Loving Their Vixen Mate (Pack Wars Book 4) Page 3

  “I think Mackenzie Wagner is our mate.”

  Sam barked out a laugh. “No fucking way.”

  “Didn’t you feel the need to shift? I bet your bones cracked without any provocation and your equilibrium was off. Right?”

  Sam refused to believe it. Yes, he’d felt strange, stranger than he’d ever felt before, but he chalked it up to the beer he’d been drinking and to the sandwich they’d eaten at the Gulfside Deli. “It’s not possible. Our bodies wouldn’t play such a cruel trick on us.”

  “Trick or not, she’s the one.”

  Sam gripped the wheel. “I’d rather kill myself than spend my life with a Colter.”

  Chapter Four

  Using Cheryl’s phone records, Mac had tracked down the name of the cab company as well as the name of the man who’d driven her cousin to the docks. After Mac had waited forever for the cabbie to return from his shift, her patience had evaporated. “So you don’t remember Cheryl questioning the destination? Or saying it looked creepy? She just paid you and got out?”

  “Lady, I drive my cab where I’m asked. I don’t question my fares about why they want to go there.” He shook his head. “But I do remember your cousin, because she kept pointing to things and asking me questions about the town as if she’d never been in a city before. She sounded a lot like my daughter.”

  His sincere attitude gave her hope, but then reason intruded. “You didn’t think it odd that a young, vulnerable girl wanted to be taken to a godforsaken warehouse district?” Shit. She needed to control her attitude. People didn’t open up to jerks.

  “She gave me the address, and I drove her there. End of story. I’m not some babysitter.”

  “Thanks for your time.” He was a dead end. She handed him her card with the name of her private investigation firm on it. “Call me if you think of anything.”

  As soon as she left, she bet he’d trash the information. Mac headed to her rental car and sat with the engine running, air on. It was the middle of December in Florida, and even though the temperature was in the high sixties, she was perspiring.

  Cheryl, Cheryl. What had you been thinking?

  Clearly, her cousin had requested to be driven to Seaside Drive, and apparently hadn’t freaked out when she arrived, or she would have asked the cabbie to take her back to town. This trip had been a waste. Mac knew no more than when she’d left her house in Indiana, and Jay hadn’t offered any other suggestions either. Her final hope was her aunt again.

  Mac called Aunt Hannah. When she answered, Mac told her that she hadn’t found out much. “Did you ever find the name of the law firm?” Her aunt couldn’t remember where she’d put the information.

  “Yes, I just found it and sent it to your mom.”

  Mom hadn’t forwarded it yet. “Can you read it to me?”

  “Hold on.” Footsteps sounded, and then a drawer opened. “Here it is. The name was Statler, Reinhold, and Brokaw. Their office is on Seaside Drive.”

  Mac scrambled for the pad she kept in her purse. “Let me write that down.” Once she had the firm’s name copied, she was anxious to find out what happened with the interview. The Seaside Drive address matched Cheryl’s GPS. “Thanks, Aunt Hannah. I’ll call if I learn anything.”

  “Thank you, Mackenzie.”

  With this new lead, more pep filled her. At her job in Indiana, her male coworkers rarely let her investigate outside the office. She was relegated to finding information on the victim because she was so good at hacking into computers and not getting caught. Her boss never questioned where she got her intel probably because he wouldn’t like the answer. However, her real talent lay in picking locks and opening safes. On occasion, her cohorts were forced to bring her along. She loved the excitement and didn’t let the danger fill her with fear.

  Using the app on her phone, she located the real address for the law offices of Statler, Reinhart, and Brokaw. It didn’t surprise her they were in downtown Gulfside instead of in the warehouse district. Hopefully, the hiring manager could explain how the address on the invitation had been wrong.

  The elegant building that housed the law office stood five stories tall with a granite and glass façade. She had to park a few streets away and walk a couple of blocks to the entrance because all the spaces close by had been taken. After a short elevator ride, Mac arrived at the imposing door, the name stenciled in gold-leaf lettering. Inside, the place smelled of rich leather with a hint of linen.

  Mac had yet to decide how she wanted to pose her question. Should she appear as the distraught cousin, as a seasoned private investigator hired by Cheryl’s mom, or say she was applying for the job of paralegal?

  “May I help you?” the pretty blonde secretary asked.

  Mac decided on the truth. “I hope so.” She explained about her cousin having a job interview and then disappearing.

  The young secretary pushed back her chair. “How tragic. Let me see what I can find out.”

  Mac waited while the secretary hurried down the wide corridor. As soon as a door opened at the end, a chill rippled up her spine. Werewolves. That shouldn’t bother her. A clan of them had settled in Muncie, Indiana, though her dad never liked to socialize with them, because he believed one of them might get drunk and start bragging about being able to shift. The few shifters she’d met had been doctors, lawyers, and other professionals. So far, none she’d met had exhibited evil tendencies. But bad ones did exist. They’d killed her dad. Not only that, Jay said the Colters were prevalent down in Florida.

  “Miss?” A tall man with gray hair, wearing a perfectly tailored blue pinstripe suit approached. “I hear you’re looking for a missing cousin? We’re a law firm, but I’ll help if I can. Let’s speak in private.”

  * * *

  Brandon pulled down the street from John Hood’s abode, the man who’d been in charge of the human trafficking portion of the Colters’ organization, until his capture last week. Brandon turned off the headlights, and cut the engine. “Let’s do this.”

  Sam and Brandon both slipped out, guns secured in their holsters. Werewolves had better than average eyesight, so seeing in the dark wasn’t a problem. The General was convinced that Hood kept a list of clients somewhere—hopefully at his home. His logic was that Hood would need to keep track of those who were willing to pay top dollar for the women. He’d asked Sam and Brandon to sneak in and find those names.

  Sam stepped close to Brandon. “You sense anyone?” Sam could have used telepathy to communicate, but that took energy when they were in human form. They didn’t need to run into any of Hood’s men—the few of them who were left.

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  Sam hoped that since Hood had only been recently incarcerated, no one would have thought to clean out his home office. His fellow Colters probably believed they could break him out like they did his predecessor. Good luck with that. Better measures had been installed to prevent an escape from happening again.

  Sam studied the exterior. The mansion was surrounded by a gated entrance and bordered by a large hedge. Given that Hood had only recently become the head of the Colters after Harvey Couch’s death, he might not have had time to install an alarm system, or better yet, believed he even needed one. He was just that kind of fool.

  Should we cut the power in case the house is alarmed? Brandon telepathed.

  Sure, but we have to be prepared for a battery backup.

  Damn. Let’s head around back and check it out.

  Keeping vigilant, he and Brandon skirted the perimeter without setting off an alarm. So far so good. The hedge in back was lower than the one in front, which would make it easier to climb over. If the property or house were alarmed, their chances of triggering it would be less if they were in wolf form.

  I’ll go first, Brandon said. If nothing happens, join me.

  Sam would have suggested that he lead, but they didn’t need to be arguing. Time was critical. Both hid their holsters and then shifted. Brandon wormed his way th
rough the hedge while Sam waited, listening for the sound of other wolves or sirens.

  Thirty seconds later, Brandon let him know it was all clear.

  To get a better view of the property, Sam leapt on top of the hedge, looked around, and jumped down. The lights were off in the house, which was a good sign the place was vacant.

  They kept low to the ground in case there were sensors. Halfway to the back of the house, they both stopped. Fuck. Someone had arrived. Or rather, several wolves had shown up. Where the hell had they been? Growls sounded from two different directions. That wasn’t good.

  He and Brandon could run to safety, but then they might never find Cheryl if they didn’t search the house. So fight it was—even if it meant death.

  Brandon faced east and Sam took the west. He couldn’t worry about his cousin now. As a trained fighter, Brandon could take care of himself. Two wolves approached Sam, their eyes glowing that familiar gold. One had a huge scar on his mouth that caused the side to droop. The other had a white patch on his chest. Tension rippled through Sam’s body. Despite the odds, he was ready. The only way to kill a wolf was to either shoot him in the heart or rip out his throat. Without his weapon, going for the jugular was his only option. He prayed he bit them before they killed him.

  Sam crouched low. A squeal sounded behind him, but it didn’t belong to Brandon. As if one of his attackers signaled the other, the two wolves facing Sam charged at the same time. Scarface launched himself and sank his teeth into Sam’s flank while Whitey went for Sam’s neck. Pain stabbed his rear, and the sweet smell of blood tinged the air.

  The first wolf hit his mark, but the second one luckily missed and nabbed Sam’s ear instead of his throat. He pawed at his opponent’s legs and managed to twist around and sink an incisor into Whitey’s eye. The wolf squealed in pain. The attack wasn’t fatal, but the animal would be out of commission for a good sixty seconds, giving Sam precious time for his next assault. He knew he had to make it count.

  Scarface’s rear charge implied he wasn’t very experienced. Both wolves should have attacked the neck area, which was exactly what Sam planned to do to him. Haunches bleeding, he lunged for Scarface’s neck. Sam’s aim was dead on. His teeth sunk into the wolf’s warm skin, and blood spurted everywhere. Sam wouldn’t have let go had Whitey not recovered from his eye injury and come after him. Damn creature healed faster than Sam would have thought.

  Whitey bit Sam’s flank in the same spot, tearing skin and muscle, nearly making Sam falter. While the wound wouldn’t kill him, if he couldn’t fight to his fullest, he’d die if they clawed at his throat.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the wolf Brandon had been fighting. The injured animal lay bleeding from the neck. Good. With that wolf down, his cousin raced over to help. As much as Sam wanted to end Whitey’s life by himself, there wasn’t time. Sam twisted, grabbed hold of Whitey’s leg and crunched. With a sharp yelp, the wolf released his hold on him and moved back, giving Brandon the perfect opportunity to dig his teeth into Whitey’s neck. Brandon shook the wolf until he collapsed, and then let go. Blood oozed out of the wound.

  He won’t be going anywhere for a while, Brandon telepathed.

  Thanks.

  Brandon was the soft one of the two. Sam would have killed him.

  You okay? Brandon asked.

  Sam didn’t like the worry in his cousin’s voice. I’ve been better. Let’s get inside before one of these wolves comes to. Though he suspected all but one might bleed out before they had a chance to recover.

  Sam limped toward the back of the house. Brandon turned toward him. I’ll shift. You be the lookout.

  Fuck you. I’m good. Two can look faster than one.

  Suit yourself.

  On second thought, he’d heal faster if he remained in wolf form for another minute or two. Besides, he wanted to make sure Whitey stayed down. I’ll be right in.

  Brandon’s bones crunched and fur flew. Five seconds later, his cousin was human once more. With a sideways kick, he smashed a windowpane, reached in, and unlatched the door. “Don’t be too long.”

  Remember, it was two against one. His fucking cousin acted like he was the superior fighter.

  While Sam waited for his body to repair the deep tear on his hindquarters, along with the rip to his earlobe, he kept his gaze on the wolves. No alarm had sounded inside the house, so he partially relaxed. Apparently, these three had believed they could take care of any intruder and hadn’t seen the need to set it.

  Impatience finally got to him, and Sam shifted into human form. That had been a mistake. The pain nearly crippled him. He probably should have kept watch for a few more minutes, but he needed to feel useful.

  Once inside, the office was easy to find. Brandon was making more noise than a herd of elephants.

  “You find anything?” Sam asked when he reached his cousin.

  “The computer’s still here.”

  That was a stroke of luck. Sam lifted the lid to the laptop and the screen shot to life. It was password protected but Chris Williams should be able to get in. Sam shut it down and unplugged it. “Find anything in the files?”

  Brandon was looking through a cabinet. Who kept paper files these days anyway?

  “Not yet.”

  Sam opened the top desk drawer and found the usual pens, paper, clips, and useless office supplies. He needed to find a little black book, but that would have been too obvious. On the other hand, men like John Hood assumed they’d never get caught or ever die, so maybe he wouldn’t have taken a great deal of care to conceal the information.

  The front door to the house opened. Shit. Someone was coming. Sam grabbed the laptop.

  Let’s go. Brandon glanced around.

  Where? If we break the window, they’ll hear us. In human form, Sam wasn’t sure he could get out of the paned window anyway.

  Shit. Booted heals made a clickety clack sound on the wooden floor. Fuck. Hide!

  Chapter Five

  Sam figured he had about five seconds before someone entered John Hood’s office and found them.

  Brandon jerked open the door on the other side of the room. It appeared to be a bathroom, but Sam didn’t have time to see if there was any place in there to hide. Footsteps approached. Quick. Think. Couldn’t hide under the desk. That was too obvious. Sam yanked open cabinet after cabinet trying to find one that wasn’t jammed full of crap. The last one seemed to be the best option. He pushed aside a couple of boxes and crawled in, laptop pressed to his chest. It was a tight fucking fit.

  The door opened, their footsteps heavy. It was hard to tell, but it seemed as if there were three men—or rather three werewolves. He could only hope the men were so intent on their task that they didn’t notice two more werewolves in the den. The two-day old mustiness should help.

  Several different sets of feet sounded in the room. “Check for his laptop. Hood said he had a safe behind a picture. I’ll look in there.”

  Sam didn’t recognize the voice, but it came from a man who seemed comfortable with being in control. Cabinets banged open. Since Sam was in the far end of the credenza on the bottom, he hoped no one would think to look there. His body still hadn’t recovered from the fight, but he and Brandon would tackle these men if need be. He prayed they weren’t carrying weapons, but if they were Colters, most likely they would.

  “Got the safe open,” the one in control stated. “Shit. Nothing’s in here but some letters, money, and a watch.”

  More drawers opened. “Can’t find his computer.” This came from a man with a deep voice. “Do you think that Mackenzie woman got here first? Jay said his cousin could hack into anything.”

  “Bitch better not be interfering. When she came to the office, I could see she was determined to find the girl. She’s trouble all right. I’ll have Jay make sure she doesn’t get the chance to interfere.”

  Mackenzie wasn’t a Colter? Sam had a hard time coming to grips with that fact, especially after watching the video. How had Mack
enzie known where Cheryl had been kidnapped? Had Jay told her? Or had he planned on drugging Mackenzie at the warehouse, but something or someone had changed his mind? Poor Mackenzie. She was staying with her cousin—a cousin who was about to be given an order to kill her. His stomach twisted as his protective side went into high gear.

  Then more drawers opened and shut—closer to him this time—drawing his attention back to the fact that at any second, he could be facing three men who wanted him dead.

  As the search drew near, Sam’s body started to shift. First his nails grew, and then the hair on the back of his hands sprouted. Changing now would give away his location. Fuck. They’d find him and Brandon for sure, as it was easier to detect another wolf when in animal form.

  “Jake, you go outside and keep watch,” the man in charge said. “Damon, check Hood’s bedroom for that computer. We need it.”

  “Yes, sir,” they responded in unison.

  Sam let out a breath. From the cold, calculating tone of the man, it had to be Statler. The man in charge swore a few times, as if he didn’t find what he was hoping to. Metal banged against metal.

  One of the men returned. “Couldn’t find anything in his bedroom, sir.”

  For a few seconds, neither said anything. “You smell something?” the leader asked.

  Shit. Sam held very still, holding his breath and praying his body didn’t betray him.

  “Smells stale, that’s all, sir.”

  “Makes sense. Hood might have kept his computer someplace else. I’ll contact the jail tomorrow and ask him where he left it.” Footsteps clicked on the hardwood floors. Sam exhaled at the retreating steps.

  He waited until he believed all three of them had left the house. He needed air badly and while his body was aching and sweat covered his back, he remained motionless. Only after a full minute, did Sam’s heart rate return to normal.

  No doubt Brandon had heard the entire exchange, too. Voices sounded, but they appeared to come from the front of the house. Fortunately, the office was located in back. Sam peeked out. The office door was open, but he was unable to see clear to the outside.