by KH LeMoyne
Her conclusion and imminent departure sped his heartbeat. She couldn’t leave, not yet. He wasn’t finished listening to her voice. Just a little longer.
Capping her coffee, she turned back with a tentative smile. “Margaret mentioned the barbeque is a celebration for her first—milestone?”
“It’s a rite of passage. One she should remember with pride, even if the initial circumstances were reprehensible. Since her brothers will one day embrace the same change, I wanted pride and accomplishment associated with the event for all of them.”
“Will there be other people there as well?”
“Unfortunately, we don’t know other people who could share the experience. We’d make an exception for our kindly next-door neighbor. She watches Charlie sometimes.” At her surprise, he added, “She’s from the Nakoda tribe. I’m not entirely familiar with their legends, but Mrs. Full Moon Jensen perceives us to be similar to animal totems. Good luck of some sort.” He shrugged. “Not that we’ve given her any reason to believe that of us. Unfortunately, she’ll be with her grandchildren for the weekend.”
Guilt tugged at his gut for pressuring his detective to be the only guest. He twisted it back. Whatever it took to see her again.
“It will be just me and your family?” With a sigh, she stood. “If it isn’t too late, I’d like to accept your offer.”
He blinked, then inhaled deeply, memorizing the sweet scent of something more than duty emanating from her. Pleasure. What a welcome surprise. He might have to buy coffee every morning if she would grace him with that smile and her lovely scent. “We’d be happy to have you join us.”
When he didn’t rise, she halted. “Is there anything else I can help you with, Mr.—Chisholm?”
His cheeks felt full to bursting, and no doubt his smile must have taken her off guard, for her scent flooded him again as her brow lifted even higher. “I was hoping to get a copy of Margaret’s sketch. Of the men. I’d feel better keeping an eye out for them instead of suspecting every stranger who comes close to my children.”
Her mouth twitched, and she shrugged. “Promise you won’t take matters into your own hands, and I’ll be happy to furnish you a copy.”
“On my honor, Detective.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head quickly. Looking again, she focused those pale gray eyes on him again. “Dani.”
“Danielle?”
“No.” Fire gleamed in her eyes. She bit her lip and nodded once as if back in control. “When I was in kindergarten and all the kids were learning to write their names, my teacher was certain I was making up a nickname to save myself work. My dad was very clear with her. It’s Dani. Just like Daniel without the rest of the name. It’s actually on my birth certificate, though I don’t think I need to prove that to you.”
He withheld a laugh, leaned back in his seat, and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d touched a sore spot with his beautiful mate. Damn, if her prickliness didn’t just make him want her more. “Your father wanted a son. Did he ever realize he crafted a tough, smart daughter?”
She glanced away, seemingly embarrassed, then turned toward him with a smile. “Very astute. Tell me, Chisholm, are you in control of your honor enough that I can truly count on you to stay away from these men?”
“For you, Dani. Yes.”
Finally home after a day spent on the road checking in other jurisdictions on other cases, Dani slid her briefcase beneath the dining room table and mentally itemized her workload. Five juvenile burglary, arson, and misdemeanor files awaited her review. Two additional cold cases her boss had sent her required research. All needed some input before Monday.
She did a quick check on her watch for time. The files would have to wait half an hour.
Starting her home computer, she adjusted her camera, then logged in to the Skype network. Twenty college students with three individual check-in times during the semester was an industrious commitment for a professor. More than many of her colleagues attempted. But her reasons for teaching weren’t the same as theirs either.
A low ding announced an entry into her chat room. The resolution on Dani’s monitor didn’t deliver the best image, but the puce glow around the student’s head didn’t leave much to decipher. Avoiding eye contact, the young man fidgeted. His shoulders shifted and his hand twitched, giving his frail physique a striking similarity to a frightened bird.
“I’m wasting your time today, Professor Leggett. I don’t have my project. And…I know I haven’t posted anything to you all semester. I’ve basically failed out of your class.” He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and tucked his hands beneath his armpits, giving her a quick glance from beneath his long, choppy bangs.
Well, his comment didn’t give her any details about Alex Trenton, except that the timbre of his words hit sour notes. “Yet, you showed up for your appointment.”
Startled, he looked straight at her. “I owed you that.”
“Did you want to take this class, Alex?”
“Yeah. Sure. I mean—” He dragged in a heavy breath. He’d sat far enough back she could see almost his entire outline, but the background remained fuzzy, with shiny bits here and there as he moved. “I had talked to some other people who really liked this class, but I—I just can’t do this.”
“How about you relax for a minute? I have the next thirty minutes scheduled for you. Whether you have your project ready or not, we can just talk and maybe find a way to help you.”
He was already shaking his head, and she was terrified he’d just sign off. The colors and the sounds indicated he was like other new students, overwhelmed by the challenges of being away from home. Between social temptations, academic obligations, and having the freedom to make choices, some kids just had harder times adjusting than others did. That didn’t even count the psychological challenges and pressures from home. She couldn’t counsel him, but if she could talk him down a bit, help him plan a course of action for the next step, then he’d have options. It was the only reason she taught this course.
“Are you meeting your deadlines for your other classes?”
He shook his head, not even looking up. “My parents insisted college was my only path. Even if, well, even if I wanted other things. Biology, history, foreign language, this—I can’t do all of this.”
Especially since the rising pitch of his voice indicated he had no interest in academics. “Probably not.”
That got his attention.
“Do you have another option?” she asked.
He did the slow headshake again.
“The first thing to consider is what you can do to make this manageable.”
“I’m failing every class.”
“You’re not actually failing this class. You’d have to submit work first.” She didn’t bother to hide the irony in her comment. “For now, you’re holding an incomplete in this course.”
“What does that mean?”
“I have some leeway, as do your other instructors. Tell me, what’s the hardest part about the personal journal project?”
“I—I get started and it’s too much. I’m not good at lots of writing. I think about other things.” His colors flared to robin’s egg blue for a second. “When I come back to this, it just seems bigger than before.”
“What were you just thinking? Just then. It wasn’t about writing. What was it?”
Blinking madly, he stared at her. “I, uh, I don’t mind shorter stuff. Like songs and things. And, no offense, the ancient author journals are really dry reading.”
She bit back a smile. “Yes, well, we had to start somewhere with the class. Can you conceptualize completing your journals as songs?”
His jaw dropped open, and he just stared at her. After a moment, he seemed to recover. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. My requirements stipulate a weekly journal entry. I have no problem with a song a week.” She could make out the sparkles in the background. Two guitars sat perched against the far wall, the bridge of
a bass visible beside them. “They don’t have to be long, just complete thoughts.”
He hadn’t moved, staring at the corner off his screen. But his color had moved back to blue and stayed there for several long minutes. Then it diffused. “How fast do I have to do this?”
“The semester time frame allotted ten weeks to complete the journals. If you can submit your first one next week, and one every week after, you won’t be finished by the end of the semester, but you’ll have an incomplete in the class. Finish the rest over the holiday break or after you get back. Once you’re done, I can change your incomplete to a grade.”
“You’d do that?”
“Yes, because you showed up and talked about the problem you’re having. I would recommend you go and talk to each of your professors. See what options they have for you. I don’t think Biology can find much synergy with music, but you can request a tutor and perhaps an extension.”
Blue pulsed more steadily around him, enough for Dani to release the breath she held. “There are also wonderful counselors in the student health center who can help you. Just talking to someone can make an incredible difference. Appointments are confidential.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and sat a little taller. “Thanks, Professor Leggett. I—thanks.”
“Take it one bit at a time. I’ll expect to see you scheduled for your next check-in before Thanksgiving.”
She signed out of the chat room and launched her work laptop. With a new file opened for the incident at the high school, she uploaded the scanned image Margaret had drawn. After the coffee house, she’d driven by the school for a follow-up. Evidently, the men had covered their tracks with out-of-state private investigator IDs. Not that they’d pulled the wool over the school’s forty-year veteran secretary. She’d hustled them into the office and made them squirm until the principal and security came to question them. But without more proof, Dani had little to go on.
Drawing in a breath, she sorted through the work before her, but it was no different from any other day, given the type of assignments she received. Oh, eventually she’d have personal contact with either the juvenile victim or the perpetrator of each case, if the initiating officers hadn’t closed the case before she could interact. Not every county was onboard with involving her at the onset the way Sheriff Baransky did, though all took advantage of her as a resource. Many days that left her with mountainous paperwork piles and her dad’s ghostly image sitting at this very table, talking about the old days.
When she’d listened to her dad’s tales of working the Chicago beat, she’d never considered her life as a cop to be like this. For some reason, she’d envisioned action or at least interaction, not desk work. But rural North Dakota didn’t have Chicago’s crime rate, for which she was grateful. On the downside, she had little chance to use all her skills.
Only a few people she worked with knew of her abilities. That suited her fine. She had no close acquaintances on the force beyond the mutual respect needed to perform as a team. And while she enjoyed some parts of her job, making a difference demanded she reach further to find satisfaction in life.
Luckily, her rather sedentary job allowed her downtime for other options. Teaching had become her continuing education for the soul. The student contact offered her the ability to affect change before violence or tragedy occurred, because everyone had problems.
At the thought, she drifted back to memories of her dad’s droning monologue.
For him, there had been no other option for her than becoming a police officer. “All the Leggetts are cops.”
When her mom had developed cancer and her father retired back to Mom’s home of North Dakota for the less expensive, quieter life, he’d talked night and day about police work. He relived his career through those stories, framing his life and guiding hers. There was never any doubt he expected her to follow in his steps. But over time, Dani’s heart failed to make the same enthusiastic leap.
Like a good daughter, she went to college and enrolled in criminal studies. Her rebellion in adding other studies to her curriculum caused an endless series of battles with her father.
“Why are you wasting time with this ridiculousness?” He’d tossed her grades onto the kitchen table as if they were trash. “Sociology, Psychology, English—the Biology I almost get, but just get your criminal justice degree and find a good beat.”
Once she’d secured a rookie position in the McLean Sheriff’s department, he’d quieted down, even relaxed back into jovial communication for a few years. Then she’d accidently mentioned studying for the detective exam to qualify for a special job.
Her several degrees had been pushing it. But evidently, a detective promotion was too far beyond the bar.
“Cops get their hands dirty. Detectives are the law’s equivalent of bean counters. They show up after the excitement and take the glory. But if you want to waste your time, that’s up to you.”
She’d never realized her father carried so much baggage about the force until their heated arguments. She had Hank to thank for pushing her to strive for more. Sadly, she understood all too well the power families exert on their kids.
Dad had died from a heart attack three years later. Despite his stubbornness, she’d regretted not being able to show him her detective’s exam results—a near-perfect score. Or her commendations from each of the counties she’d worked for tirelessly.
Lack of closure hurt. Yet, aside from the need to appease her father, she’d realized her need for self-truth and developed her own standards. All this time she’d thought she’d reached a plateau.
With Chisholm’s appearance, and Margaret’s, it was apparent she hadn’t pushed herself far enough. New wonders still sat just beyond her reach. Ones she’d never considered.
The quick memory of Chisholm’s wide smile and his devilish expression during his insane play for her attention sent her heart racing. Flushed and heated, she didn’t need another degree or certificate to realize she found him attractive or that she wanted what his heat promised.
The question was, should she shove her professional conscience aside and indulge in one gratifying fling? She was certain he knew his way around a woman’s body. How could he not, when all he had to do was look at her and smile for her erogenous zones to ignite. And the wide flaring of his nostrils when she reacted to him told her he knew. That thought caused its own erotic triggers in her body.
Man. Lion. Beast. What was she thinking?
Slipping her fingers across her lips, she imagined the way he had looked at her. Like a juicy steak he wanted to devour. That would be nice to experience, just once. Or twice.
Lord almighty. She was in big-ass trouble.
Two unnerving hours in the air, stuffed into a passenger hold smaller than a ladies’ room, and Trim was ready to flay her own skin. Wolves didn’t fly. It just wasn’t right. To add insult to injury, they’d disembarked, someone’s lame word for exiting a steel bird when it landed. Almost as bad, they’d squeezed into a truck cab with an attached thirty-foot trailer. Heaven help her!
Deacon’s lieutenant alpha in Dickinson had driven the vehicle over the territory line and left it at the airport with some cursory information on the town: population, police, major businesses, and, most important, an updated status on the alpha who ruled this territory. Straying in another alpha’s territory without permission or invitation for the purposes of recruiting lone shifters was what most alphas would consider an offense. And Karndottir wasn’t as approachable as most alphas.
Fortunately, this area had so much open land that shifters either kept to the fringes in small groups or collected in the larger towns. It didn’t mean her team didn’t need caution. But if shit blew up, Deacon could get them out fast without much trouble. They’d done it before.
But one of his pesky rules was to avoid trouble.
Sliding from the truck, she stifled a groan as her tailbone and butt muscles complained. Three hours on hard seats hadn’t improved her mood. Why they c
ouldn’t just travel in a nice SUV was beyond her, but at least they’d finally arrived. She could work the SUV angle later, and comfort wasn’t the primary thing on her mind. “While the police report on Margaret Barduc is disturbing, he wouldn’t call you for that.”
Deacon said nothing and pulled out his buzzing phone. His face, a contrast of hard lines, grew more rigid as he listened, the muscles around his jaw tightening. “Do you have the equipment in the plane to do the search?” He paused, a short higher tone audible from the phone in the stillness. “Good, Brindy. I want names, who hired them, and their origins. When you have the information, send it directly to Grizz and text me.”
He snapped the phone shut. “Seems there’s more interest in little Margaret Barduc than from just her kidnappers. Someone else is too interested in the Barduc family and is asking around town.”
“You want me to take the lead and get the family out now?” Trim asked. It would be awkward, not having even met them. But it wouldn’t be the first time she’d been instructed to pluck a family from trouble and help them disappear.
“No. Barduc’s calling the shots. If he wanted guidance, he’d have given us information. For the time being, we play this easy and don’t tip the scales.”
Wharton leaned against the passenger door of the cab, his legs crossed at the ankles and his arms over his chest. “We blend into a rural population of what, twelve hundred people—of which only one hundred are here in town—and hope he doesn’t realize we’re here?”
Trim winced as Wharton received the don’t-be-an-ass stare from Deacon.
“He’ll know we’re here. We’re going to walk right in and introduce ourselves.”
At that, Wharton pushed upright and grinned. “What’s the cover, long-lost uncles?”
Trim whacked him on the arm. “Don’t get smart. This isn’t television.”
“Like you need more adopted family,” Deacon responded. Pivoting, he headed across the parking lot for a small white concrete building jutting from the Days Inn. “First, let’s play tourist and find out who else doesn’t belong in town.”
