Mission: Wolf (CIA Shifters #6)

Chapter One

Logan

Logan should have known better than to think Bitterroot would stay in the past.

The second he had stepped out of the SUV and into the crisp mountain air, the scent had crowded his scenes.

Pine, damp earth…and something else. It was something old, and familiar in a way that made his skin crawl.

His wolf stirred restlessly within him, already on edge, already pacing.

But unlike Logan, his wolf was happy to be back in town.

Kill Derek? his inner animal asked hopefully.

He’d been repeating that question in Logan’s mind ever since they had learned they were returning. It was starting to grate on Logan’s nerves, not because he didn’t agree with his inner wolf, but because he did.

The Bitterroot Mountains were where Logan had spent his childhood.

It was also the place where his parents had been murdered by a bunch of cowards who had been too afraid to challenge his dad on their own.

And it was where Logan had buried the last piece of who he was before he’d run for his life and become a lone wolf.

Now, against every vow he’d made to himself, he was back.

“This place smells like ass and trauma,” Carter muttered beside him, nodding to the rundown motel.

He wrinkled his nose as he grabbed his duffel from the trunk.

Arlo laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “That’s just you, man.”

“Stay alert, guys,” Max said, an edge to his tone.

He wasn’t their superior, although none of the members of Logan’s CIA team would have objected to him in that role. Max glanced at Logan from the corner of his eye, undoubtedly trying to read his mood.

Good luck with that, Logan thought. He didn’t even know what the hell he was feeling.

Ezra had already charged ahead and grabbed their keys, so they crossed the gravel lot past the motel office and headed for the row of units.

The buildings had seen better days. Hell, they had even seen better decades.

It was the kind of place that screamed don’t drink the tap water.

A flickering neon Vacancy sign buzzed in the window of the office, and a faded ‘Welcome Hunters!’ banner sagged above the door.

“Classy,” Seb muttered behind Logan.

If they’d have been any place else, Logan would have chuckled good-naturedly at the joke, but they weren’t, and he couldn’t.

He was so on edge that he could barely remember his own name.

In fact, he was fighting the urge to turn tail and make a run for it, as far away from this place as his legs would carry him.

It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“It’ll do,” Max said. “We’re not here for comfort.”

They weren’t there for nostalgia either, but that didn’t stop it from hitting Logan square in the chest. The wind shifted and carried with it the scent of pine bark and something faintly sweet.

Juniper, maybe? He used to climb the trees around there like he’d been born in their branches.

Now they felt like sentinels, silently watching his every move, and judging him.

He didn’t slow his stride. He wouldn’t give this place or the people in it the satisfaction.

Then he heard it.

Raised voices, rough and close. Just around the corner of the office, someone was yelling, the voice fast and aggressive.

“Shut your mouth, old man!” an angry voice shouted. “You’d better tell me what I damn well want to hear. You understand?”

They stopped as one and listened.

“I…I can’t give you anymore. I don’t have it,” a man answered, fear lacing every word.

“That’s the owner,” Carter said. “He’s seventy if he’s a day.”

They all jogged in the direction of the voices, but Logan was the first to round the corner.

An old man, wiry and weathered, who Logan would have put in his mid-seventies, was pinned back against the side wall of the motel office by a much taller man. The aggressor was broad-shouldered with a cocky snarl, and a face that begged for a broken nose.

Behind him, another man watched the scene with evident glee. He was slimmer and silent, his eyes flicking between the two men in an almost predatory fashion.

They weren’t human, or at least, Logan didn’t think so. It was hard to tell. But there was something about the way the men carried themselves that screamed shifter.

Seb took a step forward until he was standing beside Logan. “Let him go,” he said calmly.

The aggressor didn’t even flinch, which was rare when Seb challenged someone. The sheer size of the man made most people pause. That told Logan this man was used to people fearing him.

“Turn around and leave,” he said. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“It does now,” Max replied as he came up behind Logan and Seb.

The guy’s gaze raked across them all. And then, as if for the first time, Logan saw him clearly and his pulse slammed in his throat. The scarred eyebrow, the sneer, and that crooked smirk that hadn’t aged a day.

Reed.

Logan knew the face and realized now that he knew the voice, too, even though it had aged. He also knew the kind of asshole the man had been long before Derek had declared himself alpha.

He didn’t recognize Logan, though. Of course he didn’t.

Logan had been a scrawny seventeen-year-old then, and he’d been bleeding profusely when they’d last met.

Beaten to a pulp by Derek’s henchmen. Black swollen eyes, a broken nose, a few of broken ribs, shit Logan had been sure he’d had internal bleeding too judging by the way he’d been hacking up blood.

Derek had probably assumed that he’d died from his injuries.

If Logan hadn’t been a shifter with faster healing abilities, he likely would have.

But he had healed eventually, enough to get him the hell away from this place and start fresh somewhere else.

No pack, no friends, and no family. But he’d made a life for himself, and hadn’t thought about this place in a long time, until Derek’s name had been brought up in a briefing one day and everything had come crashing back.

And now as he stared at Reed, it was all he could do not to march over there and snap the guy’s neck. Logan wasn’t a scrawny seventeen-year-old anymore. He bigger now, every inch the alpha’s son he’d been born to be. Plus he was trained. Well.

Logan took a breath and kept his voice even. “He’s pack,” he murmured, just loud enough for his friends to hear. “Name’s Reed.”

Max’s eyes didn’t leave Reed, but Logan felt his stance shift slightly. Even more alert now.

Reed still had the motel owner by the collar. “Old man here needs to learn who he’s talking to.”

“He’s talking to someone who should be walking away,” Carter said, not even blinking. “Now.”

Reed’s lip curled. His friend took a step forward, looking to Reed for instructions.

Logan still couldn’t pick up any scent from him, but the fact that Reed thought humans were beneath him told him all he needed to know. The man had to be pack.

Reed let go of the motel owner and stepped back like he was doing them a favor.

“Tell your boy to mind his tone,” he said, glaring at Carter. “Next time I won’t be so polite.”

“That was polite?” Seb asked dryly.

Max didn’t move, but he didn’t need to. The pressure in the air had shifted. Reed felt it, too. His posture changed. Still cocky, but a little more hesitant now. He was outnumbered, after all.

He jerked his head at his companion. “Come on, let’s go.”

They started walking toward a rusted-out pickup parked under the crooked pine at the edge of the lot.

Reed glanced back once. His gaze passed over them all for a second longer than was necessary, but there was no recognition in his gaze when he looked at Logan.

Finally, they got in their pickup and drove off with a squeal of tires and a spit of loose gravel.

The motel owner exhaled sharply and straightened his shirt. “Thanks, fellas. Uh, I don’t know what’s gotten into people these days,” he said, averting his gaze.

“They come around here a lot?” Max asked.

The man hesitated, clearly not wanting to say too much. “Now and again.”

Max nodded. “You okay?”

The old man gave a weak shrug. “Been roughed up worse in my time. Appreciate the help.”

“You come and get us if you need us,” he said.

The man nodded.

As Logan and the others turned to head toward their rooms, Carter leaned in, and muttered, “So that was Reed, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Friendly guy.”

Logan didn’t answer. His hands were clenched and he was lost in memories of a time he would rather forget.

They filed into one of the motel rooms one after the other. The room was a decent size, but it felt tiny with all seven of them crammed into it. The room smelled like stale air freshener and old smoke, with furniture that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties.

Carter dropped a duffel bag onto the sagging bed with a grunt. “Locals are real warm and fuzzy around here.”

Seb stayed near the open door, arms folded across his chest, still watching the parking lot like he half expected Reed to come back for round two.

Max peeled off his jacket and slung it on a wooden chair that didn’t look sturdy enough to hold any of them. He didn’t speak. That was how Logan knew he was deep in thought.

Arlo moved toward the mini fridge, opened it, and grunted at the contents. “I think the milk in here is older than I am.”

Logan remained standing just inside the door, to the left of Seb, his jaw tight. The whole encounter with Reed had cracked something open inside of him, and he was trying to force it closed again before it swallowed him whole.

Max finally turned to face them. “Logan. Talk to us.”

Logan looked at him, then at the others in turn. They were waiting, patient but alert. Logan wasn’t just their CIA teammate, he was their friend, and brother in arms. And they knew what it meant for him to be there, even if they didn’t know everything yet.

Logan exhaled through his nose and leaned against the wall. “His name is Reed, like I said, and he’s pack. My old pack. He used to follow Derek around like a puppy back in the day.”

“You sure he didn’t recognize you?” Carter asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed.