by J. D. Tyler
Jogging around to the front, she pushed inside and spotted Dean sitting in a booth near the back. He waved and she went to meet him, returning his quick hug before sliding into the seat opposite his.
Mustering a smile, she crossed her arms on the table. “You look good, my friend.” He always did. Dean was in his mid-thirties, with honey blond hair, big brown eyes, and a killer smile. The whole package stopped traffic. It was a shame she felt nothing more than mild attraction for the man, and vice versa, because it had been way too long since she’d had any sort of an intimate relationship.
“Back atcha.” Sitting back, he eyed her in speculation. “I already heard through the grapevine about the shooting. How are you holding up?”
“Jeez, that was fast,” she muttered. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
“No.”
He patted her hand, his gaze softening. “That’s normal. You’ll be all right, trust me. Especially after I give you something else to occupy your mind.” Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a legal-sized white envelope and slid it across the table.
Swallowing hard, she eyed it. “My tickets?”
The agent glanced around, but there was no one nearby to listen. Still, he spoke in a low voice. “Read that, memorize it, then destroy it.”
Turning the envelope over she glanced at her friend. “What’s inside?”
“Directions to a place that doesn’t officially exist.” He paused. “A compound in Wyoming, situated deep in the Shoshone National Forest. Top secret, black ops.”
“Unless you know the right people to squeeze.”
A corner of his mouth lifted. “Exactly.”
Taking a deep breath, she asked the one question burning in her heart. “Is my brother alive?”
“I don’t know,” he said, tapping the envelope. “But those are the ones who will.”
So close, but still no answer. Yet. She fought back the tears that would do neither herself nor Micah any good. “You risked everything to get this information for me. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“By not getting yourself killed.” He wasn’t joking.
“I’ll put that on the list right after finishing with IA, taking personal leave, packing, and hitting the road.”
“Call me when you leave town, and keep in touch.”
“I will,” she promised.
“You hungry? I’m buying.”
To Rowan’s surprise, her stomach snarled. Funny how a sliver of hope could revive a person’s appetite. “I could eat, but it’s on me. And if this lead takes me to the truth about what happened to Micah, there’s a steak dinner in it for you when I return. It’s the least I can do.”
“Only if you bring Micah with you,” he said softly.
Damn it, she would not cry.
“It’s a deal.”
Understandably, their meal was quite a bit more subdued than usual. Rowan was far too preoccupied to make a good companion, but that was the beauty of true friendship; neither of them had to say a word to be comfortable. They had each other’s backs.
While they ate, her thoughts drifted to this mysterious compound and what kind of operation she would find. Not to mention the reception she’d receive, especially when they learned of her mission.
But she wouldn’t leave there without finding out, once and for all, what had happened to her brother. She and Micah had always shared a mental connection that most people would scoff at, and certainly wouldn’t understand. They weren’t twins, but she felt strongly that she would know in her heart if and when he died. He was alive. Had to be.
No, this wasn’t the end at all, but just the beginning. She’d find her brother if it was the last thing she ever did.
And then she’d make reservations for three at the finest restaurant in L.A.
With every mile that took her closer to her destination, Rowan’s anxiety grew by leaps and bounds. The gorgeous backdrop of the Shoshone National Forest, resplendent in full summer greenery, hardly registered as she steered her truck up the winding road.
Gripping the wheel, she eyed the left-hand side of the road, looking for the obscure turn outlined in the directions she’d memorized and then burned three weeks ago. Three miles later she found it. Or hoped she had.
Turning, she braked in front of a metal gate. It was simple, the kind any landowner might use, along with the black and white NO TRESPASSING sign nailed to a post next to the chain and padlock. Neither posed a deterrent to her bolt cutters or her determination.
Leaving the truck running, she grabbed the cutters and made short work of the chain, then unwrapped it, letting it hang from the gate. In for a penny. If she was in the right place, she’d soon have a lot more to worry about than a measly charge of trespassing on government property.
After swinging the gate open enough to drive the vehicle through, she returned to the truck and did just that. Then she got out and closed the gate again, wrapping the chain around it so that, hopefully, nothing would appear out of the ordinary to a casual passerby. So far, so good. She continued on her way.
A couple of miles deeper into the forest, the second barrier was an unpleasant surprise, and a formidable obstacle. She could have screamed in frustration.
The chain-link fence was about ten feet tall and topped with razor wire. This gate was much more sophisticated, at least two feet taller than the fence on either side, and automated, with a pass code box on the driver’s side. On top of the security box, a camera lens stared her in the face like an all-knowing eye.
“Shit.”
She didn’t have the code. And after several minutes of punching a green CALL button and then waiting, it became evident that no one planned to answer her summons. The operatives inside were probably having a good laugh. Maybe they thought she’d get bored and go on her merry way.
They thought wrong.
Calmly, she reached for her purse, never happier that the captain had returned her weapon. Extracting the Glock from within and squinting, she pointed the gun at the camera lens. “Knock-knock, assholes.”
And fired, sending a shower of glass and metal raining all over the drive.
That ought to get their fucking attention. Best to meet them head-on. Stepping away from the truck, she tucked the gun into the waistband of her jeans and walked over to inspect the gate. State-of-the-art stuff, a real fortress. What was this place and how was Micah involved? She wasn’t leaving until they enlightened her.
A shuffle sounded to her left. And low growling.
Turning, she cursed softly, eyes widening. Guard dogs? Several of them, on her side of the fence, fanning out to surround her, heads down, ears flat, fangs bared. Moving almost silently through the sun-dappled forest.
But no, these weren’t dogs. They were…
Wolves! And one really large black panther?
She blinked rapidly as they approached and backed slowly toward her truck, thinking she must be seeing things. Wolves were now common in the Shoshone, thanks to wildlife rescue efforts. But she’d heard that wolves went out of their way to avoid humans. Right? Just not these wolves.
And what about the big cat? Black panthers didn’t even technically exist!
Tell that to this one.
“Stay,” she called, holding out a shaking hand. “Nice doggies. I’m not going to hurt you.”
A loud snarl came from behind her, and a glance nearly stopped her heart. One wolf had moved behind her, blocking her escape to the truck. She was completely surrounded. Her pulse beat a terrified tattoo in her throat as she gripped the butt of her gun, easing the weapon from the waist of her jeans.
Just then, the images of three of the wolves and the cat began to shimmer. Sort of like heat waves on hot pavement. Their bodies began to re-form, the fur retracting. Canine and feline limbs becoming arms and legs. What the shit? Staring, she told herself she was not seeing a group of sexy, naked men standing among the rest of the wolves and wearing a range of emotions on their faces, from amusement to gri
m resignation.
A dark-haired god of a man—wolf, whatever—strolled forward. “I’m Nick Westfall, commander of the Alpha Pack team. And you’re in a shitload of trouble, Miss Chase.”
How did he know her name? Rowan couldn’t catch her breath to reply, even if she could’ve formed a response. Her vision blurred and the tough woman raised in an East L.A. barrio did something she’d never done in her life. Not even when she’d been informed of Micah’s “death.”
She fainted dead away.
Two
Rowan came awake with a start and blinked at her surroundings in confusion. Immediately her brain cataloged the soft, comfortable bed she was lying in, and the modestly furnished bedroom. For a few moments she struggled to make sense of where she was and why—and then the memory returned.
As she sat up, a slight pain lanced the back of her head and she winced, probing the area with her fingers. Under her hair at the back of her skull lurked a lump that throbbed when she pressed a little too hard, but it wasn’t too bad. Anyhow, that seemed to be the least of her worries.
She’d come to this place—if she was indeed inside the compound—seeking answers about Micah and had seen… what, exactly? Then she’d fainted like a rookie observing her first autopsy. With her gun in hand.
Her gun that was now missing.
Looking to the nightstand, she reached out and opened the drawer. Empty, except for a sheet of paper typed with a list of what appeared to be phone extensions. Sliding the drawer shut, she took another survey of the room. Her purse rested on the top of the otherwise bare dresser. The black duffel bag she’d brought, stuffed with several changes of clothes and underwear, sat on the floor in front of it. She doubted very much that she’d find her weapon stashed in either one.
Pushing herself up from the bed, she wobbled over to investigate. The rest of her belongings seemed to be intact, but as expected, the gun was missing. That they’d taken it was no surprise, but being without protection was unsettling. Damn it, she felt naked without it.
Naked. Oh, God. She’d seen several wolves and a panther become hot men not wearing a stitch. Hadn’t she? Or maybe everything she’d been through in the last few months had finally sent her over the edge. Bye-bye sanity, hello blissful insanity. Maybe she’d been institutionalized and this was her jail cell, disguised as a normal room. Any minute a nurse would be by with medication that would send her back to the land of happiness and light.
“Oh, good, you’re awake!”
Turning, Rowan blinked at the attractive woman standing in the bedroom doorway wearing a white doctor’s coat over a green blouse and black pants. “Shit, I did go crazy,” she murmured.
“Excuse me?”
She waved a hand at the woman’s attire. “Which are you, my nurse or my psychiatrist? Because I’m pretty sure I’ve suffered a break from reality and you’re my keeper.”
The brunette laughed good-naturedly, and pushed a lock of long, curly hair from her face, tucking it behind one ear. “I’m Dr. Mackenzie Grant, but no, I’m not your doctor, warden, or anything else. I’m just here to make sure you’re all right. You took a nasty bump to your head when you passed out.”
“Right. When I checked out because I saw… or thought I saw…” Frowning, she trailed off.
The doctor cleared her throat. “Yes, well. Nick will want to talk with you about that, I’m sure.”
“Nick Westfall,” she recalled. “Your commander.”
“Not my commander, exactly, but yes. He’s the head honcho around here. He leads the Alpha Pack team.”
“Who are wolves and cats in disguise.”
The other woman’s gaze was sympathetic. “I’m sorry, I really can’t talk about—”
Rowan gave a laugh that was half-hysterical, dripping with sarcasm. “Of course not.”
“Nick will tell you everything he feels you need to know, but after that we can talk all you want.”
The doc was loyal, at least. She could respect that. “When does he want to see me?”
“As soon as you’re feeling up to it. I can take you to his office now if you’d like, Miss Chase.”
“Call me Rowan. Wait, how did you know my name?” She cast a suspicious look at her purse. Had these people gone through her things?
“Nick told us.”
That’s right—Westfall had called her by name the moment they met. “And how did he know? Did someone alert him that I was on my way?” Rowan frowned. Dean wouldn’t have betrayed her, she was certain. “Never mind. I’m sure that’s another one of those things he’ll have to tell me. And believe me, Dr. Grant, he’d better.”
“Mackenzie or Mac is fine,” the woman said amiably, ignoring Rowan’s last remark. “Are you ready?”
“Sure, lead the way.”
Glancing at her purse and bag again, she opted to leave them behind. She wasn’t carrying much cash, and only a couple of credit cards. No, if these people had planned to keep her stuff they would’ve taken the rest along with her gun. She followed the doctor from the bedroom, through a furnished living room, to the door, and out into a carpeted hallway lined with more doors, all numbered. Quickening her pace, she fell into step beside the other woman.
“So, this area is what? Like a dorm?” she guessed.
Mackenzie nodded. “Yes, but unlike dorms, the residence wings are fully equipped apartments, and we aren’t required to share quarters. Privacy is a highly valued commodity in a busy place where so many of us live and work, and it’s usually in short supply.”
“It’s nicer than I expected,” Rowan admitted, admiring the dark green carpet and cream-colored walls adorned with sconces that reminded her of the inside of a nice hotel. “On the drive here, I envisioned something much more stark and unfriendly. You know, what with it being a top secret compound and all that.”
“Which begs the question of how you found out about us.” The doc cut her a curious stare.
Rowan smirked. “I guess that’s something your illustrious leader can tell you if he wants—after he and I have a little chat.”
“Touché,” Mackenzie said with a laugh.
As they walked, a glint of silver at the vee of the other woman’s blouse caught Rowan’s eye. A round disk about the size of a silver dollar hung there, suspended on a sturdy chain. It struck her as being a bit heavy, like a piece of jewelry more suited to a man. But what did she know? She was a cop, not a fashion critic.
“That’s a gorgeous pendant,” she said, waving a hand at the doc’s chest.
Mackenzie started and glanced down at the item as though she’d forgotten it was there. “Thanks.”
She peered closer. “Is that a… pentagram?”
“Yes, it is.” But the doc didn’t offer anything further.
Tough. Cops liked answers. “Cool. Are you Wiccan?”
“No.” A hint of annoyance crept into the doc’s tone, and her words became clipped as she tucked the disk under her blouse again. “The necklace was a gift.”
Subject closed, at least for now. But Rowan sensed a story there and sooner or later she’d ferret out the mystery. Investigating, prying answers from people who didn’t want to give them, was in her blood. For the time being, she let it go.
She had bigger fish to fry.
Mackenzie led her through a maze of corridors, and Rowan made sure to catalog every turn in her brain. The information would come in handy whether she stayed or had to get the fuck out of here fast.
Finally the doc halted in front of a closed door and nodded. “This is Nick’s office. Don’t be intimidated—he’s not as mean as he looks.”
“That’s okay, because I’m meaner than I look.” She wasn’t kidding, but Mackenzie smiled anyway, giving Rowan’s arm a squeeze.
“I’ll check on you later.”
“Thanks.” Rowan watched the woman start back the way they’d come, then turned her attention to the door. Heaving a fortifying breath, she gave three sharp raps and waited until she heard the man’s deep voice ca
ll out for her to come in before turning the knob and stepping inside.
The interior of Westfall’s office was much the same as her room—comfortable but nothing too fancy. A big desk equipped with a laptop and a cordless phone fit the space nicely, leaving room for a couple of stuffed chairs across from it. But the man himself quickly captured her attention as he rose and offered her his hand, his expression unreadable.
“Miss Chase.”
“Rowan, please.”
“Nick.” They shook hands and then he sat, gesturing for her to do the same.
“Who told you I was coming here?” she asked, careful not to sound defensive right off the bat. It wouldn’t do to piss off the man who might have the answers she needed.
“No one.” He held her gaze, his deep blue eyes seeming to look right into her soul.
She wondered what he saw there. “Then when I arrived, how did you know my name?”
The handsome dark-haired man appeared to consider his reply carefully before he finally spoke. “I’m a PreCog.”
“Come again?”
“I’m a PreCog. I sometimes see events before they happen.”
Rowan stared at him, wondering which one of them was nuts. Maybe Luis Garcia really had shot her and she was lying in some hospital in a coma, dreaming all of this.
She cleared her throat. “On top of being a wolf-man? Right. Sure you are. Listen, it doesn’t make two shits to me who ratted me out or what delusions of grandeur you’re suffering from. I just came here to—”
“Find out what happened to Micah,” he interrupted softly.
That rattled her for a couple of seconds, but she shook it off. “Not impressed. I’m sure the person who told you I was coming also told you why.” Leaning forward, she felt the slow boil of anger begin on hearing this stranger speak her brother’s name in such a familiar way. Her fingers dug into the arms of her chair. “So let’s just cut all the dancing around the subject. If Micah’s alive, tell me where he is and why in God’s name I was told he was dead. If he is dead, help me get his body home.”
