Chapter 6
“For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.” ~ Rudyard Kipling
Gwen
After tossing and turning throughout the night, I get up around five and make coffee. Outside the beach house’s window, streetlights shine on wind-whipped firs. Wondering if we’re in for a storm, I grab my phone, open my weather app, and learn a tropical depression has stalled off the coast.
Awesome.
“Hey, babe.” Axel peeks over my shoulder.
Inhaling pine blended witha scent unique to him, I turn my head and devour him in a kiss. Gazes heated, our mouths part. Only then do I note the dark circles lining his eyes.
“You didn’t sleep?”
“A little, but not much. Sorry about last night, sweetie.” He sounds so contrite, I want to make it up to him in bed.
“Not your fault.”
The snores from the couch remind me of the unwanted guest who ruined our honeymoon. No one would blame me if I shot Brittany with my RF weapon. We’d call an ambulance and be free of her.
The image disappears as strong fingers knead my shoulders. Leaning back in pure bliss, I wish like hell I could drag him down the hall to the mattress.
As he leans over and kisses me, his phone rings. After a heavy sigh and a glance at the caller ID, my G-man swipes the screen. “Wulf here. Yeah… Give us about fifteen.”
The lump in my stomach grows heavier. “I guess this means our vacation is canceled?”
“Only postponed.” He squeezes my hand. “Are you mad?”
“I’m not. I do admit to being disappointed. However, if you arrest Ledbetter, it’ll be worth it.” A chill runs down my spine. The dealer traffics children as well as weapons. He’s an evil nemesis who must be liquidated or put behind bars, no matter the cost to me.
My lawman pulls me to stand. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to return to DC?”
And leave him to be eaten by Babs-The-Shark? Over my dead body. “How about I stay and let Callie know I’m working remotely?”
I’ll call her later to explain the circumstances and also check on Abbie, who I miss like crazy. Guilt threatens to overwhelm me until I recall how much my daughter loves her Uncle Lucky. She’s probably having a lot more fun than I am.
“Mmm.” For once, my spouse knows better than to argue.
Before long, Brittany wakes, yawns, and saunters into the kitchen, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and bikini undies. She frowns at the empty coffee pot and narrows her gaze at me. “Mind making more?”
“Sure.” The only reason I don’t lace it with ex-lax is because it would prolong her stay.
“Anyone need to use the facilities? I won’t be long.” When she eyes my husband as if he were her next meal, I grab the largest knife, slice a bagel, then offhandedly point it at her.
“No, please be my guest.”
“Great.” The near-naked, long-legged seductress pads across the faux wood floors to the shower.
Too quickly, she exits in a tiny towel and sidles up to my husband. “I don’t suppose you might have an outfit I could borrow?”
She aims her smirk at me. “I would ask you, but I’m much taller and bustier.”
A total guy, Axel misses the insult. He walks into our bedroom and returns, holding an old T-shirt and sweatpants. “Here you go.”
“You still smell delicious, Ax.” When the wannabe husband-thief brings his clothes to her nose, I narrow my gaze.
“That’s my fabric softener. I’ll give you a few sheets to take on your way out.”
“Do I detect a bit of jealousy?” Her chuckle makes me snort out my nose.
“Not hardly. I was only sharing some advice. Dirty laundry can be challenging to get rid of, but I have the resources to make it go away permanently.”
Before she can say more, my soon-to-be-dead husband snickers and breaks into our tête-à-tête . “My team has arrived. We leave in five.”
Wulf drives, I take the front seat, and Brittany jumps in the back. While I ponder how to fumigate the cushions of my new Jeep Wrangler, we park in front of a luxury suites hotel.
The moment we exit, our collie-shepherd mix pulls on his leash. “Woof!”
Squatting beside him in the parking lot, I let him lick my face. “Oh, I have missed you so much. You’re such a good boy, aren’t you?”
“Bear, sitz .” At Axel’s command, the mammoth canine sits with his eyes glued to his master’s face.
“ So ist brav .” The praise causes the well-behaved pooch to wag his tail and grin.
Done patting his loyal pet, Special Agent Wulf turns his attention to his team. He introduces Brittany to Hunt, Ink, Rhonda, and Trever. If the federal agents have misgivings about working alongside this crazy bitch, they hide it well.
In silence, we follow their blue shirts and khakis into the elevator, where Trev presses the second floor. We exit, walk single-file down the azure carpet, and enter the room marked 202.
The suite consists of two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchenette. The crowded tabletop contains four laptops and extra monitors.
While my husband helps himself to more coffee, Rho, a five-foot-four redhead in her thirties, sits and opens an email. “The FBI out of Baltimore welcomes our help. They suggest the State Troopers lead the investigation, and we provide whatever assistance they require.”
IT Trev, tall, blond, and thin, clears his throat and directs his conversation toward Brittany. “Ms. Babcock, we all concur. You should turn yourself in at your earliest convenience.”
The swarmy bleached bombshell smiles sweetly. “We won’t be able to meet with my informant if I’m behind bars. After, I’ll be more than happy to do so.”
According to my phone’s AI truth-detecting app, everything she says is true, but it also shows some shades of orange, indicating ambiguity. What the hell is she hiding? I need to discover her motivations. Thankfully, I brought my computer which will enable me to write a proper project plan.
Once Axel updates his team on last night’s fiasco, I study their faces and wish I could read them. Aware of my NVLD disability, the handsome Trever glances over his reading glasses and winks at me while typing madly. A computer whiz and a bit of a nerd, he’s a kindred spirit. Ink, in his early twenties and covered in tats, was put on the team right out of Quantico.
To me, he appears too young and inexperienced. However, my spouse insists he has instincts way beyond his years. The suited Scott Hunter hides his face behind his computer screen. I have yet to figure him out. About six-foot-two, he doesn’t say much as his dark blue eyes dart about the room. I get the feeling he misses nothing.
“So, that’s where we are.” My alpha takes a sip of coffee and grimaces. “Any questions?”
When no one answers, he dumps the brew into the sink. “I’m off to the morgue. Gwen, you’re with me. Britt, if you’re not going to turn yourself in, I suggest you head back to the beach house and keep out of sight.”
His directive to the drama queen doesn’t make sense. Perhaps he wants her out of everyone’s hair, or maybe he doesn’t want her eavesdropping on their investigation.
Once his ex-partner nods, he eyes each member of his team. “You guys contact the State Police and see what assistance we can offer. I’m guessing they have forensics we can process faster.”
In a flash, we’re back in my Jeep, driving to the medical examiner in Georgetown. Twenty minutes later, I pace and inhale antiseptic cleaners while Wulf and the doctor talk behind closed doors.
Outside in the fresh air, he sighs. “Poor girl was strangled with a scarf from behind. They’re checking under her nails for DNA, but we won’t know anything for a day or so.”
Walking back to the SUV, he’s so lost in his thoughts that I must tap his cheek to gain his attention. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Eyes haunted, my wolf shakes his head. “The girl is a carbon copy of Brittany. Too much so to be a coincidence.”
“A case of mistaken identity?” My mind whirrs as I research and synopsize. “The odds of two people having the same facial features are less than one in a trillion. However, having similar features could be around point one percent. While rare, it’s not impossible.”
“There’s one other thing. For the three months, we slept together, Britt never mentioned being bi-sexual.”
“Would it be considered unusual?” It occurs to me it might be something you’d hide from your heterosexual bedmate, but hey, what do I know?
“No, I guess not. This is simply another out-of-place puzzle piece.” He inches through the small town.
When we pass an old red Mustang, my neck strains as I do a double-take. “Holy shit. That’s him! The knife guy from last night.”
In slow-motion, my brain registers a gunshot, my upper arm burns, and I clasp my fingers over the blood flow.
“Under the dash.” Axel unbuckles my belt, presses my head down, and shouts, “Call Trever.”
At first, I think he’s talking to me, but my car’s Bluetooth responds. It bleeps ten DTMF tones while my husband cranks the wheel to the right and stomps on the brakes. Before we come to a complete stop, his foot presses on the accelerator, and we lurch forward.
Lightheaded, about ready to hurl, I avoid looking at my arm, my sticky, blood-soaked pants, or anything else.
Thank God the IT genius answers on the first ring. “Yo, wolfman, wazzup?”
“Fucking shithead from last night shot at us. I’m in pursuit and need backup.” Handsome chin jutted out, neck muscles pulsing, he drives with such expertise I fall in love all over again.
“I have your GPS. Hold on.” Trever does his magic.
Axel focuses on the road. Me? I lift my eyes above the dash. Ahead of us, the sports car treats the two-lane highway like his own personal racetrack and narrowly avoids hitting a bakery truck head-on.
When I gasp, Axel turns, curses, and pulls to the curb. “Jesus. You’re shot. Why the fuck didn’t you say anything?”
“You were busy?” In my defense, my brain might not be functioning on all cylinders.
“For the love of all things holy.” He rips off his t-shirt, tears it, and tightens it around my bicep.
Finished, he reaches across my body to the backseat lever which drops me flat.
Staring at the roof fabric, my heavy lids lower until he slaps my cheek. “Don’t you dare go to sleep, you hear me?”
My head lolls to the side as I shoot him a loopy smile. “Have I ever mentioned how sexy you are when you go all alpha?”