by Lynn Hagen
“They took off out the back door.” Dillon balled his fists at his sides. “I bit one of them in the face. The guy smelled human, so he’ll be seeking medical attention.”
“I’ll call the clinic,” Jacoby said. “I’ll alert the ones in Desire and Pride Pack Valley, too.”
Dillon nodded his appreciation.
“Care to tell me what’s going on around here?” Vince asked. “Does this have anything to do with Newt?”
Newt had hired hitmen after him for an orb he possessed. Newt had thought it a simple marble, but the small ball turned out to be a passageway into the demon realm. “Yes and no.”
“What does that mean?” Vince asked as Jacoby spoke on the phone.
“It all has to do with that damn orb,” Dillon explained. “The original owner, Taren Haynes, had it twenty years ago. Max stole it from him to make sure Taren couldn’t start a war with the demon warriors. Taren is pissed Max foiled his plans, so he wants revenge.”
“Are you talking about that guy you were flirting with outside our boss’s house?” Vince asked. “And isn’t Sheriff Werth’s dog named Max?”
“They’re one and the same,” Dillon said.
Vince’s dark brows shot up. “You mated his dog?”
“Stop making it sound gross,” Dillon snarled. “Max is a shifter.”
“Obviously,” Vince said with a smirk. “Has Werth tried to remove your balls yet for stealing his dog? He loves his German shepherd. I’m surprised you’re not limping.”
So was Dillon. “Drop the fucking subject,” he warned.
“I alerted all the nearby clinics,” Jacoby said when he joined them. From the laughter in his eyes, the bastard had heard their conversation. Thankfully he was smart enough to keep his trap shut.
“We’ll do a perimeter sweep.” Vince had gone from bantering friend to cop mode. “If they’re still around, we’ll find them.”
Dillon watched them walk out the front door before he headed back to his bedroom. Max was still sound asleep. He wanted to crawl into bed and curl around his mate, but Dillon needed to stay alert. He couldn’t help but feel partially to blame for this. If Max hadn’t stopped taking the potion, he wouldn’t have fallen sick. Dillon needed to find Chuck.
He rubbed his neck, cursing that Taren had gotten the drop on him. He hadn’t thought to set his house alarm, but Dillon wouldn’t make that mistake again. And the next time he ran into Taren, the bastard wasn’t going to walk away.
Chapter Four
Max opened his eyes and prayed he hadn’t slept for two days. He blinked at the darkness and then pushed from the bed. He wasn’t achy, so maybe he’d slept for only a decent amount of time
He found Dillon in the living room looking through some files. “How long was I out?”
Dillon looked up and gave him a warm smile. “Just a few hours.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” He took a seat on the couch next to his mate. “What’re you working on?”
“The sheriff gave me some time off to deal with everything that’s going on, but I wanted to look over the open cases I’ve been working on.”
“I’m sorry I’m making you miss work.” Max grabbed a file and opened it, just to be nosy.
“Are you kidding?” Dillon gave him a peck on the cheek. “I needed a break.”
The guy was lying, but Max didn’t argue. He frowned as he looked at the file in his hand. “I know this woman.”
Dillon leaned over and glanced at the paperwork. “Mrs. O’Reilly. She’s been an open case for a few years now. Ever since she lost her husband she’s been calling the police at least once a month for trivial things. We keep a file on her so we can keep track of what’s going on.”
“That poor woman.” Max set the file down. “Newt works at the nursing home. Maybe you guys can talk her into—”
“Sheriff Werth has tried many times, but she refuses to go.”
Max turned his head when he heard a noise in the kitchen. He looked at Dillon, but his mate didn’t seem worried. “Do we have a house guest, besides me?”
“Where’s the mayo?” Newt asked as he wandered into the living room, a sandwich in his hand. “And don’t you have any pickles?”
Max frowned.
“Werth asked if Newt could hang out here on his days off and when the boss has to be at work. He feels better when his mate has someone around.”
“Oh.” Max smiled, until he saw Baby Girl run past him. “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me. That cat is a menace.”
“Well, I couldn’t leave her alone in the house,” Newt argued.
“Cats are perfectly fine by themselves,” Max argued right back. “She’ll only break shit and make it look like I did it.”
“Any mayo?” Newt asked again.
“Check the pantry,” Dillon said. “If it’s not in there, then I don’t have any.”
“How can you have deli meat and no mayo?” Newt grumbled as he headed back into the kitchen.
“Because mustard is healthier,” Dillon hollered without turning around. He was studying one of his files intently.
“What’s that one about?” Max slid a little closer, inhaling his mate’s scent. And damn if Dillon didn’t smell dark and woodsy. Max wanted to shove his nose into his neck but refrained from disturbing his mate.
“Rash of stolen cars with no leads.” Dillon set the file down and picked another one up.
“And that one?”
“Break-ins.”
“Wow, and here I thought Brac Village was a safe place to live.” The town seemed so quaint, and Max had fallen in love with it. Over the past two years, while Orlando had been at work and since Max couldn’t be detected, he’s snuck out and explored. He couldn’t count how many times he’d stopped in front of the bakery or diner and whimpered at the delicious smells.
Now that he could go into town in his human form, Max wanted to visit a few places, like the bakery and the coffeehouse, and he would love to dine at Lucky Clover.
Dillon nodded. “It is a safe place. These rashes just started about a month ago. Jacoby and I suspect they’re related. Maybe some wayward teenagers, but we’re not sure.”
“Have any of the cars been found?” Max asked.
“So far, only a handful have been recovered.”
With nothing else to do at home, Max had watched a lot of television. “Are any of the cars expensive? Maybe they’re stolen for parts. You know…a chop shop.”
“I wish it were that easy. Most of the cars are older models. I can’t imagine they have any value, even for parts.”
Max was trying to help Dillon. He liked trying to solve mysteries, but it seemed being a detective wasn’t as easy as the television made it look.
“I got nothing else,” Max said. “You’re probably right on the teenager theory.”
Dillon leaned over and kissed his cheek again. “A fresh set of eyes never hurts.”
“I found the mayo,” Newt announced with a happy tone. “Who wants to eat?”
Max wasn't hungry. The fish at lunch had filled him up. “Not me, but I could go for a soda.”
“Water,” Dillon said. “You don’t need that sugary drink.”
Max scowled. “Stop trying to put me on a diet. Do I look like I need to shed a few pounds?”
“Water it is,” Newt said as he turned and headed back into the kitchen. A moment later he handed Max a bottled water and gave Dillon a plate with a sandwich on it, along with some chips.
“Thanks,” Dillon said.
Max slouched on the couch as his mate chowed down on his food and Newt settled on the carpeted floor, turning the television on.
Baby Girl was nowhere around, and she’d stay hidden if she knew what was good for her.
The front door opened, and Orlando walked in. “Ready to hit the road?”
Newt got up and took his plate to the kitchen, returning a moment later. “I have to be up early for work.” He gave Max a quick hug and then hunted Baby Girl down.
“That’s because you’re both cats,” Max said.
“Are you sure she’s not a shifter?” Orlando looked at the white cat cradled in Newt’s arms.
“Positive,” Max said. “She’s just a meany.”
Baby Girl hissed at him. Max flipped her off.
“On that note,” Orlando said. “Thanks for keeping an eye on them.”
Dillon nodded. “No problem.”
Max curled on the couch when Orlando and Newt walked out. One second he was checking out his mate’s profile, wondering if Dillon was up for fooling around, and the next, he shifted.
Max barked, freaked out that he’d shifted without warning.
“Take it easy.” Dillon ran his hand over Max’s fur. “We’ll get this figured out.”
Max hoped so, because if they couldn’t find Chuck, he just might be doomed.
* * * *
After dropping Max off at the Den, Dillon went on the hunt. Finding Chuck was taking too long, and Max’s long hours of sleep and random shifting were getting worse. Over the past week Max had slept more than Dillon did in a month.
Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration, but Max spent more time in bed than he did out of it.
“You have a description of the guy?” Detective Lewis Keating asked.
Dillon texted the sketch composite to Lewis’s phone as they slipped into Dillon’s truck and drove the streets. “How hard can it be to find one guy?”
“He isn’t human,” Lewis said. “So it might be damn near impossible.”
“Thanks for keeping things positive.”
“Sorry, but do you want me to bullshit you or tell you the truth?”
As much as Dillon hated being lied to, he would have preferred a candy-coated version in this case.
They had no luck finding Chuck, but they did come across a shady-looking guy lurking in someone’s driveway. Dillon slowed and pulled to the curb, watching as the stranger looked around.
“You think he’s the one who’s been stealing cars?” Lewis asked.
“Wouldn’t hurt to talk to him.” Dillon opened his truck door and got out, Lewis at his side. The stranger opened the car door and got in. Seconds later, he was reversing from the driveway, damn near running Dillon over. Dillon tried to stop him by waving a hand, but the guy took off.
The house the car had been taken from lit up, and then the porch light came on. Some guy with a potbelly and disheveled hair waved his arms. “My car was just stolen!”
Dillon and Lewis rushed back to the truck and hopped in, giving chase. Lewis called in the pursuit as Dillon cut the corner too closely, almost crashing into an SUV that was parked at the curb.
“Try not to kill me,” Lewis said. “My mate would frown upon my demise.”
That was bullshit. Evan would slowly and torturously kill Dillon if anything happened to his mate. He’d be lucky for a quick death.
For a compact car, the sedan had power. It zipped down the street at a high speed, putting more and more distance between them.
“Do I need to drive?” Lewis asked.
“I’m driving fast,” Dillon said, “but I’m also trying not to crash or hit anyone.”
Dillon cursed when a car reversed from its driveway. He had to swerve to miss the back end, but the countermove slowed him down and he’d nearly hit a tree and a row of trash cans on someone’s tree lawn. He straightened the wheel, but the car was nowhere in sight.
“Did we seriously lose him?” Lewis asked.
Dillon growled.
“Did you get a good look at him?”
“No.” The driveway had been too dark, and all Dillon had seen was a shadowy profile. If the homeowner had kept his porch light on all the time, Dillon might have seen the car thief.
They spent the next forty minutes searching, but the guy and the car were long gone.
* * * *
Max couldn’t believe how much fun he was having. While in his German shepherd form, he chased Keata, who was in his tiger form, down the multitudes of long hallways in the mansion. Then Keata’s brother, Kyoshi, appeared around the corner, and the two tigers came after Max.
He raced down the stairs and shot toward the kitchen as Johnny ran, trying to keep up, yelling for a ride on Max’s back. His German shepherd was big, but not enough to support a person riding him.
What did Johnny think, he was a miniature horse?
Max came close to running a few people over but dodged them in time, as the tigers were in hot pursuit of him. Had Max known the Den was this fun, he would’ve visited a long time ago. Even if him showing up would’ve been awkward because, without Dillon introducing him, Max would’ve been a complete stranger asking to come in and play.
Too late Max spotted Maverick coming out of his office. He tried to stop but ended up running into the alpha. Maverick tumbled backward and hit the floor as Max rolled over him.
“You’re in trouble now,” Johnny said in a singsong voice. “You should’ve given me a ride.”
What did a ride have to do with barreling into Maverick? Max licked Maverick’s face, his way of saying he was sorry. Maverick just lay there, staring up at the ceiling. Max prayed the guy didn’t kill him for this.
Instead of being angry like Johnny had predicted, Maverick petted Max’s head. “Be more careful.”
Max had met Maverick before. He’d come over to Orlando’s house. Even so, every time he looked at the tall man, Max had an urge to show his belly.
Without warning, Max shifted. He stared wide-eyed at Maverick and then scrambled away, embarrassed he’d been licking the guy’s face when he’d changed.
Maverick arched a dark brow as he pushed to his feet. “Let’s never speak of that…to anyone.”
Too bad Johnny stood there gaping at them, but Max didn’t point out the fact that they weren’t alone.
He covered his naked groin with his hands. “Deal.”
Unfortunately, Max shifted back and forth between his forms a few more times before he collapsed on the hallway floor in his dog form, feeling as though he’d been turned inside out.
“What’s wrong with him?” Johnny asked.
“He just needs some rest.” Maverick picked Max up and took him into his office, placing him on a black leather sofa. “Why don’t you got get Dr. Sheehan for me?”
Johnny nodded and took off.
Max whimpered.
Maverick crouched in front of him and petted Max’s side. “Your mate told me what’s going on with you. We’re trying to figure this out.”
Although Max appreciated everyone’s efforts, he was tired of hearing how everyone was trying. His body felt like a train wreck every time he went into uncontrollable shifts.
“Just get some rest.” Maverick straightened and headed over to his desk. The tigers poked their heads in, and Keata—at least Max thought it was him—came over to the couch and licked his face.
“All right, fellas,” Dr. Sheehan said when he entered. “Give Max some space.”
The tigers took off. Johnny returned with a bowl of water, set it on the floor by the couch, patted Max’s head, and then left.
Max tried to will himself to shift into his human form, but nothing happened. He wanted his mate. He wanted to ask the doctor to call Dillon. Max was scared and wanted to be wrapped in his mate’s arms.
“There’s really nothing I can do,” Dr. Sheehan said to Maverick. “I can draw some blood to see if there are any changes, but all I can recommend is rest after uncontrollable shifting.”
Max’s tail swished back and forth when Dillon walked into Maverick’s office. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he would’ve jumped from the couch to greet his mate.
He tried to keep his eyes open, to hear what the men were talking about, but Max was so tired. He finally gave in and allowed sleep to take him.
* * * *
Maltese skimmed his gaze over the approaching man. The guy smelled like demon, but there was something off about him. “What do you want?” he said in a tone that wasn't inviting.
A few cars passed the alley Maltese was standing in, their headlights lighting up the area for a quick moment before disappearing.
“I hear you’re a very popular man,” the guy said. “Or should I say Chuck is popular.”
Maltese never used his real name. The streets could get dangerous, and the fewer people who knew who he truly was, the better. “What’s your point?”
This guy had slimeball written all over him, from his fucked-up haircut to his greedy eyes and all the way down his skinny jeans to his cheap loafers.
“I’m pretty sure the Ultionem will want to talk to you when I tell them you’re nothing more than a drug dealer peddling lethal crap,” the guy said.
Maltese’s narrowed his eyes. “Is that a threat?”
Sliding his hands into the pocket of his slacks, the guy shrugged. “Think of it as a proposal.”
“I’m listening.” He looked past the stranger to make sure they were still alone. If the guy said anything Maltese didn’t like, Maltese was ending the idiot.
“You want your secret kept, and I want to get into the demon realm.”
Although Maltese’s powers had been stripped years ago, he’d still maintained the ability to enter the demon realm. It was the one ability his father had allowed him to keep. Wasn’t that so nice of the bastard? But clearly this demon wasn’t able to, and Maltese didn’t like the vibe he was getting from this guy.
He studied the stranger closer. “I know you. Didn’t Panahasi ban you from ever returning?”
“Semantics.”
Not many scared Maltese, but going against the demon leader would land him in the underworld, and he’d rather have his balls ripped out through his ass than spend a minute locked in a cell where he relived his worst nightmares over and over again. “Sorry, but you need to move along.”
Maltese felt a presence behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see three quarterback-sized men standing there. With a smirk, he turned back to the idiot. Oh crap.
