Her Lone Wolf

by Paige Tyler

  According to the articles, three men—two late-night joggers and a hiker—had been killed on the trails outside Boulder. While mountain lion attacks were rare in Colorado, they weren’t unheard of, so when the bodies showed up, the local authorities had jumped to the obvious conclusion.

  Clayne frowned. Three deadly attacks in a three-month period would be a statistical fluke, but three attacks with no survivors? That wasn’t a fluke; that was planning.

  “When we went back and pulled copies of the medical examiner’s reports, it wasn’t difficult to figure out the wounds had been inflicted by a shifter,” John continued.

  “John, you said there was a witness?” Clayne shot Danica a look. “Did you see any mention of a witness in the articles?”

  She shook her head.

  “The articles are in chronological order,” John said. “Read the ones with the most recent dates.”

  Danica scrolled down and found two articles that detailed the last attack and the witness who’d stumbled out of the forest just in time to see the mountain lion mauling the victim. The man told the cops who’d responded to the scene that the animal had run off. But even more significant than the gory details of the last attack was the description of the witness and how he’d heroically tried to save the victim, getting blood on his own clothes in the attempt to save the hiker’s life. Wasn’t that convenient?

  “Here’s a picture of the witness.” Danica pointed to a photo of a man in a plaid shirt with long, sandy blond hair and a beard. “Says his name is Ray McDermott.”

  Clayne couldn’t say for sure the man was a shifter simply by looking at him, much less the shifter they were looking for, but the size was right.

  “Based on McDermott’s information, the cops tracked down a big mountain lion and killed it,” John said. “No one else got attacked, so case closed.”

  “What do we know about this guy?” Clayne asked.

  He could hear John’s fingers clicking on the keyboard over the phone. “It’s in one of the files I sent you. He grew up in foster homes, dropped out of high school, made some bad decisions, and ended up in prison.”

  Shit, Clayne thought as he scanned the file Danica had opened. It was scary how much he and McDermott were alike. If he’d gone left instead of right, he could have ended up exactly like this guy. Assuming McDermott was their killer, of course. Hell, if anything, the DCO—and Dick specifically—had set him up to be exactly that kind of beast. The only reason he hadn’t turned into one was because Danica hadn’t let him. She’d tamed the animal inside him without even knowing it.

  “Where’s McDermott now?” Danica asked John.

  “According to our intel, he moved to—wait for it—Northern California.”

  That was too much of a coincidence.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t know where he is now,” John added. “He fell off the grid after he moved, which means he changed his name, maybe even his appearance.”

  “Of course he did,” Clayne muttered. “Otherwise, it’d be too easy.”

  They finally had a name and a face, and they were still back at square one.

  Danica drummed her fingers on the dashboard, her neatly rounded nails tapping out a staccato rhythm as she thought. “We should put out a BOLO for this guy. Use his old photo, see if anyone might have seen or heard something.”

  Clayne shook his head. “Not yet. I mean, we can keep that as a backup option, but just because we have a suspect doesn’t change the fact that this guy’s a shifter or that we need to be the ones to bring him in.” When she opened her mouth, he added, “We know what we’re up against; the rest of the task force doesn’t. Can you imagine what would happen if the local PD or an FBI agent—your partner—approaches this guy and tries to take him down without knowing what he was up against? It’d be slaughter.”

  “Clayne’s right,” John added.

  She sighed, stirring the hair that had come free of her bun and was hanging down on either side of her face. “Okay. But at the very least we can tap into the NGI—the Bureau’s facial recognition program—and see if we get a hit.”

  “Already on it,” John said.

  Even though John couldn’t see her, Danica nodded anyway. “Good. But if we don’t find him within twenty-four hours, we try it my way. If we wait longer than that, we’re going to be finding his next victim before we find him.”

  She had a point. “In the meantime, send us everything you dug up on this Ray McDermott guy,” Clayne told John. “School records, notes from his teachers, arrest records, juvenile records, parole officer records, foster home reports, everything.”

  Who the hell knew? Maybe there’d be something in that mess that’d give them a clue where to find this psycho.

  * * *

  Back in the coffee shop, Danica was just about to ask Clayne if he wanted a refill when a couple walked in, followed by a trio of twentysomething women. Clayne took in the crowd, then looked at her.

  “Maybe we should take this investigation back to your place,” he suggested.

  That was fine with her. She always did her best thinking curled up on her couch in her comfy clothes—not to mention curled up with her comfy guy.

  By the time they got to her apartment, everything the DCO had on McDermott was waiting for them. Danica downloaded the files, then went into the bedroom to change into shorts and a tank top. When she came out, Clayne was so absorbed in what he was reading he didn’t even look up until she flopped down on the couch beside him. He took one look at her bare legs and his eyes went from their normal rich brown to gleaming gold.

  “Anything helpful?” she asked, getting him back on task.

  He turned back to the computer on his lap with a soft wolf-like whine. “Not really. The guy in here doesn’t sound like he’s smart enough to be the killer. Hell, he’s barely smart enough to get out of his own way.”

  “Maybe, but he’s obviously smart enough to get away with murder.” She picked up one of the bottles of water Clayne had grabbed from the fridge and opened it. “He’s also smart enough to have played us all—even you.”

  Clayne’s mouth tightened. “Says something for street smarts, I guess.”

  She and Clayne disregarded the profile John had sent them on Ray McDermott. It was as worthless as a horoscope—right on target after the fact, but useless when it came to finding this guy. Instead, they built their own profile based on something they both knew very well—Clayne’s life and what he’d do if he was on the run.

  “You’re joking, right?” Danica asked when he suggested it.

  “I have a lot in common with him.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  “Yeah, I do. He had a shitty childhood, hated school, turned to crime, ended up in jail—the list goes on and on.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “Just go with me on this, okay?”

  She wanted to argue, but when he put it that way, she supposed she could see the similarities. But the crappy home life and criminal record was where it ended. Clayne wasn’t a murderer and never would be.

  Danica took the laptop he held out and placed it on her crossed legs, then opened a new document.

  “The guy is a loner and seems to like nature, so he probably lives somewhere outside the city,” Clayne said. “I’d put my money on a single-family residence. No apartment complex or subdivision for him. Too crowded.”

  “Let’s assume that while he probably created a new identity, it wasn’t a top-notch, professional job,” Danica pointed out as she typed. “He had no reason to think anyone was after him, and nothing in his background indicates he’d know how to do something like that. If that’s the case, he’s probably renting a place because he wouldn’t pass the detailed review necessary to get a mortgage.”

  Clayne nodded. “Good point. He’d prefer a cash-only kind of deal, too, so real estate agencies are out.”

  “What about work?”

  “Maybe a store that sells camping gear or hunting stuff. He’d probably have a hunting licens
e, too.”

  That made sense. A serial killer afraid of getting caught wouldn’t want to do anything that might get him noticed by the cops, and hunting without a license would be a red flag.

  “How about a car? He’d need one if he lives outside the city. Let’s assume he got a new driver’s license when he moved here.”

  “And while we know he stole a vehicle when he abducted Vender, it’s not a stretch to think he might have used his own vehicle at some point, especially in the beginning,” Clayne said. “Let’s assume his registered vehicle is something big, like an SUV or a van.”

  Danica finished typing, then looked at Clayne. “Is that everything?”

  “I think so. Or at least a good start.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll call John.”

  “It’s four in the morning on the East Coast.”

  Clayne paused mid-dial, frowning. “Is it? Damn, I didn’t realize it was so late. I don’t want to let this wait until morning, though.” He went back to dialing, then waited. “Hey, Kendra, it’s Clayne… Yeah, I know what time it is, but I need you to do something for me.”

  Danica leaned back on the couch, stifling a yawn as she listened to Clayne tell Kendra about the profile they’d come up with. She remembered Kendra, of course, but didn’t recall her being involved with intel work.

  “Good deal,” Clayne said into the phone. “Danica’s sending you the file now.”

  Danica sat up and pulled the laptop close so she could open Clayne’s DCO email account.

  “Yeah, she’s here,” Clayne said. “Hang on. I’ll put you on speaker.”

  “Hey, Danica!” Kendra’s voice sounded surprisingly wide-awake for someone who just woke up. “It’s been forever. How are you?”

  “I’m great.” If Kendra was surprised she and Clayne were working together, she didn’t let on. Danica met his gaze over the computer screen and smiled. “I’ll be even better when we catch this killer.”

  “I hear that,” Kendra said. “I’ll rouse a few of the intel boys out of bed and have them help me. We’ll get an address on this McDermott guy for you.”

  “I owe you one,” Clayne told her.

  Kendra laughed. “I’m going to remind you that you said that.”

  Clayne shoved his phone in the pocket of his jeans, then stretched out on the couch. “Now we wait.”

  Danica rested her hand on one of the jean-clad legs beside her. “We should probably get some sleep. We’ll need to be fresh if Kendra finds anything.”

  “We could get some sleep.” Clayne flashed her a wolfish grin. “Or we could do something else.”

  From the way he was looking at her, she guessed that by “something else,” he meant have sex. If she had an ounce of willpower around him, she would have refused and insisted they go to bed, but as Clayne took her hand and urged her higher up his body, she decided sleep could wait a little while longer.

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked, even though the hard-on poking her through his jeans answered that question.

  He ran his hand over the curve of her hip, his fingers brushing her bare thigh and making her quiver. “I figured we’d both sleep better if we had a little exercise before we went to bed.”

  “What about all the exercise we got today?” Even as she asked the question, she shimmied her way up his body, pressing her stomach against his rapidly hardening cock. “Or yesterday, I guess, since it’s already after midnight.”

  “That was hours ago. It doesn’t count.”

  He gripped her ass in both hands and pulled her up until she was straddling his lap. She wiggled back and forth to get comfortable before she leaned in close for a kiss. As her lips came into contact with his, Clayne buried one hand in her hair and tugged. Mmm. She liked when he got all barbarian and held her captive while his mouth took possession of hers.

  She moaned as his free hand roamed over her ass. No matter what they did or where they did it, Clayne’s hands ended up there at some point. It was entirely possible he was obsessed with that part of her anatomy. That was fine with her. She was so happy to be with him again that she was more than ready to give him an all-access pass to any part of her body he desired. Because God knew she was going to do the same with him.

  His canines suddenly sharpened, evidence of how turned on he was. She glided her tongue over those dangerous points, tantalized by the feel of them. That only made them extend even more, and he tightened his grip in her hair, trying to tug her back, but she resisted. Clayne was always so worried she’d hurt herself on his fangs, but that was silly. It was no different than kissing someone with braces. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Kissing someone with braces wouldn’t be as thrilling as kissing Clayne.

  She shoved more of her tongue in his mouth, forcing him to kiss her back or concede that she was in charge. That wasn’t likely to happen, even with her on top. Clayne was way too alpha for that. But he did relax his hold on her hair.

  When she finally ended the kiss—on her terms—she leaned back, grinding against him. Beneath her, Clayne let out a soft growl and slid his free hand down to rest on her other hip. She closed her eyes and wiggled herself back and forth over his erection. There were a lot of clothes in the way, but it still felt amazing. She’d forgotten how good it felt to behave like a normal woman, to enjoy a little teasing, get herself and her partner horny as hell, then get busy like bunny rabbits.

  Yes, there was a killer out there, probably stalking his next target. And as soon as she and Clayne had more information from the DCO on how to find him, they’d put their romance on hold until they caught him—or killed him. But until then, it couldn’t be wrong to enjoy being together. Nothing that felt this good could be wrong.

  She opened her eyes to see Clayne watching her with an amused expression on his face.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked.

  “Nothing. I just like watching you wiggle like that. I’m not sure if you know this, but your eyelids kind of flutter when you pleasure yourself. I think I could lie here and watch you do it all night.”

  There might have been a time when she would have blushed at a line like that, but instead of turning red, she ground harder against him, eliciting a playful groan from her lover.

  She was tempted to sit there and wiggle all night just to see if she could make herself come like this—maybe Clayne, too—but they really needed to get some sleep. Clayne wouldn’t think so, but he wasn’t thinking with his big brain at the moment.

  She gave him a languid smile. “I might just take you up on that someday, but right now, I think I’d rather skip the foreplay and get to the next part.”

  He flashed her a grin, showing off his gorgeous teeth. “You don’t hear me complaining.”

  Clayne made a move to follow her as she crawled off his lap, but she pushed him back down. “You stay right there, mister. I like that position just fine.”

  “Is it just me, or do you tend to get bossy when you’re tired?”

  She pulled off her tank top. “I’m not being bossy. You can consider yourself completely in charge, as long as you don’t move from that position. Unless it’s to take off your clothes.”

  He chuckled. “Nope, not bossy at all.”

  Danica noticed he sure as hell wasn’t complaining as he whipped off his shirt, then made short work of his jeans. And he did it all without taking his eyes off her. Something she found rather empowering. Which was why she couldn’t resist teasing him by turning her back to him and slowly wiggling out of her panties. When she got them halfway down her hips, she looked over her shoulder at him.

  “Are you sure you’re not too tired for this?”

  He moved surprisingly fast, lunging off the couch to grab her panties and yank them down. The sound of tearing fabric was unmistakable.

  She stepped out of the small scrap of material puddled on the floor. “I’ll take that as a no. Guess I’d better go get that condom.”

  When she came back, Clayne was lying on the couch in the same position as
he’d been before he’d ripped off her panties, his erection jutting proudly between his muscular thighs.

  She climbed on his lap and rolled the condom down his shaft, then lifted up until his cock was perfectly in line with her pussy. She rocked back and forth a few times to get him well lubed, then gripped his shoulders and sat down hard, taking him all the way inside.

  The sudden sensations took her breath away.

  “Oh, shit,” Clayne rasped. “You’ll never know how good that feels.”

  Actually, she did, but his hands fastened on to her waist and tugged her down more firmly on his shaft before she could answer. Instead, she let out a long, low moan and contracted her pelvic muscles around him.

  Clayne tightened his hold on her hips, lifting her up until she was almost all the way off his cock, then yanking her back down, sending shock waves through her body. God, that felt amazing.

  She closed her eyes, ready to drift off into la-la land when Clayne suddenly moved his hands up her back and tugged her forward. Her breasts conveniently fell right in his face, and he latched on to one of her nipples with that perfect mouth of his.

  She sighed and swiveled on his cock, grinding her clit against him while he suckled on her nipples. She threaded her fingers in his hair, holding him close while she moved closer and closer to orgasm.

  He must have realized she was about to come because his hands slid down to her ass, squeezing her cheeks and helping her grind against him. Her climax hit her all at once, going from a flicker of light to a starburst in seconds. Danica squeezed her eyes shut, screaming his name as she came.

  Clayne shifted his grip, thrusting up into her hard and fast. She flexed her thighs as much as her spasming body would allow, trying to make him come at the same time. He growled, throwing back his head and yanking her down hard on his shaft. She knew it wasn’t possible with the condom, but she swore she could feel his warmth jetting inside her.

  She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, but at some point they untangled themselves and she led him to bed—to sleep, she told herself.