zarina romping around a campfire in her pajamas that he nearly missed someone calling his name. When the man’s voice finally broke through, he was surprised to realize he recognized it. But he had to be wrong. He hadn’t heard that voice in years.
Sure he must be imagining things, Tanner stopped and turned around to see his old army buddy standing ten feet away from him on the sidewalk. His friend looked just as shocked as Tanner.
“Tanner, is that you?”
Tanner nodded. “Ryan?”
His friend still looked the same as he had when Tanner had last seen him the day he’d gotten out of the Rangers and walked away from his old life. Ryan’s blond hair was even cropped close enough to still pass army regulations. Only Ryan wasn’t in the military anymore. He’d been in the process of bailing at the same time as Tanner had.
But while Ryan might look the same on the outside, there was a scar on his jaw and lines around his eyes that hadn’t been there before. His nose looked like it had been broken a few times, then poorly set as well.
Tanner wasn’t sure which one of them moved first—or maybe they both moved forward at the same time—but the next thing he knew, they were pulling each other in for a man hug that made him wonder why he hadn’t worked harder to stay in touch with his friend.
“Damn, you look good,” Ryan said as he pulled away. “Are you bigger than you used to be? It looks like you’re four or five inches taller than you were the last I saw you.”
Since he’d never run into anyone who’d known him before those scientists had turned him into a hybrid, Tanner never had to explain how he’d added the extra inches and more than fifty pounds of muscle. Now he’d had to do it twice in one day. He laughed it off.
“I guess I was still growing when you knew me, so I might be a little bigger than you remember,” he said casually.
Ryan frowned and opened his mouth, no doubt to call BS on that. Time to change the subject.
“You look good, too, man,” Tanner said, interrupting whatever Ryan had been about to say. “It looks like you could do a fifteen-mile ruck march with no problem. Makes it even harder to believe you got out.”
“Yeah, I intended to do my twenty years and retire with full benefits,” his friend admitted. “That all changed after our last deployment to Afghanistan.”
Tanner couldn’t do anything but nod. Ryan was right. Being in the Rangers wasn’t the same after all those guys in their platoon had died. The battalion had arranged a solemn ceremony and handed out a lot of posthumous awards, then expected everyone to move on. But Tanner hadn’t been able to do that. So instead of reenlisting like he’d planned, he’d gotten out a few months after getting back from Afghanistan.
He’d honestly thought Ryan would stay in, though. While Ryan hadn’t been unaffected by their fellow soldiers’ deaths, he hadn’t seemed as traumatized as Tanner. But maybe Tanner had been wrong about that.
Beside Tanner, Zarina softly cleared her throat, reminding him of her presence. He cringed and gave her an apologetic look before making introductions.
“Ryan Westbrook, Zarina Sokolov,” he said, then stopped as he realized he had no idea how to introduce her. He obviously couldn’t say she was the Russian geneticist who’d attempted to keep a psychopath from turning him into a hybrid. But he also couldn’t say she was his girlfriend, because he had no idea if she’d ever want to be described that way. Camping buddy didn’t hit the right note either, though.
Finally, he punted the ball and finished with the most truthful answer he could come up with. “She’s a very important person in my life.”
Ryan’s gaze went from Tanner to Zarina and back again, as if he was envisioning them together in the biblical sense. Ryan had never been good at biting his tongue, but at least this once, his friend didn’t say anything stupid.
“Very important person, huh?” he murmured as he shook Zarina’s hand. “Something tells me there’s an interesting story there, but I’ll keep my curiosity to myself for now. Regardless, it’s nice to meet you.”
Zarina hit Ryan with the kind of smile that never failed to make Tanner weak in the knees. He was relieved to see it didn’t have the same effect on Ryan.
“Nice meeting you, too,” she said. “From the conversation the two of you just had, something tells me you and Tanner were in the army together.”
Ryan nodded. “Nearly seven years, all in the same Ranger squad. Which is rather remarkable, since the army likes to move people around just for the fun of it. Tanner and I did three tours in Iraq and another two in Afghanistan. Saw a lot of shit, pardon my French.”
Zarina laughed. “Your French is fine. I’m Russian. We use that kind of French all the time.”
“Russian, huh? I thought I detected an accent.” Ryan threw Tanner a sideways glance. “So, what’s the deal? Is there some kind of James Bond angle going on here, or did she just buy you on Craigslist?”
“Curiosity killed the cat,” Tanner deadpanned.
Ryan chuckled. “Okay, okay. I get your point. At least throw me a bone. What have you been up to? You back in Seattle working security for Boeing or s
omething?”
How the hell did he answer that? Especially since he hadn’t held a real job since getting out of the army. He’d never been good at lying. But it wasn’t like he could tell the truth either.
I’ve been working part time at a covert organization in Washington, DC, you’ve never heard of.
“Nah, nothing like that,” he finally said. “Actually, I’ve been between jobs for a while now. I get a little bit of money each month from the VA on account of all the times I got blown up. Head trauma and stuff, you know? I don’t have many bills, but what I get from the government takes care of them.”
Zarina’s eyes widened at the mention of head trauma and disability pay from the Veterans Administration, but Tanner pretended not to notice. He hadn’t told her about any of that, and he didn’t want to get into it now, especially with Ryan standing there.
“How about you? What are you doing for a living these days?” Tanner asked, mostly so his friend wouldn’t be tempted to dig any deeper.
Ryan regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, as if knowing Tanner was trying to change the topic. But he didn’t call Tanner on it.
“I own a club called The Cage outside of Redmond on Highway 203,” he said. “It’s a nice gig, and the money is way better than I ever could have imagined when I first started it.”
Tanner fought hard not to gape as Ryan told them about buying an old logging mill on the outskirts of town and repurposing it as a nightclub. He tried his best to picture his friend doing that kind of work and failed. When they were in the army, Ryan had spent a good portion of his free time in a hundred different clubs and bars scattered around the world. Hell, they both had. Tanner simply couldn’t wrap his head around Ryan owning a club and doing all the work that went with it now.
“Actually, that’s why I’m in Wenatchee today,” Ryan added. “I’m looking for a few new acquisitions for the place to entertain the customers.”
Tanner couldn’t help frowning at the odd word choice. “Like a band, you mean?”
“Not exactly,” Ryan said.
“Well, Redmond is a two-and-a-half-hour drive from here,” Tanner said. “Whoever you’re looking to hire must be damn good.”
Ryan’s mouth quirked. “My customers are always looking for something new and interesting. I’ve been lucky enough to find some of that out here, so I keep coming back. Never know when I’ll hit the jackpot.” He studied them thoughtfully. “You and Zarina should stop by sometime.”
Tanner cringed inwardly. He’d come out here to get away from people. Going to a crowded nightclub probably wasn’t the best idea. He couldn’t exactly explain that to Ryan, though. So he lied. Again.
“We might do that.” Tanner glanced at Zarina, then turned back to Ryan. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to get back up the mountain before dark.”
Ryan nodded. “Where are you two planning to set up?”
Tanner opened his mouth to tell Ryan about the prepper camp but then closed it again. Chad and his group had never hidden where they were, but for reasons Tanner couldn’t explain, he didn’t feel like advertising it to the world—or an old buddy. “We’re planning to set up around Crow Hill or Graham Mountain. Maybe even a little farther north of there.”
Ryan frowned. “You might not want to do that. A lot of crazy preppers have been hanging out near Graham Mountain, causing trouble.”
It was Tanner’s turn to frown. “Is that so? I didn’t know that. Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Good,” Ryan said. “There are a lot of good campsites over to the southwest side of the forest. You should check out some of those.”
“We will,” Tanner said noncommittally.
He was glad now that he hadn’t mentioned staying with Chad and his group. He didn’t know where Ryan’s crap about the preppers was coming from. Maybe those events over in Afghanistan had changed his buddy more than he’d thought.
Ryan glanced at his watch. “I have to get out of here, too. It was good seeing you again, man. If you two come to the club, let me know so I can make sure I’m there. We can catch up on old times.”
“Will do,” Tanner said.
Ryan gave Zarina a nod. “Nice meeting you.”
“You, too.” She waited until Ryan was out of earshot, then turned to Tanner with a frown. “Okay, what was all that stuff about the preppers about?”
“I don’t know,” Tanner admitted, watching his friend walk down the street. “But something tells me Ryan and I won’t be getting back together to talk about the good old days anytime soon.”
* * *
Tate rubbed the back of his neck as he walked out of his motel room. He’d seen a coffeemaker on the counter beside the front desk when he’d checked in last night and prayed he’d still be able to get a cup. That crap they put in those little single serving pots in the rooms should be outlawed. Who the hell did they expect would drink the stuff?
As he headed toward the front of the building, he tried to work out the kink in his back from the too-soft mattress he’d slept on last night. The cold morning air didn’t help. Anytime it was below forty degrees, his lower spine got stiff. Getting shot in the back could do that to anybody. Though to be fair, he couldn’t entirely blame his nearly sleepless night on the poor mattress. That mostly had to do with the fact that he had spent much of his evening digging through databases and newspaper articles looking for anything and everything he could on McKinley Bell.
Unfortunately, the effort had been a waste. He’d found nothing of interest on the recently deceased doctor. If the man had ever been involved in anything remotely resembling hybrid research, it didn’t show up in his background history. By all appearances, Bell had been an honest, conscientious doctor from a well-off family in Boston. He’d been a leader in his field of genetic birth defects and had donated huge amounts of his time and money in the search for genetic therapy and cures for a list of childhood conditions that sounded pretty frigging horrible to Tate. The man had won a ton of prestigious awards from various research institutes around the country but had no apparent social life of any kind. From what Kendra could find out, the man had never dated, gone on a vacation, or had personal communications with anyone.
It was damn hard to imagine the guy being involved in hybrid research. But Tate had been fooled before, so he rarely took anyone or anything at face value. Besides, Bell had definitely been tortured by a shifter or hybrid, which meant he was involved in something. Hopefully, getting a look at the cabin where the man had been murdered would give him an idea what that something might be.
He rounded the corner leading to the motel lobby, already tasting coffee he hoped would be fresh, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Deputy Chase York leaning casually against the side of his patrol car in the parking lot, two large cups of coffee in his hands, a familiar-looking Dunkin’ Donuts box on the hood, and a knowing smile on his face.
Tate frowned and double-checked his watch. “I thought I was supposed to meet you at the coffee shop at eight? Did I get the time wrong?”
Chase’s smile broadened. “I thought I should show up here in case you forgot you were supposed to meet me before heading out to the cabin.”
“What makes you think I’d forget?” Tate asked, walking over to him.
Dodging the deputy had actually been his plan. It bruised his ego to know Chase had seen through him so easily. Maybe he’d gotten slow after all those years working on a team with people he trusted.
“Let’s just say I know how busy you federal types are.” Chase pushed away from the car and held one of the cups out to him. “I wouldn’t want you feeling bad if you ended up driving all the way to that cabin only to realize you’d forgotten to meet up with your temporary partner. That would be damn inconvenient.”
“I’m sure,” Tate said dryly, reaching out to snag the coffee. “Well, since you’re here, l
ead the way. I’ll follow.”
Chase’s mouth twitched. “Why don’t we go in my car? Just so there’s less chance of us getting separated. Some of the back roads on the way up to the cabin are twisty and confusing. It’d be easy to get turned around out there and lose each other.”
“I bet,” Tate muttered, impressed despite himself.
He sipped his coffee. Damn, it was good. Maybe teaming up with York might not be so bad after all.
“I figured you took it black with no sugar or cream,” Chase said as he motioned toward the passenger seat. “I’ve been a coffee addict long enough to know the signs.”
Tate scooped up the box of donuts as he walked around the front of the car. “Okay, you get extra points for knowing I like my coffee black, but if there are any chocolate-glazed cake donuts in here, then I’ll be seriously impressed.”
Chase chuckled as he opened the driver’s side door. “Please. What kind of cop do you take me for? Half the box is chocolate-glazed.”
Tate lifted a brow at that. Damn. Maybe he should get Landon to recruit this guy. For his knowledge of coffee and donuts if nothing else.
* * *
Shit, Chase drove fast. The fact that they made the forty-minute trip to the cabin in less than thirty was a sure sign of that. Tate had never been one to necessarily obey every traffic sign out there, but he assumed a few of them, like the one warning unsuspecting drivers that the road ahead was about to do a ninety-degree dogleg, could occasionally be useful.
“Where’d you learn to drive, Beirut?” Tate asked, gripping the handle on the passenger door as the deputy maneuvered the patrol car onto a gravel road at a silly rate of speed. Hopefully, the gravel meant they were almost at the cabin, because he wasn’t enjoying this tour of backwoods Maine as much as he would have thought.
“Close,” Chase said. “Baghdad and Mosul actually.”
That explained a lot. He glanced at the deputy. “Marines?”
Chase nodded. “Five years, three deployments. Never been able to drive within the speed limit since. How about you? You strike me as the kind of man who’s seen his fair share of firefights and car chases.”