Shadows of Doubt

by Lynn Hagen

  “No, no. You have to go to work.” With a deep huff, his shoulders sagging, Eric spun back around and forced his feet to keep moving toward the exit, though everything in him wanted to turn around and march back up those steps.

  He walked outside, and the warm breeze slipped by him—the familiar smell of pine, mingled with the scents of the bakery, filled his lungs. Eric was invigorated. He headed toward his patrol car while he dug his keys from his pocket and then tossed them in the air before he caught them. He gazed toward the upstairs windows, and a smile tugged at his lips.

  As of right now, all was right with the world. Now that Samson’s mother was home, the threat eliminated, maybe his mate would be willing to come to his place where they didn’t have to be quiet and Samson could make as much noise as he wanted while Eric fucked him on every flat surface of his house.

  If that dream would ever become a reality, Eric needed to make sure Samson’s mother was okay.

  Just to reassure himself, he drove by the salon and paused long enough to see Mirabelle standing behind one of the big black chairs, cutting someone’s hair as she chatted with one of her coworkers.

  Eric moved on, rolling slowly toward the red light and then stopped, tapping the steering wheel with his thumb as he hummed out a tune and waited for the light to turn green.

  He still felt like he was in a daze. In truth, he hadn’t had time to let it register that he’d found his mate. His last few days had been a series of events—the volunteer work, the dead body they’d found, the amazing sex, Mirabelle missing, Mirabelle found, and the quick and needy sex last night, which had resulted in Eric falling asleep from the rapid and frenzied roller coaster ride.

  Had he even taken a moment to breathe, to turn things over in his mind, to let it fully sink in that his mate—yes, his mate—was a few blocks over waiting for his return?

  It all felt like a fast-paced dream. He hadn’t even told his boss that Samson was his mate, and he should. Werth would give him time off to spend with Samson. It was common practice among nonhumans to allow newly found mates to take time for the first two weeks to bond and get to know each other. Should he ask Werth for the time? Should he tell Samson to do the same? Two weeks alone with Samson to explore each other sounded like the perfect plan. The idea lifted Eric’s spirits even higher.

  When the light turned green, Eric had all of two seconds to see the rusty red truck barreling toward him, running the red light through the intersection before it plowed into his cruiser, T-boning him and making his car spin like a top. Eric cracked his head on the side window as his entire world turned into a horrifying blur.

  The car finally jerked to a stop. Eric was slumped over, groaning, fighting not to throw up as he heard a hissing sound coming from the engine.

  Glass crunched right outside his door as Eric’s pulse thrashed in his ears. Something warm and wet slid down his scalp as he shook his head, trying to focus. God, his fucking head hurt. He blinked rapidly, his brain throbbing, as he turned his head to look at who was approaching. The shadow by his door was fuzzy, the silhouette shimmering as he heard something that sounded like talking, but he couldn’t be sure because the pounding in his head and ears drowned everything out like the ocean crashing against boulders in a rough sea.

  He reached for the handle of his door, his other hand pressed against his ear. The door wouldn’t budge regardless of how many times Eric yanked on the handle. Something hard and sharp stabbed his hand, making him jerk it back. It had to be the metal of his twisted door.

  “You have no idea the shitstorm you’ve stepped in.”

  Eric heard the voice, but god, he wished he could focus. His chest felt tight, and he couldn’t remember if he’d put his seat belt on. Had his chest hit the steering wheel? Something sharp pierced his neck, making Eric hiss. “What…what are you talking about?”

  Eric forced his head to turn, and it tilted to the right, wobbling on his shoulders as though he were plenty wasted and couldn’t keep it steady. The silhouette was gone, and in its place, lights swirled too brightly for the migraine banging against his skull.

  “Jacoby,” the familiar voice called to him. “Hang in there. We’re gonna get you out.”

  Get him out of what? Eric slapped at the door handle again, but he managed to only scrape his fingers on the sharp metal. Something crinkly covered him—like a protective blanket or something similar—before a buzzing sound filled his aching ears.

  His cougar snarled, beating against his ribs, fighting to get free, but even as messed up as Eric was, some inner instinct knew to keep him leashed.

  “Eric! I’m right here.” It was Samson. Eric would recognize his voice anywhere. “You’ll be out in a second. Just hang on.”

  It was then that he noticed a hard, pounding pain in his side. The agonizing throb grew sharper, more excruciating by the second. Eric shouted as he tried to move his arm to see why his body felt on fire, but he couldn’t maneuver his arm to feel for the cause.

  “Don’t move,” a deep voice said. “Stay as still as possible. A piece of the door penetrated your side. Just don’t move, okay?”

  The deep timbre was familiar, and Eric knew who was talking to him in a calm, steady, reassuring voice. Bear Callahan. The fire chief.

  But the longer he sat there, the more pain exploded throughout his body like bursts of fireworks on the Fourth of July, rapid and fast as Eric gritted his teeth and wished to god he’d passed out instead of being awake for this.

  A grinding noise. A popping sound. Shouts and orders were thrown around, but still the piece of metal remained in his body.

  “Easy! Easy!” someone close by hollered, and Eric wasn’t sure if the guy was talking to him or someone else.

  The crinkly…whatever was pulled away from him. Eric saw much better now and wished he couldn’t. His windshield was cracked but had yet to break, and there was plenty of blood covering it. His blood. Was it from his head or his side, or was he injured somewhere else on his body and he just didn’t know it yet?

  “We’re gonna lift you out of there,” Bear said. He towered over Eric, his frame wide, his smoky-gray eyes sympathetic. “Try your best not to move.”

  “I…” Eric hissed and sucked in a deep breath, regretting it as soon as he’d done it. The pain intensified, and he waited a beat or two before he spoke again. “I need to shift.”

  “I know.” Bear’s expression was soft. “Just as soon as we get you out of the public eye. I promise.”

  Bear backed up, and another fireman moved into Eric’s space, cutting away the seat belt that had him trapped against his seat. Eric must’ve buckled it out of habit because he didn’t recall putting it on.

  “When we get you out, we’re gonna lay you on your right side, okay?”

  Eric nodded, a sharp pain lancing through his neck. The firefighter placed a neck brace on Eric. “Maybe you should’ve done that before I nodded.”

  The guy gave him a smile, his eyes filled with humor and worry. “Maybe you’re right, but I didn’t think you’d move your head.” He lowered his voice. “It’s procedure, but once you’re in the ambulance, you can have it taken off so you can shift.”

  “Just get me the hell out of this car.” Through his damaged windshield, Eric saw the crowd of onlookers craning their necks to see how bad the accident had been. He clenched his jaw, telling his cougar to hold on for a few more minutes. The beast was getting cagey, fighting and snarling to get free so it could heal Eric.

  Was there really an animal inside him? No, there wasn’t. His ability to shift came from DNA and hormones and a few other things that coursed through his body. But most shifters felt as if there was a beast inside them. It was a comforting feeling, and Eric was no exception. He felt as though his cougar was a living entity in his body as the firefighters lifted him from his seat, the medics waiting close by with their gurney.

  Eric screamed as he was moved. The pain was enough to make him pass out, but he held on, because if he became unconscio
us, his cougar would instantly take over and the human gawkers would get a big awakening to the world they were ignorant of.

  “Just a few more seconds,” Bear whispered to him as he and a few others gently placed Eric on the gurney. “Almost there.”

  “My mate,” Eric gritted out.

  “Who’s your mate?”

  “Samson Woods.”

  “Samson Woods!” Bear called out. “Get over here.”

  Seconds later, Samson appeared in Eric’s line of sight. Tears were freely flowing as his mate’s hand curled around Eric’s. “I’m right here.”

  “Stay with me,” Eric panted, his chest still tight, his side on fire, his vision blurring. He gripped Samson’s small hand in his, refusing to let it go. The connection was his lifeline, making the chaos a little less frightening. Even though Eric knew he would shift and recover, that didn’t lessen the anxiety of the entire ordeal.

  “You couldn’t pry me away.” Samson tried to give a reassuring smile, but it was strained as the gurney moved and his mate kept pace. Even when the gurney was loaded into the ambulance, Samson never released Eric’s hand.

  As soon as the doors slammed shut, the medic removed the neck brace. “Go ahead and shift.”

  Eric squeezed Samson’s hand. “I love you.”

  His cougar took over, and Eric passed out.

  * * * *

  Samson’s jaw dropped as his chest clenched and his heart thundered. Had Eric really said that before his cougar took over? Oh…um…wow. Talk about dropping a bomb in someone’s lap. Maybe Eric had said it because he was delusional. He did have a head injury. Samson had seen the blood on his scalp, had seen the bruised face and the deep cut along his cheek. For all he knew, Eric could’ve thought he was talking to his mom.

  Those three words didn’t count. Not now. Not when Eric wasn’t in his right frame of mind. They couldn’t count. They’d known each other only a few days. Falling in love didn’t happen that fast.

  Did it? Could it happen that fast?

  His gaze slid over the cougar, stopping at the piece of metal still jutting out of the cat. The metal was thick and jagged, and the wound still bled, even though Eric had shifted. Was that normal? Shouldn’t it have stopped by now?

  “Why is that still there? Can’t you take it out?”

  Samson sat stiffly. He still held on to Eric, only it wasn’t his hand but his paw that rested in Samson’s palm. He was too afraid to relax, too afraid to let his guard down because he was frightened something might go terribly wrong.

  He shelved Eric’s confession. He’d examine it later. Right now he needed to concentrate on Eric’s breathing. He was breathing. That was a good sign. That was a damn good sign.

  “We’ll have the doctor handle extracting it.” The paramedic laid his hand on Samson’s shoulder, forcing Samson to look at him, although he didn’t want to take his attention away from his mate. The guy’s eyes were blue, and he had a kind smile that helped to reassure Samson. “He’s gonna be fine. Just breathe and relax. Deputy Jacoby will be fine.”

  Samson latched onto those words, clinging to them as his gaze swung back to the cougar. The cat was long, tan, and his body was heavy looking with lean muscles. He took up the entire gurney as he lay there panting each breath, his chest going up and down in a rapid rhythm.

  Samson didn’t feel as though his world would right itself until either the cat or Eric opened his eyes. But his eyes were closed, and the piece of metal served to only remind Samson that he could have lost his mate. He’d seen the red truck, knew it belonged to Mr. Lumberjack, and knew in his heart, and his soul, that the guy from the diner had done this.

  Too bad Samson didn’t know why. Had it been on purpose or an accident? If on purpose, why? Samson didn’t understand what was going on as the ambulance rocked and the siren continued to wail. Samson’s chest grew tight, as though his lungs were squeezing, and he felt as though he’d suffocate as he stared at his mate, knowing Eric could’ve died in that accident.

  The siren quieted, and the ambulance began to slow. Samson gripped the cougar’s paw with both hands, hoping, but wondering, if Eric knew he was right there with him.

  “We’re gonna take him inside now.” The paramedic squeezed Samson’s upper arm.

  Reluctantly, Samson pulled his hands away and nodded. He needed to release Eric so he could be taken inside. The wheeled gurney was moved through what looked like a private entrance. Mustn’t let the humans see a large cat being wheeled into the clinic instead of the vet’s office.

  A very handsome man wearing a lab coat—and who had amazing hazel eyes and the same color of dirty-blond hair as Samson—hurried toward them as the gurney was taken to a hallway and pushed into an exam room. The paramedics lifted the cat and placed him on a medical table before taking the gurney away.

  The guy who’d been in the back of the ambulance with Samson smiled at him. “Good luck and I hope the deputy feels better.”

  “Thanks.” Although that single word didn’t seem to encompass how grateful Samson felt for their help.

  “I’m Dr. Sheehan,” the guy with the lab coat said, “but enough with the formalities and small talk.” He smiled at Samson. “Let’s get this piece of metal out of him.”

  The doctor had a friendly smile that must’ve put a lot of people at ease. It didn’t hurt that he was gorgeous. Samson was mated, not blind.

  As badly as Samson wanted to stand by the table while the doctor worked, he was a bit squeamish when it came to blood. He bit his lip and paced the room as the doctor worked.

  Samson turned when he heard metal clanking against metal. The bloody piece of the door had been tossed onto a tray. Dr. Sheehan stepped back and pulled his latex gloves off. “Now we let the deputy do the rest.”

  Samson’s brows dipped low as he watched the gaping wound slowly close on its own. It was the most amazing, and strangest, thing he’d ever seen.

  “Would you like some coffee while he heals?” The doctor had an electronic tablet in his hands. He tapped away on the smooth screen, and then set it aside on the counter.

  Samson gave a slight shake of his head as he moved closer to the table. “I don’t drink coffee.”

  “I also have a stash of soda, juice, and suckers.” He winked at Samson. “But I reserve the suckers for the kiddos and the men who pass out when they find out their other half is pregnant. But under the circumstances, I might be persuaded to give you one.”

  Samson smiled. It was strained but genuine and appreciative of the work the doctor had done. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just sit right here until Eric wakes up.”

  “I’ll be just down the hall if you need me.” Dr. Sheehan walked out of the room as Samson grabbed a hard plastic chair and pulled it close to the table before he sat.

  He took Eric’s paw back into his hands, rubbing his cheek along the soft fur as he waited for his mate to open his eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Samson was hunched over the bed, his head resting on his arm, his lips slightly parted as tiny snores escaped. The front of his hair created wisps across his face, and his ear was delicate in shape and size. He looked so peaceful that Eric didn’t want to wake him. How long had he been out, and how long had Samson stayed at his side?

  The door to the room opened, and Dr. Sheehan walked in. He was carrying an electronic tablet, looking something over. He lifted his head and looked Eric’s way before a smile blossomed. “You’re awake. How do you feel?”

  Eric pressed his finger to his lips. The doctor’s smile widened. He nodded and lowered his voice. “He’s been here the entire time, refusing to leave your bedside.”

  Eric felt like he’d just woken up from a simple nap. “How long have I been out?”

  “About eight hours.” Dr. Sheehan set his tablet on the counter. “From what I was told, you had some pretty extensive, life-threatening injuries.”

  “If I was human, they might have been.” Eric was careful getting off the table. His injuries might have
healed, but sleeping on a metal table hadn’t done his back any favors. He raised his arms over his head and entwined his fingers, stretching from left to right as he listened to his joints crack. His back was killing him. “You need softer tables.”

  Dr. Sheehan clucked his tongue. “They’re not meant as beds, and the length of your recovery time should tell you how badly you were hurt. Just because you healed from them, I wouldn’t take the accident lightly.”

  The accident. It all came flooding back to Eric in snatches and pieces as he recalled the red truck slamming into him, hitting his head, something crinkly over his body, and a buzzing noise that must’ve been the Jaws of Life cutting him out of the cruiser. Although he was as good as new, phantom pains sliced through his side as he remembered that jagged piece of metal plunged deep inside him. He rubbed his side as he looked at Samson.

  How had his mate known? Had someone told him Eric had been in an accident? But was it an accident?

  Samson lifted his head. He wiped at his mouth as he stretched, a full-body stretch, and then opened his eyes. He looked at the bed, and his eyes widened until his gaze landed on Eric. “You’re better.” He looked Eric over from head to toe as his brows slowly inched upward. “And very naked.”

  The doctor opened a cabinet on the far side of the wall and pulled out a hospital gown. He tossed it at Eric, and Eric caught it. He slid it on, covering his groin, but his ass was still hanging out the back. “Better?”

  He liked the jealousy that entered Samson’s dark blue eyes. His mate gazed at the doctor for a second before he looked back at Eric. “Much.”

  Dr. Sheehan pointed to a bag settled on the floor by the counter. “Deputy Sloan brought that for you. I’m guessing it’s clothes. I’ll leave you two alone while I go up front to write up your bill. Tips are appreciated, but paying me with chickens isn’t.”