“Why're you upset?” I asked, my voice cool and even as I rose to my feet. “Just because I'm not one of your fucking biker bitches, asking if I can get you a beer or give you a lap dance?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, murderous rage fighting inside them like it was Waterloo all over. “You're gonna regret turning me down, bitch. You're gonna wish you'd just taken my money.”
“I think this meeting is over,” I replied in a cool, flat voice.
“Yeah,” he agreed as he turned to leave. “I think it is.” He turned the knob of the office door and opened it. Just outside my door, with his foot against the opposite wall, stood my bodyguard. Richard glanced past Wyatt and caught my eye, giving me a little nod.
I nodded back, letting him know I was alright. “Richard will see you out,” I said.
“Think I can handle that on my own,” Wyatt growled.
“Nah,” Richard said with a smirk, “I think you might need a hand. After you?”
Wyatt turned and left without another word, just a grumble deep in his belly.
I knew from the moment they looked at each other that there was going to be a fight sometime in their future. I'd seen it in the wild, where one predator meets another on their territory, and they just pause to size up the competition. That's exactly what this felt like, somehow.
My only thought was that I didn't want Richard hurt or have any of this mess happen in my gallery. The Rock was a small town, smaller than most, and rumors were like sparks in fire ban season. One little one, and it would spread across the whole place before sundown. But the thought of Richard getting injured on my behalf was almost too much for me to consider. I stepped up to the mouth of the hallway, my arms folded across my chest as I hugged myself and watched.
Together, they stalked through the gallery, Wyatt Axelrod in the lead and Richard Murdoch right on his heels. Wyatt slammed the front door open, the bell jingling like music therapy time at the asylum.
“You ain't seen the last of me on this, lady,” he growled back at me. “You're gonna take my buyout. I promise you that.”
I knew he was sincere—or, at least, he thought he was being sincere. He genuinely believed I would just take his money and slink away rather than deal with him. The nerve of some men!
“Think you need to go,” Richard growled back, his voice echoing like the reaper's in a mausoleum. “This conversation is over.”
Wyatt shot him a look, one that might have struck a lesser man dead, but turned and exited the building. Richard followed right along behind him, making sure he actually left.
I tried to breathe, to sigh in relief, but it wouldn't come. Not yet. I knew it wouldn't, either, not until Richard was safely back inside, watching over me. I looked around, blinking, suddenly realizing Lacy had slipped out of the gallery at some point. She must have left while I was in my office talking to Wyatt.
I should have been relieved at the amount of money Wyatt Axelrod had just offered me. He was right, it was easily five times the amount of money this whole place was worth, including the lease that I had on the retail spot down here on Main. But, somehow, the whole thing just smelled rotten. It smelled worse than that poor tortoise had. Why would some biker want to buy this gallery, and for that much? And where was he getting that kind of money? Whatever the answers were, one thing was for sure: he was clearly desperate to get rid of me. Desperate enough to make me so afraid of holding onto the business that I'd cave into any offer he made. Especially one that was so lucrative.
Still, the question remained. Why would he want my business? Was there treasure hidden in the walls by his Uncle Blake, or something? No, that was ridiculous. Of course, if you'd told me a month ago that all this would be unfolding right in front of me—the sudden death of my partner, the threatening calls, having to hire private security for protection—I would have said all that was equally ridiculous. Things like this just didn't happen to a woman like me. Why would they? I wasn't anyone special, was I?
I chewed my lip, watching the two men as they walked across the street to a big Harley parked on the side. I just really hoped Richard wouldn't do something stupid.
Boy was I wrong.
Chapter Sixteen - Richard
Wyatt moved like a fighter. From the way his shoulders were squared at all times and his eyes stayed constantly searching his surroundings, I knew he'd been in more than a few scrapes. And, with a vest like his, I had a feeling he'd been in significantly more than just a few. Guys like him, they prided themselves on their sparring ability, on being able to throw a punch and make sure the opponent didn't get back up. Also, they fought dirty. Which meant that once you hit the ground, you probably weren't getting to your feet anytime soon.
“You wanna hold my hand, too, while we cross the street?” he sneered back at me.
“Just keep moving, asshole, or I'll carry you across by your scruff. How's that sound?”
He chuckled dryly as we crossed the couple lanes of almost non-existent traffic. The last thing I wanted was an altercation, for more reasons than one. First, Sheriff Peak might get called. Second, the neighboring businesses might see. Third, I might actually lose.
I wasn't worried about long-term effects of a fight with this guy, not unless he had any silver on him. That was really the only thing that could injure a shifter in the long run. In our human form, though, we healed still healed rapidly. But, if the trauma was severe enough, we could bleed out just as easily as any human. I could almost completely heal by shifting, but that would only work if I survived long enough to make the transformation.
In our wolf form, of course, it was a completely different story. The only guaranteed way to put us down, then, was a silver bullet through the heart. There were other ways, but that was the only sure fire one.
But I was honestly most worried about looking weak in front of Jessica. And I could certainly feel her eyes on my back as we headed for his bike parked across the street.
“You her bodyguard or something?” he asked as we crossed.
“Head of customer service.”
He snorted. “Yeah. Right. With that gun on your hip?”
“Listen,” I said to his back as we stopped next to his bike, “I don't know what game you think you're playing, but I won't let this keep going.”
“Huh,” he said, his back still to me. “Think you got the sack to stop me? That it?”
“Maybe not stop you,” I admitted. “But more than enough to make your life a living hell. So, I want you to think about whether or not what you're planning is worth it. Because if anything happens to her, I'm gonna spend the rest of my life making you pay for it in every conceivable way. Get me?”
“You threatening me, bud?”
“No, I'm promising you. Get out of Enchanted Rock, and stay away from the Curious Turtle. You have any correspondence with Jessica Long in any way other than mail or email, I'll make you wish you hadn't.”
“Tough guy, huh? Think just cause you spent some time in the gym or out hunting in the woods, you can handle a guy like me? Seen some movies, now you think you're Charles Bronson or some shit? John Maclain?”
I snorted. “This ain't the movies, and we both know it.”
And then he swung. It was a wild haymaker with his right fist as he came around, his meaty fist bearing right down on my head.
It was so reckless I should've known it was a fake-out. I blocked the punch anyway, though, my forearm shooting up into the crook of his elbow.
Before I could counter-strike, though, he'd jabbed me twice in the kidneys with his left fist, both punches hitting like a mule's kick right in my side.
Pain shot through my body and I bent over with a growl. I was in close, though, and I brought my knee up into his gut, knocking the wind from him in a big whoosh.
He stumbled back and bent over, hands on his stomach, gasping for air and staggering.
I struck him twice, right across the mouth, slamming my fists against his jaw.
Wyatt's head ricocheted
back and forth between my fists, blood spraying from his mouth.
With a handful of greasy hair, I yanked his head down to my knee, and felt the satisfying crunch of his nose.
He stumbled and dropped to his knees, blood spilling over his lips, his nose already swollen and gushing blood down his face, his eyes dazed.
Just like that, it was over. I bent over at the waist in front of him, hands on my thighs, scrapes across my knuckles. “Wyatt, I think we got off on the wrong foot here, and you don't seem to believe me because of it. So let me repeat myself. You get the fuck out of the Rock, and never come back. I see you here at the Curious Turtle, I'll fucking kill you myself. You got it?”
He looked up at me with wild, crazed eyes. The eyes of a pissed off madman. There were daggers, guns, chains, broken bottles, and bombs in that glare of his as he struggled to his feet without a word. He just nodded when he was finally upright, swaying back and forth, punch drunk. “You know this ain't the end of things.”
“Counting on it.”
Eyes still on mine, he noisily sucked blood from his nose and spat a big, crimson wad on the sidewalk. He nodded like he was making me a promise he fully intended to keep. Then, he turned around, climbed back on his bike, and kicked it alive.
“Be seeing you, asshole,” he tossed back over his shoulder, before opening up the throttle on his engine and taking off down Main Street.
“Yeah,” I said to his back as he raced out of town. “Be seeing you, too, asshole.”
As I stood there, watching Wyatt cut off a smoking, honking logging truck and disappear around the corner, the phone in my pocket began to ring.
I pulled it out, pressed it to my ear. “Murdoch.”
“It's Lacy. Got some more info on that Wyatt guy.”
“What can you tell me?”
“Remember how I said he was a member of Skull and Bones? Turns out he's more than just a member. He's the president of their Colorado chapter.”
I just blinked at this revelation. That wasn't good.
“Richard?” Lacy asked on the phone. “You there?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I'm here.”
“What's wrong?”
“I think I just kicked the president of Skull and Bones' ass.”
“Fuck, Richard! That's not good, dude. That's not good at all.”
“Yeah,” I said, suddenly realizing just how wonderful the cool Colorado air felt as I breathed it into my lungs. “I get that impression.”
“What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I wasn't,” I said, my voice raised, then caught myself. I took another deep breath as I turned and headed back to the Curious Turtle. “Sorry, I didn't mean to get upset like that. I just—sorry, I just reacted, okay? I walked him out to his bike, and I said some shit, and he swung at me. What was I supposed to do?”
“Let him beat your ass, that's what,” Lacy quipped.
“Not likely,” I said as I rubbed my side where he'd landed his two punches. A lesser man would have been left pissing blood for a couple days after that kind of run-in, but thankfully I wasn't just a simple man. “What else you got? I heard Wyatt offering Jessica a hefty chunk of change to walk away.”
“Money laundering?” she asked. “That's what I'm thinking, at least. Lots of criminal rackets like that need to clean up their money, and an art gallery is perfect for it.”
“Got any more details on that?”
“Not yet,” she said, “but soon. Headed back to the office right now to keep looking for that fax number. I can get some more information put together after that.”
“Scratch it,” I replied as I stopped in front of the door. “Pretty sure we've got our guy here, and I want to know what he wants Jessica's gallery for.”
“Got it, boss. Info first, fax second.”
“Good. Call when you have more details.” I hung up the phone and stuffed it away in my pocket.
Jessica was waiting for me inside, her face a curious mixture of fury and concern. “Richard Murdoch,” she said, coming over to me, “what the hell were you thinking!”
“He swung first,” I said defensively. “You saw it.”
“A biker, though?” she asked, grabbing my hand and pulling it up so she could inspect the damage to my knuckles. “You know how those guys are.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Worse than the Marines. All about honor and shit, I know.”
“What'd you say to make him take a swing at you? Do you usually get into fights? Look, you’ve already got some scabs.” She shook her head at me, thinking I was some troublemaker who fought often.
“So it's my fault then?” I asked with a grin, ignoring her remark about my already scabbing knuckles—let her think that I was a frequent fighter. It was better than her knowing the actual truth. They'd be healed by nighttime. Over in Afghanistan, I'd come back from far, far worse, much to our platoon medic's surprise. “Because I antagonized him?”
She dropped my hand. “You know that's not what I mean.” She scowled, then thought about it. “But, yes, it kind of is. I saw the way you were glaring at him when you left. You wanted a fight.”
I shrugged. “Threatened him. Told him to leave you alone, or else.”
“Richard,” she groaned. “What if he's not the guy who's been threatening me? We don't have any proof.”
I shook my head. “What more proof do you need? Guy came in here the morning you receive that turtle in the mail.”
“Tortoise,” she corrected. “It was a tortoise.”
“Fine. Tortoise. But, if I remember correctly, this is what you wanted. You wanted us to try to scare the guy off.”
“Well, I didn't know he was a biker when I said that.”
“Actually,” I said, “not just a biker. The president.”
She looked at me, her eyes round as dinner plates. “You just beat up the president of the Skull and Bones? In front of my fucking art gallery?”
“Look,” I reminded her as she turned away from me and took a few, timid steps, “he's thinking like a businessman on this. If it's too much trouble to get you out of here, he won't deal with it. He wants something easy, not a feisty co-owner like you. Anything out of the ordinary, even Sheriff Peak will get involved in this. Besides, if anything comes back on this, it's coming back on me, Jessica. I'm the one who screwed up and pissed him off, not you.”
She stopped and turned back to me. The look on her face was now one, almost, of admiration. “You beat up their president? For me?”
I shrugged. “All in a day's work?” I joked. “Just don't tell my boss, okay?”
She laughed and shook her head. That look in her shining green eyes didn't leave, though.
And, as I locked my gaze with hers, I realized that I could spend the rest of my life looking at her face and that same expression.
Chapter Seventeen - Peter
“Frost?” asked the voice on the other end of the line. “That you?”
“Yeah, Portage,” Peter said as he carefully shut his office door so Gen couldn’t eavesdrop on his conversation. “I'm here. What do you have for me?”
It was late morning, and things had been slow, but it looked like they were starting to pick up. Lacy had sent him an update on what had gone down at the Curious Turtle, in all its morbid detail. News that Richard kicked the crap out of Wyatt Axelrod wasn't exactly welcome, but at least they were starting to get a sense of who it was that might actually be threatening their client.
But now Deacon Portage was calling, one of his old platoon buddies who'd become a supervisor at a sleepy Oklahoma police department a couple years back. Peter had connections with all sorts of guys like Deacon, and considered them to be a sort of stringer network he could use for intelligence gathering. Sometimes he got a heads up on business opportunities, handling things the cops couldn't, or wouldn't, handle. Other times, they were on more personal matters.
“Found a case like you asked about a few months back. Burned out farmhouse, all the other details you've been look
ing for.”
Peter could almost smell the remains of his parents' farmhouse back in Pennsylvania, as Portage spoke, that same oily, thick scent that had stayed in his hypersensitive nose for days and days after.
“Talk to me,” Peter said. “All the details.”
Deacon began to spin out the tale in as much detail as he could. The whole thing had them stumped. Ten minutes later, Peter had as much information as Deacon was willing to divulge over the phone.
“Any chance you could fax it over to me?” Peter asked. “So I can look over the hard copies?”
“Sure thing. I can send them over in just a couple minutes.”
Peter gave him the number.
“Think this is the kind of thing you're looking for, Frost?”
“Sounds like it, but I won't know for sure unless I go there in person. Think you can get me into the crime scene?”
“Sure you need to?” Deacon asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Not something I can figure out just by looking at some crime scene photos or police reports. I need to actually get in there and look around.”
“Yeah, I think we can swing It. Fire inspector's a buddy of mine. We play poker every Wednesday down at the Legion. When can you fly out, so I know you're coming?”
“I’ll drive, I think,” Peter replied, scratching at his jaw. “Just need to get a few things wrapped up here and I'll head out your way. I'll text you a time when I'll be in town and what hotel I'm staying at.”
“That soon?”
“That soon, buddy. Thanks again, Portage. Hopefully this leads to something.”
“Any chance you'll tell me what this is about?” Portage asked.
Peter cracked a smile for the first time that morning. “I'd love to, buddy. But you wouldn't believe me if I did.”
“Well, I guess I'll see you when I see you, then.”
“Sure thing.” Peter hung up his cell phone and began to pace his office. Damn Richard for getting into a fist fight with Axelrod. With the two of them here and Frank due back later today, he hadn't been too worried about any of this. They would have had three of the pack in town to deal with any threats, and the other two returning soon enough.
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