by Lori King
Still, she stared at the map, hoping it'd yield a useful clue. The key bore an illegible scrawl that she assumed was a name and the date—1865. She tapped the corner. "Granite Creek was a mining town in 1865."
"Yeah, when Prescott was the territory capital."
"You said Joseph Briggs, the first hunter to disappear, was a treasure hunter. Maybe he was looking for a lost gold or silver mine." A reasonable speculation based on the evidence.
"It fits. I want to take all this and study it in more depth." Daniel moved a pile of papers, sorting and organizing, and shifted material to the leather briefcase that appeared to have held everything originally.
Victoria got out of his way since it was really a one-person job. "What else do you know about Macan's search? Anything specific?"
"No, only what I've told you." His scent remained unchanged along with all the other physical markers she used to judge truthfulness. "The last call I have from him was time stamped this morning just after nine, but it went to voicemail. He sounded excited—said he thought he was onto something. I called him back before ten but he didn't answer." He shrugged. "When he missed his check-in time, I started to worry. I called the front desk and they confirmed he left sometime before ten but didn't check out..."
"And then you decided to fabricate an elaborate charade to check into the honeymoon suite before you'd even confirmed I was willing to come with you?"
A flush crept across his throat. His smile was bashful. "Better than sitting on my hands. If you'd refused to come, Cali would've." When her eyes narrowed with distinct displeasure, he chuckled. "You were my first choice—Cali isn't a seer."
"Huh. Thanks. That's flattering." Not.
"Hey, it worked out the way I wanted, so I'm not apologizing." He finished bundling the papers, maps, and journal into to the case, closed it, and fastened the snaps. "Let's go. Apparently, hungry wolves are grouches."
Victoria blushed so hard the heat overtook her face. Zing—he'd nailed it. She'd have to watch her mood until they managed to eat. Grumbling to herself, she followed him from the messy hotel room.
"Do you know his license plate? I saw some traffic cams on the way in."
"Yeah, I do. I was planning on doing that. I'll call my friend, Gus. He works for the Yavapai County Sheriff's Department. He'll have access to those cameras..." Daniel already had his cell phone out before they reached the stairwell.
"Must be nice being connected," Victoria muttered beneath her breath because she didn't actually want him to hear her. She took the descent fast, trusting her natural surefootedness, and reached the bottom well before he did. So she waited by the exit—and listened.
He followed at a more sedate pace, talking with his friend on the phone. His rich baritone carried in the enclosed space so Victoria caught the general gist of the conversation which began with pleasantries, moved on to good-natured ribbing, and tumbled into business—talk about license plate numbers and BOLOs.
She'd never realized before how hooked into modern technology the Barrett family was, but now she had a clue. They had more than federal funding—like access to law enforcement and, presumably, government databases. The more she thought about it, the scarier the implications. Thank the goddess they were allies and not enemies.
5
Daniel concluded his call, and they exited to the lobby. A handful of other people were about, including the staff behind the front desk. As they crossed toward the restaurant, their strides matched—short and sedate. By unspoken agreement, they tilted toward one another, sharing an easy intimacy.
Daniel cocked his head and grinned. "So you're saying there's no such thing as a vegetarian werewolf?"
"No such thing," Victoria drawled. "All wolves eat meat. It's instinct, not a choice."
"Huh. I feel so disillusioned..." He pantomimed vast disappointment.
She fought to keep a straight face. "Although, I will concede—organic vegetarians do taste better than those raised on GMOs."
Daniel's foot caught on the tile. He caught himself, did a double take, and then a huge grin split his face. "Oh, you're funny."
"Thanks, I try."
When Daniel reached over to wrap his arm around her shoulders, she leaned into him just as she fell into laughter with him. Scary comfortable—the sort of rapport she expected to share with another wolf.
The hotel restaurant was nice, but fortunately not too fancy for their casual attire. They both wore t-shirts and jeans, although Daniel's dress was arguably more formal than hers thanks to his boots. She had on flip flops because shape-shifting invariably destroyed shoes and she had no idea what the rest of the evening might hold.
The server who greeted them only spared the firearm holstered on Daniel's belt the barest glance; his dagger didn't rate a second look. Ah, such was life in an Arizona small town. They requested seating on the patio where the black wrought iron furniture and glitzy bronze planters asserted the Art Deco theme. Outside, the temperature had dropped to the mid-forties already. Shifter blood naturally ran hot, so Victoria preferred the cold, but she worried for Daniel. The guy had grown up in Phoenix where it was still in the seventies at night.
"Chilly—we can eat inside if you'd be more comfortable."
"I'm fine." Daniel tucked the leather briefcase beneath the table and took the chair across from her after she was seated.
She dipped her chin and took the man at his word. She counted it as a definite bonus that they were the only customers who'd opted to dine on the patio. They ordered and received their drinks, engaging in small talk while the waiter was within earshot. The quietude persisted for a time after their server's departure, which Victoria found refreshing. Men who talked to fill up silence displeased her on so many levels.
Fortunately, the hotel's kitchen was fast. Their appetizer arrived in record time—bacon-wrapped jalapeno poppers. Five for two people. She always wondered about the idiots who created starter menus with dishes that couldn't be evenly divided as a composite number. So she tried to eat slowly, but still managed to finish both of hers before Daniel got to his second, which left her hungrily eyeing the last popper.
Wolf etiquette would've made the matter simple to settle, without the need for an embarrassing negotiation. The highest-ranked wolf always ate first. And in the case of a mated pair, the female usually won the prize tidbit because males were conditioned to place their mate's well-being over their own, as well as value sex over food. A horny male wolf with a hungry mate had a far better chance of getting bit than laid, so these matters had a way of sorting themselves out to everyone's satisfaction.
He chuckled. "Go ahead."
"Thank you." Victoria plucked her prize off the platter and downed it before he had a chance to change his mind. She sank her teeth into the middle without regard for the scalding cream cheese that burned the inside of her mouth. The popper hit her stomach in all its rich, calorie-laden glory. Not enough to satisfy her hunger, but it definitely took the edge off.
"Don't they allow you to eat at work?"
"I skipped lunch. Halloween is always a nightmare in the ER. No pun intended." She sipped her soda to cool off her mouth. Her regeneration had already kicked in—in another minute, her burnt skin would be healed.
"We see a crime spike every October 31st." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Despite that, she still couldn't tell what he was really feeling. It fit with what she'd observed of him on their first date—the man had a hell of a poker face.
"Is your job real or just for show?" Blinking, Victoria shifted her attention to the spiritual plane, opening her second sight. Blues dominated his aura—the shades of balance and confidence, survivorship and leadership. A lot of orange and gold in his chakras. Smoke drifted through his nimbus, marking the dark thoughts he so skillfully kept off his face.
"What do you mean?" His tone remained even. However, his jaw hardened and tightness altered the set of his shoulders. The contraction of his aura interested her more. Her casual question had trigg
ered an unanticipated reaction.
"I mean—your family is well-connected. You have a paramilitary compound out on Red Butte and the National Guard at your father's beck and call."
"And 'beck and call' is a stretch. My father has never voluntarily asked the government for help with anything." Daniel employed humor edged with sarcasm. "He thinks they're a bunch of incompetent idiots."
"So the government doesn't fund you, or supply new recruits or weapons?"
"I didn't say that."
"Yeah, I noticed. You used a lot of words to not say it, too." Victoria schooled her tone to teasing, but her curiosity had some serious teeth.
He grinned. "Hunters are autonomous."
She tapped her fingernail on the top. "So, let's circle back around to your job as 'sheriff.' Is that just a cover for monster hunting? I know for a fact that you weren't elected into office, and your name doesn't appear on any official government org chart."
"You researched me?" He regarded her with open astonishment and grudging admiration.
"You betcha," she said, tongue in cheek. "Right after you asked me on our first date. I wanted to know what I was getting myself into."
He kept quiet, and a grimace working his face. Conflict played out in his aura too, generating spectacular fireworks which ceased when he reached a decision, or so she assumed. Seconds later, Daniel exhaled. "I'm not used to talking about my father or about being a hunter with the women I date. We're not supposed to discuss it with outsiders."
"Right, same here." She bared her teeth and allowed her wolf to bleed into her eyes to reinforce the distinction between her secrets and his. Hunters aside, most of the mortal population remained oblivious to the existence of the supernatural. And shifters, from wolves to coyotes to bears, preferred it that way. Normal humans outnumbered shape-changers by the millions, and people tended to kill what they feared or didn't understand.
He nodded and warmed to the topic. "You're right about my job. I don't have the standard duties of a county sheriff. I have my own department, and I report directly to the governor."
"And the governor reports to your father?"
He didn't reply—answer enough.
"So, you're really part of the state military?" Victoria pursued the subject with dogged determination. She strove to comprehend it because she needed to understand him.
"I'm a Maricopa County Sheriff. Just not with any law enforcement department civilians are familiar with." Daniel made the assertion with forceful conviction—the title and position must have a history behind it.
"What's it called?"
He grinned. "Officially, it's the Arizona Paranormal Enforcement Squad."
"APES?" Victoria snickered. "Funny, though I can't say I'm crazy about the name. 'Paranormal' is too damn broad for my taste."
"We don't hunt shifters unless there's good cause." He looked her straight in the eyes, forthright in his deportment.
"I believe you. What's it called unofficially?"
"Publicly, we're known as the "All-Purpose Enforcement Squad."
"Nice. And ambiguous too. So, do tell—are writing traffic tickets a normal part of your duties as sheriff of the Arizona Paranormal Enforcement Squad?"
Chagrin washed over his face. "Uh."
So, it was as she'd suspected... He'd walked right into her trap and shown his hand. Her smile widened and she closed in for the kill. "So, you don't have a weekly traffic ticket quota to fill, huh? It was quite the coincidence that you pulled me over for speeding."
A bark of laughter escaped him. He grinned, unabashed and shameless. "You're never going to let me off the hook for that, huh?"
"Nope." She snickered again, fought laughter and failed.
"You should. You didn't pay the fine and we're here now." Daniel reached across the table and caught hold of her fingers. When he touched her, her heart jumped like a spring cricket—high and happy. His hands were big and warm, and engulfed hers in a protective shelter.
"Here is nice." And she'd be damned if her voice wasn't positively breathy in a way that reminded her of Gone with the Wind, except Victoria lacked even the most basic requirements to be an antebellum heroine. Growing up, she was more tomboy than girly girl, despite her mother's preferences to the contrary, which had included years of lessons in ballet and gymnastics.
Victoria stared into his warm brown eyes, and lost herself. The outside world ceased to exist. Their auras extended—touched at the edges—blended in an Aurora Borealis of dancing ribbons, blues and greens. His eyes signaled his intent. When he leaned across the table, she closed her eyes and met him halfway.
Their mouths met over joined hands; the barest pressure. Not tentative, but rather savoring. The man kissed with the same assurance he brought to every other endeavor. His lips were firm and warm in contrast to the chilly night air. His breath even hotter, scented with the spicy sting of peppers.
She tightened her grip on his hands, somehow altering it so their fingers interlaced. His hands dwarfed hers so the span stretched her joints to the point they hurt. As a shifter, she'd been born to endure the discomfort of shape changing. Pain always verged on pleasure. A moan built in the back of her throat and she acted as the aggressor. She thrust past his lips, stroking the smooth evenness of his teeth.
He groaned. His tongue met her advance with a caress, still maddeningly restrained. On him, arousal tasted like cardamom soaked in burgundy. He was fast becoming her favorite flavor. She grinned into the kiss, so damn tempted to push his limits and see what it'd take to break that impressive control.
Victoria's sharp ears picked up the approaching footsteps of their server whose stride hitched, probably when he caught sight of them. As hungry as she was, food held its appeal too. She ended the kiss and pulled back. She opened her eyes fast enough to learn Daniel had also closed his. His lashes were ridiculously long and thick, resting upon his smooth tanned cheeks.
After they broke apart, the waiter delivered their food. A companionable silence descended again while they ate. Victoria inhaled her steak—which was almost rare enough to moo on the plate—and chafed at the restraints of fork and knife when fangs would've been the natural way to go. Her baked potato—smothered in sour cream and chives—also hit the spot and even her steamed broccoli was... acceptable.
"Don't like broccoli?" Daniel snickered as she used her fork to poke at a vegetable grown cold because she'd left it for last.
"It's not my favorite." A firm believer in the goose-gander principle, Victoria turned a critical eye to his plate. To her glee, she spotted a small number of cooked carrots shoved aside on his otherwise spotless plate. She schooled her tone to prim and reproving. "You should eat your carrots. They're good for your eyesight."
"So I've heard." He laughed but it broke off. His face fell into shadow. The corners of his eyes pinched and his lips compressed. Even his scent soured.
"What's wrong?" Victoria asked.
"Nothing—" His head jerked and his hands fisted. With a grimace, he started over. "That's what my mother used to say."
"I'm sorry. I know your mother passed away last April." She tensed because they'd just strayed into what had to be sensitive territory for him. Sarah Barrett had fought a year-long battle with breast cancer. Victoria wanted to kick herself for the unwitting blunder.
"Thanks. It's been six months now. I keep expecting it to get better." His sorrow resonated throughout his aura, a single pure note.
"It will—give it time." The platitude sounded inadequate, but she wasn't sure what else to say. Words—empty without action to support them. Victoria reached across the table and covered Daniel's clenched hands with her own.
Conflict divided her heart. Despite the separation between wolves and hunters, her pack didn't exist in a vacuum. They kept distant but vigilant eyes on their allies. When cancer had sickened Sarah, the pack had engaged in a long, fierce internal debate before they'd sent Katherine, Victoria's mother and their most talented healer, to the Barretts. Their offer ha
d been politely but firmly rebuffed and they hadn't tried again. Victoria's father, Adair, had accepted the rejection with equanimity, but Katherine had construed it as an insult and lack of trust. And although Victoria seldom agreed with her mother, this time, she had. The vaunted Hunter King had preferred to allow his wife to die rather than trust his wolf allies of almost thirty years near her.
Distrust and suspicion—that right there quantified all the reasons why her sitting here with Daniel Barrett qualified as a Bad Idea. And she didn't mean in the capacity of an ally helping him locate a missing hunter, but as a romantic interest. Jake Barrett and his eldest son were widely known as being in agreement on most issues. Always, they presented a united front to outsiders. So deep down, she wondered if Daniel shared his father's paranoia toward the Storm Pack and agreed with the decision that had—in part—assured his mother's death. If so, the two of them definitely didn't belong on a date.
She didn't dare mention any of her concerns. In a way, she considered herself selfish for even worrying about such things while he suffered in the grip of grief, thinking only of his mother. Time passed during which neither of them spoke, and the silence grew tense rather than comfortable.
Daniel squeezed her fingers, and then he released one of her hands. He dug a coin out of his pockets, spared it a glance, and offered her a lopsided smile. "Canadian quarter for your thoughts?"
He set it on the table and slid the quarter toward her. Smiling, Victoria picked the coin up and clutched it between her fingers, rubbing her thumb across the rough edge. Briefly, she considered putting all her cards on the table but abandoned the thought. Assumption was plain old bad form, especially since they technically weren't on a date. She opted for redirection.
"I'm worried about how we're supposed to find Macan. Even if we luck out and your friend finds some traffic camera footage, that only tells us what direction he was going when he left town. There are hundreds of square miles of rugged wilderness out there..." Way more than two people could cover alone at night. A thorough search would require manpower and equipment they didn't have. She couldn't help wondering if the smart thing—what they ought to do—would be to call in the official authorities.
