Betrayed: Days of the Rogue (9 page)

Uncomfortable with the direction of
his thoughts, he cleared his throat and looked away only to find
himself staring at several sketches of himself. Each was an
extremely accurate portrayal and…he narrowed his eyes…most had him
wearing a minimum of clothing. He moved in for a closer look.

“Damn!”

He glanced over his shoulder and
saw Eve darting her gaze between him and the pictures, a carton of
ice cream clutched in her hands. “I hadn’t meant for you to see
those.”

“Why not? They’re quite well done.”
He plucked one off the cork board it was pinned to.

“Because…” She shrugged, her face
turning pink again.

“Because now I know you’ve been
drawing dirty pictures of me?” He couldn’t resist teasing her. She
blushed so nicely.

“They’re not dirty pictures!” She
huffed, her embarrassment seeming to change to defensiveness.
“They’re artistic sketches and you’re decently clothed in each
one.”

“You must have x-ray vision,” he
murmured, examining the drawing in his hand more carefully. “To the
best of my knowledge, I haven’t appeared semi-nude in front of
you.”

“While each person is unique, there
are certain…standard parts…that each male has. I simply used my
imagination to fill in the bits and pieces.”

“You have an excellent imagination
then. I’d almost think you’d been peeking in my bedroom
window.”

Eve set the ice cream down on the
counter with a thump and marched across the room, snatching the
sketch from his hand and shoving it under a pile of books. “I’m an
artist. I draw everything I see. It’s an occupational hazard.”

“Hmm.” He nodded, getting the
distinct impression that Eve was interested in him. The idea
pleased him even though nothing could come of it. After ten years
of working in Rehab, he was here for some much needed alone time,
free of emotional commitments. And Eve didn’t look like the kind
that went for no strings attached relationships. It was better to
keep his distance. Besides, humans were too tiring to be around; he
had to keep his guard up constantly.

“Rafe?”

With a jerk, he realized Eve had
been talking to him. “Pardon?”

“I asked if you wanted to…um…stay
for lunch.”

Not having expected an invitation,
he looked at her in surprise. Their meetings hadn’t been that
cordial, and he was curious as to what had prompted her to ask. He
hesitated, part of him wanting to spend more time with her, while
common sense urged him to leave. Regretfully, he bowed to the side
of caution.

“No. Thanks anyway.” He made sure
he kept his tone cool, not wanting to encourage her. “I only came
around to see if you were okay.” A faint clouding of her features
told him that he’d disappointed her, but it couldn’t be helped.

“I appreciate your concern, but as
you can see I’m fine.” She responded airily, and walked toward the
door obviously anxious to have him gone now. “Did you see any more
signs of the wolf?”

“No. Not yet. But it could still be
in the area so be careful. Stay inside unless it’s absolutely
necessary to go out.” He gave her a pointed look and she
nodded.

“I’ve nothing planned for the next
few days so that shouldn’t be a problem.” She paused and then
frowned. “But what if it doesn’t leave? I don’t want to be holed up
in the cabin for weeks on end.”

“It won’t stick around, that kind
never does.”

“What kind is that?”

“A rogue. A lone wolf without a
pack. They’re dangerous, but transient. He’ll move on soon enough.”
And if he doesn’t, he added silently, I’ll help him along.

Eve seemed to accept his
explanation, but the way she firmly shut the door after him left
him in no doubt she was peeved he hadn’t accepted her invitation.
He hesitated beside the cabin, part of him regretting leaving.
Through the window, he could overhear her muttering angrily to
herself.

He risked peeking inside. Eve was
at her desk, looking at the sketch of him that she’d tried to hide.
With minimal straining, his acute Lycan hearing allowed him to hear
her as she addressed the drawing.

“You know, you were almost
friendly—well, friendly for you—for a few minutes. You even teased
me about these drawings. At least I
think
you were teasing;
with you it’s sometimes hard to tell.” She cocked her head to the
side as if considering the idea then held the paper up to the cork
board. “Do you have any idea how much nerve it took me to invite
you to lunch? And what did you do? Turn all aloof! Damn you, Rafe
McRae.” The statement was accompanied by her firmly pushing a
thumbtack through the page and anchoring it in place.

Rafe winced wondering what part of
his anatomy she’d just pierced.

Eve spun on her heel and marched to
the kitchen. Grabbing the tub of ice cream off the counter, she
went in search of a spoon and then plunked down at the table.
Taking the lid off the container, she dug out a big scoop of the
dessert and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as a blissful
smile spread across her lips. “Nothing like ice cream for a pity
party,” she muttered.

Frowning, Rafe slipped away trying
to ignore the voice inside that urged him to go in and comfort her.
It would only raise false hopes. Better that she think him an
unfeeling bastard than expect a relationship to develop between
them. He hiked into the woods until he was out of sight and then
shifted forms once again. Thankfully Eve hadn’t asked where his
truck was!

Back at his home, Rafe drummed his
fingers on the desk as he read the updated list of rogues he’d
managed to put together. It had bothered him that none of the
rogues on the list had dark hair since the tuft he’d found
yesterday had been black. Deciding to dig deeper into the files,
he’d logged into the clinic’s computer system. Annette would
probably have a fit if she found out he’d been ‘working’ and
accessing the files, but he hadn’t wanted to wait until Monday when
she was back at her desk. He had his doubts about whether or not
Eve would follow orders and stay inside so wanted to ensure his
information was complete.

As usual, Annette had done an
excellent job; there was only one omission on her list. He’d have
to tease her about that later on, though it could be argued it
wasn’t really a mistake since the data was based on projected
movements rather than verified fact. Lycan Link was tracking Damien
Masterson and, based on previous reported sightings of the man, it
was speculated that he was headed this way.

Headed or already here? Rafe
pondered the probability of two different dark haired rogues ending
up in his territory within the same time span. It wasn’t a likely
occurrence at all. Rogues were loners and tended to avoid each
other. Studying the data again, he could already feel the
beginnings of a headache starting to form.

Damn.

He’d been expecting the usual list
of rogues and their failings: disrespect for authority, a series of
failed attempts to integrate with a pack, run-ins with local
authorities necessitating the intervention of Disaster Control
officers. A situation such as this had never come to mind.

Masterson was at the top of the
most wanted list. A onetime Enforcer, a member of the ACS, an elite
squad trained to deal with Purists and rescue persecuted halves,
Damien was probably more highly skilled than almost any Lycan Link
employee. Some of the cases he’d worked on with his partner, Reno
Smith, were now text book material. Unfortunately, when his mate
and unborn child had been killed, the man had gone rogue, somehow
escaping the infirmary and living on the lam for the past eighteen
months.

Rafe thought of the tuft of hair
he’d found by Eve’s cabin; it had been black, the colour Masterson
was when in his wolf form. Hmm…

Conflicting documentation had been
trickling in about Masterson for several months now. Some claimed
that he was dangerous, involved in vigilante work within the Lycan
realm and taking on questionable jobs in the human world, jobs that
could lead to the exposure of Lycans. Other reports showed him to
be a loner who shied away from contact with others, obviously lost
in his own grief.

Which was the true Damien
Masterson? The tortured soul or the ruthless rogue? And did it
really matter? Duty dictated reporting his suspicions. While known
rogues were tracked, they were allowed to roam unless they
represented a threat to society. Ex-Enforcers, however,
automatically fell into the threat category.

The problem was that the man
presently in charge of the Rogue Retrieval unit—Adrian Somerset—was
an idiot who acted like a bounty hunter. ‘Bring ’em in dead or
alive’ was rumoured to be his motto. The number of rogues killed or
seriously injured during retrieval operations had skyrocketed since
his promotion. Rafe’s attempts to educate the buffoon on the
benefits of slowly talking a rogue in had been a waste of time and
energy.

“I’m not here to baby them, McRae.”
Somerset had sat behind his polished desk, hands clasped on the
meticulously organized surface. “These rogues are dangerous; a
menace to public safety and Lycan security.”

“I’m not asking you to baby them,
Adrian.” Rafe recalled how he’d struggled to keep his temper in the
face of the other man’s supercilious attitude. If Somerset had done
his homework, he’d realize that the clinic was similar to a boot
camp; more than once Rafe had grappled with the rogues in order to
enforce his authority. “All I want is that you consider the
benefits of dialogue before resorting to force. I’d be more than
willing to lead some training sessions.”

“My men are already trained in
dialogue. They read rogues their rights and ask them to come along
quietly.”

“And then start to attack before
the rogue even has time to consider its options!” Against his will,
Rafe had heard an edge enter his voice. He’d taken a deep, calming
breath.

“My men have a right to defend
themselves if they perceive they’re in danger. This is the ‘real
world,’
Dr. McRae,
not some fairytale clinic where
everything is candy-coated and viewed through rose-coloured
glasses.” Somerset’s nostrils had flared and he’d pursed his narrow
lips.

“In your ‘real world,’ the number
of dead rogues has escalated dramatically since you’ve taken over
the division.” He’d clenched his fists, resisting the urge to grab
the man by his scrawny neck.

“An unfortunate trend which I have
noted.” Somerset had calmly taken a file from the neat stack near
his elbow and opened it, barely flicking a glance at the contents.
“However, in each case the amount of force used was deemed
appropriate and unavoidable.” Closing the file, the man had set it
back in place, taking a moment to ensure it was perfectly aligned
with the others before looking up. “Was there anything else?”

Clamping his mouth shut, Rafe had
left before saying something he would’ve later regretted. The man
was a moron if he thought the sudden change in statistics was
simply a ‘trend.’ Before returning to the Rehab Clinic, he’d
submitted a request to High Council for an investigation into
Somerset’s leadership. That hadn’t won him any popularity points,
but he hadn’t cared. The state a rogue was in when it entered
treatment was his concern, and Somerset made his job a hell of a
lot harder. Since Somerset had held onto his present position, it
seemed that if the rogue wasn’t killed in the field then it came to
the clinic seriously injured. By time the wolf healed, therapy was
behind schedule, the budget was strained and the whole process was
off kilter.

He’d first become interested in
rogues when completing his residency at Lycan Link’s hospital, and
had then gone on to complete post-graduate studies of them at the
Academy. It was his belief that some rogues had a form of learning
disability rather than being inherently flawed or evil. Based on
his research, he felt they failed to correctly interpret subtle
social cues that most wolves naturally picked up on. If they could
be given intense instruction on reading those cues, followed by
counselling on how to use their dominant, independent traits to
help the pack rather than tear it apart, he believed many could be
integrated back into Lycan society. The governing council of the
Academy had been sufficiently impressed with his research that
they’d funded his work and allowed him to establish the first ever
Rogue Rehabilitation Clinic.

Since then, his success rate had
been high and he now had a large team of social workers and
psychologists working under him. The program had been going well,
despite Somerset, and he’d been considering expanding…until his
last case.

The werewolf in question had been
injured by Somerset’s men, and claimed to have no recollection of
the events that had led to his takedown. Some felt it was a clever
ploy to avoid being prosecuted; the rogue had allegedly killed a
young woman and once deemed ‘stable’ would go before High
Council.

They’d only met a few times, but
building a level of trust was required first. And despite lacking
any outward indicators of progress, his gut instinct was that
everything had been on the right track.

It had come as a surprise when the
man had requested a meeting, claiming he’d recalled something and
wanted to discuss it. Rafe had rearranged his schedule, arriving
only a few minutes late for the appointment, and had hurried into
the office with one eye on the clock.

“Sorry I’m late, Annette. Has—”

She’d answered even before he
finished speaking. “He’s in your office, Dr. McRae. I kept him
company for a while.”

“Good. Buzz Jillian—she’s his
assigned counsellor, correct? Have her join us.”

His hand had just touched the door
knob when Annette stopped him. She’d appeared worried. Looking back
now he wished he’d paid more attention, but he’d still been
thinking about the funding proposal he’d put forward.