Taken by the Wolf

by Lynn Hagen

  “I don’t think going to work after a critical situation is a good idea.” There was still a gunman out there, and Werth wanted to offer his own home for Newt to stay in until this matter was settled, but he wasn’t sure how receptive his mate would be.

  “Then where will I go?” Newt looked on the verge of crying again.

  Orlando didn’t blame his mate for his high-strung emotions. Any person in their right mind would be a mess after having his or her home broken into by two men with guns.

  He still needed to figure out what the two had been after. The dead perp in the kitchen was wearing all black, had a military haircut, and the weapon they’d taken off him after he was dead was not something commonly used by thugs looking to score in a home invasion.

  Even in death the guy had stone-cold killer written all over him. There was no doubt in Orlando’s mind that the perp was a professional, which meant either Newt was hiding something from him or he honestly didn’t have a clue why those men had been after him.

  “You’re gonna stay in the safest place in town.”

  Newt crinkled his nose. “I have to sleep in a jail cell?”

  “Quite the opposite,” Orlando said. Whether his mate was receptive or not, Orlando wasn’t letting the little human out of his sight. “You’ll be staying at my place.”

  Newt’s brows shot up. “Is that common procedure?”

  “It’ll be a more relaxed environment when I question you.” Maybe Newt had answers and he just didn’t know it. The questions might shake something loose from Newt’s mind and help with the investigation.

  “You mean interrogate me.” Newt looked offended as his eyes narrowed.

  The crime scene tech, Hanson Asbury, walked through the front door and set his gear down. With Brac Village comprised of humans and preternatural, Maverick Brac had sunk some serious cash into updating the police department, outfitting them with the latest gear and personnel they’d desperately needed.

  Hanson nodded at Orlando, and Orlando returned the gesture. It was time for everyone to clear out. “It’s not an interrogation, and I’ll need your prints to separate them from any others that are found.”

  “I still need some clothing.” Newt scooted closer to Orlando, and Orlando wondered if the guy was aware of the move. “I’m not going anywhere in these pajamas.”

  “They’re adorable.” Orlando smirked. And he was glad some of Newt’s terror was subsiding.

  “Maybe to wear to bed, but I’m not prancing around town in them.”

  Newt wasn’t prancing anywhere but to Orlando’s house. He turned to Deputy Vincent Stransky, who watched Hanson head into the kitchen. “Go pack a bag for Mr. Bradley.”

  Vince nodded. “On it, boss.”

  Orlando turned to Newt. “You’ll have to change at my house. I can’t let you go back into your bedroom or even the bathroom.” And he wasn’t going to let Newt see what was lying on the kitchen floor. Newt didn’t need the image of the mauled body etched into his memory.

  Orlando hoped the dead guy’s prints were in the system. A name would be a great start, but he wasn't hanging any hope on catching such a lucky break. It would be nice, though.

  Vince returned with a backpack and handed it over to Orlando. He didn’t bother to ask if the deputy had packed what Newt would need. His men were professionals.

  Orlando grabbed his phone from his pocket when it rang. “Sheriff Werth.”

  “Please tell me this has nothing to do with Dr. Fargo,” Maverick said.

  Last year at Christmas, one of the town doctors had had a shooter after him. All because his infant son’s grandparents had wanted to get their hands on the baby and raise Joshua themselves. The doctor had been the one to kill the hired gunman, and as far as Orlando knew, the grandparents were no longer in the picture.

  “I’m not sure what’s going on, but I highly doubt the Pierson family had anything to do with this.”

  “Keep me in the loop,” Maverick snarled. “I want this situation handled as quickly as possible. I don’t need another shooter running around town.”

  The call ended.

  Orlando stuffed his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s head out.”

  The conversation with Maverick had served to only remind Orlando that he’d dropped the ball as far as the doctor was concerned. One of the residents had reported seeing a man with a rifle heading into the woods, and Orlando hadn’t taken Mrs. O’Reilly seriously. He should have.

  But in his defense, the woman was seventy-two years old and liked to drink. She called the station often and reported seeing or hearing things that turned out to be her cat or television or the neighbor mowing his lawn. For once she’d been on to something, and Orlando had dismissed her.

  He would never make that mistake again.

  Chapter Two

  The entire ride Newt sat there quietly looking out the window, still trying to process what had just happened to him. None of it felt real, and especially not the dark hunk sitting next to him. Besides the dispatcher on the phone, it was Sheriff Werth who had made Newt feel as if he would actually live. Seeing his face, having the quarterback-sized guy coax him from the closet, and letting Newt know that he was safe was a lifeline that he’d desperately needed.

  The sheriff had said that he had more questions, but he hadn’t asked any so far. Hell, Newt had questions, too. Who were those men? Why had they picked his house to break into? Why hadn’t they pulled him from the closet? They’d been there long enough to search the entire house, yet they hadn’t looked in his bedroom closet. Why?

  The sheriff pulled his car down a long driveway, and Newt was glad to get there. He’d had an adrenaline dump and was worn out. All he wanted to do was sleep for the next few days…or the next few hours, at least.

  Newt stiffened when he spotted a large furry dog running their way. The dog ran to the driver’s door, its tail wagging as its tongue stuck out the side of his mouth.

  “Hey, Max.” Sheriff Werth got out and closed his door. He petted the dog with enthusiasm as the dog barked and jumped up, pressing his large paws into the sheriff’s chest.

  No way was Newt getting out. No freaking way.

  The sheriff looked back and waved for Newt to join him. Newt shook his head, staring at the dog.

  Werth rounded the front of the car and stopped at Newt’s door. “What’s wrong?”

  Newt pointed at the furry beast.

  Werth frowned. “You’re afraid of Max?”

  Newt nodded.

  When the sheriff tried to open his door, Newt locked it. “I’m not coming out while that killer dog is out here.”

  “Killer dog?” The sheriff frowned. “Max is as sweet as they come.”

  No, the sheriff was as sweet as they came. He was tall, muscled, and sexy as fuck, with luscious lips, pretty brown eyes, and smooth brown skin. Newt felt bad for thinking that after the guy had risked his life to save him, but he couldn’t help his thoughts. Standing at the door of the car was a god.

  And a dog.

  Sexy or not, there was no way Newt was getting out. He’d sleep in the car if he had to.

  “Max, go inside,” the sheriff said.

  The dog whimpered, cast Newt a quick glance, then raced toward the back of the house.

  “Okay, open the door, Newt.”

  Newt waited until the beast was out of sight before he unlocked the door and opened it, but he still didn’t get out. What if Max returned?

  Werth hunkered down next to him. “I promise you Max isn’t going to hurt you. He might lick you to death, but he’s a sweet and gentle dog.”

  “That’s what my neighbor said before his large, sweet, and gentle dog bit me.” Newt glanced toward the rear of the house to make sure Max wasn’t trotting back to them.

  “Ah, I see.” Werth held his hand out. “I’ll make him sleep in the den tonight. I promise he won’t come near you.”

  If Newt had known the sheriff owned a dog, he would’ve opted to sleep at the police stati
on. He’d rather sleep in a jail cell than go inside the sheriff’s house.

  “Come on.” Sheriff Werth coaxed him from the car with that soothing, deep voice he’d used earlier, and like an idiot, Newt obeyed. He slid from his seat and stood on the paved driveway, scared as all get-out that Max would return.

  “I need my bag, Sheriff.” Newt reached for the back door.

  “Call me Orlando.” The sheriff reached into the backseat and grabbed Newt’s backpack and then slung it over his broad shoulder.

  Newt’s gaze lowered to Orlando’s ass, and what a fine ass it was.

  “I’ll make some tea while you get settled. I have a guest room you can use. It’s right across the hall from my room.”

  Newt looked down the driveway and then at the large forest running the length of Orlando’s property. There was also a large oak tree in the front yard, with a bench that sat under it. “Are you sure they won’t return?”

  One of Orlando’s dark brows rose. “How did you know one of the perps got away?”

  “I heard some of the men talking in the living room,” Newt confessed. “There was also a crime scene guy there, so I’m assuming one of them was killed.”

  “You’re very observant.”

  They climbed the wraparound porch that had a swing on one end and two white wicker chairs on the other. Newt could just imagine sitting on the porch in the summer, enjoying the gentle breeze as he sipped lemonade. His house didn’t have a porch. It simply had three steps and a railing that led to his front door.

  Orlando let them inside, but Newt stayed by the door, scanning the room for the dog.

  “Max, go to the den,” Orlando hollered, although Newt didn’t see the beast anywhere.

  “Come on into the kitchen.”

  Orlando set Newt’s bag by the entrance to the hallway. The house hadn’t looked that big on the outside, but it was huge on the inside. Through the front door, they’d stepped into a tiny foyer, but past the second door, the living room was spacious. They walked through a dining room before heading into the kitchen. The hallway to the bedrooms was off the dining room.

  The kitchen was roomy, and there was a small table with two chairs butted up against one wall. There was an island in the middle of the room, with two bar stools. Newt decided to sit on one of them as he looked around.

  “It’s not much, but it’s home.” Orlando took the teakettle from the stove and filled it with water.

  “Not much?” Newt glanced at the dark cabinets with frosted glass. Above the sink was even a wine rack. “This house is beautiful.”

  The countertops were a dark marble, smooth and cool under Newt’s hand. The sink was located on the other side of the island, and there were plants everywhere.

  The kitchen alone had to have cost a mint.

  “Thanks,” Orlando said. “Max and I like it.”

  Newt had an urge to kick his shoes and socks off just to see if the stone flooring was cool under his feet.

  He jumped from the stool and ran behind Orlando when he heard noise at the back door. Orlando drew his weapon. “Go into the dining room, now.”

  Newt didn’t hesitate to obey.

  * * * *

  Orlando swung the back door open and aimed his gun at Deputy Dillon Sloan. “Boy, you almost got a bullet in you.”

  “Sorry,” Dillon said. “My foot got caught in one of your lawn ornaments. That little gnome came out of nowhere.”

  Orlando stepped aside to let his deputy into the kitchen. “An ass-kicking is gonna come out of nowhere if you sneak up on my house again.”

  He shut the door and holstered his gun as the teakettle began to whistle. Orlando removed it from the stove and set it aside before he grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “Why’re you here?”

  “Hey, boy.” Dillon dropped to one knee and petted Max when the German shepherd padded into the room.

  “You’re hardheaded,” Orlando said to his dog. “Didn’t I tell you to go to the den?”

  Max looked up at him with big greenish-yellow pleading eyes. He wasn’t used to being relegated to one room and loved to be petted. When Dillon ran his hand along Max’s fur, the dog wagged his tail and tossed his head back and forth, eating up the attention. Dillon’s visits were the only time Max disregarded anything Orlando said.

  “I swear I’m gonna steal this dog,” Dillon said. “He feels like my best buddy, and I’m not even around him that much.”

  Orlando was gonna have to help Newt get over his fear, because Max hated being away from Orlando when he was home. The dog always followed him all through the house, and that never bothered Orlando, but he didn’t need his mate freaking out. “Try and steal my dog and I’ll neuter you.”

  Max and Dillon whipped their heads around to look at Orlando.

  “He just wants some loving,” Dillon said in that voice people used when talking to animals or babies. “Who’s a good boy?” he asked, and then repeated the question to Max as Max bathed Dillon’s face with dog kisses.

  Orlando placed a tea bag in each cup before he filled them with steaming-hot water as he wondered where in the house Newt was. Orlando couldn’t stop thinking about him—those big blue-gray eyes, the way the front of his hair flopped in his face while the rest was closely shaven at the sides and back, or how he’d felt in Orlando’s arms.

  “Now that you’ve let Max slob all over you, tell me why you’re here.” Dillon stopping by wasn’t out of the ordinary, but after what happened earlier, Orlando was on high alert and his nerves were wound a bit tight. He just wanted to chill with Newt in the living room while trying to relax his mate.

  Who the hell was he kidding? Orlando wanted to make Newt relax by fucking his brains out while claiming him. Sex would have been a great stress reliever, but Orlando knew that wasn’t happening anytime soon.

  “I came by to tell you Hanson found something.”

  “You couldn’t have just called?” Orlando leaned against the counter and folded his arms over his chest. “What’s so important that you had to stop by?”

  Dillon pushed from his knee and wiped the fur from the front of his shirt and pants. “Gee, talk about making a guy feel welcome.”

  Orlando sighed. “It’s been a long night, and I’m ready to go to bed.”

  Orlando pulled his gun from its holster for the second time since getting home when someone knocked on the back door. Dillon looked him over. “Since when do you draw your weapon when someone knocks on your door?”

  “Since one of the perps is still out there,” Orlando snarled.

  “And I doubt he’d knock.” Dillon opened the door, and Deputy Vincent Stransky walked in.

  “Heya, boss.” Vince grinned as Max hurried over, giving the newcomer a few licks on the hand but nothing more. He went back to Dillon and sat at his side, and was rewarded with a few scratches on his head.

  “Does the rest of the force plan on dropping by?” Orlando was becoming irritated. He normally didn’t care if his men visited, but he wanted to get to Newt, but not with a kitchen full of cops.

  “I just came by to tell you about Hanson.” Vince looked Dillon over. “But I see someone beat me to it.”

  “One of you better start talking,” Orlando snapped.

  He spotted Newt peeking around the archway. His gaze fell to Max before he looked at the other men. When Newt looked up, their eyes met. His deputies were talking, but Orlando wasn’t listening. He was too busy watching the little human check him out. A smile curved the side of Orlando’s mouth as his gaze slid over Newt’s slim body. A fine blush crept over Newt’s face before he pulled back and disappeared.

  Newt felt the pull. There was no question in Orlando’s mind. If the kitchen had been empty, Orlando had no doubt his mate would’ve come in just to be near him.

  “Isn’t that strange?” Vince asked as Dillon kept petting Max, and Max ate up the attention. His tail wagged so fast that it thumped as it beat against the lower cupboard.

  “Is what strange?” Orlando lo
oked away from where Newt had been standing. His mate still hadn’t reappeared, but he felt the man’s presence close by, as though he was glued against the wall just outside the kitchen.

  Vince and Dillon gave him a strange look.

  “I said I was tired.” Orlando grabbed one of the mugs and took a sip of his tea, forcing his gaze away from the archway as he looked between Dillon and Vince.

  “Hanson found a piece of paper in the dead guy’s pants pocket. It had Mr. Bradley’s name and address on it. There was also something written below that, but the ink was smudged. Hanson said it looked like a row of numbers,” Vince said.

  “Telephone number?” Orlando asked.

  Vince shook his head. “There were only eight numbers.”

  “It can’t be coordinates,” Orlando said. “The guy had Newt’s address.”

  “Newt?” Dillon smirked.

  The entire police department was comprised of preternatural employees, except for Detective Lewis Ketaing who had been there since the beginning of time. Maverick and Orlando had insisted on a nonhuman staff. That made dealing with problems simpler when Orlando didn’t have to hide anything from them. Dillon was a black panther, and Vince was a snow leopard. Maybe that was why Max loved Dillon so much. He smelled like pussy. Orlando chuckled to himself. That had been a good one.

  “Mr. Bradley,” Orlando corrected. “Maybe coordinates for a drop-off point if their intention was to kidnap him.” But that didn’t make any sense. The intruders had purposely overlooked the closet Newt had been hiding in. It was as if they’d been looking for something, and that something hadn’t been Newt.

  Vince shook his head. “We already thought of that. The numbers lead to a field in Wisconsin. I don’t think that’s it.”

  It couldn’t be a combination, either. Orlando was stumped. “Okay, you guys clear out and give me time to mull this over.”