The Grant Wolves Box Set

by Lori Drake

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  He popped the hood and slammed the door shut on his way to the front of the car. The hood was so hot that he nearly burned his hands opening it. He half expected to find flames beneath it, but no, just smoke. Lots of smoke, and the acrid aromas of burned engine oil and superheated metal. There was nothing to be done until the engine cooled. Even then, the odds weren’t in his favor.

  He fished his phone out of his pocket. The words “No Service” had never been less welcome. His fingers tightened on the electronic device until its aluminum housing creaked ominously.

  “Fuck!” He shouted at the gray sky and kicked the front bumper once, twice. Hard enough to leave dents in the chrome and probably on the steel toe of his boot, too. The only answer was a distant bird call and the whispering wind.

  He stepped back, looked up and down the expanse of empty highway, and pulled off his skull cap to rub his stubbly head.

  Now what?

  He wasn’t entirely sure where he was, much less where he was going. When he’d gotten in the car, all he wanted to do was drive until his blood stopped boiling. Until he could think. Plan. That had been hours ago. His anger hadn’t faded in that time. No, it’d merely subsided from a raging boil to a bubbling simmer.

  They’d condemned him, thought they were better off without him. They were wrong. They’d see. He’d make them see, show them who the better man was. Certainly not that worthless fuck they thought walked on water. This wasn’t over. If anger could’ve kept him warm on the side of the road that cold winter’s day, he would’ve been toasty. As it was, he buttoned up his coat and put his hat back on before climbing back into the Camaro to wait it out.

  Another hour and four cigarettes later, he stood on the side of the road with his hands in his pockets until a car approached, at which point he hoisted a thumb in hopes of getting someone to pull over. The first four cars blew right past him without even slowing down. He must’ve looked a sight with his two fading black eyes and broken nose. Still, their lack of charity galled him. It galled him even more to need it, and that was just another log on the fire.

  When the fifth car slowed, hope flared inside him. As the aging station wagon rolled past, its driver peered out the passenger window. Eric waved a hand and smiled in a desperate bid to look friendly and in need of assistance. The station wagon kept going for a good twenty yards before its brake lights lit up and it veered off onto the shoulder.

  He jogged toward it, approaching the passenger side window. The window lowered with a mechanical whine, stopping about halfway down.

  “Car trouble?” the stranger asked.

  “Yeah, thanks for stopping. I’ve been stranded for hours, and my cell has no service out here. How’s yours? Could I make a call?”

  The man checked his phone and shook his head. “Sorry, none for me either. I can give you a lift to the next town, though.”

  Relief flooded Eric. “That’d be great. Thank you so much.” He climbed into the passenger seat and shut the door, reveling in the heat as the car rolled forward and pulled back onto the road.

  “You look like you’ve had a rough week,” the driver remarked.

  “You don’t know the half of it, buddy.” Eric hoped his tone discouraged further questions.

  “Hmm.” The driver was quiet for a few moments, then glanced over at him again. “I’m Paul.”

  “Eric.”

  They shook hands in that awkward manner of people sitting side by side.

  “Where were you headed?” Paul asked.

  “Anywhere but here, honestly. You?”

  Paul smiled. “Nevada. Eastgate, Nevada.”

  Published by Clockwork Cactus Press

  651 N US Highway 183 Ste 335 #107

  Leander, TX 78641 USA

  GRAVE THREAT (GRANT WOLVES BOOK 3)

  Copyright © 2018 Lori Drake

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9994333-6-2

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means whatsoever without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. Please refer all pertinent questions to the publisher.

  First Edition: June 2018

  For Amy.

  (Sorry, still no pound puppies.)

  1

  Joey sat quietly, holding Chris’s hand for the two minutes and twenty-four seconds he was gone. His expression was serene, and his chest rose and fell steadily. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was asleep. His fingers twitched beneath hers, telling her that someone was home again just before he opened his eyes. She peered at him, then squeezed his hand.

  “Well?” she said, when he didn’t say anything right away.

  He shook his head, causing her stomach to turn over even before he said, “I can’t find her.”

  “What does that mean?” She searched his face for answers by the glow of the dashboard lights.

  He turned his head and smiled faintly. “Don’t you mean, ‘What’s the password?’”

  “Oh, right. What’s the password?”

  He didn’t move, but he did whisper the word they’d agreed upon. Her wolf ears picked it up just fine. Technically, he hadn’t needed to whisper it so close to her ear before, but she’d humored him. Her fingers stirred, smoothing across his. The expression on his face spoke volumes, but she needed to hear the words.

  “So, you couldn’t find her. What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Chris said, and sighed. “Either she’s too far away, or—”

  “You were able to get from San Diego to Ensenada on the astral plane. That’s what, eighty miles?”

  “Closer to ninety, and you were probably six or seven miles farther south. It wasn’t easy, though.”

  “So she’s not anywhere in at least a ninety-mile radius, and she’s been missing”—she checked the clock on the dash—“three and a half hours?”

  “Assuming she left work at the usual time, yes.”

  “It wouldn’t have been hard to drive ninety miles in three and a half hours. The question is—”

  “Joey.” His fingers tightened around hers. “I know you don’t want to think about it, but—”

  “No. She’s not dead, Chris. She’s not.”

  He released her hand and tried to put his arm around her, but she pushed him away.

  “Call Dad. Tell him to call the police and report her missing.”

  “Joey—” His voice was gentle, but she wasn’t having any of it.

  “Call Dad.” It was a command, not a suggestion. She met his eyes, but he held her gaze in silent challenge. Sometimes Joey wondered if becoming an Alpha had made him less malleable to her will, or if he’d always been more dominant than he’d let on.

  Joey growled in frustration and smacked a hand against the wheel. “Dammit, Chris, why are you fighting me on this? Just call him, please.”

  “I will,” he said, and reached for her hand again. She let him take it, glaring at him while he enfolded it in both of his and stroked it with gentle fingers.

  “Chris, we don’t have time for—”

  He silenced her with a look. Not a sharp look, or a commanding look, or even a loving look. An understanding look.

  “Don’t panic,” he said.

  “I’m not panicking,” she said through gritted teeth.

  “Panicking doesn’t make you weak. It’s a natural response. But your pack needs you. With Mom gone—”

  “She’s not gone,” Joey said, narrowing her eyes. “Why are you so eager to write her off? So you can take over her pack too?”

  Chris’s forehead wrinkled, and he shook his head. “First off, that’s not what I meant. S
econd, uh, an emphatic hell no. I’ve got my hands full. But if you’d let me finish, I was going to say that with her—out of pocket—they’re going to look to you for direction.”

  “Oh.” Joey winced and looked away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I just—”

  He squeezed her hand. “Apology accepted. But my point is: you need to keep that shit under wraps, because if you come apart, they’re going to come apart too.”

  Maybe he was right. Maybe she had been panicking. Just a little bit. “When did you get so smart?” she asked, meeting his eyes. “Did you learn that from your father’s journal?”

  “No,” he said, and in that moment, a little bit of his worry leaked into his expression. “I learned it from Mom.”

  Joey lifted her hand, bringing his with it, and pressed her cheek against his palm. “We’ll find her.” She put as much conviction into the words as she could, shoving her anxiety into a closet and kicking the door shut for now.

  He nodded and brushed her cheek with his thumb before reclaiming his hand to make the call. While he relayed the information they’d uncovered, Joey pulled away from the curb and pointed them in the direction of home again. They were halfway there when her own phone rang. Joey’s heart leapt into her throat when Adelaide’s name popped up on the handsfree display. She punched the answer button on the steering wheel, relief flooding her.

  “Mom! Where are you? Is everything okay?” she said.

  “Hello, Joey.”

  Joey’s blood went cold. She knew that voice, and it wasn’t her mother’s. “Eric? You son of a bitch. What have you done to my mother?”

  A low, rumbling chuckle rolled out of the speaker. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

  Eric was the last person Joey had expected to be on the other end of the call—no, scratch that, he wasn’t even the last person she’d expected. But she could hear the self-satisfied smirk in his voice, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She spared a glance in Chris’s direction. He was rigid in his seat, staring at the photo of Adelaide from Joey’s contact list on the small blue screen.

  “We’re not friends,” she said. “Get to the point.”

  “Is Chris there?”

  “I’m here,” Chris said, his calm voice belied by his hands balled into fists in his lap.

  “Oh good,” Eric said. “That’ll save me a call.”

  “So glad we’re not inconveniencing you,” Joey said tightly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

  There was a pause, a long pause. No doubt Eric liked holding their attention, keeping them waiting. But eventually he said, “That’s more like it. I’ve got someone here that wants to talk to you.” A rustling sound was followed by his voice again, but more from a distance. “Talk, bitch.”

  “Mom?” Joey said, holding the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip.

  “I’m fine, Josephine. Tell your—” Adelaide’s words cut off abruptly.

  “Mom!” Joey veered onto the shoulder and braked hard. The sedan skidded to a stop, and Joey’s seatbelt locked.

  Eric came back on the speaker. “As you can hear, she’s alive and well. For now.”

  Red clouded the edges of Joey’s vision. “If you lay so much as a finger on her, I’ll break them all!”

  “What do you want, Eric?” Chris asked. His voice had a slight edge to it, but on the whole, he sounded much calmer than Joey at this point.

  “You. Both of you, actually. We have some unfinished business.”

  “When and where?”

  “I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, start driving. Take I-90 East. Just the two of you. No bullshit, and no cops, or she dies.”

  Chris flung open the car door and climbed out of the car after Eric hung up.

  “Where are you going?” Joey called after him.

  “I need some air,” he said, and shut the door.

  He’d forgotten, of course, that it was raining. Not a heavy rain, but enough of a sprinkle to be noticeable. Chris tipped his head back and took a deep breath, letting the tiny droplets splatter his face. The cold rain wasn’t nearly enough to smother his smoldering rage.

  Eric. That sorry piece of shit that Chris had sent packing six weeks ago had returned for vengeance. This time, Adelaide was in the crossfire. Chris pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and suppressed the urge to howl.

  The driver’s door opened and closed, and the sound of footsteps on gravel announced Joey’s approach.

  “Hey,” she said. “Would you get back in the car so we can talk? It’s raining.”

  Chris dropped his hands but avoided meeting her eyes.

  This is all my fault.

  He couldn’t bring himself to say the words out loud. Not even to Joey.

  “What’s there to talk about?” he asked instead.

  “Um, what we’re gonna do about Eric?”

  What I should’ve done about Eric, she means.

  “We’re gonna do what he says,” Chris said. “Whatever it takes to get her back, to get her home safe.” He turned back to the car and grasped the door handle. “And then we’re going to kill him.”

  “We can’t.”

  Chris turned back slowly, every muscle in his body tense. “Why not?”

  “Because we’ll have a pissed-off poltergeist on our hands—again.”

  Groaning, Chris rubbed a hand down his face. “Good point. We’ll have to take him with us.”

  Joey blinked. “What?”

  “Come on.” Chris hauled open the door and got back into the car, while Joey scampered around to the other side to join him.

  “Take him with us?” she asked. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. We’ll stop by the house real quick and grab his remains. That’s what he’s tethered to, right?”

  Joey fastened her seatbelt. “Dean seems to think so, but we don’t know what Roger’s range is.”

  “Right, all we know is that Eric’s been outside of it. So, we take him to Eric. He kills Eric. We bring Mom home. Done.”

  “I dunno. I mean, he did say to come alone.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “He doesn’t want us to bring our packs with us. He won’t expect Roger.”

  “That’s a big gamble.”

  Chris shrugged. “The alternative is we go on our own, with no backup, and hope we win.”

  Joey grimaced and put the car in gear. “I do like to avoid a fair fight when I can. Does that mean we’re not going to tell the pack?”

  “Which one?”

  “Either. Both.”

  Chris weighed the options while Joey made a U-turn.

  “You know I’m all about transparency,” he said. “But in this case… I think it’s better not to tell them.”

  “I disagree.”

  “Do you honestly think Dad, Sam, Jon, and Ben will let us go alone once they know what’s going on?”

  “Yes, because that’s what we have to do. Mom’s life is at stake. You know better than anyone that Eric won’t hesitate.” She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, a portrait of nervous energy in living color. “They need to know where we’re going and what’s going on. No secrets. No lies. Besides, the last time I ran off half-cocked, I had to bury one of my best friends.”

  Chris couldn’t dispute that.

  They rode the rest of the way to his house in silence. Joey waited outside while Chris ran in to fetch Roger’s remains from the safe. Adam and Lucy were once again on the sofa, playing video games. Chris paused inside the front door, dripping. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might bump into someone on this little errand, and he didn’t know what to say or how to handle being out of pocket for an unknown period of time.

  “Hey, boss,” Adam said, lifting a can of cola in salute. Beside him, Lucy waved.

  “Hey.” Chris’s mind whirled as he tried to work out the logistics of a sudden out-of-town trip on top of his many responsibilities. “Is Itsuo around?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lucy said
.

  Adam added, “Haven’t seen him for a few days.”

  “What about Jess?” Chris asked, heading for his office. He wasn’t worried about Itsuo. A loner at heart, Itsuo routinely disappeared for days at a time and could certainly take care of himself.

  “She’s got a gig tonight. And before you ask, Dean went with Jess, Jenny’s in her room, and Colt’s still at work. Is everything okay?” Lucy called after him.

  “Yeah. Lucy, could I talk to you for a minute?” Chris could imagine the twins looking at each other and shrugging in his wake, but he didn’t look back. Once he was in his office, he headed straight for the safe.

  “What’s up?” Lucy asked, watching him from the doorway.

  “I got a lead on Eric,” he said, sticking mostly to the truth. “Joey and I are going to take Roger out and see if he can find him.”

  “I’m sure Roger will be happy about that. You did promise.” Lucy folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

  The safe beeped and Chris opened the door, removing Roger’s coffee can urn, along with some of the cash he kept stashed there for emergencies. “I’m leaving Jess in charge, but I need you to make sure no one gives her any shit. You know she’s willing to do anything for you guys right now.”

  “Me?” Lucy quirked a brow. “Why me?”

  Chris swung the safe door closed and re-engaged the lock, glancing at her with a mild chuckle. “You know why.”

  She lowered her eyes, but not quickly enough. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Chris crossed to where she stood and put a hand on her shoulder. “Yeah, you do,” he said, keeping his voice low. “And I think I understand why you’ve been hiding it from Adam all these years, the way things were with your dad. I won’t tell him, but I need you to do this for me.”

  Lucy lifted her eyes, meeting his for longer than she ever had before. Her cotton-candy-blue pigtails bobbed when she nodded. “Okay.”

  “If anything comes up about the house, the contractors have a problem or something, have them call my cell. If I don’t answer, have them talk to Sam. I’ll text you his number.” With Sam’s background in construction, Chris trusted him to make the right call. He would’ve asked his big brother to take the lead on the project from the start if Sam hadn’t been so eager to set up his private eye business. Everyone needed a change now and then.