When he seemed stumped about what to say next, she went on. “Let’s just say that I’m a little bit intrigued by your philosophy on women sizing up a potential, um, mate. It sounds like you think the most important thing to a woman should be a guy’s money.”
“Only because, in this world, it’s part of the way a…” a word she didn’t quite understand was garbled and changed to… “man demonstrates that he can protect a mate and their progeny. It’s not the only way, of course, but it’s a factor.”
“So a woman should be looking for the richest guy she can get?”
He laughed softly. “I hope that’s not what I said.”
“What’s the first thing a man should be looking for in a mate?”
He stopped and turned toward her. She waited almost breathlessly for him to answer. “Smell.”
“Ew!” She slapped at his arm. “And you were doing so well. You almost had me thinking you’re halfway normal.”
He threw his empty paper cup in a public trash receptacle and reached out, offering to do the same for her.
“Nuh-uh,” she protested. “I’m not done.”
“Reese. There’s nothing left. You’re going to have to lick the cup if you want to get anything else out of it. Not that I couldn’t get behind that. On second thought. Forget I said anything. Please. Lick the cup. I’ll just wait right here. And watch.” He smiled.
“Alright. Point made.” She handed over the cup.
“We can get more,” he offered. “Let’s go see if they’re still open.”
“No. I shouldn’t. I’ll be like a kid who had too much sugar. I’ll be awake all night.” Not that she wouldn’t be awake all night anyway after the strange turn her evening had taken, leaving her captivated. She’d started out the evening thinking of Nick Sigil as her stalker and was ending the evening thinking of him as her strange, mysterious and romantic-in-his-own-odd-way admirer.
“Whatever you want.”
She cocked her head. “You know, I think I don’t have other people say that to me nearly often enough. I think maybe I could never get tired of hearing ‘whatever you want’.”
He stepped in front of where she was walking so that she would either stop or walk into him. “I can do that. How about a good night kiss?”
“Now?” She looked around. “Here?”
“What’s wrong with here and now?”
“Well, for one thing it’s public. For another thing it’s not good night unless you’re planning to leave me here with nothing but an Uber account.”
“I think it’s my lucky day,” he said.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I didn’t hear you say no.” Without giving her a chance to correct that, he put his hands on her waist and pulled her the difference of eleven inches that separated them. As soon as her body made contact with his, Nick brushed his lips against hers. Lightly enough to create a tingle that begged to be resolved by more. Hard enough to transfer the demand of craving he was feeling for her.
If he’d given her time to think it through, she would’ve said no. But he didn’t give her brain a chance to get in the way of what she wanted. He gave her what they’d both been dying to do for most of the night they’d spent practically sitting on top of each other at the Bistro bar. How did he know she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her? Smell.
Reese left Nick Sigil standing on the sidewalk when he took her home, but he counted the night a huge success. He’d planned to spend it leaning against the wall hoping to get a glimpse of her. Or at least to see the light go out in her apartment and know when she went to bed.
Thanks to Reese’s gumption, he’d enjoyed four hours of her company, two kisses that felt permanently branded on his lips, and the promise of another dinner. The next night.
By the way she threw a grin over her shoulder after saying goodnight, he thought it was safe to say, she’d be thinking about him; maybe, hopefully, the same way he’d be thinking about her.
CHAPTER FOUR The Portrait
George Landonville was a freelance nature photographer. ‘Nature’ meant that he caught photos of wild animals – in the wild, not confined in zoos. He’d been in the area for a week. He hadn’t seen another human in that length of time. Nor had he been rewarded with a photo he could sell. He was thinking about giving up, packing up, and going home for a couple of days where he’d eat delivered pizza, watch TV, meet his friends at the sports bar and think about other things. His hand had actually reached out for a zippered case when it happened.
A magnificent wolf leapt onto a rock promontory that, George knew, would have an incredible panoramic view. It was a gray timber wolf, but big. George thought perhaps it was the biggest wolf he’d ever seen. As he took dozens of shots with a silent motor drive, the strangest thing happened. The wolf looked over his shoulder in George’s direction. The animal’s eyes seemed to lock onto the lens through which he was being photographed. Then he jumped and disappeared behind the rock, presumably going back the way he’d come.
George’s stomach was doing cartwheels because he knew he’d caught a ‘money shot’. Not Warren Buffet money, but enough to make the week worthwhile and keep him well clear of an office cubicle for a while longer.
“I think somebody may have snapped a photo of me today,” Nick said at dinner as he spooned a dollop of potato salad onto his plate. He’d been in the city for four days and had been so ready to let the wolf out that he’d wanted to jump out of his skin as soon as the Jeep stopped.
“You mean…?”
“Yeah,” Nick said. “Wolf.”
Rapp looked around the table because they were uncharacteristically quiet. “Is that a problem?”
“If nobody who knows the difference between shifters and wild wolves sees it, then no,” Kai said.
“You’ve got bigger problems than that,” Mars said as he took a seat. “Don’t you, Nick?”
With a slight furrow of confusion between his brows, Nick said, “What do you mean?”
Everybody had stopped to look at Mars, who busted a big grin. “Nick’s got a friend.”
Grey, who had no patience to speak of, had already lost what little he had. “Spit it out.”
Mars shrugged as he picked up a pork rib. “Already told you. Nick has a lovely female friend.”
Every head at the table swiveled to focus on Nick.
Nick was instantly flustered. “How would you know that? Have you been following me?”
“Of course not. I was taking the owner of the Market Street shop to lunch. You and your girl passed by the window looking… comfortable with each other.”
“Human?” Rapp asked.
Nick turned on the omega like he was considering a brawl, but reined himself in and said, “She’s human. But she smells good.” He could feel six pairs of eyes studying him. “There’s no point in being jealous. If you want female companionship, you’re going to have to leave this mountain sometimes.”
“He has a point,” Kai said. “We designed this lifestyle like an outpost so we could stay away from people, but they’re the only ones with equipment we need to forget our troubles.”
“Why didn’t any females end up here?” Shea said out loud what each of them had thought a thousand times.
“Maybe they did,” Kai answered. “And we just didn’t come across any.”
“What if all the females went south and someplace there’s a pack of all bitches wondering why no males ended up there?” Rapp mused.
Without a word, Grey took a roll and shoved it in Rapp’s mouth. But that didn’t stop each and every one of the six males who longed for female companionship to form an image of Rapp’s scenario and shift uncomfortably in their chairs.
“Maybe you could introduce us to…” Shea began.
But Nick cut him off. “I’m not a matchmaker. Get your own.”
“Come on,” Ken said. “Won’t hurt you to share some details. What’s it like to be with a human?”
Nick’s eyes slid to Ken
as he gave him a slow smile. “It’s better than sitting around here wishing you could remember what it feels like to sink inside a warm, wet…”
“That’s enough.” Grey said it quietly, but firmly.
“Does she have a friend?” Ken asked, rolling his eyes at Grey’s rumbled warning.
Three months later.
Miles Bogosian was waiting in the dentist office in a huff. Part of the reason for that was that he was getting a root canal. So he hadn’t been expecting an enjoyable day to begin with. The other part of the reason behind his dissatisfaction was that he was ten minutes early while the oral surgeon was fifty minutes late. Miles Bogosian couldn’t abide people who behaved like their time was more important than his time.
He wasn’t interested in cable news and detested the country music coming from the speakers enough to feel his teeth grind together. He even had the thought that perhaps the oral surgeon played that music for the purpose of fostering new business. He didn’t dare take out his phone because, if he did, he would get into the middle of work-related issues and then be even angrier when they came to get him and interrupted.
His eyes cast about and landed on the magazines arranged in neat cascading rows. Field and Stream was on top. Miles Bogosian didn’t have a yacht. He didn’t ski, didn’t play golf, and wasn’t interested in sports. But he did hunt.
Fanning through the pages something caught his eye. He backed up and found it, a gorgeous photo of a wolf standing on an outcropping, looking back over his shoulder. It was hard to tell if the magnificent creature was squinting because he was looking into the wind, a possibility based on the fact that his collar fur seemed to be rippling. Either that or he’d spotted the cameraman and was experiencing a moment of deep distrust. Because he appeared to be looking directly into the lens.
Miles sat up a little straighter and ran two fingers over the glossy photo. Only a person who’d studied wildlife as he had would have noticed the differences. The big canine was so close in appearance to a gray wolf that he could easily pass. In fact, the caption under the photo even said ‘gray timber wolf’. All of a sudden Miles forgot the tardy dentist, the aggravating music being forced upon him through ceiling speakers, and the appointments that he’d be keeping later in the day, even with partial numbness.
His fingers smoothed over the slick glossy image and he smiled a private smile meant for himself alone, as all the best smiles were. He had to curb the impulse to laugh out loud. Finally, fate had seen fit to give him something worth hunting. He was looking at a flawlessly designed predator. Beautiful if you weren’t the prey. Utterly horrific if you were. But Miles knew he wasn’t looking at a wolf. At least not the sort of wolf that anybody in biological history had ever seen and identified. Formally.
The closest anyone had come was in the grotesque literature of cinema, comics, and cheap horror stories.
Who would have guessed that a day that had promised to be subpar in every way might take such an extraordinary turn?
When the dental assistant opened the door and said, “Mr. Bogosian? We’re ready for you,” he looked down at the magazine. He couldn’t leave it unattended in the waiting room. By some twist of circumstance he might return to find it gone. No. He could not let such a precious find out of his sight.
As he stood, magazine in hand, he said, “Very well. I wonder if I might purchase this periodical? It contains a reference I wish to keep.”
She looked down at the Field and Stream and waved a hand. “You’re welcome to take that. Dr. Goodall has already read them.”
“Thank you. Most generous.”
He held the magazine in his hand throughout the procedure and left the office a partially numb, but happy man.
As soon as he returned to his office, Bogosian pointed to the photographer’s name in small print next to the photograph, and told his executive assistant to contact the man, find out the exact location of the shot and any other pertinent details.
“And return the magazine to me as soon as you’ve copied the information you need.”
“Yes, sir,” she said. Arlene Nesbitt didn’t ask why. She wouldn’t have lasted long as Bogosian’s EA if she made a habit of questioning him.
Finding George Landonville wasn’t hard. After all freelance photographers want to be found.
Bogosian’s EA offered George a consulting fee in exchange for sharing every detail.
The voice on the phone brightened. “Really? How much?”
“Five hundred dollars if you have useful information. I assume you took other photos besides the one picked up by Field and Stream.”
“Yes. But if you want the entire shoot, that’ll cost you more than five hundred.”
“How much?”
“I can’t sell the one in the magazine. But the others?” He paused. “I was using a silenced motor drive. There might be thirty besides that one. That wolf didn’t stay in my sights long.”
“How much for all the photos besides the one you sold?”
“Four thousand.”
Arlene didn’t know enough about wildlife photography to know if that was reasonable or a gouge. “We’ll give you two thousand and the series will be closed out, none of the photos to be sold to anyone else. Ever.”
After a slight pause, he said, “Look. I have to pay a light bill like everybody else. Three thousand and you have a deal.”
She smiled. Even though she wouldn’t earn one dime more for negotiating a better rate, even though Bogosian could have afforded any amount and wouldn’t miss it, even though she certainly wouldn’t get an ‘atta girl’ or a thank you from her boss, Arlene got professional satisfaction from knowing she’d made the best deal possible.
“Alright. I will send someone tomorrow with a cashier’s check. Unless you prefer cash?”
“Well. Cash would be great.”
“Very well. I’ll have someone on a morning flight. Where will you be at one o’clock?”
“I have an office in my apartment.” He gave the address and they ended the call.
She knocked on Bogosian’s door.
“Open,” he said.
Arlene placed the magazine on the desk and said, “We have the location of the shoot. He got another thirty-odd photos, which will be ours exclusively by tomorrow night. I’m sending Rollo to pay him and pick them up.”
His acknowledgement was a soft grunt. No change in expression. No thanks. After seven years, she didn’t expect anything different and would have been shocked if he’d even looked up. Bogosian would have thought the suggestion that he should thank his assistant was absurd. She was earning the high end of executive admin pay range. That was thanks enough.
“You want the recording of my conversation with him or the transcript?”
“Recording.”
“Sending to your email right away. He’ll be available should you have follow up questions.”
She took the second grunt as both response and dismissal.
If an outside observer had been watching Miles Bogosian, they never would have guessed that his demeanor or body language would pass for excitement. But he was excited. As he methodically moved reports and tasks around within the software he used to stay on track these days, he kept the drive he shared with Arlene open in a corner of the screen so he’d know the second the recording had been uploaded.
After listening to the recording, he had only one question. Was RW Foley still the best tracker in the world?
Bogosian placed a call to fellow billionaire hunter, Carl Scarborough.
“He’s in a meeting, Mr. Bogosian. I’ll be happy to have him call right afterward.”
Miles agreed as politely as he could considering that he was not a man who liked to wait. For anything.
While he was waiting for Scarborough’s call, he listened to the recording again. Twice. While staring at the photo.
George Landonville had said that he’d had no luck for almost a week. He was just about to pack up and head out empty handed when the big fellow leap
ed from out of sight onto a promontory. The shot with the mountains behind the wolf was so picturesque it almost looked staged.
The photographer added that he knew luck was with him, that he never would have gotten that shot in a hundred years if he hadn’t been downwind of a twenty-mile-an-hour breeze. Even so, the wolf had turned and stared right into the camera lens as if he sensed George’s presence. That was the shot Field and Stream had picked up.
It was a career-making shot and one that was going to finally get him inside the door at National Geographic.
Arlene had asked George, “Do you personally think that was just a coincidence or do you think the wolf saw you?”
“I don’t think he saw me,” George said, “but I do think he knew I was there.”
“And did he leave immediately?”
“Yeah. Disappeared on the other side of that rock as quickly as he’d shown up. Didn’t matter too much though. I knew I’d gotten something special. And I was right. Huh?”
“Yes. Something special. It’s a beautiful photo and we’re looking forward to owning the rest. Our representative will have a contract for you to sign regarding exclusive rights to the rest of the photos. Should any of them turn up in any other publications in the future, or in galleries, or private collections, or online, we will drown you in lawsuits so that you will never be able to pay a light bill again. Do you understand?”
Bogosian appreciated the ease and art with which his assistant delivered the threat. That was just one of the reasons why she’d lasted seven years. She loved negotiation and improved deals on his behalf even when he hadn’t asked for that and she made sure he was buttoned up legally at all times.
After a brief pause, George answered. The way the terms of sale were stated had shaved the buoyancy away from his enthusiastic tone. “I understand.”
When the private phone rang, Bogosian answered immediately.
“Miles,” Scarborough said. “It’s been a while.”
“Indeed. Time to catch up as they say.”
Stalk (Hotblooded Book 1) Page 4
