Melinda's Wolves

by Becca Jameson

  Melinda wasn’t sure she liked that side of him. She turned back to Keegan and rested her cheek on his right shoulder, leaning over the bed. His left arm—the one across from her—was in a temporary cast. The bones were all aligned. And he would easily be able to shift and heal the fracture. Unfortunately, he would also have to pretend it had not healed for six weeks.

  She almost giggled, thinking how much Keegan was going to like that plan. Too many humans knew he’d broken his arm. For it to heal in a few days would raise eyebrows off the charts.

  “He’s so cold,” Melinda murmured after the doctor left.

  “You must like the change,” Trace teased. “You’re always complaining we’re too hot.”

  The problem was he didn’t feel alive to her. He felt off. Wrong. Not present in a way she detested.

  Melinda closed her eyes and snuggled her face in next to his neck. She needed to rest a few minutes before she collapsed.

  •●•

  Something wasn’t right.

  Keegan could not get his brain to work. Any command he sent to his limbs never made it through the synapsis to cause movement. What the hell?

  He couldn’t figure out what to make of this situation. Was he under water? Or drunk? Drugged?

  Nothing made sense.

  He concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. He had that task mastered. Something warm and heavy was draped over his right arm. Something stiff and uncomfortable trapped his left arm.

  He tried to fight his way through the fog to find answers.

  His eyes wouldn’t obey the simplest command to open.

  “Keegan. We’re both here with you, babe. Please wake up.” That sweet voice belonged to his mate, Melinda. What was she talking about? Her soft fingers gripped his hand as he realized she must have lifted her face away from his arm.

  Keegan strained to open his mouth, but got nothing. Agitation set in. What the fuck?

  “How’s it going in here?” The voice was deep and unknown.

  Trace responded. “He’s flinching. His eyelids are flickering. That’s a good sign, right?”

  What? Keegan tried to pry his eyes open. Nothing.

  “Yes.” The unknown voice got closer.

  The next thing Keegan knew, his eye was pried open and a light flashed in front of it. A man hovered over him. “Keegan. Can you hear us?” He paused. “You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be okay. We need you to wake up now.”

  Keegan wanted to do just that if for no other reason than to get answers about why he was in this position in the first place.

  It was too much. He couldn’t get any part of his body to obey his commands. The voices faded.

  Melinda’s lovely tone slipped away, her fingers still wrapped around his, her other hand stroking his brow.

  God, how he wanted to see her.

  Why was her voice growing so faint?

  Too hard…

  •●•

  Keegan bolted awake as though he’d had a nightmare. One second he was in the middle of a sensuous dream starring his naked mate straddling his middle while his other mate leaned over her shoulder, a look of pure lust on both their faces. The next second he was wide awake.

  His heart pounded. He was too hot. His body was heavy.

  Keegan widened his eyes and scanned the room. A hospital. He remembered someone mentioning that earlier.

  Melinda still had a hold on his hand, but her head was resting against his shoulder, her eyes closed, the deep breaths of sleep slipping past her lips.

  He’d never seen anything more beautiful. And then his gaze landed on Trace across the room. He must have been resting also, his body slumped in a moss-green leather chair. As Keegan stared, Trace jumped up, his mouth spreading in a huge grin. “Dude, you scared the fuck out of us. Welcome back.”

  Melinda jerked awake at the sound of Trace’s voice. “Oh my God.” Her face beamed. She cupped Keegan’s cheek. “You’re awake.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice was deep, gravelly, and his throat hurt as if he hadn’t had anything to drink for days.

  Melinda giggled. “It’s you. It’s really you?”

  “Who did you expect?” He furrowed his brow, which sent pain radiating across his forehead. He groaned and lifted his right arm to touch his face. “What happened?”

  Trace leaned his hip on the bed. “Do you remember the scaffolding collapsing under you at the casino site?”

  Keegan shook his head, regretting the move instantly. “Fuck. My head hurts.”

  Melinda smiled. “You have a concussion.”

  “Why on earth did you bring me to a hospital?”

  “You were buried in the rubble for a long time. You were unconscious and unresponsive.”

  Right. That made sense. For one thing, an ambulance would have simply taken him to the hospital without the paramedics having any idea he was a shifter. And for another thing, being a shifter was only useful as long as the person was conscious. There was no way for an unconscious wolf to shift.

  “Get me out of here,” he mumbled. Pain tore through his left arm as he tried to lift it. “Fuck.”

  “Yeah, it’s broken,” Trace said.

  “And they didn’t put a cast on it?”

  Melinda leaned down and kissed his cheek. “It was your lucky day. The doctor in the ER was a shifter. And he’s gonna get us out of here too.” She grinned.

  As if on cue, the door to the room opened, and a man in a lab coat walked in. He beamed when he saw Keegan. “Ah, good, you’re awake. Your mates were starting to drive me crazy.” He winked as he grabbed Keegan’s chart and flipped through the top pages. “I’m Dr. Bernard, by the way. You ready to spring this joint?”

  “Two minutes ago.” Keegan moaned as he tried to sit up. “What’s the damage?”

  “Two ribs, humerus, concussion, a few facial lacerations. Nothing you can’t fix at home.” He set the chart down and nodded toward the door. “I’ll have an understanding nurse bring you a wheel chair. Try not to moan and wince as she gets you out the door. Call me if you have any concerns.” Bernard handed Trace a card.

  And then he was gone.

  It was that easy. But only because the man knew what Keegan needed most—to shift as soon as possible and sleep for two days at home.

  He struggled to sit up. Trace grabbed his arm to assist. “How many people know the extent of the damage?” he asked as he swung around on the bed, his legs dangling over the side, his hand grasping Melinda’s shoulder.

  “Your parents were here until late last night. When the CT scan came back, indicating you hadn’t suffered any significant brain damage, they finally went home,” Melinda said. “They’re lovely people.” She smiled.

  “I mean at work. How badly do I have to pretend to be injured when I return?”

  “Probably just the arm. Everyone saw that compound fracture. You were limp and unresponsive though, so no one would be able to suspect anything else.” Trace rounded the bed. “I’d milk the concussion for as long as possible, however.” He chuckled.

  “Sounds great, but what about the construction site. Was the scaffolding issue considered a random accident?”

  “It seems that way,” Trace said. He blew out a breath. “I don’t get it. Mitch issued a statement indicating there were some issues with the original foundation as a result of the earthquake. He told the media those problems would be resolved as soon as possible so construction could resume. I watched him on the news while you snoozed all night.”

  “Seriously?” That seemed doubtful.

  Trace shrugged. “I assume his goal was to keep the masses from getting hysterical. I doubt there’s any merit to his statement. He did get the media to back off. That was undoubtedly his intention.”

  Keegan nodded. Made sense. “Have you spoken to him?”

  Trace shook his head. “No. I assume he’s been very busy. And I’ve been a little preoccupied myself.”

  “Holding vigil over a sleeping man?” Keegan smirk
ed.

  Melinda swatted at his upper arm, heedless of the break. “Don’t joke about this. You could have died. I was worried sick.”

  “She wasn’t alone.” Trace set a hand on Keegan’s shoulder and gripped it firmly just as the nurse wheeled a chair into the room. A blessedly lupine nurse.

  What luck.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Melinda tiptoed into the bedroom for the millionth time the following afternoon.

  Keegan hadn’t moved. He was sprawled out in wolf form on the mattress right in the middle, looking for all the world like an overindulged puppy. His head even rested on a pillow.

  Trace crept up behind her and set his hands on her shoulders.

  “He’s been asleep for twenty hours,” she whispered.

  “He needed the rest to recuperate,” Trace muttered back. “Come, baby. He’s fine.” He led her out of the room once more and shut the door behind them with a soft snick.

  Melinda’s shoulders slumped.

  “Sit.” Trace pointed at the couch. “I’ll grab us a few beers. Maybe a little alcohol will calm your nerves.”

  She padded to the sofa and slumped into a corner. “What if the damage is more than he can fix on his own?”

  “Baby, Mimi was here for over an hour. She even sat by his side for a while. Don’t you think your grandmother would have known if he was in any imminent danger?”

  “You’re right.” She blew out a breath and leaned her head back.

  “Griffen called again while I was outside.” Trace stepped in front of her, holding out a dripping bottle.

  “How’s the baby?”

  “She’s perfect. Cries a lot.” He shrugged. “I guess babies do that.”

  “Yep.”

  “Maybe I should spend more time over at their house. It would be the perfect incentive to keep from getting you pregnant.” Trace chuckled as he sat next to Melinda and tugged her into his side.

  “You’re trying to distract me.”

  “Yep. Is it working?”

  “Yeah.” She tipped her head back and took a long swallow. “Keep talking. What did Corbin say when you spoke with him?”

  Trace winced. “He said they had no luck finding the previous inspector. It seems like he vanished from the face of the Earth.”

  “Doesn’t anyone find that odd?”

  “They do. But without him, there’s no one to question.”

  “None of the workers from last year have known anything?”

  “No one yet.” Trace took a long drink and then spoke again. “At least no one that would admit to it.”

  “And the builder? Surely whoever was in charge of this project arranged for the materials to be below standard?” Melinda stiffened. The task seemed daunting. They had a dead man and a shit load of mysterious accidents and no one to pin it on.

  “Templeton Construction is a huge company. Unfortunately they have so much money, they could have anyone in their back pocket. Hell, they could have the sheriff’s office blackmailed if they wanted. They say they’re looking into the allegations, but no one has shown their face in public except to say their team of lawyers is working on it and they have no comment.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah. That’s big business for you. They would have totally covered their tracks. Hunting down whoever did this will be nearly impossible. Any paper trail has been destroyed. And with the earthquake, they can easily blame everything that occurred lately on an unstable foundation as a result of seismic activity. It’s a mess.” Trace tipped his bottle back for another drink. “My chief, Bergman, doesn’t think there’s much hope.”

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, especially since the only guy who was willing to rat out the builder is now dead. And every angle we’ve looked into to implicate him has come up short. Even though Friedmont received obviously suspicious monthly payments from an unknown source, the money has proven untraceable.”

  “Too bad Nolan Friedmont isn’t the only guy who could have implicated Templeton Construction.” Fear crawled up her spine as she spoke those words out loud.

  Neither of them spoke for long minutes.

  “Baby, you can’t think like that,” Trace finally muttered. “It’ll drive you crazy.”

  “I’m already loony, Trace. And this is serious.”

  “Yes. You’re right. I know it. My boss knows it. Hell, Keegan’s boss knows it too. Everyone is doing everything in their power to ferret out the culprit and get Keegan out of danger.”

  “Do they suspect the scaffolding didn’t fall by accident?” Seemed super likely to her.

  “There’s no evidence to indicate anything like that yet.”

  A knock at the door made Melinda flinch. She gripped her beer bottle tight as Trace stood. Every little noise had her jumpy today.

  “Relax, babe. It’s Mitch.”

  She glanced at the glass paneling on the front door and saw Mitch standing there while Trace crossed the room and let him in. “Highland.”

  “Hey. I wanted to stop by and see how you’re doing.” He kept his voice low. He had to know Keegan would be sleeping off his trauma in wolf form.

  “We’re okay,” Trace said. “Have a seat. You want a beer?”

  “No. I can’t stay long. I just wanted to check in. I feel bad for taking as long as I have to get over here.”

  Melinda smiled, remembering how sweet his wife was the other night. “I’m sure you’ve had a lot on your plate.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Don’t I know it?” He perched himself on the edge of an armchair.

  “So, what’s the latest?” Trace asked as he sat next to Melinda.

  He rubbed his palms on his jeans. “The scaffolding is buried in such a mangled state we may never know for sure why it collapsed.”

  Melinda sat up straighter, setting her empty beer bottle on the coffee table. A tingle raced up her spine as if danger was lurking nearby. She stuffed her hands under her thighs to keep from shaking while she watched Mitch and concentrated on what he was saying.

  She glanced at the door several times, itching to look outside as if there would be a line of sharpshooters standing in the driveway. Or perhaps a spirit presence.

  “…I know, and Keegan is probably the only person who might be able to shed some light on this. Hopefully he can tell the authorities what happened right before the scaffolding collapsed, and hopefully he knows more about the files and where they’re located. Maybe he moved some of the paperwork to go through it,” Mitch was saying. Somehow Melinda had missed part of the conversation.

  Trace wrapped his arm over her shoulders. He didn’t look at her while he communicated with her silently. “You okay, baby?”

  “Not really.”

  Mitch continued, oblivious to their side conversation. “Anyway, we’re all hoping Keegan is going to be fine and able to help fill in some of the gaps.”

  “Weren’t you working with him?” Melinda asked, confused about the direction of this conversation.

  Mitch nodded. “Yes, but we were both taking in different angles. He was the one going through the files.”

  “So, what’s the problem?” Trace asked. “Get someone else to go through that cabinet.”

  Mitch glanced down, his face unreadable when he looked back up. “They’re gone.”

  “What do you mean ‘gone’?” Melinda asked. That eerie feeling on the back of her neck spread to the rest of her body.

  “The entire cabinet is empty. And I can’t find any backup files on the computer either. It’s as if someone went into the office and wiped the place clean of evidence.” He tapped his leg with his hand. “Unless Keegan removed the files for some reason.”

  Melinda’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth, but then closed it, refusing to give voice to their plight. Was Mitch suggesting Keegan played a role in this crazy farce? “Why would he do that?”

  Mitch shrugged. “It’s just a possibility. The FBI is looking at this from every angle.”

  Trace c
ringed beside her. “And one of those angles is to imply Keegan himself hid evidence and then ten minutes later nearly died in an accident of his own doing?” His voice was incredulous.

  Mitch pursed his lips and remained quiet.

  Trace jumped to his feet. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Melinda thought he might throttle the messenger. She grabbed his hand and tugged him back.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. I’m just warning you of one of the possibilities the feds are looking into.”

  Melinda blinked at Mitch. She didn’t know the man at all, but this was insane. He was Keegan’s friend. And Keegan could very likely be the only person who could provide any information. When he woke up, he would clear his name of any questionable wrongdoing. However, his life could be in jeopardy for months while the investigation continued.

  Fuck.

  Trace must have picked up on her stress because he eased back into his seat and held her tighter. But he misread her concern when he communicated, “Relax, baby. Everything’s going to be fine.”

  Perhaps it was the tension over the entire situation, or the fact that Keegan was recuperating passed out in the other room, or even the overwhelming sense of danger coming from the land itself. Whatever the case, Melinda had never been more uneasy, and she couldn’t help feeling like Mitch was keeping something from them. He’d dropped a few bombs, but maybe he was trying to protect them from the brunt of something so soon after Keegan’s injury.

  Why?

  The good news was that as far as Melinda knew, Mitch had no idea she was sensitive. If he was hiding something, she would figure it out. He seemed off.

  She shuddered to consider the possible implications. She needed to calm down and get rational. Mitch was a long-time friend of Keegan. Whatever bullshit the feds were exploring, Mitch would clear it up.

  And then she had an idea. What if the same person who killed Friedmont and sent the threatening email to Keegan had also gotten his hands on Mitch? It wasn’t farfetched. Anyone paying attention would think Keegan had imparted details to Mitch.

  Even Melinda assumed both men were privy to the same information. Why, then, was Mitch stating otherwise? He insisted he and Keegan had worked different angles and not conferred. Was that possible?