Axel Wulf: A Romance Crime Action Thriller

Chapter 1

If you call one wolf, you invite the pack. ~Bulgarian Proverb

Gwen

A three-day weekend of team building? My eyes roll. Kill me now.

“Na na, na naaaa na na, naaa naa na na.” Humming the theme to Mission Impossible, I trot down the sticky stairs, sneak out the door, and inhale the salty night air.

As I make my escape, one of my high heels catches on the uneven boardwalk. I tug the borrowed stiletto from the plank and hop to the nearest bench. Lit by a faux gas lantern, I remove the shoe designed by a serial misogynist.

Barefoot, I zip my Rehoboth Beach sweatshirt and scowl at the second-story bar. I told my coworkers I’d only be gone for a moment, but I lied. Crashing waves and sea breezes versus trivial pursuit and karaoke? No contest.

In the other direction, under the star-filled sky, I grin at my best friend, Henry. The pear-shaped genius doesn’t detect me as he stares over the ocean. Needing five minutes of non-competitiveness, I trot over the slat-covered dunes to join him.

At the hill’s apex, I gasp. A guy in a dark suit heads straight for my friend. Everyone knows only gangsters and assassins wear ties to the beach. Oh yeah, I almost forgot about wedding parties and the Secret Service.

In case there’s trouble, I fumble inside my purse for pepper spray. Gripping the canister, I jump off the wood and into the deep sand. A few yards away, I call out, but cannot be heard over the wind and surf. My blood freezes when Mr. GQ fires a familiar-looking weapon.

Henry drops to his ass, and when the shooter swivels toward me, I belly-flop to the ground.

While I spit out dirt and wait for Saint Peter to list my many sins, a beast-sized collie races past my face. “Woof, woof.”

Two seconds later, I lift my chin. With the dog and the perp gone, I push up further and come to my knees.

“Are you okay, Miss?”

Holy shit, I must’ve died and gone to heaven because my mouth gapes mere inches away from a well-endowed man’s bathing trunks.

Craning my neck, I gasp at the chiseled abdominal muscles, broad chest, and thick lips. When I reach the furrowed dark brows, I lower my gaze to the leash in his hands.

“Are you the dog’s owner?”

“Yeah.” He reaches out his hand, and as I grasp it, shivers run down my spine straight to my clit.

Chest to chest, I step back and point toward the lighthouse. “C-call him back. The guy had a g-gun.”

As the well-toned stranger whistles for his dog, I race to Henry’s side and place my ear to his blue lips. “He’s not breathing.”

The silver fox drops beside me. After he checks for a pulse, he thumps my friend’s heart. “Didn’t you say you saw a gun?”

Oh shit. There’s no blood anywhere. “I don’t know. I, I m-must’ve been mistaken.”

“Not important. Can you perform CPR?” His take-charge attitude restarts my brain cells.

Swallowing hard, I nod and pinch Henry’s nostrils. “It’s been years. However, if you pump, I’ll breathe.”

“Excellent.” The abs-o-licious shirtless stranger works up a sweat as he performs compressions, and I push oxygen into my coworker’s lungs.

Soon, Lassie comes home, and his owner says something in German. Once again, the collie bounds across the sand and herds a young couple toward us.

The woman already has her cell phone out, so I shout in her direction, “Heart attack. Call 911.”

When she recites our location to the operator, I pray. “C’mon, Henry. You can do this.”

Beside me, the Good Samaritan’s forearms and ab muscles strain as he continues to pump.

The interested half-moon darts from under a cloud and reveals the jogger’s chiseled features. His gray hair appears incongruent with the dark stubble and thirty-ish face. God help me, it’s been so long since I’ve had sex, my clit twitches.

Clearly, I’ve lost my marbles.

Time slows down. It seems like hours, but probably no more than five minutes later, a man in his sixties lowers to the sand. “I’m a doctor. What happened here?”

“He was just standing there, then fell.” Not daring to look up at Mr. Naked Abs, I keep my eyes on the older gent.

“I sent someone for a defibrillator, and it will be here shortly. Do either of you know this man?”

Like a kid in grade school, I raise my hand. “I do.”

The physician nods, reaches into an expensive leather satchel, and retrieves a stethoscope. “Has he ever had heart problems? High blood pressure?”

Hesitating, I shake my head no. I want to tell him about the weapon, but I would rather not go to jail.

Torn between loyalty to friend and country, I bite my tongue to avoid blurting out something stupid.

My internal debate halts at the arrival of a young Adonis lifeguard holding a portable defibrillator. After he hands it to the medical professional, the device’s robotic voice counts down, and I pray harder than I ever have in my whole life. Please, Henry. Don’t die.

“Clear!” At the doctor’s order, I jump back, and the lifeless body jolts.

When Henry’s eyes open, I ignore the tears rolling down my cheeks and grab his chubby, soft hand. “You’re going to be alright.”

Watching me, the sexy man squats on his heels beside his dog. Except for the tongue hanging out, the canine and his owner express the same intent, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The taller of the pair focuses his gaze and licks his lower lip. Drawn to his mouth, another tingle shoots down my spine and lands at the bullseye between my upper thighs. All sorts of inappropriate thoughts cloud my brain, such as running naked on the beach, skinny dipping, his long, thick…

Lordy, what is it about him? I’ve never reacted to a man like this, not even my ex. I dig my newly gelled nails into my palms to stop the madness.

Unaware of my struggle, the doctor pokes a needle into Henry’s arm and says, “Does your boyfriend have a drug problem?”

“Not that I’m aware of, and he’s not my… We’re coworkers.” Although I consider my three-hundred-pound associate to be one of my closest confidants, a horrible truth dawns on me. I know almost nothing about him. He considers potato chips a vegetable, ingests massive doses of vitamin D, and is likely a vampire for all the sunlight he absorbs.

No longer needed for CPR, my mind wanders to Mr. Suit, and I begin to shake. Perhaps I imagined the weapon. If not… I shudder as I consider the implications.