Undercover Wolf

by Linda O. Johnston

  For now, Kristine did as he asked, driving their rented car along the streets of Bar Harbor, zeroing in on the restaurants and bars where the group may have headed.

  Quinn liked her concentration, the way she maneuvered out of the way of other vehicles that clearly wanted to get from Point A to Point B without catering to the slower-moving cars in front of them. No one else gave a damn about what Kristine and he were up to, and that was how it should be.

  He also liked how Kristine drove even more slowly as they came to open-air parking lots, including those without a bar nearby. How she looped through them so they could surveil all the cars within them, use process of elimination and move on.

  Fact was, Quinn liked her, and her dedication to their fortunately unofficial mission. And if he added in her sexiness, her cute seriousness in trying to ignore how part of their mission involved her taking care of him before and after shifts—and while naked—he really liked her.

  Not to mention how much he wanted her. In bed. Especially if he could remove the imaginary barrier between them in their hotel room this night or one—and preferably more—of the ensuing ones while they were still here.

  Down Main Street they went, nearer the water on West Street, and along some of the other avenues containing eateries and hotels and bars.

  But in less than an hour, they’d seen it all. Bar Harbor wasn’t a large town.

  Wherever their prey had gone, it could have been out of this area, even off Mount Desert Island.

  At a stop sign, Kristine turned toward him. Her face was solemn in the pale illumination from a street light outside the car, and he wanted to reach over and stroke it comfortingly. “I’m not sure where to try next,” she said.

  “I think it’s time to give up for now,” he replied. “We’ll find them—but not tonight.”

  * * *

  They were back in their hotel room.

  It was far from the only thing Kristine had thought about that day—what their second night there would be like. But she admitted to herself that the anticipation had formed an undercurrent within her brain...and the rest of her body.

  Not that she anticipated doing anything different from the night before. They had set a precedent. One she could live with. She hoped.

  But she had seen Quinn naked yet again that day. Twice. That didn’t help her keep her mind off the inevitable reaction her body would have when she got into bed with him, no matter how innocent her intentions.

  Better that she recall why he’d been nude. His shifting. That wasn’t sexy...was it?

  Somehow, it didn’t turn her off. Not the way she hoped it would. In fact, she had become rather intrigued by the whole idea of shapeshifting. That was a reason she liked being part of Alpha Force, though she’d never even considered the possibility before she’d been recruited from a regular military unit—except in books and on movie screens, all fiction.

  And not particularly sensuous. Not like the reality.

  And now, the moment she had walked into the room and laid her backpack on the floor, her gaze roamed inevitably toward its center—and that damned solo bed.

  “Mind if I shower first?” Quinn asked. He’d come in right behind her. A faint, not unpleasant scent of the forest emanated from him, and she figured that it must seem a lot stronger to him. Grace had told her that even in human form, werewolf shifters’ canine senses remained keener than most humans’.

  “Fine,” Kristine said neutrally, trying hard not to imagine what he would look like bare beneath the pulsing water, gyrating to get clean.

  She didn’t exactly succeed in controlling her imagination, but it didn’t matter. She would use the opportunity to put on her robe, then duck into the bathroom later, when it was empty.

  While he showered, and as a distraction, she changed clothes, then got out her laptop and into the files she had started since she began working with Quinn, including her initial interview with him after he had first shifted using the Alpha Force elixir—and had clearly enjoyed it.

  Now, she made notes about what they had done that day—and how little they’d accomplished. She jotted down the route they had taken in town while trying to locate the vehicle of the people they sought, the one they’d driven away in after leaving the crime scene. Quinn would have more to describe since he had seen them, though not exactly up close and personal while he hung out at a distance, shifted. But he’d seen enough, and heard enough, to tell her they may have been sent there to wait for feral coyotes or whatever had killed those tourists. Even trap them.

  But whatever their assignment, they had laughed about it. As if they weren’t taking it seriously.

  No wonder Quinn didn’t trust them. Neither did Kristine.

  They’d call Major Connell tomorrow to report in and see if he could get any information about the investigators officially attempting to tie the crime to the military, and therefore to Simon and Grace. Kristine wouldn’t be surprised if the people Quinn had seen were the feds assigned to the case.

  Even so, how much, if anything, did they know about Alpha Force? And were they attempting to harm it?

  Quinn and she needed an explanation for the nonchalant surveillance, and casual attitude, at the crime scene that evening. Was it because the people who’d been there knew what had really happened to those tourists and were only going through the motions of a pseudo-investigation?

  She’d let her mind wander enough that she was startled when the bathroom door opened. “Next!” Quinn said.

  She quickly dashed past him, barely glancing up to see that he was grinning at her.

  If only she could force herself to hate that sexy, knowing little smile he kept aiming at her—as if he knew she wanted his body.

  But she didn’t hate it. In fact, it somehow seemed part of his charm. His sensual appeal.

  Damn him.

  She took her time in the shower, hoping—but not expecting—that he would be asleep when she returned to the room.

  She could see him in the faint light from the bathroom behind her, with the door mostly shut, when she peeked in later. He was just lying there, very still, breathing deeply. Was it possible?

  Quietly, she removed her robe to reveal her unsexy pajamas, sneaked around to shut off the light, then slowly returned to her side of the bed, careful not to trip on anything—or to run into him in case he was dangling an arm or leg.

  She eased back the covers and slid under them onto the firm mattress.

  And gasped as he moved quickly, rearing up onto his legs and leaning over her.

  He lowered himself quickly until his mouth was on hers. He kissed her—gently, nibbling, searching, teasing with his tongue until she nearly blazed into a spontaneous combustion of need for him, reacting to his kiss by meeting it with her own.

  She stretched upward, wanting to feel all that hardness of his body against her once more, all over. She succeeded...somewhat. For just an instant, she felt the teasing touch of his erection through their clothing, as it barely skimmed the most inflamed and needy area of her straining body.

  But before she could press even closer—better yet, start searching his body with her hands—he was gone, flopping back onto his side of the bed.

  “Good night, Kristine,” he said. “Sleep well. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Sleep well? Easy enough for him to say. But Quinn got out of bed the next morning as tired as if he’d stayed up all night to plan that day’s strategy.

  In a way he had. That was how he’d tried to keep his mind—and hands—off the hot woman who lay beside him.

  He figured that six o’clock was a respectable enough time to leap out of bed as if invigorated by his own, nonexistent, good night’s sleep, then shower, shave—and remove himself from Kristine’s presence for at least a few minutes to get his body back under control.

  When he came out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his middle, he found Kristine up and in a terry cloth hotel robe, rooting through her suitcase o
n its stand. Did she still have those blah, unisex pajamas on underneath—or had she stripped them off first? Too bad he hadn’t been there to find out.

  “Good morning,” Kristine said, turning around. She kept her eyes on his, and her obvious discomfiture at his near nakedness almost made his own unease bearable.

  Almost.

  She had no makeup on yet, not surprisingly, but her face was as lovely as he’d ever seen it—youthful and vulnerable, a woman’s visage and not a soldier’s. For now. Although she did raise her chin as he continued to stare at her.

  “Good morning,” he repeated. “Soon as we’re ready, I want to call Drew Connell, bring the major up to date. See if he has any information for us. Maybe he’ll be able to get an official ID on those yo-yos I saw yesterday.”

  “Good idea.” She grabbed some clothes and her cosmetic bag and raced past him into the bathroom. Making him smile.

  When she emerged ten minutes later, he was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt that commemorated a trip he’d once taken to Yellowstone. Wolf country. Real wolves—although their protected status under endangered-species laws kept changing.

  Werewolves were presumably fair game anytime. Especially if they were accused of killing a couple of normal people, as the claim might be around here among those with awareness of Simon and Grace, and Alpha Force.

  Members of Quinn’s family had been killed when Simon and he were kids. Their murderers had claimed also to be werewolves—and had slaughtered their aunt and cousin when they had admitted to being shifters, too.

  Their uncle had executed those nonshifting killers in turn—but the whole family still remained wary about revealing their true nature.

  Of course, Quinn trusted Simon, who’d disclosed the truth and joined Alpha Force.

  Now Quinn wondered if their enlistment in the unit had been a mistake.

  “You ready?” Quinn asked more gruffly than he should have. His patience was growing fragile. He needed to find his brother and sister-in-law, learn what happened for real in Acadia Park. No more delays.

  “Sure.” Kristine looked at him quizzically. She’d donned jeans, too—and a plain navy sleeveless shirt that made her blue eyes seem even brighter. Not to mention the way it hugged her in all the right places. Her feet were still bare. She looked too damn distractingly good. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” he lied. “But my P.I. juices are flowing today. I want answers, and I want them now.”

  “I’m with you,” she said. “But we need to do this right. Let’s call Major Connell.”

  “Fine.”

  She grabbed the secure satellite phone from her purse and sat at the edge of the bed. Not a good choice of location, but he joined her despite how his recollection of his sleepless night scratched at his brain.

  “Hello, Kristine.” Drew’s voice soon emanated from the phone’s speaker. “Quinn with you?”

  “Yes, sir.” He didn’t mind acting all military when he needed the commanding officer’s input.

  “What’s going on?”

  Quinn gave a recap of their tour yesterday, and what he’d seen and heard after nightfall. He wasn’t specific about what form he’d been in. The major would know that by inference.

  “No idea who those folks were that I viewed at the crime scene,” Quinn finished. “They weren’t exactly hiding their presence, so they were most likely part of the investigation, but whoever they were, their attitudes seemed way off. I don’t know if they were local or feds. Any thoughts on that, sir?”

  “No, but I’ve an idea how to find out. I got a little intel on the official investigators that clown—er, our revered team leader for the Defense Special Projects Agency, Darren Olivante—had sent there. There’s a U.S. Coast Guard facility not far from Bar Harbor, in Southwest Harbor, another part of Mount Desert Island. They may be using some of their boats or additional facilities. Other than the national park, there aren’t many federal facilities in the area.”

  “Should the honeymooning couple take a tour of the island and just happen to wind up over there?” Kristine asked.

  “I’d suggest that you set things up first, maybe talk to the local authorities who’re investigating the murders, let them tell you about the feds’ involvement,” Drew said. “That way, your interest in the DSPA guys won’t be so obvious.”

  Exactly Quinn’s thoughts—for now, at least. Besides, it would be a good idea to meet the local cops—before they arguably had an official reason to be interested in Kristine and him for being too nosy and possibly messing up their case.

  “Got it.” Quinn looked at Kristine to see if she agreed—or whether he’d have to somehow convince her.

  “Sounds good, sir,” Kristine said, aiming those irresistible blue eyes at Quinn.

  “We’ll get on it right away,” added Quinn.

  “By the way,” Drew said. “Initial coroners’ reports on the dead tourists indicate that there was saliva on their bodies. Canine saliva.”

  * * *

  After grabbing a quick fast-food breakfast, Kristine and Quinn walked to the police station hand in hand, in the cool springtime air. Kristine wished they’d chosen some other kind of cover for their scheme rather than acting as newlyweds. It was damned hard being this up close and personal with Quinn after spending another night pretending to sleep, to shrug off that kiss he had given her as they lay down, to not notice his hard, hot body so near.

  “It looks like another lovely day,” she said, feigning the cheerfulness that went with their pretext. She gazed up at the sky over the low, picturesque buildings of Bar Harbor. The few clouds were fluffy white and nonthreatening.

  “Right.” Quinn didn’t sound nearly as much in character as he should be. She shot a scowl his way and got a shrug of one broad shoulder in return. “Lovely,” he repeated and added, “What a wonderful time to be touring Bar Harbor, isn’t it, dear?”

  Okay, he was going overboard now, even though the few other people strolling along the sidewalks nearby might be able to catch only a word or two they shared. She didn’t answer, and she was glad when they reached the police station—in as picturesque a building as the rest of them in Bar Harbor, she supposed.

  Inside, a uniformed officer behind a desk greeted them, his youthful face radiating helpfulness. The name tag over his shirt pocket said Canfield. “Can I help you?”

  “We’re just visiting,” Quinn said.

  “On our honeymoon,” Kristine added with a simper that was about as characteristic to her as turning cartwheels in the middle of a busy intersection.

  “On our tour yesterday, we were shown the general area where those two poor tourists were killed, and—”

  “We’re just concerned about our safety. The local newspaper has some stuff in general about the investigation, but we want to know what’s really going on and how to stay safe. Could we talk to one of the investigators?” Kristine finished up their tag-team approach that she hoped would seem the exemplar picture of innocence.

  The smile on the cop’s face fell. “I’m sorry, but ongoing investigations can’t be discussed.” Especially with snoopy tourists, Kristine figured, though the guy didn’t add that.

  “But we need to make sure of our safety,” she repeated. “Please, can’t we see someone in charge and just ask our questions?” She glanced toward Quinn, seeking his backup. The pleased look he shot back suggested he again liked what she was doing. She grinned back, then turned again toward the cop. “Please,” she repeated, tilting her head pleadingly as she looked him in the eye.

  In a few minutes, they were shown through the station and into a fair-size office.

  “These are the two tourists who want to hear about the murder investigation, Chief,” said the cop who’d brought them here.

  The sign on the desk read Police Chief Al Crane. He was short, a bit portly in his uniform, and the scowl he leveled from beneath shaggy gray brows suggested that the last thing he wanted to do that day was talk with them.

  Even so,
he waved them into chairs facing him as the other cop left.

  “Not much I could tell you even if I wanted to,” the chief said. “A lot of the investigation isn’t being handled here. Plus, there are aspects that we can’t tell anyone.”

  “But you’re getting somewhere with the investigation, aren’t you?” Quinn asked. “Haven’t you been checking out the crime scene?”

  That question made Kristine glance at Quinn. Was this man one of the people he’d seen there while shifted?

  No way she could ask now.

  “Do you know yet what animal killed those tourists?” Quinn persisted.

  What appeared to be anger darkened Crane’s face even more. “Yeah, I wish,” he said sarcastically.

  “Then you don’t know? You haven’t captured it? All of us tourists are still in danger?” Kristine cut in, wanting to continue to lay it on thick in their quest for answers and cooperation.

  “No, course not. We’re patrolling more, making sure things are as safe as possible. But you know the killings took place on federal property, so there’s not much we can do at the crime scene. It’s up to the feds.”

  “So the feds are hunting the animals?” Quinn asked. “And you’re not? Really?” He didn’t wait for the chief’s answer. Maybe it was just as well. The guy looked really pissed. “Can you tell us which branch of the feds? I really want to talk to them, to hear what kind of beast they’re after so we’ll know what to stay away from—and where we can go and still stay safe, including in Acadia.”

  “Yeah, it’s the feds. Sure, you can go try talking to them, but good luck. They seem to want to collect information, not share it. I’m not even sure which branch they are, although...”

  “Although what?” Quinn demanded.

  “Although nothing. I’m not prepared to share rumors with anyone.”

  “Then you have heard something?” Quinn wasn’t giving up.

  But the chief merely shrugged.

  “Well, we’ll try talking to them,” Kristine said. “Maybe they’ll at least be willing to provide safety information to people like us.”