by KH LeMoyne
“Got it.” Marsh disconnected.
Deacon watched Trim head his way and punched in one more number. After a brief conversation, he slid his phone back into his pocket as she joined him.
“Baker Randolph didn’t offer any new insights?”
Trim rolled her jacket collar, then dug her fists into her pockets. “Your lieutenant’s responsibilities cover fourteen thousand square miles surrounding Spokane. Sandpoint is technically over the line of his jurisdiction.”
“His people still keep an ear to the ground for news and trouble,” Deacon said.
“They notified him when they found a car with a shifter scent. I imagine Shanae left it as a clue. Not being able to discuss her situation with anyone ties Randolph’s hands in ferreting out information. He’ll take care of her vehicle until we find her.”
Trim turned her gaze on the people around them. Her narrowed eyes barely disguised the flare of brilliant orange in her pupils. Detectable anxiety pulsed from her toward the humans milling around the rest of the town.
Deacon clamped a hand to her shoulder, slowly siphoning off her frustration. “Control is what you need now.”
“Control, my ass.” Her voice broke, but she didn’t move from his hold. “There’s not a damn thing here. We’re wasting time blending in as if we belong.”
While some shifters craved inclusion in the human world, urban settings overwhelmed with Trim’s psyche. Deacon didn’t mind venturing into more populated areas. He’d hidden that way himself for years, but that was a long time ago and with help from an unexpected companion. Perhaps now he too would shun asphalt, brick, and steel.
“Don’t let lack of progress distract you,” he said. “We didn’t expect to find her immediately.”
Moving away and putting distance between them, she circled the rear of the cherry-colored Prius. “Why is there a dog crate in the back of her car?”
He’d wondered the same thing, given his people didn’t cage animals. There’d been no other physical evidence pointing to what had happened or why she’d abandoned her car here. His scenting revealed a mix of odors: fried corn oil, red licorice, wet fur, and—rawhide?
“Would you try your alpha scan again?” she asked.
He closed his eyes in response, prepared to search one more time. Darkness and brightness blended. Violet swirled and receded. Blues and greens solidified into a map of beings in his alpha consciousness. Mist floated in every direction with watery shimmers engaging and retreating. Sandpoint contained human life. Those beings passed across his internal eye like minnows in a fast-moving stream.
The shifters pledged to him, bound by life and blood, twinkled stronger. Wharton and Trim pulsed, flashed across that connection. Randolph, some four miles away at his ranch home, glowed with equal intensity, but a lieutenant’s pledge tied him with a stronger conduit than other clan members. Once they were bound under his rule, Deacon could recognize all of his clan members—those who were alive—but distance and length of time muddled his results. Members on the fringes like Grant and his sisters would barely have registered.
He sought for Shanae. A telltale twinkle blinked too far away to calculate. He waited, fed more strength into the link, but the distant light ceased. He still detected power. Death hadn’t claimed her. Which meant she was using her own efforts to shield herself, making his search more difficult.
Why do you hide from your alpha, Shanae? Or was she attempting to shield her energy signal from another alpha? His wolf woke and rumbled, intolerant of predators in his territory.
“Her link’s too faint to grasp.” He turned at Trim’s low grumble. “We’re headed in the right direction.” With any luck, the closer they got, the more he could pull on that line and find her.
Deacon turned as Wharton jogged back from the all-night diner at the end of the street.
Wharton brushed by Trim, leaned against the passenger door, and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “I spoke with a trucker who remembers someone matching Shanae’s description getting into a local’s truck headed for Libby. Then again, he thought maybe it was headed to Spokane. The waitress made him stop talking with the worst evil eye I’ve seen since my fifth-grade teacher.” He shook his head and cringed. “Couldn’t get more out of them. She had a table to take care of, and he left.”
Trim leaned against the car as well, more relaxed as Wharton rubbed her shoulder. She halfheartedly prodded him with her elbow. “You still have a smirk on your face. So what else?”
“Another waitress remembered someone like Shanae taking an order to go.”
“That’s memorable?” Deacon asked as he glanced toward the clock over the front door of the impound office.
“Shanae insisted the order be redone because it was overcooked. She wanted the eggs runny and the steaks rare.” He smiled. “Some things never change with Shanae. It was a huge order, and the cook put up a fuss. People noticed.”
“So we’ll assume she was shifting frequently and needing fuel,” Trim said. “Why?”
“Given the timeline for her catching a ride with the trucker, Shanae would have to have driven here nonstop. Hardly seems like she could take the time to shift.” Wharton shook his head. “What I don’t get is why she didn’t head cross-country as her wolf in the first place instead of this zigzag path through every human city.”
Deacon frowned. “She has a reason. We don’t train our young to indulge in haphazard behavior.”
“The vehicle makes more sense if she was traveling with a human. And what’s with the strange scent in this car? Puppy?” Wharton glanced at him.
“Doesn’t make sense to me either. The scent is more like wolf pup.” Deacon scrubbed his face with his palm. “The smell is all over the vehicle. She wouldn’t have picked up a wild dog, much less brought one with her.”
Wharton sniffed around the car door again. “Maybe she’s bringing it to mask her scent?”
Trim abruptly stood up and walked away. “From us?”
Deacon stared at the mountains and the direction of the pull from Shanae’s life source. “No.”
“Another shifter.” Trim’s brittle tone signified her agreement.
“Can’t rule out that she’s evading one or several,” Deacon agreed. “You’re right. We need to move faster.”
“I’ll admit I want to jump to the end of this search and find her, but if she’s being stalked, we should give this town one more sweep and make sure we don’t get blindsided.” Trim tapped her toe on the pavement. “The woman at the dress shop, the one at the hairdresser, and the checker at the grocery store all remember someone like her asking directions—all to different locations.”
“Twisted answers, conflicting paths.” Wharton rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes at Deacon. “You’d think Shanae was competing in one of your training exercises.”
Trim nodded. “At least she’s keeping a level head.”
Deacon swept a glance toward the few clouds in the sky. “We’ve got one more hour until sundown. Randolph’s flying us to Sheep Mountain at first light.”
“I can run there faster,” Trim protested. “Does he at least have updated equipment for us to search for her while we’re up there?”
“It’s an Emergency Medical Services helicopter—so perhaps. It’s scheduled for a routine check and training op. It could take us to about ten thousand feet, where we’ll be visible to others following her. I want them to know we’re in the area, but I don’t want us using any electronic devices that leave signatures. Our visibility will have to suffice.”
Lips pursed, she squinted at the sky. “We flush them out and use ourselves as decoys—I like that. I’m ready for a good fight.”
5
Kootenai National Forest
Ranger Station
“Beautiful time of the year for the trails, but snow can be unpredictable as we head into late fall. If one of your party is already out there, you better meet with her and haul out.” Ranger Trahan leveled Lena a look that indic
ated he didn’t quite buy her story about a planned hookup in the park. He’d been civil. Asked all the right questions. Even quizzed her on her defense options. She’d produced her gun, her permit to carry, and her licenses.
He stacked the last items for his preliminary check and pushed a set of forms toward her. “Have you ever been confronted by a large animal? I’m talking grizzly, not fox here, ma’am. We have bears. Big bears that follow hikers and campers for their food.”
“I’m proficient with all my weapons.” She lifted a hand as his brow rose. “I comply with all regulations regarding food containers and storage. I prefer not to deal with a bear, with or without a weapon.”
The ranger glanced at Matthew, but nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. You should know that the dates for wolf hunting just opened. Not everyone’s mild mannered about pursuing game or paying attention where the lines for private property ends and parkland begins.”
She didn’t respond as the door behind her opened and more people crowded into the cramped ranger station.
A surge of heat blasted across her skin that she was fairly certain had nothing to do with the building’s heating system. On instinct, she remained facing forward, analyzing the visitors from their reflections in the glass of a picture mounted behind the ranger’s head. Oh, please no.
Trahan lifted a hand from his spot in the doorway of the adjoining room. “Be right with you, Deacon. I have to fax some paperwork.”
A tingle tripped along Lena’s spine and swirled around to her belly. Gaze fixed on the glass, she estimated the height and build of each person, mentally gauging their threat levels. It wasn’t her normal reaction to strangers, but her skin didn’t normally prickle either.
The ranger exhibited no tension, no concern. In fact, his demeanor had lightened.
Then one of the strangers moved beside her.
Unable to wait any longer, she glanced over. A flicker of black, white, and tan fur flashed quickly in her vision and then disappeared. The brief glimpse of golden eyes, a wolf’s intense stare, stole her breath and flooded her with tempting sensual heat. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.
Not new to visions or wolves, she struggled to make sense of her body’s reactions. She’d never responded sexually toward other people who hid an animal presence beneath their human façade. Emotional thrills, yes. Awe, certainly. But this struck her as—too primal to classify.
An uncomfortable silence descended as the copy machine whirred from the next room.
Not bothering to hide her interest, Lena openly examined the man beside her. His face wasn’t anything she’d call handsome, not in a pretty way. Yet his sharp angles complemented his strong jaw in a way that many women admired in their rough-hewn heroes. Hollywood he wasn’t, but sex appeal wrapped around him like a dangerous promise and tugged at her with surprising familiarity. Tousled and wildly streaked, his brindle hair edged the top of his jersey shirt. Short silver sideburns framed his face.
Her body tingled again, her breasts suddenly too sensitive in the confines of her bra.
He withstood her scrutiny for several seconds. Then his sharp eyes shuttered as he ran a blatant review of her from head to foot with a fierce, hungry expression. The brief hesitation as he caught the slight bulge of her knife against her thigh changed his expression from laser focus to humor. A slight twitch of his lip split a faint scar running down one side of his face. Silent mockery whisked across his features and was just as quickly gone.
The ranger gestured from around the doorway of the other room toward the man beside her. “This is Deacon Black. He’s one of our best SAR jumpers.”
Search and Rescue. Yes, the man’s bearing exuded confidence with a straight posture and a readiness she recognized from training with the best. He carried himself on the balls of his feet, a false loose-limbed ease camouflaging speed and alertness—seemingly unaffected by those around him. Shoulders that strained beneath his shirt hinted at lean, corded muscles created by hard work not hours in a gym. He topped her height by a good several inches, his presence casting a shadow over everyone in the room.
Lena couldn’t imagine a better person for dangerous rescues.
Deacon reached for her hand. “Glad to meet you, Miss…”
Ah, the test. Her heart leapt. Memories of the past collided as her throat constricted. Touch usually produced tiny rhythmic tremors, each human/animal shifter different. A lighthearted attempt on their part for a reaction from her, or maybe a way they imprinted themselves on her. She never knew why or asked, but they granted her immediate trust.
She was careful to hide her thrill with the trial. Her former teammates approved of her silence and endurance. A reason she never broached a conversation about the potential she sensed riding beneath their façade. As if by silent agreement, they were fine with her knowing, but speaking out was a different issue.
Deacon’s hand clasped hers. She braced for the vibration and then gasped at the quick heat, smooth hum, and resounding swell of pleasure that uncurled from her belly and spread to more intimate areas. What should have been casual contact cascaded in energy and building heat between them. He had felt it as well. His nostrils flared, the light caramel of his eyes turning a warm amber.
A surprise for both of them. Letting loose her breath, Lena held back a laugh. Nice not to be the only one left out of the secrets at the party for once.
Smiling, Ranger Trahan returned her paperwork. “I didn’t realize you were one of us, ma’am. Deacon, this is Ranger Lena Juarez.”
The warm eyes seducing her suddenly went arctic cold and pitch-black, the hand embracing hers now rigid. The pleasant vibrations ceased. Or maybe a better classification for the loss beneath her skin was emptiness.
Uncertain of the cause for such a rapid and visceral change, she tugged at her hand. Blinking, Deacon seemed reluctant to let her go. Sharp, piercing heat rose from her contact with him, proceeding up her arm. Desperate to end the strange pain invading her body and numbing her muscles, she spoke. “Actually, I left the park service several years ago.”
“Any particular reason?” Deacon asked, still holding her hand hostage. His question sounded more like interrogation.
Then his assessment changed from hungry to predatory. She could have sworn he growled. She lifted her chin, stanching the quick wave of emotions that the past always sparked. “It was time to move on.”
Matthew stuck his hand over her shoulder, breaking both the contact and the moment. “I’m Matthew Philmont.”
“Really,” the woman behind Deacon said. “Why am I not—”
“Later, Trim.” Deacon’s clipped response implied a command, and both of his people stepped back several paces.
Deacon’s predatory gaze didn’t diminish as he scrutinized Matthew and released Lena for Matthew’s hand.
Lena moved slightly, blocking Deacon’s view of Matthew. As he focused on her again, his eyes narrowed. It took everything in her not to back up and give away her personal space.
Don’t even think about using that dominant wolf influence on me. Not happening. She had a job to do. A woman and child to find. These people were nothing to her.
Forcing herself to be still and refusing the urge to fan away the body heat sweeping over her again, she glanced at the others. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Deacon inhale deeply again. Whatever reassessment occurred, his frozen withdrawal dissipated in favor of curiosity.
Determined to regain an equal footing, Lena glanced around him. “Are these your team members?”
Deacon’s lids lowered as he nodded toward the lanky young man with bleach-blond hair leaning against the ranger’s desk, and the tall, sleek-muscled redhead woman beside him. “Wharton and Trim.”
“I’ll log you in,” Trahan said as he waved a hand in hello to the other newcomers and then headed into the back room with Lena’s bogus itinerary details.
She scrutinized the others. Potentially they were more of the professional SAR team, but they didn’t stri
ke her as the adrenaline junkies attracted to those jobs. Both bore the sun-kissed tans of outdoors lovers. Their light clothing spoke of an ease in colder climates and hid nothing of their fit physiques. From the alertness in their eyes—she would have classified them as part of a military unit. Unlike her, they carried no obvious weapons. Not that they needed them, as both bore flashing images of wolves—one silver gray and the other a vibrant red. “Are you on a search today?”
Deacon assessed her for a long moment, his gaze piercing her with heat as if he drilled for her secrets. She fought the urge to move. “We’re here for a personal matter, not a mission, Ms. Juarez.”
“So you’re not heading deep into the mountains?” She glanced pointedly at his jacket and then at his team. “Traveling a little light.”
“Your business in the parks?” he pressed instead.
“Meeting a friend. Testing some new equipment for tracking wildlife,” she said before Matthew could offer. “Wide-open spaces offer the best test locations for fine-tuning issues.”
Not a complete fib.
“Protocols like chasing family members, Philmont?” Trim edged forward and glared at Matthew.
“What?” Matthew moved restlessly behind her.
Lena blocked his path. If these people knew Matthew, then Shanae’s disappearance had taken a bad twist. She didn’t want a confrontation, but at least Trahan was out of hearing distance. “If you know something about Shanae Philmont, I insist you disclose it now.”
“Or what, Ms. Juarez?” Deacon asked.
“Or I bring in the authorities who referred me to Matthew’s case.”
Deacon gazed over his shoulder for a second. Trim averted her glare at the unspoken command. Effective. Despite his control of his team, these three complicated Lena’s search.
“Shanae Payne is family,” Deacon said.
