by Josie Hunter
“I will send photos and details to our usual location.”
“I will arrange for the assignment immediately, Diego. I’ll be in contact.”
He ended the connection without waiting for a response. Let Garcia twist in his own skin. The man didn’t deserve courtesy.
Santos had another shot of tequila then rose and strolled to the edge of the pool. He watched the beautiful black swan glide several times from side to side then swim in a graceful figure eight before ducking beneath the surface. When she emerged from the depths, her dark feathers glistening with dewy drops of water, she shook herself and came to a stop in the middle of the pool. Her fire-rimmed eyes stared at Santos in anticipation.
“Medea, mi querida, I have an assignment for you.”
Chapter 4
Dylan Winston swiped the razor down his cheek one last time then rinsed it. He could tell by looking in the mirror the bruises were finally gone, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still remember them. He’d been beaten so thoroughly the bruises had mottled his skin for months, deep horrific injuries into his flesh and muscle, painful to the touch and painful to remember. Most of the scars were healing now, at least those caused by whips and razors. They’d created lighter striations on the darker skin, a trail of pain marked in his flesh.
Others had not healed so well. Darkened pits dotted the skin of his chest where they’d fastened the electrodes and burned him quite thoroughly, and long furrows ran down his limbs where they’d sliced layers of skin from him just for fun. Each inch of ruined flesh reminded him of the dark times, and he hated to look at himself any more.
He’d been lucky to get out alive. If the Santiago brothers hadn’t found him when they had, he thought he’d be dead now. He’d been that close to simply letting his life slip away. Only his wolf had kept him alive, nagging, nipping, and burrowing into his consciousness, always standing vigilant against the Grim Reaper when he came to call. At times Dylan had wanted to kill his wolf just to get some peace. At others, he prayed for it to wake up so he could share its courage. Dylan’s courage had lasted only about a month.
He cupped some water in his hands and splashed it over his face, letting the cool water drip down the column of his throat. That area was also damaged, permanently etched by the ropes and chains they’d used to suspend him for hours, hoping to break him. The cool water felt good on his skin though because he was hot.
He’d left the window opened through the night, and already, the temp inside the cabin had to be close to ninety. Although it was October, and he was back in civilization and safe on Cattail Ranch, he kept forgetting he wasn’t in Boston where the air would be cool and crisp, and autumn arrived with a sense of gratitude from the citizens. Here in Texas, summer slid into autumn with the same fiery vengeance summer had arrived from spring.
Boston, though, was a slice of heaven in October. There would be colorful leaves littering the ground and the crisp scents of apple and pumpkin on the cool air. Harvest wreaths would be decorating the doors of his old neighborhood, and soon, happy kids would transform themselves into superheroes and princesses and run down the streets begging for treats. He’d always loved October.
Funny he should think of Boston though when he hadn’t been in the city in over three years. He could barely call it home any more, other than his parents and sister still lived there. He certainly couldn’t go back there, no matter how much he wanted to. As far as his family knew, he had died on a mission several months before. Telling them otherwise would jeopardize their lives, and the last thing Dylan wanted to do was bring danger to his family. They were all he had, and he didn’t even have them anymore.
Thinking of Boston would get him nowhere—and certainly not home.
He raked his hands through his hair, longer now that he’d been in the field and captivity. The shaggy brown hair reminded him of his origins, of the wolf prowling beneath the surface. He drew strength from his wolf even now and often wondered if he’d have survived his ordeal had he been only human. He tried not to think of that because a small voice inside him said no.
Since coming back to the States—since his rescue—he’d thought several times of shaving the hair off to remove all trace of the man he’d been. As it was, though, he often felt that man held on to existence by a thread and needed all the help he could get. Though Dylan knew it was a ridiculous idea, he thought his hair tied him to his wolf, and his wolf seemed to be the only thing tying him to earth. Without his hair, he felt he might just plain give up.
He was beginning to understand how Sampson had felt.
When the knock came on the cabin door, he shrugged into his shirt, covering the scars of his past, and limped into the living room. The limp was yet another injury courtesy of Diego Garcia. His kneecap had been broken twice, and after months of therapy, the docs here in Catamount had pretty much figured he’d always have the limp—and the pain that went with it.
When he reached the living area, he saw his future standing at the door. Funny how one threshold could take you from the past to the future so easily.
Gabe Laughton at his door always meant change. After everything he’d been through in the last year, Dylan really hated change. He only opened the door because he had no choice. What he really wanted to do was hide.
* * * *
Stephanie peered out the window for the sixth time that morning. They’d been in the office for over an hour and still no Gabriel Laughton. She ran her hands down her black pencil skirt—she couldn’t be expected to give up all her black—then adjusted the collar of her cowl-necked silk tank. After an endless dialogue on the phone, Coral had talked her into wearing pink today, and she felt like such a girly-girl she wanted to spit.
“I’m still not happy about it.”
“I understand, Rusty, I really do.”
Stephanie turned from the window in time to see Rusty and Talon exchange a glance, one that made her feel like the biggest chump on the planet. “What did you want me to do? It’s freaking Gabe Laughton.”
“You could have said no,” Talon said.
She huffed and fell down into her chair, crossing her legs and leaning back. “If you can tell me how I could have done that, I’ll file it away for next time.”
“Good lord,” Rusty said, “please tell me there won’t be a next time.”
“A simple no usually works,” Talon said.
“We’re talking about the inner circle here, Barry. You have no idea what that means to us.”
“Oh, I know exactly what the inner circle means,” Talon said. “I’ve been in plenty of my own. They’re usually filled with more pain and trouble than you can imagine. If you recall, when you first met me, I was so high up in the inner circle I almost got blown to kingdom come. I’m never going back to New Orleans. Never.”
“That was some serious shit,” Rusty said.
“And we stomped the fuck out of it,” Stephanie said, “so quit your bitching. Both of you. I’m getting us on the short list here in Catamount.”
“I was against going to New Orleans,” Rusty said, giving Stephanie a pointed look. “She had no problem overriding my arguments.”
Stephanie stared at him. “We saved a woman’s life. We might even have saved Barry’s.”
Rusty shook his head. “Yeah, yeah, you know best, it all worked out, blah blah blah.” He paced in front of her desk, the legs of the jumpsuit flapping around his skinny calves. “You’re going to regret this. I can tell you that now. This whole setup sounds like a big old pile of steaming dog shit. And I mean that literally. Fucking wolves,” he said under his breath. He stopped pacing and stared down at her. “I’m curious though. How is it you roll over and play dead so easily for Laughton but have no trouble telling us no?”
“That’s not fair,” Stephanie said. “It’s different with us.” She gestured between the three of them.
“How so?” Talon asked.
“We’re friends.” Her glance roamed from Rusty to Talon and back. “Aren’t
we?”
“So basically you’re saying it’s okay to say no to friends,” Rusty said. “Even though we’re the ones who are always here for you. Who have your back. Who let you run the show without interference.”
“Without interference?” Stephanie said. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is this if not interference?”
“Possibly an intervention,” Rusty said. “We’re going to be in a world of hurt here.”
“You haven’t even met the man yet. He could be perfectly…normal.”
“Sounds like a psycho to me,” Talon said. “And I’ve known a few in my time.”
Rusty nodded in agreement.
“Can you get out of it?” Talon asked.
She clenched her jaw. “Of course I can’t get out of it.”
“Will you try?” Rusty asked.
“No.”
Rusty laughed and shook his head. He glanced at Talon, who smirked. “See? The word just trips off her lips easy as pie when she’s talking to us.”
“Just let it go.” Stephanie growled.
She argued a good game—and pulled rank even better—but they were right. So far it had been her show, and she’d made the decisions. She and Rusty had been friends since training, but she’d rarely asked for his input on any decisions. She just barreled straight ahead with blinders, refusing to consider options. In Boston. In New Orleans. In Catamount.
“I’ll work on it, okay?”
The door opened, and Stephanie shot to her feet. She smoothed down her skirt and turned to see Jake Westin step over the threshold. Part of her felt relief. The other part felt that horrible stirring deep inside, the one that wanted to jump his wolf bones. Sweat popped out on her forehead, and her heartbeat sped up as she took in his big, strong body, his deep blue eyes, the short military cut of his black hair. She was a sucker for a man who looked like this one, and she knew it. She was also a sucker for wolves. She knew that, too.
Her inner rabbit wanted nothing more than to hop on over and slide its body all over his. She felt the soft twinge of fur running beneath her skin, sending tiny shivers through her body. How could this man affect her so? The sweat caused her glasses to slip down her nose. She hurriedly pushed them back up as she smiled.
“Jake. What brings you here this morning?” She held out her hand.
He stepped forward and shook her hand, his big fingers encompassing hers in a sure, tight grip. “I was on my way to Clandestine, but I wanted to scope out the place, meet the team.”
Rusty moved forward like a silent wraith and took Jake’s offered hand. Though Jake was very tall, Rusty still towered over him. “Rusty Terwilliger.”
Talon burst out laughing. “Terwilliger? That’s your fucking name? Jeez Louise, can we have a cup of tea and maybe a crumpet?”
“Shut it,” Rusty snarled.
Still laughing, Talon stuck out his big mitt, and Jake shook it. “Barry Hatfield.”
“Of Hatfield and McCoy fame?” Jake asked with a smile.
“Yeah, Barry,” Rusty said with a chuckle, “of Hatfield and McCoy fame?”
“You know it is,” Talon grumbled, giving him a murderous glare.
“Will you two stop?” Stephanie said, rolling her eyes. She turned back to Jake, tugging on the cowl-neck, trying to pull it up. Coral had liked the way it enhanced her bustline. Stephanie was currently wishing she had no bustline. “They’re like two evil children.”
“Then I’ll fit right in,” Jake said. “I have my evil moments, too.” He lifted his brows and gave her a grin. Her insides nearly melted.
Talon stalked back to his desk and ripped off his suit coat. He tugged off his tie and tossed it on the back of the chair where it slid to the floor. Stephanie rushed over, picked it up, and slung it around his neck. She leaned down and started to tie it, tugging none too gently.
Talon knocked her hands away. “I can do it myself, Mom.”
“She’s so fussy,” Rusty said, shoving his hands into his jumpsuit pockets. “Sucks to be you, bro.”
Jake glanced to the window. “Now I see why you asked me about real estate. This is just a cover, right? I mean, we’re not going to actually be showing houses or selling things or…”
“Funny you should mention that…” Rusty smirked and went off to do whatever Rusty did. He was still working on the back rooms, getting them ready for fake real estate consultation offices. In actuality, they’d be for Gabe Laughton and Tyler Lucas when they came to the satellite office.
Stephanie ignored Rusty’s baiting and smoothed the tie down Talon’s barrel chest. “It looks great. Just wear it until Gabe—”
The door opened, and Stephanie smoothed down her skirt and whirled around, knowing it could be only one person. Handsome, charming Gabriel Laughton—a coyote shifter who often displayed the rather sly, but playful, nature of his animal—came through the door with a smile, followed by a tall, somewhat slender, and undernourished looking man dressed in jeans and a blue button-down shirt. He peered around the room, staring at them through a shock of shaggy brown hair. Then his gaze locked on her, and the moment she stared into those dark green eyes, she was lost.
Wolf, her inner animal said. Our wolf.
Oh god no.
Every bit of blood drained from her face. She felt it as it happened. She gripped the edge of her desk because she thought she might literally fall to her knees. She blinked several times, trying to clear sudden tears from her eyes. It just wasn’t possible. Not after all this time. He was so gaunt, so hollow. She might not even have recognized him if it hadn’t been for his eyes, and even then, they weren’t the eyes she remembered. The laughter was gone. The joie de vive he’d always embraced, the attitude that had reflected in his eyes, had vanished. In its place was a haunted gaze filled with some sort of lingering pain. Her heart broke just looking at him.
He stared at her with that haunted green gaze for a moment then his eyes widened, and he straightened up taller, almost painfully. He began to walk toward her, limping slightly. “Stephanie? Is that you?”
She pushed the words past frozen lips. “Hello, Brandon.”
* * * *
“It’s Dylan now actually,” he said. “Dylan Winston.”
“Dylan,” she said. “Yes, of course.”
She nodded, staring at him like she’d seen a ghost. He supposed it was a bit like that. He sure didn’t feel like the man she’d known, like the man who’d loved this little woman more than anything, except his career.
He moved a bit closer to her, his bum knee crying out in pain. He went slowly, though not because of the pain. She looked ready to bolt. It hurt him to see tears in her eyes. She reached under her glasses and wiped one that started to fall down her cheek. Then she gave him a tremulous smile and held out her hand. He took it, feeling the warmth and the vibrant life that coursed through her.
Stephanie Cooper, back in his life.
She shook his hand but then pulled away, nearly stumbling, so unlike the girl he’d known who’d continued to take ballet classes, even in college.
Gabe Laughton came up to stand next to him. “You two know each other?” He glanced between them. “Well, I guess that’s pretty obvious.” He rubbed a hand over his stubble and cast looks to the other men in the room. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
The big guy who looked like the Frankenstein monster stuffed into a suit—an eagle-shifter, if Dylan’s instincts hadn’t been destroyed along with his life—muttered, “My sentiments exactly.”
“Go easy, Talon,” Laughton said softly.
Dylan had to agree. This wasn’t going to begin or end well.
The other big man, the good-looking wolf-shifter with the military cut, studied Stephanie with interest. Dylan had seen the man before at Cattail Ranch—Jake Westin, manager of Clandestine—though Dylan had no idea why the manager of a sex club would be in this office. Dylan felt those long-forgotten feelings of protection and possession pass through him. His inner wolf growled. Ours.
Laughton turned to Stephanie, who was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood. “Stephanie, what do you think?”
“I’m having trouble with that right now. The thinking, I mean.” She took a deep breath then whirled around to her desk. She grabbed her purse and brushed past them. “I–I need coffee.”
“We have coffee in—” Frankenstein started.
Talon, his name is Talon, easy to remember for an eagle-shifter.
“Air then,” Stephanie said.
She yanked open the door and disappeared into the bright sunshine like a memory lost once again. Dylan’s inner wolf whimpered.
“Care to explain that?” Laughton asked.
Dylan dropped into the chair at Stephanie’s desk. “It’s pretty simple really. We were involved in Boston. She was in college. I was in CIA training. She thought I was a grad student in criminal psychology, which was partially true.” He shrugged. “I got an assignment and shipped out to South America. There one day, gone the next. I’m sure she’s pissed.”
“She looked a bit more than pissed,” Talon muttered. He glared at Dylan. “Did you break her heart somewhere along the way?”
Dylan rubbed his hands over his face. “I might have.” He glanced out the window, hoping to see her standing there, but she was long gone. “Probably.”
“Bastard,” Talon mumbled.
“It was a covert operation, deep undercover,” Dylan said. “I couldn’t compromise the mission by explaining anything to her. She didn’t even know I was CIA. Anything I said might have put her in danger.”
“From fucking South America?” Talon asked.
Talon wasn’t in love with her. Dylan could tell that, but the guy certainly had deep feelings for her. He couldn’t blame him for that. Stephanie had a way about her. He glanced out the window again.
The wolf-shifter, Jake Westin, shook his head, siding with the eagle-shifter. No surprise there. Dylan was the last man on the team and obviously not wanted.
