by Paige Tyler
Three red dots appeared unwavering in the center of Ken’s chest as Trey, Hale, and Mike all ordered him to drop the weapon, too. Ken ignored them, locking eyes with Diego. The anguish in them was unlike anything Diego had ever seen before.
“Don’t let him get away with this,” Ken whispered, bringing the Glock the rest of the way up to his chin and pulling the trigger.
* * *
The moment the man in the expensive suit and Italian loafers walked into the diner, Bree Harlow was sure she recognized him. She couldn’t remember where they’d met, but she was certain they had. In fact, she’d been so sure, she’d stopped in midconversation with her son, Brandon, to give him a smile and a wave. But before she could so much as lift her hand, the man had walked up to the table where the two police officers were sitting and shot them.
Without saying a single word.
Without even waiting for them to notice him.
He’d just…shot them.
Before Bree realized what was happening, she and Brandon were on the floor trying to stop the bleeding while the man in the suit was ranting and raving about monsters and voices in his head.
She’d taken Brandon out to breakfast this morning so they could relax and hopefully talk. Bree knew her son was dealing with some stuff, and she desperately wanted to help. But between the nightmares that had him ripping up his sheets and the way his brown eyes flashed yellow whenever he got upset—which seemed to be all the time lately—she had no idea what to do.
Two months ago, Brandon had gotten shot simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’d been terrified he was going to die, and it was a miracle he didn’t. He hadn’t been quite the same since, though. She thought at first it was because he was addicted to the pain meds the hospital had given him, but she didn’t know of a prescription drug that had those side effects. That was when she started to worry he was taking some kind of designer drug. To cope with what had happened at the convenience store and everything else going on in his life right now.
But no matter how many times she’d tried to get her son to tell her what was wrong, he wouldn’t. If anything, he became even more withdrawn. Bree thought having breakfast at the diner that made his favorite chocolate-chip pancakes might put him in a talkative mood, but then the guy with the gun had shown up, and keeping Brandon and those police officers alive had become the only thing that mattered to her.
Hope had flared bright when that big cop had walked in. Diego’s presence commanded the room even though he was unarmed, and Bree had found herself believing there was nothing he couldn’t do. When he convinced Ken to release the injured officers and four other people, she started thinking the whole thing would ultimately end okay.
Then Ken grabbed Brandon, and Bree watched in horror as the humanity left the man’s eyes and he’d lifted the gun to her son’s head. Terror flashed yellow-gold in Brandon’s eyes, tearing her heart out. He hadn’t lived through the shooting at the convenience store to die here.
If her son died, she’d die, too.
Bree would have done anything she had to do to save Brandon’s life—even putting herself between him and the gun—but it felt like she was buried in Jell-O, unable to close the distance between her and the man threatening her son, no matter how hard she tried.
All at once, a blur of movement caught her eye, then the SWAT cop was knocking Brandon and the guy with the gun to the floor. A split second later, three more cops were suddenly in the diner, smashing through the windows with a deafening crash. Screams of fear echoed around her as the other hostages freaked out, but the only thing she could focus on was her son—and getting to him.
She’d just reached Brandon when she heard Diego shouting for the guy with the gun to drop it. She grabbed her son to protect his body with her own, even as her gaze went to the scene playing out a few feet away. When Ken placed the gun under his chin, every instinct she had begged her to look away, but she couldn’t, and the sight of him taking his own life was the most horrible thing she’d ever witnessed.
The overwhelming chaos in the diner disappeared, replaced by silence, and time seemed to slow as Ken slowly tumbled to the linoleum floor.
There was so much blood.
Bree had no idea if seconds—or hours—passed, but then she heard something so out of place with her surroundings that it immediately snapped her back to reality.
Growling.
Low, soft, pained…growling.
And it was coming from Brandon.
She looked down to find him gazing up at her with vivid-gold eyes, half-inch-long fangs visible over his bottom lip.
Bree had always considered herself to be a strong person. She’d gone through a lot in her life and dealt with it. But she couldn’t ignore the obvious. The accumulated stress of this situation had been too much for her. She was having a mental breakdown. Because there was no way she was seeing what she thought she saw.
Suddenly, the SWAT cop was at her side, pulling Brandon up and talking to him in a slow, calm voice, telling him to relax and breathe, that everything was over and he was going to be okay at the same time he used his big body like a shield, keeping other people in the diner from seeing her son’s face. His voice was the most soothing and calming sound she’d ever heard in her life, and even though he wasn’t talking to her, she found herself breathing in time with his instructions—in through the nose, hold it for five seconds, and out through the mouth.
Bree watched in stunned fascination as the yellow glow slowly receded from her son’s eyes and the fangs disappeared. All at once, his panicked breathing and frantic features relaxed, and she realized it was the first time in months he didn’t seem tense.
There was a commotion behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see the other officers—dressed like Diego but with weapons and heavy-looking tactical gear strapped across their chests—quickly moving the rest of the hostages outside, herding them in such a way that they didn’t have time to look at the body on the floor…or Brandon.
It was like they were all working together to keep anyone from seeing what was happening with her son. Like they all somehow knew something unexplainable was going on with him.
“There you go, kid.” The SWAT cop’s deep voice made her turn back around, and she saw him standing there with his hands on Brandon’s shoulders. “Just a few more deep breaths and you’ll be good to go.”
Diego was right. A few seconds later, Brandon was fine, and Bree found herself wondering if everything she’d seen was a figment of her confused mind.
It could have been, right?
She felt a gentle hand on her arm and looked up into the warmest brown eyes she’d ever seen, a little overwhelmed by the concern she saw there. Diego didn’t even know her, and yet he seemed genuinely worried.
“I think we should get out of here,” he said, nodding toward Brandon. “This place is about to be crawling with cops, crime-scene techs, and general-purpose gawkers. I’d rather be somewhere else before they show up. We have a lot to talk about.”
She was about to ask what he meant by that, but then it hit her. Everything she’d seen had been real. Diego had seen it, too. And now he wanted to talk about it. Because that’s what cops did. They dug into stuff until they knew everything.
Bree’s heart began to thump hard all over again as she realized the danger her son might be in now. What if Diego revealed what he’d seen? Brandon would be treated like a monster. From the look on Brandon’s face, he realized the same thing and was on the verge of freaking out.
“Relax,” the cop said softly, looking first at Brandon, then her. “I’m not a threat to your son. I promise.”
Gaze locked with hers, Diego’s eyes flared vivid yellow-gold. The color was only there for a second before it disappeared, but it was impossible to miss. Or mistake it for anything other than what she’d seen in her son’s eyes. The cop
looked at Brandon, earning a wide-eyed gasp. Bree had no idea what any of this meant, but it had to be a good sign…right?
“Like I said,” Diego murmured. “We have a lot to talk about.”
Bree nodded, her head spinning as she tried to understand what was going on. What was happening to her son, and how could a cop they’d just met know what it meant when she couldn’t?
All rational thought was wiped out the moment the three of them stepped out of the diner. The parking lot and area around it looked like the circus had visited the zoo—and eaten too much sugar.
Cops and paramedics were everywhere, with at least twenty patrol cars parked on the street. There was a line of EMS vehicles behind them, and to the left was an RV with a SWAT logo painted on the side. At the end of the block, just behind the row of crime-scene tape, reporters and camera crews vied for space with crowds of onlookers trying to find the perfect spot to take pictures with their cell phones.
Which reminded her—her phone was still back on a table in the diner along with everyone else’s. She wondered if the cops would give it back or need it for evidence.
Diego was leading her and Brandon toward the RV when a tall officer intercepted them. His uniform was ripped and torn in a dozen locations, and while it was impossible to miss the blood running from myriad cuts he had, he didn’t seem bothered by it.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Chief Leclair just showed up and she’s demanding a sitrep,” he said to Diego. “She wants to know how that guy in the diner ended up dead, and she wants you to tell her.”
Diego sighed, nodding even though it was obvious he didn’t want to go talk to his chief. While Bree desperately wanted to hear what Diego had to say, she also understood what it was like to deal with management types who wanted to have all the answers five minutes ago.
“We’ll go,” she said, her chest tightening at the look of panic on her son’s face. “Maybe we can meet up with you later? So we can talk?”
Diego shook his head, motioning to a paramedic as the other SWAT cop headed for the RV.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather have a paramedic take a look at you and your son,” Diego said. “I know you don’t think it’s necessary, but it would make me feel a lot better. By the time you’re done, I should be finished with my chief. That way, we can have that talk sooner rather than later.”
Bree didn’t feel it was necessary to have a paramedic check her out, but Brandon was a different matter. He’d gone down hard when Diego had tackled the gunman. She wouldn’t be surprised if her son had a concussion or even a cracked rib or two. So, she agreed with a nod.
“This is Trent Barnes,” Diego said, introducing the tall, dark-haired paramedic who jogged over. “He’ll take good care of you two until I can get back. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
Bree nodded again, surprised to realize she didn’t care how long they had to wait. She tried to tell herself it was because they needed to talk about Brandon, but as Diego regarded her with those chocolate-brown eyes, she admitted there was something more to it than that. She didn’t want to think about what that might be right now, but it was there all the same.
Chapter 2
Chief Shanette Leclair turned and pinned Diego with an impatient look the moment he stepped into the RV. Trey, Connor, Hale, and Mike, on the other hand, regarded him curiously. Probably wondering what was up with the young beta werewolf.
“Good of you to join us, Officer Martinez.” Tall and slender with medium-brown skin and black hair swept back in a neat bun, the chief had a reputation for being tough, but fair. “When you didn’t come back with Corporal Taylor, I was worried you were injured. I’m relieved to see you’re simply slow.”
Diego ignored the jab. While the new chief of police had only been on the job for a few months, it hadn’t taken very long to figure out the woman only revealed her snarky side to those she respected. And damn, did she love to get sarcastic with her SWAT team.
Of course, the chief’s special relationship with the SWAT team might also have had a lot to do with the fact that she had a thing for Mike. True, the chief of police had a right to be interested in the health and welfare of every single one of her officers, but a werewolf would have to be absolutely clueless not to pick up on the way the woman showed up at any incident involving Mike. Or the fact that her heart tended to race like mad until the moment she confirmed he was safe.
“Sorry it took me a while,” Diego said, closing the door behind him. “I wanted to get a paramedic to check out two of the hostages.”
“The boy and woman I saw you come out of the diner with?” The chief’s hazel eyes filled with concern. “Corporal Taylor mentioned they’d risk their lives to help the two officers who’d been shot. Are they okay?”
“They’re okay,” he said. “The boy went down hard when I tackled the suspect, but something tells me he’s tougher than he looks.”
Leclair nodded. “That’s good to hear. Now, maybe you can tell me what the hell happened in there. How did we go from a guy shooting two cops and taking a diner full of people hostage to him killing himself?”
Diego told the chief everything. Well, not the whole werewolf thing, of course. But he definitely emphasized Ken’s bizarre behavior and how the guy had floated in and out of awareness throughout the situation.
“Those were his exact words before he shot himself—‘Don’t let him get away with this’?” Leclair frowned. “What does that even mean? Who was he referring to? Did someone make him do all this, including shooting himself in the head? Or was it some convoluted Freudian reference to his inner id?”
Diego crossed his arms over his chest. “I’d be lying if I said I knew the answer to any of those questions. All I can say for sure is that right there at the end, Ken didn’t look like someone who wanted to take his own life—or anyone else’s.”
“What do you mean?” the chief asked.
He shrugged. “I’m not any kind of expert on the subject, and I’m certainly not a shrink, but as a negotiator, I’ve been in the horrible position of watching way too many people kill themselves. And in every one of those cases, right before the person went through with it, a moment of calm came over them. I’ve always assumed it had something to do with accepting what they were about to do. But when Ken killed himself, he was fighting tooth and nail against it.”
The chief was silent as she considered that. Diego glanced at his teammates to see they looked as confused by his take on what had happened in there as she did. Join the club.
After a long moment, she sighed. “Okay, once we confirm his identity, I’ll get our detectives working on trying to link this guy to any of the previous suspects.”
The impromptu meeting ended shortly after that, and Diego took the opportunity to slip away while the chief chatted with Mike about attending a seminar on transformative management techniques the department would be putting on in a couple weeks.
Mike nodded like he was riveted by the idea. More like enthralled with Chief Leclair. “I think I’ve heard about that program. It sounds really interesting.”
Diego exchanged looks with his other pack mates to see if they were hearing the same thing he was. The amusement on their faces confirmed it. He’d be damned. Mike was flirting with the chief over a management seminar.
Shaking his head, Diego opened the door. He smelled the young beta the moment he was outside the RV. Surprisingly, he also smelled the kid’s mother just as easily. Actually, in some ways, her scent seemed even stronger. Diego let himself focus on her fragrance for a moment, picking out hints of strawberry, vanilla, and a distinctly feminine scent that seemed uniquely her own.
He crossed the street, following her scent while doing his best not to dwell on why it was so tantalizing. She smelled amazing. That was as far as he cared to go at the moment.
Both scents led him to one of the many ambulances lined up outside the security p
erimeter. Heading around to the side door, he tapped on the metal doorframe as he stuck his head inside. The beta werewolf and his mom were sitting side by side on a gurney while Trent checked them out.
“What’s the word, Trent?” Diego asked.
His buddy from Dallas Fire and Rescue looked over with a grin as he pulled a blood-pressure cuff off the kid’s arm. “Bree is dealing with an elevated heart rate and her pressure is a bit high, but that’s to be expected considering what she went through this morning.”
Bree.
So, that was her name. It was beautiful. Just like the woman it belonged to. Diego had noticed how pretty she was when he’d first laid eyes on her in the diner, but now that he had time to appreciate her, it was impossible to miss how stunning she was. An angelic heart-shaped face, plump pink lips, and eyes the color of creamy milk chocolate. She was definitely something else.
Diego didn’t realize he was standing there staring until he noticed Trent had been talking the whole time and he hadn’t heard a single word.
“Brandon, on the other hand, is as fit as a horse,” Trent said with a laugh. “In fact, he’s got the pulse rate and blood pressure of an elite marathon runner. He’s got some bumps and bruises from you tackling him, but by and large, it’s like the stuff this morning didn’t bother him at all.”
Diego chuckled as he stepped into the tight confines of the ambulance. Even without three other people in here, these vehicles weren’t meant for men his size. Hearing Trent go on about how healthy Brandon was after what happened wasn’t a surprise. All werewolves were fit AF.
“Now that you’ve checked them over and made sure they’re okay, do you mind if I borrow your ambulance for a few minutes?” he asked. “I need to talk to Bree and Brandon about a few things, and your ride is about the only privacy available in a five-block radius.”
