The Wolf Princess: The Wolf PrincessOne Eye Open (The Pack)

by Karen Whiddon

  That made no sense. “I thought you wanted to be seen with me.”

  “No need.” He shrugged. “Alex knows you’re with me.”

  “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

  He dropped into the chair and he pulled on his boots. “In my line of work, you have to.”

  She looked at his feet. “What’s with the cowboy boots?”

  Running one hand lovingly over the ridged leather, he sighed. “They were a Christmas gift from my wife. I sold the house, the furniture, everything. They’re all I have left of her.”

  Again she felt his sadness. “You must have loved her very much.”

  Though Carson didn’t answer, he didn’t have to. Brenna found herself wondering what it would be like to be loved like that.

  She changed the subject. “What about the midnight deadline?”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you think Alex will do anything?”

  His quick flash of a smile reminded her inexplicably of her brother. “I hope so.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t think he will. Not with me here.”

  Jaw clenched, he raked his hand through his hair, reminding her of how surprisingly thick and silky it had felt when she’d touched it. Her mouth went dry. Swallowing hard, she lifted her chin.

  “Do you think we need to change motels?”

  He frowned. “No. Whoever threw the brick said to meet him here. As long as we watch our backs, we should be safe.”

  She noticed he no longer seemed to believe Alex had written the message on the brick. “So you don’t think it’s a trap?”

  “If it is, I’m ready.” Though he sounded perfectly reasonable, she detected a hint of savage anger behind his voice.

  He stood, pulling on his DEA jacket from force of habit; then, apparently having second thoughts, he yanked it off and tossed it on the bed.

  “No sense in being more of a target than I have to be,” he said.

  She smiled. “I agree.”

  His expression remained deadly serious. “Brenna, I’m not joking about the danger. These people mean business. If this is a trap, we’ve got to be exceptionally careful. If we’re lucky, we might be able to grab one of their guys and use him for leverage.”

  “That’s your strategy?”

  “I haven’t come up with much of a plan yet, other than meeting with Alex.”

  Brenna reached for her coat. “It’s just about dark,” she said. “Let’s go eat. We’ll bring something back for Phelan.”

  At the sound of his name, the puppy came running. He jumped first on Carson, then, when Carson ignored him, ran to Brenna. Lavishing kisses on Phelan’s small head, Brenna shook her head at Carson.

  “He likes you, you know.”

  “Whatever.” His surly tone revealed his thoughts on that subject. “What do you want to eat?”

  “I don’t care,” she said. “As long as it’s red meat.”

  He raised a brow. “Red meat?”

  She nodded, still scratching Phelan’s neck.

  Just as he picked up his jacket, they heard the sound of tires squealing, then the sickening crunch of metal hitting metal.

  “Wait here,” Carson ordered.

  Hand already on the knob, Brenna yanked open the door first. “Like hell I will.”

  They rushed outside shoulder to shoulder, just in time to see the brake lights of a battered El Camino exit the parking lot and speed away.

  Carson kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot. “My Tahoe.”

  Together, they walked toward the vehicle. The entire passenger side was crumpled. That, in addition to the shattered back windshield, made the vehicle look ready for a junkyard.

  “You’d better call a tow truck,” Brenna said, speaking her thoughts out loud.

  Running his hand over the black metal, Carson shook his head. “It’s drivable.” His tone left no room for argument. “Not pretty, but I bet it’ll still run.”

  The door to the room next to theirs opened, and a man with a shock of curly red hair peered out. After a quick look, he ducked back inside and closed the door behind him with a firm thunk.

  “Carson?” One minute he’d been standing beside her, the next he’d disappeared on the other side of the Tahoe.

  “He’s gone,” she said. “Didn’t even seem curious.”

  Carson came around the front of the vehicle. “He’s a federal agent. He doesn’t want to get involved.”

  Hands on her hips, Brenna glared at him. She didn’t need to ask how he knew. “A federal agent? So that’s why you didn’t want to be seen. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He lifted a brow. “No reason.”

  His churlish growl didn’t faze her. “Are they here because of the biker meeting your informant mentioned?”

  “Probably. I don’t know. I’m out of the loop. I’m on medical leave.” He crossed to the undamaged driver’s side. He held the door open for her. “Come on.”

  She went around and climbed up in front of him. He didn’t offer to assist her, for which she was oddly grateful. She wasn’t quite sure how she would feel about having his hands on her body so soon after that scorching kiss. Clambering over the console felt ungraceful, but she made short work of it, settling in her seat with an oomph.

  He got in and started the engine, put the transmission in Reverse and backed from their parking spot. Other than a few rattles, clunks and clangs, the Tahoe appeared to be in sound mechanical condition.

  Carson, on the other hand, appeared about as talkative as a rock.

  “Do you think this was an accident?”

  Carson didn’t even look at her. “Get real.”

  “Another warning?”

  “Maybe.”

  As they drove down Main Street in search of an open restaurant, Brenna decided to ask the question that had been nagging at her ever since she’d found that crumpled paper in his glove box. “Why are you on medical leave, anyway?”

  His hands clenched on the wheel.

  “Hey.” She kept her voice soft. “You owe me at least that much.”

  A brief shadow came and went on his face. “Why? Afraid you might be traveling with a crazy person?”

  She watched him, waiting.

  “Fine. You want to know? They said I was losing it.” Though his tone was fierce, Brenna detected bewildered hurt underneath. He made a sound of disgust. “They felt I was too intense, too focused on this investigation. That I was in danger of turning into some kind of vigilante.” He shot her a grim smile. “And you know what? They were right.”

  From the jumble of her conflicting emotions, Brenna searched for a response. Finding none, she contented herself with watching out the window.

  On the outskirts of town, a neon sign indicated that Jean’s Coffee Shop was open. They turned into the parking lot.

  “Vigilante,” she repeated, rolling the word around in her mouth, trying to get a sense of it. “Because you want to find the man who killed your family?”

  If he noticed she didn’t say Alex, he gave no sign.

  “Yep.” Again the grim smile. “Imagine that.”

  “You know, I think the killer wants you here.”

  Carson gave her a startled look. “Why do you say that?”

  “If you were a killer, wouldn’t you want to finish the job?” She waited for him to make the connection.

  Which he did. “But Alex wants me gone.”

  She wished she could ring a bell. Instead she settled for a small smile. “Bingo.”

  “Ergo Alex can’t be the killer?” His face had gone grim again, his eyes dark and hard.

  “Right.” She nodded, refusing to let his obvious disbelief deflate her.

  “Or maybe he regrets what he did.”

  Trust Carson to come up with his own kind of logic.

  “You’re wrong. I have a strong feeling about this. I get those sometimes.”

  With a savage flick of his wrist, he killed the engine. “Woman’s intuit
ion?” His tone made the words sound like a curse.

  Determined to keep her smile from slipping, she nodded. “Sort of. More like animal instinct.”

  “Oh, yeah? Then use your sixth sense and stay alert while we grab dinner. My informant’s meeting us here, and you never know who might be watching us.”

  Stay alert. He was right, though she doubted whoever threatened them would make a move in a public place. Still, she scanned the exterior of the small restaurant. Several cars and pickup trucks were parked outside, some snow-covered except for the windshields. The front sidewalk had been recently shoveled. Through the big front window, she could see that several others had chosen to eat their evening meal in the homey coffee shop.

  “It looks okay,” she told Carson.

  He gave her an odd look. “If the locals eat here, the food is bound to be good.”

  “I meant safe.”

  He made a rude sound. “I don’t think anywhere in this town is safe for us.”

  Together they walked to the door. The oddest wish struck her—she wanted to slip her hand in his. A quick glance at Carson’s hard profile told her how foolish such an action would be.

  A bell over the door jingled as they went inside.

  “Sit anywhere.” A cheerful woman with short brown hair waved her pad at them. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

  Aside from a few curious glances, none of the other diners paid them any mind. Brenna studied them out of the corner of her eye. Most looked like retirees or farmers. None of them remotely resembled members of a biker gang. Nor did any appear to be government agents, though she really had no idea what a federal agent should look like.

  She glanced at Carson. Openly casing the room, he hid his thoughts behind an implacable facade, no emotion showing on his masculine face. He hadn’t worn a jacket, only his gray, nondescript sweatshirt, which she had to admit he filled out very well. With his broad shoulders and muscular arms, he looked dangerous, yet he moved with an easy grace that spoke of authority, determination and confidence. She wondered how he’d made it undercover, because a man like Carson would attract attention wherever he went.

  They’d just settled into a booth when the waitress bustled over.

  “Do you want coffee?” She set down two filled water glasses, then turned over their two cups and poured from a pot she carried with her. After sliding their steaming cups in front of them, she plunked down a couple of laminated menus and then a small pitcher of cream.

  “Look these over and yell when you’re ready.”

  Brenna glanced at the menu for steak but found only a chopped-meat version.

  “The burger will be better,” Carson said.

  Startled, Brenna smiled. “How do you know?”

  He jerked his head. “Look around.”

  Most of the other diners had hamburgers.

  “Specialty of the house. But I’m partial to liver and onions myself.”

  One of her favorites. “Since there’s no T-bone—” Brenna leaned forward “—I guess that’ll have to do.” She glanced over her shoulder. The waitress had vanished.

  Looking at Carson leaning back in the booth, Brenna asked the question that had been bothering her. “Why do you suppose Alex hasn’t come to talk to me himself?”

  Disbelief shone in his eyes. “Come on. First off, I’m with you. He knows I want him. Then there’re the Feds. Mix in bikers and drugs. It’s too dangerous for him to show his face.”

  She sat back. “Alex knows I can take care of myself.”

  “You seem to have lived a pretty sheltered life.” His expression doubtful, Carson took a long drink of water.

  “Don’t equate sheltered with weak,” she warned. “I might be a librarian, but I work out four times a week. And as I said, I have a brown belt in jujitsu.”

  “Brown?” His lips twitched. “Why not black?”

  “I’m working toward that. Give me another year,” she said. Then, because she knew unless he saw her in action he would never believe her anyway, she changed the subject. “Explain what you said about not being able to find Lyssa. How can that be possible?”

  “I don’t know. I used every resource I had, even the FBI database. She’d vanished. Worse, I couldn’t find any trace of her. I didn’t have fingerprints to run. She must have used a fake name or something. It was like she’d never existed.”

  Dead? Or had someone erased her records?

  Disturbed, Brenna mulled over the possibility. She would ask Alex about it when she saw him. That and numerous other things.

  “She was mixed up in it somehow,” Carson continued. “Though I haven’t been able to figure out exactly how.”

  “Was she a member of Hades’ Claws?”

  “Are you folks ready to order?” Smiling expectantly, the waitress appeared at their table. They both ordered the liver and onions. The waitress wrinkled her nose but wrote the order dutifully on her pad.

  Taking another drink of water, Brenna waited until she was out of earshot before continuing. “Do you think this Lyssa set my brother up?”

  “How?”

  Disappointed, Brenna crossed her arms. “I don’t know. You’re the DEA guy. You tell me.”

  Carson shook his head, making a quick cutting motion with his hand. A young man dressed in a heavy down parka and knit cap slid in beside him. His long, dirty-blond hair hung loose around his shoulders.

  “Hey.” He cut his gaze toward Brenna. “You must be the girlfriend. Carson told me you’d be with him tonight.”

  She stiffened. Carson held up his finger, warning her silently to keep quiet.

  “I got a message for you, man.” Turning back toward Carson, the man watched with an expectant look on his bony face. “Along with some info. Freakin’ great stuff.”

  Carson fished in his pocket, removing a crinkled bill and passing it over. “This better be good, Jack,” he warned. “We’ve already gotten a couple of conflicting messages today.”

  So this was the informant. Carefully keeping her expression bland, Brenna pretended to be intensely interested in the chipped Formica tabletop.

  “Busy day, huh?” Jack smiled, showing crooked teeth as he stuffed the money in his pocket. He let his gaze travel slowly over Brenna, making her skin crawl. “Hope everyone is all right. You don’t wanna mess with some of these people. ’Specially the dude sending those messages.”

  Did he know who that was? Brenna lifted her gaze from the table. Tempted to stare him down, to intimidate him into telling her if he’d seen Alex, she leaned forward.

  “Cut the crap.” Impatience sounded in Carson’s tone. “If you have something for me, let me have it.”

  With another lecherous look at Brenna, Jack leaned over and whispered in Carson’s ear. Despite her excellent hearing, Brenna could not make out the words.

  The waitress, carrying a heavy tray, headed for their table. Jack pushed himself up.

  “Wait.” Carson grabbed his arm. “Here.” He pushed another crumpled bill into the other man’s hand. “Buy yourself something to eat.”

  Jack smiled. “Thanks, man.” Head down, he strode toward the door without a backward glance.

  “Well?” Brenna asked, unable to contain her curiosity another second. “What did he—”

  “Here you go.” Setting their meals down in front of them with a thud, their waitress also refilled their water glasses. She took an inordinately long time to do it, so much so that Brenna opened her mouth, ready to ask her to leave.

  “Thank you.” Carson beat her to it. With a stiff nod, the woman bustled off.

  “She’s not happy,” Carson said. “I wonder if our visitor had something to do with that.”

  “Who cares? So what did Jack have to say? Was his info any good?”

  With a slow smile, Carson nodded. “Oh, it was good, all right. Though I suspected Alex might be here, Jack confirmed it. He told me how to find your brother.”

  “What?” Food forgotten, she bounded to her feet. Her stress brought o
n the need to change. Fighting that, she practically snarled her next words. “Come on, what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

  With his mouth full, he jerked his thumb in the direction of her seat. Chewing, then swallowing, he shook his head. “Calm down and don’t get crazy. Eat first. You need your strength.”

  “What?”

  “We’re not going out there tonight. It’s not safe. We’ve got to plan.”

  She dropped back into her chair. “I don’t understand. He could be gone. He could—”

  “Brenna.”

  She closed her mouth, trying not to inhale the tantalizing aromas of liver and fried onions.

  “Eat. He’s not going anywhere.”

  Instead of complying, she glared at him. “How do you do that?”

  “How do I do what?”

  “Make me feel like a little kid who’s just been chastised?”

  Lifting a big piece of liver to his mouth, he grinned, then ate. Chewing with gusto, he swallowed before popping some fried onions in his mouth.

  “We’ve got to do this right. Rushing in on them in an unplanned, impulsive action could get us killed. Now eat.”

  Her stomach growled. He was right. Both about the need to plan and the food. She was hungry, and she needed her strength. She’d finished two-thirds of her meal before she tried again.

  “So tell me—” she leaned back and blotted her mouth with the paper napkin “—why do you feel there’s no hurry? How do you know Alex won’t leave?”

  “Though it was helpful to get confirmation, Jack didn’t tell me much that I didn’t already know. He gave me directions to their hideout, Nemo’s place in the woods. The Hell Hole, they call it.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. “Thursday, the date of the big meeting—that I already knew.”

  “If you know how to get there, let’s go.”

  “No.” His flat stare told her that he wouldn’t back down. “Too dangerous. No one’s going anywhere, at least not tonight. After we eat, there’s another place I want to check out—a bar where they all hang.”

  “Do you think Alex will be there?”

  He shrugged. “Who knows? It won’t hurt to check it out, and any public place will be a hell of a lot safer than the hideout. If Alex isn’t there, I want someone to tell him I am. And you.” He tacked on the last as an afterthought.