Shrew & Company Books 1-3

by Holley Trent

  Shit. She wasn’t kidding about being a mutant.

  “Uh…and what, specifically, were the changes?”

  She blew out a ragged breath and held her hands out in front of her face, drawing her fingers into fists and opening them. “I have a doctor—a specialist. We haven’t quite catalogued everything. She examines me every three months to make sure my cells aren’t coming apart, but the major things right now are that my vision is extremely enhanced. I see at higher magnification and also further distances. I’m faster than I was. More stamina. Oh, and my reflexes are ten times faster than they were before. Never try to draw a gun against me.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Were there other women in the study?”

  “Yes. That’s the reason my agency is Shrew & Company. My staff members were all victims of the study.”

  “You all have the same problems?”

  She shook her head. “No. It affected each of us bit differently. We all have the same doctor, though, and she’s trying to formulate a theory about why certain things mutated in each of us. It hasn’t been easy because there’s no research on this kind of thing.”

  “Thank you for telling me.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate finally being able to unload that on someone, but…you believe me?” Her brow furrowed. It was obvious she was concerned about the state of his mental wellbeing and not her own.

  He shrugged. “Of course I do.”

  “Why?”

  All right, sweetheart. Here we go. He skimmed the pad of one thumb along her jaw as he considered the wording in his mind. She didn’t react outwardly, but when he scented the air, he caught a whiff of her arousal. It was instantaneous. Poor Dana must have been just as hard up as he was. He chuckled as he dropped his hand.

  “Remember how I told you I’m on my ass trying to claw my way back up?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was being sort of literal. That’s the reason I don’t think what you’re saying is all that fantastical. I know a little something about mutations.”

  “Do you?” Funny, she didn’t look like she believed him.

  “Oh, yeah, sweetheart.” He leaned in close to her ear, inhaling her scintillating, womanly scent, and squashing his very base desire to sink his teeth into her neck and hold tight. He whispered, “I’m here in this under-furnished cabin away from civilization—letting my kitchen manager flail around and muck things up—because when I visited this dump last month, I was attacked and infected.”

  She sucked in some air and swallowed hard, his proximity affecting her quite obviously. “Infected?”

  “Yes. By were-animals.”

  “Wuh-were-animals?”

  “Catamounts, to be precise.”

  “What?”

  “Mountain lions.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  “That they were were-animals? Yes. They shifted back to human form after I concussed one with a whiskey bottle and bashed the other with a snow shovel.”

  “And you know for certain you’re one, too?”

  “Given my newly enhanced hearing and sense of smell, I suspect that’s the case. There’s also the”—he put his nose against her neck and inhaled her sweet scent—“undeniable increase in libido.”

  She didn’t bat him away until he dragged his tongue along the ridge of her clavicle.

  Still, he could tell by her scent she wasn’t all that repulsed. She probably just figured she should act like it. “With all women, I’m sure,” she said glibly.

  “No. You smell quite nice, sweetheart. I’ve wanted to mount you since you climbed onto my porch.”

  “Mount me?” Her voice had a hint of an edge now.

  Didn’t bother him. Turned him on even more, actually.

  “I’d probably use different vocabulary if I were thinking with the human part of my brain.”

  “So, what, you’re going to shift during the full moon?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out, sweetheart. It’s why I’m missing the 5K and the busiest day of the year at my pub.”

  Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She shook her head and tightened her grip on her knees.

  “Say something, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t know what to say. People like you aren’t supposed to exist.”

  “And people like you only exist in movies and in comic books. I mean, really? A mutant private eye?”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I take it you understand now why discretion is important to me. I don’t want to lose my livelihood over this. People fear what they don’t understand.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she said, and he believed her. Maybe it was the steely glint of her dark eyes.

  Or maybe it was the fact she as closer to her gun than he was to his own.

  It wasn’t like he could shapeshift on command. Could he?

  He must have been pondering it too hard, because Dana reached over and tapped his shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “When are you supposed to go furry?”

  “Good question. I don’t actually know. I haven’t exactly been given a primer on this, but I’m assuming the lore is true and it’ll be sometime the night of the full moon.”

  “Which is tonight.”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t know if there was a lead-up and cool-down period or if it would only be tonight.”

  “Shouldn’t you have a pack or something?”

  He felt his eyes go wide as a scoff escaped his lungs. “Hope not. I’m not much of a joiner.”

  “There’s got to be someone you can talk to—that can guide you through this. What about the guys you concussed?”

  “No idea who they were. I called 911, but by the time the ambulance and police got here, they’d taken off. I left the hospital and came back to look for tracks, but it’d rained, and there was nothing.”

  “How long were you in the hospital?”

  “Couple of hours. I knew I was screwed then. Healed too fast. By the time the doctor made it into my stall, he acted like I was wasting his time.”

  Her eyes widened.

  Yeah, that’s exactly how Patrick had felt, too.

  “I have a woman on staff who could probably find a were-group…uh…” Dana’s forehead furrowed, and mouth fell open wordlessly before she closed it. “Uh, were-pack-thing, if one actually exists. She’s good at tracking.”

  “If there is one, I’m not sure I want them to know I exist.”

  “I could see where that’d be a problem, but why don’t you let her look, anyway? If you know they’re here, you’ll know how to avoid them. And maybe she can find you some resources or see if there’s a protocol for full moon night. A safe house or something.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  She shifted on her cushion and studied her pants once again.

  “Tell me. I know it’s not just because you’re coveting my desk chair.”

  “No, although it’s a goddamned sweet chair.” She met his gaze, warily. “You were right earlier—what you said about me solving problems and wanting to know the why about things. I can’t just let things go. There has to be a sense of completion for me, or I can’t drop the case. My granddaddy used to call me his little terrier because I couldn’t let go of things. He was the reason I became a cop. He was a cop, and he said I was smart enough. I believed him.”

  “Ah.”

  Actually, that news was somewhat reassuring. She’d done it to follow in the footsteps of someone she respected, and not because she had something to prove, although she’d probably proved “it” time and time again.

  “Well, sweetheart, I’m not a case. I’m just a man trying to figure out how to get through the next few days.”

  She didn’t look convinced.

  He chuckled. “How much are you going to bill me for this?”

  Finally, she smiled—an actual, honest-to-God smile and not a sneer. They’d been parrying for an hour and that was the first time she’d shown teeth.<
br />
  “Uh-oh.”

  “How about we work it out in trade?”

  “Skin trade?”

  “Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes and let her grin recede into a smirk. “I was thinking more like you open your pub up to my staff one day. It’d be nice for them to go out and unwind, have some drinks without getting hit on. They’re cranky about that.”

  He could imagine. If the Shrew & Company staff were anything like Dana, they could probably start a riot in his pub without even trying. Especially if they were half as gorgeous as her.

  Maybe he could serve them personally. Well, one of them, anyway. Let the staff deal with the rest.

  He hoped his expression conveyed his distrust, false though it was. “I dunno about that. How’s your alcohol tolerance?”

  Her grin widened again.

  “You’re going to fuck my bottom line straight to Hell, aren’t ya?”

  “High metabolism is apparently a side effect of being my brand of mutant. At least when it comes to alcohol.”

  “How much do you have to drink to get drunk?”

  “Why? You want to get me drunk?”

  “That’s probably the only way I’ll get you take your clothes off.”

  Her jaw dropped.

  Score one for Paddy. Looks like she can be shocked after all.

  “Filthy perv.”

  He raised his shoulders and grinned. “Told you. You smell nice. Not gonna lie. If you come a little closer, I might escalate things to the dry-humping stage.”

  “No thanks.” Her voice was flat, but the corners of her lips twitched as if she were trying to suppress a laugh.

  She leaned over and picked up her phone. Once she’d dialed, she put it up to her ear and put her back against the armrest again. “Hey, Sarah? I need you to do some tracking tonight.” As she listened to the response Patrick couldn’t hear, she dragged her tongue over her lips and studied her nails.

  Plump and moist, he wanted nothing more than to smother those lips with his own, seek out her tongue and wrestle it into compliance. In fact, he found himself putting his knee up on the sofa and stalking close.

  She raised an eyebrow when he grabbed one of her legs and drew it up to the sofa, turning her sideways.

  “Uh, Sarah, hold on a second,” she said, and covered the phone’s mic with her hand. “Patrick, what are you doing?”

  He pulled her other leg up and crawled into the V they made. He wrapped his fingers beneath her thighs and pulled her down so her head rested atop the chair arm. Then, he put his hands on either side of her head and smirked at her daringly.

  Her scent changed again, and although her eyes were narrowed and lips pressed tight, her breathing had sped.

  “Don’t mind me. Please continue.”

  “You’re a little distracting.”

  “I won’t touch a thing,” he lied.

  She cleared her throat and slowly pressed the phone against her ear. “Uh, anyhow. This is going to sound crazy as shit—probably the craziest thing that’s come across our desks in two years—but I need you to come out here and try to locate a cluster, uh…clump? Herd? Whatever. Mountain lions. Were-mountain lions.”

  He could hear her associate’s shrill laughter even with the muffling from Dana’s ear, and chuckled himself as he dipped his body down against hers.

  Her eyes widened as his erection made contact with her crotch.

  Hello, there.

  “Uh…”

  He put his finger against her lips and shook his head.

  She swallowed.

  He drew the hand back.

  “Uh…Sarah? Let me have Mr. O’Dwyer send you some information. Check your email in about five minutes.”

  He shook his head. “I need more than five minutes.”

  “Th-th-thirty minutes?”

  He shook his head and took the phone from her. “Hello, Sarah. Dana is helping me with a little problem right now. Why don’t you just start driving west on I-40 and we’ll give you some details when you get closer.”

  Sarah, a woman with a husky, accented voice Patrick couldn’t quite place, replied, “How much heat should I pack?”

  Dana tried to snatch the phone, but he grabbed her wrist and clucked his tongue at her. “Pack something with a scope just in case. Probably won’t need it, but distance is always good.”

  “Okay. Be there around midnight.”

  “Take your time, love.” He disconnected.

  Dana narrowed her eyes and leaned as far back from him as she could.

  It wasn’t far.

  “We’re not having sex. I’ve known you for an hour.”

  “Oh.” A grin crept across his face as he pressed their bodies nearer, his hardness against her warmth. “How long is the waiting period? Not that I think you’ll be adhering to it.”

  She sucked her teeth. “Aren’t you a cocky son of a bitch?”

  “Dana, sweetheart, I don’t have to be cocky. You want to be touched. Haven’t been touched in a while, I bet, and you want me to be the one because you trust me.”

  Her cheek twitched. There was a dimple somewhere in there!

  “I trust you as far as I can throw you,” she said.

  He chuckled and grazed his thumb along her jaw, up to that pouty bottom lip. “I bet you were a right cute little liar as a girl with pigtails, and I bet people actually believed you.”

  She blinked.

  “Well, just like you can see beyond the ordinary, I can smell you lying, Dana. This isn’t a question of if or even when. This is about how.”

  Her forehead furrowed. “How?”

  “Top or bottom, sweetheart? Your choice.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Is this guy for real?

  Certainly seemed like it to Dana, because Patrick’s hands felt like they were everywhere at once. The waistband of her slacks. Her sweater’s hem. Stroking her cheeks. Raking fingers through her hair.

  Part of her wanted to swat him away—especially from the hair that’d taken her nearly an hour to style that morning—but the other part said, “Who’s going to know? Why not indulge?”

  The truth was, the last truly pleasurable thing she’d done for herself was replacing a bra she’d kept too long. Its underwire stabbed her ribs, and she’d given herself permission to toss it three months ago. That was it.

  Her life was basically a string of cases, doctor’s appointments, dutiful attendance of Sunday dinners at her parents’ house, and occasionally talking her staff out of using excessive force on simple jobs.

  Patrick pushed himself onto his arms and stared down at her. His forehead furrowed. “You just got this really faraway look on your face, sweetheart. I don’t know whether I should be insulted or if I should dial 911.”

  “Neither. I just started thinking about real-life stuff.”

  “This doesn’t count as real life in your book?”

  “I haven’t decided that yet.”

  “Oh, I see.” One of his dark eyebrows arched. “Tell me what I can do to take that worried expression off your face.”

  “Why do you even care?”

  Now he sat all the way up, putting some space between her supine body and his cushion. “What kind of man do you think I am?”

  She opened her mouth to tell him just what kind, but before she could share her speculation with him, he interrupted.

  “No, don’t tell me. I’ll tell you. I’m good at that, remember? Bartender superpower. I bet you think I go through women like I do paper towels. Endless supply of them coming into my pub, right?”

  She cringed. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “And you’d be wrong. Dead wrong. I’m very picky.”

  “You don’t look like the kind of man who has a type.”

  That wasn’t entirely accurate. She thought his type might have been female. There was certainly no shortage of those in Durham.

  “You’re right, actually. I don’t. I’m too picky to even specify what my type would be. I just know when a wo
man is right, I act.”

  She gave him a long blink. He had to be nuts if he was implying that she was right. Every man she’d ever dated had tried to change her in some way. Her hair had been too short, so she grew out it. It got too long, so she cut it. She hadn’t been fit enough, so she worked out more. Then, she was too muscular, so she had let her gym membership expire. She’d been too quiet. Too opinionated. Too reserved. Too voracious.

  Too bitchy.

  Never good enough.

  She put her hands against his chest and tried, ineffectually, to push him away. “Patrick, I do believe you’re full of shit.”

  “Sweetheart, I shoot straight, and I don’t just mean with that Ruger. I don’t waste words. I don’t lead people on. Who has the energy for those kind of games?”

  She could think of a few people, but still… “If you’re so straight, why’d you hire an incompetent drunk to manage your bar kitchen?”

  She felt like a bitch for even asking, especially after his face fell.

  She’d managed to put her foot in her mouth yet another time. To be so damned observant, she sure fucked up a lot when it came to assessing motives.

  “That’s…personal,” he said.

  She watched the set of his jaw tighten as he pushed himself to standing position, and had no words for him.

  She’d never been good at apologizing, and he may have been the rare man who deserved her I’m sorry.

  The words wouldn’t come out, though.

  He walked to one of the front windows and pushed the curtain aside, standing there for a while, staring out at the rapidly darkening woods.

  Good job, Dana.

  Usually when she managed to bruise someone’s feelings, she’d shrug it off, thinking perhaps the fault was on their end—that they were too sensitive. She wouldn’t give it more than thirty seconds of mental expenditure, so why was this different? Why did she care what Patrick O’Dwyer felt?

  Perhaps it was because he cared about what she was feeling? That was new for her.

  “Okay.” She rubbed sweating palms against the thighs of her pants and worried at her lip. It would have been so easy to just let the conversation drop—to move on to other topics. Hell, she could even get her shit and head down the mountain to her hotel for the night and let Sarah take it from there. The case—which technically wasn’t even a case anymore—had taken a far too complicated turn. Shrews were damned good at unraveling mysteries, but not when they hit close to home.