by Lucy Leroux
“Don’t try to distract me. You need to see a doctor.”
“Oh, I’m seeing a lot of my doctor,” he said, practically purring. He reached for the sheet, and tugged it down to reveal the deep V of her cleavage.
Frustrated, she snatched his hand and bit it.
He laughed delightedly. She spat him out, glaring at his smug face. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“I’m very serious about you.” He traced the top curve of her breast, eating her up with his eyes.
“I assure you I’m fine, love.” He took the now-empty plate from in front of her, setting the tray on the bedside table before crawling over her. “If it makes you feel better, I can have the specialist I saw in Colorado give you a call. She can tell you all those other tests are normal for someone like me.”
Someone like him? “I’ll believe that when I hear it from her.”
Despite the bulk of Dmitri’s body, she was able to wiggle her hands free to change apps on his phone.
There were one or two pictures of her asleep in the cabin, but nothing else. Not even a selfie.
“No other pictures?” She’d expected to find hordes of women, his many past bed partners in living color.
He took the phone back with an I’m-not-stupid expression on his face. “You’re not dealing with an amateur.”
With that, he tossed the phone aside, drawing back the sheet and replacing it with his own body.
“Until Kiera is able to get in touch, allow me to demonstrate my full recovery. I think you’ll find me quite fit…”
Chapter Fifteen
A very relaxed Dmitri dropped a flushed but well-satiated Nina at the rear hospital entrance a few minutes before her shift. He hadn’t let her go without a big and deeply possessive kiss first.
The fact they were spotted by several members of the staff was a bonus. Dmitri knew Nina’s ex also worked in the hospital. He wanted her coworkers to know she had traded up.
Cass buzzed in on his Bluetooth before he’d cleared the hospital parking lot.
“Are you done playing house yet?” she asked waspishly as he pulled into traffic.
“No. Not by a long shot.”
There was a pause. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?
He laughed. She knew him so well. “And what might that be?”
Cass snorted. “C’mon. Since when have you spent more than a weekend with a woman? You’re on what—day four now? You met your mate, didn’t you?”
“It’s day five actually. And yes, your guess is correct. The doctor in question, Nina Briggs, is mine.”
“Whatever. I don’t think the client cares that you just met your life partner. He wants the item he paid you six figures to retrieve, and he wants it yesterday.”
The tone was harsher than usual, but Dmitri could detect the trace of pain behind them.
“You’ll meet someone someday,” he said softly. “You just need to have a little faith.”
This wasn’t jealousy. He and Cass had never been a thing, but ever since her accident, Cass had grown into her natural pessimism. He doubted that she even expected to find a mate.
Sadly, she was likely right. There weren’t a lot of wolves out there who’d look twice at a shifter in a wheelchair.
“Oh, shut up,” Cass snapped. “I’m beyond stupid things like that. A mate is just a fuck buddy you can’t get rid of later when you want to be alone. And I prefer flying solo.”
Dmitri sighed. His scheduler and friend had been a hermit too long, ever since she’d self-ostracized herself from her pack after the accident. He knew what would make her a little happier—the second half of her finder’s fee.
“I just called to tell you I’m going to acquire the item for our client now. This job will be wrapped up in a couple of hours, tops.”
“Good. This jerk has been up my ass for days now.”
“I thought you enjoyed that sort of thing,” he said, clicking off before she could think of a comeback.
Minutes later, he reached his destination, a choice Back Bay mansion on a wide tree-lined street. The house was protected by a state-of-the-art security system, but Dmitri always did his homework. He had the route all mapped out.
He spent a few minutes studying it from his car until the pre-determined window of opportunity opened.
Getting in was a little more difficult than he’d anticipated, but nothing Dmitri couldn’t handle. Dressed as a well-heeled jogger, he hopped over the five-foot wrought-iron fence in one smooth leap.
At least there were no dogs to deal with this time around. There had been a whole pack of Rottweilers on a case the previous year before the poisoning.
Not that dogs were ever a significant issue. Even the most highly trained guard dog cowed in the presence of an alpha Were. Nevertheless, dealing with a bunch of frightened animals could complicate his exit plan, so he was grateful there weren’t any around.
Dmitri slipped on his black gloves. The shaded dormer window on the attic level was his chosen point of entry. It was inaccessible from the ground floor, but the branches of a convenient pine tree were just close enough for a short jump.
He timed the thump of his landing in time with the passing of the local garbage truck. As long as someone wasn’t in the attic on the other side of the window, the noise of his landing should be adequately masked. Or at least, he hoped that was the case. It was hard to mask all sound—his muscles were too dense. But he’d tried to move more quietly ever since that thing in Toulouse.
Using one hand, he held onto the jutting window frame, fishing out the spell stone from the gear bag strapped to his belt. He set the small flat stone on the sill. If it was wired into the security system, it would flash with an oily iridescence and heat up. Once it cooled, it meant the system was deactivated.
He’d paid a premium for the stone from Salvador, one of the few reliable witches he knew. They were friends of a sort, but Salvador, like him, didn’t work for free.
Dmitri tested the heat of the stone with his finger. It was cool to the touch, which meant it was either defective or the window wasn’t wired into the security system. He decided to bet on the latter, slipping the stone back into the bag to save it for another job. They were a one-time use charm.
It’s now or never. He held his breath as he gripped the bottom of the sill with two fingers, exhaling slowly when no blaring alarm sounded.
Dmitri did another quick recon of the grounds to make sure he was unobserved before sliding his leg over the sill and slipping inside.
The attic was hot, cluttered, and dusty. He picked his way through the mishmash of old furniture and boxes until he was over the trap-door entrance that led downstairs.
Focusing, he went into stealth mode, ghosting through the second story like a wraith. He was little more than a shadow. There wasn’t even a creak of the hardwood floors to give him away.
According to his intel, the safe was in the master suite behind a genuine Renoir. He’d bribed the team that had installed it for the specs before coming to town. A quick in and out. That was how he rolled. Now he just had to make sure the house was empty. Genevieve Burgess, an old-money grande damme and retired witch, was away cruising the Caribbean on her private yacht.
He’d reached the hall to the master suite before he sensed something was wrong. His hearing didn’t pick up anything. It was silent. No heartbeats, no breathing. But something wasn’t right.
Dmitri paused, his acute sense of smell picking up the trace of copper too late. Outside, the distinctive wail of police sirens began to scream up the drive.
He threw open the door to the master suite. One glance was enough to tell him she was dead, bludgeoned by the blood-stained statuette lying next to her prone body. Behind her on the far wall, a priceless Renoir was tossed carelessly to the floor, the hidden safe behind it open and empty.
“Well, fuck me.”
This is humiliating.
Panting, Dmitri licked the hand the homicide detect
ive cautiously extended toward him.
“Good boy,” the man said, visibly relieved at getting all his fingers back.
It was an escape of last resort—one Dmitri had never had to employ until now. But desperate times called for desperate measures. He was posing…as a pet.
Not many people would believe a massive wolfhound wasn’t a threat, but the obscenely wealthy were known to be eccentric in their choice of animal companions. Some kept lions; others kept monkeys. He was betting his life on the old stereotype working.
Unbeknownst to her friends and family, Genevieve Burgess had just acquired a wolf.
But Dmitri had to sell it, which was why he was reduced to playing the playful pup. Though he’d only had a minute to prepare, he carefully set the stage, fishing out a framed photograph of himself in wolf form, a diamond-studded collar, and a slightly used tennis ball.
He’d set the photo on the desk next to the body, picture facing the door so it would be the first thing the cops saw. When they opened the doors, he was sitting on his haunches next to the body and whining, the diamond collar around his neck shining in the bright sunlight. The gear bag was tied just under the collar, almost invisible in the thickness of his fur.
“Whoa, what the hell?” the first officer through the door had sworn, nearly dropping his gun. Dmitri had whined again, wagging his tail.
A female office joined the man. “Holy shit, that’s a big one,” she’d said.
You have no idea. He’d thrown the pair a lopsided grin.
That worked better than I thought it would.
In minutes, the cops had been checking their pockets for treats. He’d been allowed to nose around the crime scene while they did their assessment. Death by bludgeoning. They were here responding to an anonymous tip—of course.
Eventually, a dog-loving officer took him downstairs for a few surprisingly invigorating games of fetch, until the special detail of animal control arrived.
Dmitri allowed himself to be put in the truck. The minute the dogcatcher walked around to the front seat of his truck, he shifted back to bipedal form. Then he waited until he heard footsteps, timing it to give himself the best chance before rearing back. All out of spells, he punched the lock with his fist, jumping out and darting across the street to slide under the ambulance parked there.
Crawling naked from vehicle to vehicle, Dmitri worked his way down to his SUV down the street.
Pissed off, he yanked a clean shirt and pair of pants from the back of his car. The coroner’s vehicle passed him on its way to the mansion as he pulled away. He had Cass on the phone the minute he got clear of the crime scene.
“I thought you vetted these jobs,” he snapped after swearing a blue streak in her ear.
“What the fuck are you going on about?” she growled. “I laid everything out for you, a total softball of a job—just what you needed to come back after that mess of a last case.”
“Well, your softball was a setup. The old Burgess crone was dead, her safe empty with the cops on the way.”
“What?” Cass swore—longer and far more colorfully than him. “Wait, that doesn’t make sense. That asshole was just on the line calling for an update. Before I could tell him you were on site, he offered a bonus, another ten grand if you could deliver the item tonight. If he was trying to set you up, why would he do that?”
“Most likely because he had no intention of following through,” Dmitri said with a sniff, turning the corner sharply. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m on my way to see the bastard now. Don’t take any more of his calls. Leave this to me.”
Cass sighed. “Whatever you do, don’t get caught.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t.” There was no way that was happening twice in one day.
Chapter Sixteen
Dmitri stalked his prey at his place of business. He watched Lawrence meet with a client through a telephoto lens, searching for a window of opportunity to confront the man alone.
It wouldn’t be difficult. According to the dossier Cass had worked up, Edward Lawrence was a creature of habit. He worked in the financial district, meeting clients for whiskey-laden convos until five sharp, after which his car picked him up to take him home. Then he spent an hour in his office before taking a shower and dressing for dinner at a variety of five-star restaurants or for a formal six-course meal at home.
What a douche.
Dmitri was waiting in Lawrence’s home office at quarter past when his client waltzed in, picking his nose.
“Charming,” Dmitri observed, making sure his voice carried.
“What the hell is this?” Lawrence stopped short, pulling out his cell phone. “Who let you in here?”
“I’m the thief you hired.” Dmitri leaned back in the chair. “Now close the fucking door.”
The man’s expression shifted. “I thought I was supposed to get my item by special courier?” Lawrence closed the door behind him, his eyes lighting with greed as he came toward him. “Give it here. I want to see it.”
Dmitri took a deep sniff, considering the man on the other side of the desk. There was no hint of deception, but all that meant was he hadn’t asked the right question yet.
“It wasn’t there,” he said in a flat tone his friends would have recognized as a warning.
Lawrence sniffed and narrowed his eyes. “I thought you were supposed to be the best. That’s what I paid for. How is it that the best can’t handle a simple break-in?”
“Oh, I handled it. I also handled it when I found old lady Burgess dead on the floor and her safe busted open,” he said, standing and reaching over the desk. He picked up Lawrence by the collar and hauled him bodily over the mahogany surface, letting his feet dangle inches off the floor.
Dmitri put his nose right up into Lawrence’s face. “It was a setup. If I find out you had anything to do with it, I’m going to toss you off the nearest high-rise.”
Lawrence sputtered, kicking his legs, releasing the acrid scent of fear tinged with trace amounts of urine. “I don’t even know your real name. Why would I set you up? I just want the item!”
Dmitri evaluated the claim with a sniff. There was a chance Lawrence was a practiced dissembler. The majority of men in his position were good at lying, but most couldn’t do it well enough to fool his nose.
He released him, letting the man fall to the floor. Incensed, Lawrence scrambled to his feet, dusting himself off and rearranging his clothing in a huff. “I had nothing to do with this other theft or the death of Genevieve Burgess, but I wasn’t the only one who was unhappy she won the bidding war. Doubtless the others involved have been searching for it.”
Dmitri crossed his arms. “So, this item was recently auctioned off and you lost?”
Lawrence nodded. “It’s been in a private collection for years, but was sold to the highest bidder after the original owner was killed. And any of the other participants could have found out she had it and sent another thief after it like I did. She didn’t cover her tracks all that well—not like I did.” He gave Dmitri another sour look. “Well, like I assumed I did. I guess that hacker isn’t worth the money I paid.”
Dmitri ignored that. “I want to know what the item is.” It wasn’t part of his modus operandi to demand that kind of information, but most of his jobs didn’t involve murder.
Lawrence screwed up his nose. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“Neither was having competition. That’s the sort of thing I require my clients to disclose before I accept a job,” Dmitri said, jaw tight.
“If you hadn’t been late, this wouldn’t have happened.” Dmitri could see Lawrence working himself up, but he wasn’t having it.
“My agent already explained the delay was unavoidable. Of course, if I’d known I wasn’t the only person going after the item, I would have made other plans.”
And the old woman wouldn’t be dead.
Lawrence skirted around him, flopping down in the leather chair behind the desk. “I still want the item. I can pa
y more. I’ll throw in another twenty-five grand if you get it back from whoever took it. But it has to be this week. Tomorrow at the latest.”
What was the rush? Dmitri stayed on his feet, towering over Lawrence instead of going around to the other side of the desk to sit in the chair facing him.
“If you expect me to track whatever this item is now, I need to know what the hell it is.”
His client drummed his fingers on the table before fishing out a set of keys from his briefcase. After he opened the small side drawer in the antique desk, he removed a manila envelope.
Dmitri tore it open. Scowling, he held the picture out. “What the hell is this? A crown?”
Lawrence snatched it back, turning it around. “You’re holding it backward. It’s a necklace.”
Dmitri squinted at the photograph. If that was true, it was the ugliest necklace he’d ever seen—more like a rough collar made of poorly cast metal, bronze judging from the color.
“This is what I’ve been after?” Not much surprised Dmitri these days, but this wasn’t what he’d been expecting from the price tag attached to this job. This so-called necklace looked like a rejected Renaissance costume piece.
“It’s a very valuable antique,” Lawrence snapped. “Are you going to finish the job or not?”
Dmitri thought about it. As much as he disliked the man, he’d made a commitment. And his curiosity was piqued. He wanted to know what the hell was so special about this crappy collar.
“I will find it.” Turning his back, he headed to the door.
“Wait.” Scowling, Lawrence got to his feet, running after him. “I recognize you now! You’re that male esco—man who came to my son’s wedding reception. You were his ex’s date.”
Dmitri paused at the doorway. “That’s right. But I wasn’t there on false pretenses. The woman Nina Briggs is mine now. If your son goes anywhere near her or tries to get her back, I’ll break him in half.”
He left, slamming the door behind him.
Chapter Seventeen
