by Terry Spear
Allan laughed. “Hell, she takes her weapons to bed. She’s a dangerous wolf for a man to have around. Especially, I imagine, in bed.”
“You better believe it.” Anna smiled deviously.
“And she doesn’t cook,” Paul reminded them.
“But she could save your hide if you needed it.” Meara smiled at Anna.
“Speaking of saving hides,” Finn said, “Meara and I need to leave.”
“With my blessing. Keep her safe, Finn,” Hunter said gruffly.
“Will do.”
“And I’ll take care of him, too.” Meara wasn’t going to be left out.
“Just don’t distract him, Meara,” her brother warned.
Paul and Allan looked like they wished they were in Finn’s shoes.
“Speaking of cooking, anyone up for lunch?” Hunter asked, giving Meara a hug before she and Finn left, and headed for the kitchen.
Finn grabbed his and Meara’s bags while she took the rifle. Anna nodded. “I can see what her priorities are. She could be one of us if she got some training. Never know.”
Meara gave her a hug. “Keep yourself safe.”
“You, too.” Then Anna entered the kitchen. “Here, let me help you with that. Poor Tessa. Hasn’t she trained you how to cook chicken right yet? The temperature’s wrong. The timer is wrong. Did you season it first?”
Sounded to Meara like Anna knew very well how to cook.
Allan and Paul looked like they also wanted hugs from Meara as they stood in the living room waiting. Finn’s expression told them not to even consider it. They laughed at him, slapped him on the back, and then joined Hunter in the kitchen.
“Ready to leave, Meara?” Finn asked.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” She hated leaving the team and her brother behind while she and Finn were safe and sound. Especially when the team could have used Finn’s help. But she knew Hunter and Finn wouldn’t have it any other way. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 17
Rourke arrived at Chris’s place ready to find any clue he could to help Hunter and his team. He just wished Chris would have been more open to sharing the information he had on the case so Rourke wouldn’t have had to resort to more extreme measures. He really could be helpful if the pack members would give him a chance.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled out a set of lockpicks. He’d used them after Hunter had given them to him as part of his lupus garou indoctrination, and he’d already practiced with them a number of times. But this was the first time he’d put them to practical use.
He slipped around the back of the ranch-style brick house, not wanting neighbors to think anything of him playing with the front lock. And then he was inside, standing in the perfectly neat kitchen with no dishes on the gray slate countertop and the chrome sink sparkling. The guy was a neat freak on top of everything else.
Rourke quickly shut the back door, hoping that Hunter and Chris wouldn’t be too angry with him if they discovered he’d sneaked into the sub-leader’s house without permission. Rourke had to find the connection to Allan’s attempted killing or he was toast.
As soon as he entered Chris’s dining room, where the table’s glass top was just as sparkling clean and the chrome chairs perfectly aligned underneath the table, he smelled Chris’s scent all over the place. Rourke realized then that Chris would smell that he had been there also. There was no hiding the fact now.
With rigid determination, Rourke stalked into the living room and spied the morning’s neatly folded paper on the coffee table. He wondered if Chris only read it to ensure that Rourke hadn’t slipped in something that Chris would object to or if he really read the news on a regular basis.
Shaking his head, Rourke quickly located Chris’s office down the hall and searched through all the desk drawers. He found a drawer full of pictures of Meara, as well as some that appeared to have been of Meara and others, but the others had been cut away and discarded, leaving just Meara. So Chris had more than a small obsession with her.
He pulled out another picture that he thought odd. Meara was dining with Cyn Iverson, seated at a window in a restaurant. The picture was taken from outside the restaurant. Why would Chris have a picture of Meara and Cyn conversing over dinner when he had denied to Hunter that he had known about it? According to two of the pack members who’d told Rourke how difficult Meara could be to watch over, she’d slipped away and had dinner with the wolf while Chris thought she was shopping for romance books.
Still pondering that bit of odd news, Rourke continued to search for the notes Chris must be gathering on the case about the SEAL team, but he found nothing. Rourke was beginning to think he was on a wild-goose chase, only his goose would be cooked if he didn’t discover something important that could be used to uncover the mastermind of all this.
He thought that odd also. If Dave was right in assuming that Chris had been checking into this business with the Knight of Swords, why wouldn’t he have notes about it somewhere? He wouldn’t have a reason to keep his investigation secret.
Having looked through everything—even a file cabinet that had notes on various pack members and personal financial files—but finding nothing that would help with his quest, Rourke left the office with a heavy heart.
He would be in so much trouble and have nothing to show for it.
He glanced in the bathroom, but everything was neat, and nothing would help him there. He continued down the hallway until he came to what looked like the master bedroom, a sitting-room combination with an attached bathroom and walk-in closet.
His gaze shot straight to a black spiral notebook sitting on a bedside table, closed with a black pen lying on top.
Hope renewed, Rourke rushed to the bedside table and jerked the journal up, flipping it open to that morning’s notes.
Nothing. He flipped through earlier notes. Just pack business.
He started rummaging through Chris’s bureau and saw the corner of what looked to be a card in a sweater drawer. He moved the stack of sweaters aside and stared at the set of tarot cards.
His hands were shaking and his heart pounding as he quickly looked through the cards, searching for the Knight of Swords. It had to be there. It had to be a complete set of cards. These couldn’t have anything to do with the one that had been found on the wounded SEAL team member.
The card wasn’t there. Rourke sorted through them more slowly this time, studying each, certain he’d just overlooked it, hoping he’d just overlooked it.
But no. The card portraying the Knight of Swords wasn’t among them.
Which meant?
Coincidence that Chris would have a set of tarot cards and the only one missing would be that particular card?
Rourke began searching the other drawers but didn’t find anything else that might connect Chris with the hit on Allan. He moved to the closet, rifling through clothes and pockets, and found nothing. Then he spied a couple of suitcases on a shelf and a bag tucked on a shelf below. He pulled out the bag and unzipped it. Nothing inside. But then he checked the outside of the bag, slipping his hand in one zippered pocket, then another. And felt something. A couple of pieces of paper. He pulled the items out. A plane-ticket receipt and an itinerary.
He quickly read the date and time of the departure and arrival. It was the same time Chris had to leave town on an important errand, right before Finn arrived to protect Meara and Hunter.
But most of all, the destination was Pompano Beach, Florida, the same city where Allan Rappaport had been shot.
Rourke had to get out of Chris’s house and share this information with Hunter as soon as humanly possible.
But he didn’t know where Hunter was staying, and what if Chris discovered Rourke had been snooping around in his place before Rourke could share what he suspected with Hunter? He couldn’t return to his own apartment. Chris
was supposed to meet him there in a couple of hours so he could accompany Rourke to the newspaper office.
Rourke couldn’t go to the office by himself, either, in case Chris tried to find him there. Somehow, Rourke needed to reach Hunter and Dave before Chris discovered Rourke’s scent in his house. Quiet Chris would kill Rourke as soon as he found out.
Grabbing the airline-ticket receipt and itinerary, and stopping in Chris’s office for the photo of Meara and Cyn, Rourke pondered whether this was enough evidence to show Chris was involved in Allan’s shooting and a connection between him and Cyn.
He suspected that Chris had helped set up the situation where Meara would be alone so Cyn could meet her and have dinner. But if that was the case, what was the motive? Chris obviously felt something for Meara. Why would he willingly make it easy for Cyn to have dinner with her?
On a hunch, Rourke returned to the file cabinet and opened the drawer containing Chris’s personal financial files. He began systematically going through the sub-leader’s bank and credit card statements.
He found the charge for the plane ticket to Pompano Beach and a check made out to Cyn Iverson in the amount of $50,000. What the hell?
Not wanting to risk staying any longer and chance being discovered, he grabbed the additional paperwork and hurried out to his vehicle. He drove north, thinking to go to Dave’s place, but then changed his mind and turned his vehicle around to head south. What if Dave was also involved? The pack had mutinied once on Hunter. What if his sub-leaders both had been involved?
He’d go to Hunter and Tessa’s house. It was only about a mile south of Meara’s, where Chris was checking into the cabin-renter squabbles, but Chris would never suspect that Rourke would stow away in the pack leader’s vacated house.
Rourke pulled out his phone as he drove down the coast road, intending to warn Hunter of Chris’s involvement, although Rourke only had circumstantial evidence. When his phone rang in his hand, he nearly dropped it on the floorboard.
He glanced at the caller ID. Unknown number.
“Yeah?” he said evasively. Might be a wrong number. He hoped to hell Chris wasn’t already on to him. But he knew it would be too soon. His nerves were frayed.
“It’s Meara,” the caller said, and Rourke sighed with relief. “I’m using Finn’s phone because my own is out of commission, but Dave called and said you wanted to look more into the attempt on Allan’s life. Dave tried to call Hunter to get his okay on it, but his line was busy. So Dave called me. What is this all about?”
Dave must be one of the good guys, which relieved Rourke no end. “Chris is involved,” Rourke said. He tried to keep his voice on an even keel, but the repercussions of learning such a thing made his heart race and his voice sound desperate. “I found tarot cards at Chris’s house, but the Knight of Swords was missing,” he quickly added. “And I discovered a plane ticket that put him in Pompano Beach, Florida, at the same time that Allan was shot. I’m on my way to Hunter’s house. This whole situation with Allan has to do with Chris.”
Meara didn’t say anything. Had the mountains cut their reception?
“Meara? Are you still there?”
“Are you sure?” she asked, sounding shocked.
“Yeah. I’ve got the plane-ticket receipt and the remaining tarot cards right here,” he said, relieved she’d heard him right. He patted them resting on the console, feeling like he’d just discovered a case as big as Watergate, at least as far as the pack was concerned.
“What exactly did he say?”
“He’s in it with Cyn Iverson, Meara. The guy Hunter didn’t want you to date. Chris took a photo of you dining with Cyn at that restaurant when you were supposed to be shopping for romance books in Sacramento. He lied about it. He told Hunter he hadn’t a clue you’d been with the guy.”
Silence.
“Meara, are you okay?”
She cursed under her breath. “Anything else?” she asked. This time her voice was hard.
“He paid Cyn $50,000.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “How far are you from Hunter’s place?”
“Twenty minutes.”
“Finn and I will be there in thirty. Was anybody else in the pack involved?”
“I don’t know. As soon as I picked up the evidence at Chris’s place, I took off.”
“All right, all right. I’ll get hold of Hunter. Stay low until we get there. Don’t call anyone else. I don’t want to tip off the other pack members if anyone else is involved.”
“I’m sorry, Meara.”
“Yeah, so am I.” Meara ended the call. She tried to get hold of Hunter but only got a busy signal.
“What’s up?” Finn asked, his voice dark with threat.
“Rourke, the new guy, found evidence at Chris’s house.” Meara set his phone in the cup holder.
Finn’s brows rose.
“Apparently Chris is involved in this whole sordid mess.”
“Where’s the evidence?”
“Rourke’s got it. He’s bringing it to Hunter and Tessa’s house.”
Finn let out his breath and reached over to rub Meara’s arm. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head. “Chris has been with our pack since the early years. How could he be involved in something so hideous?”
“I don’t know. Right incentive, maybe mad at Hunter over some slight? I don’t know.”
Meara grabbed the phone and tried calling Hunter again. No luck. “Can you drive faster?”
“What exactly was the evidence?”
“Rourke has the tarot cards, minus the Knight of Swords that was left with Allan. And he discovered a plane-ticket receipt for Pompano Beach.”
“Pompano Beach? Hell, don’t tell me it was around the time that Allan got shot.”
“Yeah, same time. Then, too, Chris wasn’t supposed to know that I was having dinner with Cyn that time I was shopping in Sacramento. But Rourke found a picture of me eating dinner at the restaurant with Cyn.”
“So Chris knew all about it.”
“Yeah. Rourke left Chris’s place in a hurry before he was discovered.”
“So Chris was the one who shot Allan? I’ll kill the SOB myself. How did Rourke even begin digging into this stuff?”
“He’s an investigative reporter.”
Finn smiled. “Sounds like he’s a good addition to the pack.”
“Yeah,” she said, still fuming about Chris and wishing that they’d trusted Rourke more to do what was right. “Sounds like you’re right. Chris is a dead man, though,” Meara promised.
“Where is Chris now?”
Meara looked at Finn. “My house.”
“That’s not far from Hunter’s place.”
“A little more than a mile. He won’t suspect any of us are there. Hunter’s supposed to be wherever we are at some safe house, as far as Chris knows.”
“Yeah, but you know how well-laid plans can go awry.”
***
Rourke parked some distance down the road south of Hunter and Tessa’s house, hiding the car in the woods since the place didn’t have a garage. He could just envision Chris driving by the pack leader’s place, seeing Rourke’s vehicle parked in front, and wondering what the hell he was doing there since Hunter wasn’t home.
Rourke locked his car doors. Then with the evidence tucked under his arm, he bolted through the trees to reach the house. When he got there, he went around to the back door and picked the lock, memories flooding him of when he’d stayed there to help Hunter protect Tessa during a winter storm, electrical outages, and fights with bad guys. And how he’d wanted Tessa, but the SEAL had won out. Who could compete with a SEAL who was a wolf on top of that?
Now Rourke would help Finn to protect Meara, which was almost the same scenari
o. Only Rourke wasn’t interested in Meara the way he’d had a crush on Tessa. Meara was too… unpredictable for him.
He locked the door to the place.
Rourke glanced at his wrist and then remembered he no longer wore a watch as a werewolf. It was one of the hardest things he’d had to get used to. At first, he’d fought the idea—until he’d stripped out of his clothes, forgot his watch, shifted, and lost his prized watch in the woods.
Meara and Finn should be here by now. They were probably hiding their vehicle like he had done and were on foot in the woods, headed in this direction.
He was damned thankful his need to investigate the situation had prompted him to search Chris’s house. Never in a millennium would Rourke have believed that Chris had been involved. Without the evidence, they all might have been clueless about Chris’s involvement until it was too late.
He heard a noise on the back patio, and thinking Meara and Finn were trying to get in, Rourke headed for the back door to open it for them.
His heart thundering, Rourke stared at Chris, who stood at the back door looking in through the kitchen window. When Chris caught Rourke’s eye, he cast him an evil smile. Chris walked over to the back door and tried to unlock it with a lockpick.
“You know, Rourke, you’re supposed to be at your apartment,” Chris said through the door.
The lockpick twisted some more. Rourke’s skin chilled.
“You’re not supposed to be driving your vehicle, either.”
Twist, grind, twist.
“You’re supposed to be waiting for me until I pick you up to take you to the newspaper office.”
Click.
“Why are you here at Hunter’s house? Don’t you know that’s illegal? Breaking and entering? Hunter will not be pleased.”
Rourke raced back into the living room and shoved the incriminating papers underneath the couch cushion. Should he shift? He had no weapon on him.
“So, what are you doing here? Dave said you wanted to speak to me about investigating this situation further concerning Allan’s shooter. What was it you wished to ask me?”