Day of the Dragon

by Katie MacAlister

  Something naughty and dirty and—and Abby’s cat swatted at her, the inner animal hissing long and loud. Her cat didn’t want Abby’s mind to stray to sex if she refused to do anything about their dry spell. The feline knew her human half wouldn’t leave work for at least another hour.

  The cougar didn’t project any other thoughts or emotions. She merely rose to her feet, presented her back to Abby, and then plopped back down on her ass. Natural house cats knew how to ignore their owners, but those kitties had nothing on a shifter’s inner animal.

  Nothing.

  Abby ignored the animal and shook her ass a little more. Shake, shake, wiggle, wiggle, jiggle, jiggle…She even did a little “raising the roof,” followed by a spin just before she stumbled and finally collapsed in the nearby office chair.

  “Whew.” She panted out a quick breath and then another before drawing air deep into her lungs and releasing it slowly. She slumped in her seat and nudged the ground, pushing and jerking until she was back in place in front of her laptop.

  “It’s Friday. You just have to make it through tonight,” she murmured to her cougar, and it replied with a low grumble. “I’ll let you play a little on Palm Island this weekend and then Monday it’s back to regular hours at O.P.P.”

  Not to be confused with one of her favorite songs. This O.P.P. referred to the accounting firm—and her employer—Ogilve, Piers, and Patterson.

  The cougar huffed, still a hint annoyed, but Abby also sensed the little flick of the cat’s tail and the tremor of excitement that flowed through her furred body. The small island just off the coast of Port St. James, South Carolina, was a nature preserve—no humans allowed and nothing but natural animals running wild. Abby’s cougar could safely stretch her legs, take a swim, and chase the island residents.

  She leaned forward in the chair and grasped the edge of the desk, pulling herself back into place in front of her laptop. She popped out her earbuds, tossed them into the bottomless pit of her purse, and turned off her music, ready to focus on her job once more.

  A job she loved…most of the time. While her cat reveled in the hunt for live prey, Abby’s human half enjoyed the puzzles that came with accounting. She checked and cross-checked transactions, hunted for unbalanced entries, and scoured records for improperly supported payments.

  Accounting was Abby’s kung fu, and it was strong.

  The cougar snorted at her butchered movie quote.

  Brushing off the cougar’s flare of anger, she snatched her pencil and the stacks of printouts she’d gathered, diving back into her audit. Her—not their—audit. A company the size of FosCo needed a double-digit team, not one woman, but apparently a surface audit was enough to appease the private shareholders. It wasn’t her place to ask. It was her place to work and get paid. Abby ran her finger down the nearest page, comparing it to the spreadsheet displayed on her monitor.

  That’s there. And that’s there. And that’s…

  She stopped and stared at the printout—a copy of a recent bank statement—and swallowed hard while she replayed conversations she’d had with the FosCo president recently.

  “It’s nothing but a small account we haven’t taken the time to close,” Eric Foster had said. “Don’t even bother with it. It’s nothing.”

  Abby gulped and kept her eyes on the account’s activity.

  In Abby’s world, two plus two equaled four. Adding, subtracting, multiplying, and dividing…there were rules in numbers. As an accountant, she lived and died by them. Mainly because if she didn’t do her job right, she didn’t get paid, which meant she couldn’t eat. It was amazing how things strung together like that.

  Two plus two did not equal five hundred million dollars.

  Five. Hundred. Million. Dollars.

  Poof. Gone.

  She stared at the screen, the digits swimming before her eyes.

  It would have been fine if she’d found any type of notation in the client’s files, but there was nothing. When money shuffled through accounts with nary a mention anywhere…

  This was bad. So very, very bad. So many bads in so many languages, and it made her wish she’d taken a few foreign language classes in high school just so she could use them now.

  Abby’s fingers flew over the laptop’s keyboard, entering the password that granted her access to her accounting firm’s server. She navigated the file structure with ease, digging deeper into the electronic system. After each audit, every piece of paper the staff scribbled on was scanned and uploaded. Ten years from now the partners at Ogilve, Piers, and Patterson did not want to have to question an employee and hear the words “I wrote it on this yellow sticky…”

  Apparently, yes, that’d happened. Coincidentally, it’d been Abby’s predecessor, who was now retired and sunning herself in lovely South Florida. But the moral of the story was…

  “Martha, where the hell did you save your notes?” Abby murmured, hunting through folder after folder until, “Bingo.” She’d found Martha’s chicken-scratch scrawl—on a scanned yellow sticky, of course—listing every password the president of FosCo used, both personal and professional. The money had to be sitting somewhere, right? “You are a goddess among women, lady.”

  It didn’t take long to bring up Gold Key Bank’s website and even less time to log in and find…

  Her missing five hundred million dollars. And then some.

  She also saw where other large amounts came in and went out to…She clicked on the details for one of the most recent wire transfers—the name of the destination account holder was required when performing wires—and discovered…

  She read the words. Then read them again. She skimmed them a third time and still couldn’t wrap her mind around what she saw.

  The cougar did, though. At least enough to push its way forward and fight for control.

  Goose bumps rose along Abby’s arms, and her cheeks stung while her fingertips throbbed with pain. To a casual observer she was immobile, but her inner cougar was going batshit. It paced in her mind and snarled, urging her to get the hell out of the high-rise office building.

  The beast recognized something was wrong and they needed to go. Now. They needed to flee before they became prey.

  Which was a possibility considering the information displayed on the screen.

  The shifter world had their suspicions about FosCo. When conversations surrounding that organization came up, there were also murmurings about where that organization got their funding.

  FosCo was one of the names bandied about—a supporter of that organization.

  She shook her head and scrambled to find some sense of calm. This wasn’t a kid’s book about wizards, and that organization wouldn’t suddenly appear if she thought of its name.

  Eric Foster, holder of the controlling interest in FosCo, was funding Unified Humanity, the organization that had a hate-boner for all shifters. Abby was the first to admit that everyone could rock on with their own inner ball of loathing—Abby wasn’t a huge fan of the president of her homeowners’ association, after all—but Unified Humanity was bad.

  No, bad didn’t quite cover UH’s actions. They killed pups and cubs without hesitation, entire families gone with a single bomb. Death and destruction to shifters were their modus operandi. And when the smoke cleared, shifters couldn’t exactly call on human authorities, or the rest of the world would know about their existence. Their secret would be out.

  Abby’s breath rushed in and out of her lungs, her heart racing and threatening to burst from her chest. The cougar yowled and scratched, demanding she run.

  But…

  The cat didn’t want to hear anything about “but” or “first they should” or “it would be a good idea to…”

  It. Wanted. To. Run.

  Abby assured the cat they would absolutely race from the building, but first…She shoved at the cougar, pushed it to the back of her mind and built a mental wall between her and the beast. The feline would break through at some point and overpower her human
half, but the barrier would delay the animal’s possession.

  Delay it enough to give her time to dig deeper, find more, and make copies of everything she unearthed.

  Unified Humanity had destroyed her life twenty years ago. Now she’d take every snippet of data she could so the shifter council could destroy them.

  Chapter Three

  Something was wrong with Abby. Declan felt that certainty down to the center of his black heart. Still sitting on the brick railing, he kept his gaze focused on her. He skimmed her body with his eyes, noting the tension she now carried and her rapid-fire typing. She’d been a diligent worker from the moment she entered FosCo, but this was…different.

  Methodical yet hurried.

  Her pencil skated over pages, fingers dancing over the keyboard faster than Grant when he’d decided to try to hack the FBI. Her stare intent on the computer screen, she continued typing with her left hand, reached for her laptop bag with her right, and withdrew a cord. Abby diverted her attention just long enough to plug the computer into her nearby tablet.

  Declan narrowed his eyes and let his wolf pull forward to assist his vision. The details of Abby’s features—body—came into focus with the animal’s help. The sharper vision allowed him to see the determined expression on her face and the panic lurking in her eyes.

  Further proof something had gone sideways in her world. Whether it was personal or professional, he wasn’t sure. He simply knew that his wolf demanded he go to her. The beast didn’t know how to calm a woman or soothe her, but the asshole wanted to do something for her. Yes, the wolf reveled in the fear of others, enjoyed the scent of panic from their prey, but it hated this. Whatever had caused Abby’s terror needed to die. Now.

  A soft tone filled Declan’s ear, his com reactivating—probably at Birch’s order. The rest of the men had to see the change in Abby, too. That was the only reason the assholes would turn the device on after he’d gone off duty.

  “Guys,” he murmured to the team before anyone else could speak. His wolf’s howl consumed his mind. “There’s—”

  Grant didn’t let him finish. He released a harsh cough and cleared his throat. “Uh, remember how I didn’t have approval to bug any FosCo offices and/or vehicles because we didn’t want to risk the devices being found?” Grant chuckled. “And then remember how I did it anyway?”

  “Grant…” Birch’s growl rolled through the com, the rumble accompanied by the bear’s heavy stomps and a hollow echo.

  The team alpha was in the stairwell. Coming up to Declan or down to kick Grant’s ass?

  “Yo, Birch, it’d save you a lot of frustration if you didn’t issue orders you know he’s gonna break. You stopped telling me I couldn’t bring experimental, untested explosives on ops. You’re a lot happier now, am I right?” Declan could imagine the feral smile Cole wore.

  “The point is…” Grant added his own snarl to the mix. “There’s movement. Eric Foster leaves the office every day at five—”

  “In his slow-ass SUV,” Ethan muttered. “More money than God and he drives a vehicle fresh off the assembly line with no modifications.”

  “—goes home and stays there.” Grant continued talking as if Ethan hadn’t interrupted. “Except right now he’s in his SUV with four other men and they’re headed back to the office.”

  Declan didn’t like the sound of that. “Can you hear what they’re—”

  “Hold.” The other wolf’s voice snapped through the com, and they all fell silent. Tension vibrated in the air, the change in pattern putting them all on edge.

  Declan’s wolf leaped forward. His skin stretched and stung, the beast aching to push through.

  Abby’s tension…Eric’s return…

  The wolf wanted her out of there. Now. He tried to remind the bastard about their mission, but it just told him to fuck off. Something was wrong, and they needed to kill whoever needed killing to set things right.

  And for the first time Declan realized he’d come to the roof without a weapon.

  His wolf told him he was an idiot.

  Declan couldn’t really deny the accusation.

  Grant spoke again. “They’re coming for Abby.”

  Declan’s gut clenched, and his wolf howled its objection. Adrenaline flooded his body, pumping through his veins and suffusing his muscles. The animal slipped its chain and shoved forward, wrenching enough control to change his body. Not fully, but enough to appease the anxious beast. His hands became claws, blunt human fingertips darkening and sharpening to deadly points. His gums burned, fangs straining against the flesh in his mouth until the razor-sharp points broke free.

  As for the rest of his body, his muscles swelled, strength from the wolf encompassing him from head to toe. He was power and strength personified.

  Grant’s words replayed in his mind, his thoughts alternating between his logical human half and the crazed wolf that fought for dominance. They’re coming for Abby.

  “No,” Declan snarled, the word more growl than human speech.

  “She stumbled onto something, and Foster must have gotten an alert.” Grant ignored Declan.

  “Hold your positions.” Three words from Birch. Three words that had Declan’s beast frothing at the mouth.

  The wolf growled and barked at Declan, shoving at his mind while it issued its feral demands. Go to her. Save her. Kill them all. Declan probably should have let the animal hunt before this op. It was more bloodthirsty than usual.

  “Birch…” He swung his other leg over the edge of the railing, both feet dangling above the sidewalk.

  “I said hold.”

  Grant kept reporting on what he heard from the SUV. The joking wolf was gone, replaced by the no-nonsense SHOC agent. “Two blocks out. Weapons confirmed. Intent to use unknown.”

  The mere presence of the weapons was enough for Declan and his wolf. Five humans were returning to the FosCo building, armed and prepared to confront Abby. Unacceptable.

  Declan planted his palms on the wide rail and pushed off, letting gravity yank him toward the ground. He twisted in midair, moving like a cat rather than a wolf.

  Now he could dig into the small cracks of the building’s facade and grasp window frames while he climbed down the side.

  “Declan, what are you doing?” The team alpha’s words were followed by a harsh snarl over the com, and Declan couldn’t help but grin.

  “Out for a climb.” He grunted and pushed off from the wall, allowing himself to drop a few feet before grabbing hold once again. He jumped and swung from handhold to handhold, his grip sure and firm with every flex of muscle.

  “You’re killing this op.”

  “But she’ll still be breathing.” Declan leaped, but his nails didn’t get deep enough into the crack he’d aimed for, and he slid two feet before finding another hold. Man, he loved the rush—the danger—of free climbing.

  “Declan,” Birch growled again. The other guys might be afraid of a grizzly bear shifter, but Declan wasn’t. He’d experienced a lot worse than a beatdown from an overgrown teddy bear. “Are you kidding me with this shit?”

  “Nope.” Declan didn’t joke. Didn’t Birch know that by now? Fight. Kill. Never joke. Hell, most times he didn’t smile…unless he was about to go into a fight or kill someone.

  Psychopath thy name is Declan.

  Nah, one of those SHOC psychs said he was as normal as a twisted ass like him could be.

  Declan made it down another ten feet, not bothering to look beneath him. He’d scouted the building before the op began. He was an experienced climber and knew what his body could take before it collapsed. Even then the wolf would help him, get him on the move within minutes. Minutes that had saved his life more than once.

  He’d been grateful for the wolf that day. Five body shots had sent him down, but not dead thanks to his shifter nature. When he’d regained his feet, he’d hunted and taken out his own client. The bastard had sent two guys after the same target, and the other assassin had decided getting rid of th
e competition—Declan—was a good idea.

  Declan had decided taking out the client and other assassin was a better idea.

  He released the wall and fell the last ten feet, thumping to the ground in a crouch. He stayed in the building’s shadow and scanned his surroundings. A pair of headlights came from his right, high off the ground. The wolf’s hearing picked up the rumble of the approaching engine—Eric’s SUV.

  They were closer than he liked and that fact spurred him into action. He bolted across Broad Street and slipped into the alley between two buildings, the blackness swallowing him whole. His inner beast lent its assistance, allowing him to see in the dark.

  “Grant, disarm the alarm.” Declan ran down that narrow corridor and didn’t stop until he reached the building’s emergency exit.

  “Done.” Grant’s confirmation came a split second before Declan punched through the solid metal barrier between him and Abby.

  “Stand down, Agent.” The team alpha tried, he really did, but Declan’s wolf was too far gone. He took the stairs two at a time, racing past floor after floor in his bid to get to Abby before Eric and his men reached her.

  “They left the SUV running at the curb. They’re in the elevator.” Cole joined the conversation.

  “They know she’s a shifter. They’ve got a hard-on for the kitten, Declan. Get moving.” Grant’s voice buzzed with agitation.

  “Fuck,” Declan spat, and pushed his body harder. His human mind cursed him for not having a weapon, but the wolf assured him a gun wasn’t needed. They had claws. It would be enough.

  “Did you bug the damned building?” Birch roared, but Declan wasn’t sure why the bear sounded so surprised. “God dammit. Declan, if you get your ass captured—”

  “You’ll let them turn me into a stuffed toy.” He grunted and snared the door to the tenth floor. He yanked it open.