License to Shift (4 page)

She made quick work of packing a small bag of her father's things. All he needed was basic toiletries and a pair of pajamas. The real work would be after he left the hospital. Her whole plan was to gather up his work and then transport him to her tiny apartment in Chicago instead of coming back here, which is what he wanted. But that meant she had to find his tablet and journals.

Though she'd already searched once, she did a thorough check of every nook and cranny of his bedroom and bathroom just in case. It didn't take long. Then she headed out to the main living room, annoyed at herself when her gaze went to the window and the rainy landscape. She was looking for Mark, of course, and she found him rounding the corner of the house at a slow lope. His hair was plastered to his head, his tee was a second skin, and, boy, did she love the way his ass moved, especially in wet jeans. But it was the size of him that attracted her more than anything. Big guy, all muscle, and that raw physical power thrilled her. She was a big woman and he'd carried her to the door like he was lifting a stack of mail. So easy and she'd been weak kneed in response.

She was so busy reliving that moment that she didn't even realize there was another man at the door. Not until Mark stopped rounding the cabin and jumped up on the porch.

It took her a while to figure out the newcomer was Carl, Mark's best friend, whom everyone had laughingly called Mr. Max for no apparent reason. The last time she'd seen him, he'd been a teenager with a warm laugh and tired eyes. He'd grown since then until he was taller than Mark, plus he'd added a beard, which would probably look sexy to another woman.

They were talking in low voices when she stepped near the window. Mark's nose flared, and he turned to look right at her. She hadn't made a sound, she was sure of it, but he acted like he knew she was right there. And his eyes—damn, those dark blue laser beams—cut straight to her, daring her to keep him out of the cabin.

She was moving to unlock the front door even before she realized her intention. What happened to her self-control? But she'd started the motion now. It would be silly to relock the door. So she opened it, her gaze going unerringly to Mark. But he wasn't the one who spoke. Instead, it was Carl, his expression warm as he smiled at her.

“Hello, Miss Simon. Do you remember me?”

His eyes were still tired, and there was an extra layer of concern in them whenever he looked at Mark, which was often. But there was also a contentment in his voice, which was new. Well, as far as she could remember. Her attention had always been on Mark.

“I remember you, Mr. Max,” she said. His nickname came uneasily to her lips. She wasn't sure she had the right to use the familiar form of address. Apparently, she did because his smile widened. “I always liked the way you said that,” he said. “Like I really deserved the title.”

“It's a title?” she asked. She hadn't known.

“Only for some. Feel free to call me Carl.” Then his expression sobered. “I was sorry to hear about your father. Dot has kept me up to date on his condition. I know he did fine with the surgery, but is there any other news?”

She relaxed with his easy chatter. Where Mark had always been intense, it was Mr. Max—Carl—who had tried to welcome her. “He's tired and anxious to get back to his research.”

Carl shook his head. “He's like a dog with a bone, your father.”

“Always.”

Then there was an awkward pause in the conversation. Julie was standing directly in their path, blocking the front door, though it was clear they wanted to come in. And as always, she noted when Mark tightened his hands into fists. When his shoulders hunched even more. And when his expression became stubborn.

“Julie, it's not safe to be standing out here exposed like this.”

She loved it when he sounded protective. The illusion that some man would actually think of her safety was a need that had burrowed deep inside her years ago. Problem was, there wasn't any real danger out here. He was making it up for some sick reason of his own. Probably because most women—including her—went liquid when he talked like that.

“There's no danger, Mark. There never was.”

He growled at her, low and nearly inaudible. “There isn't time for this. You're muddling up the scent.” The frustration was clear in his gravelly words.

She turned to Carl. “You going to smell the furniture, too?”

Carl shrugged, looking moderately embarrassed. “I guess so.”

She blew out a breath, and with it went her resistance. “Anybody ever tell you guys you're freaks?” she asked as she stepped aside.

“All the time,” Carl answered.

Her skin prickled as Mark moved past her. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she saw his nostrils flare as he went past. Almost as if he were smelling her. And she pretended he touched her arm to reassure her. He didn't. Or at least, if he did, it wasn't for her benefit. It was simply because he was so large and she was the complete opposite of petite. So he'd brushed against her side, and while she remembered caresses under the moonlight, the men went to sniff her father's office.

God, she was pathetic. How could she still be mooning after the same man eight years after he broke her heart?

She followed a couple steps behind as they went into the den. Mark stood a step back, dripping on the rag rug, while Carl squatted down and inhaled the air around the chair. Then he looked up with a frown.

“You sure that isn't just…I don't know…bad pepperoni?”

“It's not,” Mark answered, his voice clipped.

Carl rolled back onto his heels and looked around. “And his research is missing?”

“The journals are. My guess is they're with whomever copied his computer.”

Unable to keep silent, Julie pushed into the room. “But why? He's not working on national secrets. He's an anthropologist with weird ideas about shape-shifters and magic potions in fairy tales.”

She'd expected the men to nod and admit that she was right. Logic dictated that the idea of someone stealing her father's stuff was cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. They didn't. Instead, they shared a long look that meant something she couldn't fathom. And, oh, how she recognized that expression. It was summers in Gladwin all over again where the teenagers knew something she didn't. And with that one look, they said, “You're not one of us.”

“That's it,” she said as she gripped the front doorknob. “Get out. Both of you.” She wasn't an awkward teen anymore. She didn't need to feel inferior just because she didn't look or act like the locals. And she sure as hell didn't need to be excluded in her father's home.

“I know this is confusing,” Carl said as he stood up.

“It's bullshit. I don't know if this is Gladwin's version of hazing or what, but…” She pulled out her most officious tone of voice. “I'd like you both to leave please.” She yanked open the front door.

It was a good act. She'd used it to great effect in the law office where she worked as a legal secretary. She'd cowed managing partners and obnoxious clients with that no-nonsense tone. And it worked on Carl. He nodded with an apologetic look.

“Thank you for letting us bother you, Miss Simon,” he said. “I hope your father gets better soon.”

Mark wasn't so easy. He looked around. “We still haven't found his research. He'll want that tablet.”

“You probably hid it just to be a juvenile pain in my ass.” It wasn't a fair statement. There was no evidence that he'd go that far in his sniffing psychosis. But who knew what quirks lurked inside that hot package?

Meanwhile, he dropped his hands on his hips, glaring at both her and Carl. “There's something wrong here,” he stressed.

Carl seemed torn as he looked at her. “Can we at least help you look for the journals?”

“No,” she said flatly. “He'll just have to be satisfied with the digital version.” Then she pointedly stared at Mark, who hadn't budged. “Look, I'm leaving in the next ten minutes anyway. Whatever's wrong can rear its ugly head while I'm gone.”

Which is when both men shifted awkwardly. Carl even went so far as to scratch at his beard.

Oh, hell.
“What now?”

Mark jerked his chin toward the outside. She hadn't even noticed when the rain had become a deluge, but it was coming down in thick sheets of drench. Shit. No way was she making it to her car without getting soaked to the skin. “Fine,” she huffed. “I'll wait until it eases up.”

“Look at the driveway,” Mark said. “Specifically, how far the mud goes up the tires of your car.”

Her gaze shifted to her beloved blue Prius. Her little hybrid was both economical and good for the environment. And was sunk a foot deep into the swamp formerly known as her father's dirt-and-gravel driveway.

“Shit.” She wasn't going anywhere in her car. “Is there a tow truck anywhere?”

“There is,” Carl said slowly, “but it'd sink in the mud on the way up. I told your father he needed to pave that.”

Her father would never spend the money required to pave the long, winding track that led to this cabin. He always said if it was ugly outside, he'd just stay inside until Mother Nature cooperated. Which was fine for an academic with no particular schedule, but awful for a daughter with plans.

She sighed and leaned her head against the door frame. She could hope that it would clear up soon. If it happened fast enough, maybe there'd be some daylight left. Except even as she had the thought, Mark pulled out his phone. A few punches later, and he turned the screen toward her.

“Radar says it's not going to let up any time soon. You're probably here for the night.” He didn't look any happier about that than she did.

“Fine,” she groused. “I'm here.” There was food and electricity, not to mention a guest bedroom with that dust-bunny footprint. “But you two don't have to be. Good day, gentlemen.”

Carl nodded and stepped out, but again, Mark refused to move. He just stood there while his pecs seemed to pulse with irritation. No wait, that was him grinding his teeth. “I'm not leaving.”

She didn't have to answer because Carl turned to his friend. “There's nothing more we can do here. Whatever that was…” He gestured back toward the den. “It's long gone.”

Mark didn't look like he agreed, but he didn't argue, either. After one last intense stare at her, he sloshed his way outside. Julie made a point of keeping back from him. She had no need for any more accidental brushes, real or imagined. And when the men stepped onto the front porch, she firmly shut and locked the door.

Done. Over. Mentally, she closed the drawer labeled “Mark the Fickle Bastard.”

It took her ten minutes to realize that she'd heard only one truck leave. She went to the window, pulling aside the curtain as she searched the shadows outside. There he was, a shadowy outline squatting at the edge of the dry area of the porch. His body was so still he might have been a statue.

Was he sitting sentry?

She couldn't believe it. No way was he going to sit there all night long like a neglected beagle. Or a bizarre stalker. But how the hell was she going to get him to leave?

I
t was going to be a cold, wet night, but Mark found a kind of peace in the chill. The days when he would be human were ticking away, so every sensation became special. Instead of cursing the icy wind on his skin, he cherished the sensation of exposed flesh unprotected by fur, of fingers heated by his breath, and toes that squished his soggy socks. Miserable, but even this was beautiful to a man who didn't expect to live to see the snow.

He heard her open the front door and step out onto the porch. She'd been watching him on and off through the window for the last half hour, and he'd wondered if she'd eventually come out to talk with him. He wouldn't if he were her. But then he was notorious for not giving a shit what other people did. She, on the other hand, appeared to have a softer heart.

“You're going to catch your death of cold out here,” she said. She stood in the doorway, electrical light framing her lush figure. He remained in the shadows, trying to force himself to keep watching the grounds and not spoil his night vision by looking toward her. But he couldn't stop himself, so he turned and smiled.

“I'm pretty hardy.”

“You're crazy,” she said, staring at the deluge outside. “Nothing dangerous is going to attack me in this.”

Except him. God, she smelled so good, he was already rock hard. Even with the wet in the air, he could smell her musk. Maybe even more so. Musk and something almost as good: hot coffee.

“I know you think I'm crazy,” he said, “and, frankly, you're probably right. But I can't leave you unprotected.” Not after knowing there was something so wrong out in the world. Something that had been inside the cabin.

She sighed as she joined him in the shadows, holding out the mug of coffee. “It's just my dad's cheap shit coffee, but at least it's hot.”

He took it gratefully, sipping the brew fast enough that it burned his tongue. His earlier java hit was wearing off, and he appreciated the brain boost. Sitting here scanning the world made him engage too many of his grizzly senses. Caffeine would help keep him on the human straight and narrow. Especially since she'd doctored the drink perfectly.

“Milk
and
sugar,” he said. “You know how to tempt a man, don't you?”

She sighed when he'd expected her to chuckle. He turned to study her face. Sure, his joke had been feeble, but it hadn't warranted that frown on her face.

“You do know I'm a paralegal, right? And I've worked on criminal cases.”

He had no clue what she was getting at, so he didn't respond. Eventually, she would start talking again. It took longer than he expected, but in time, she leaned against the siding and spoke.

“This wouldn't be the first time a man has created a situation just to get a girl to trust him.” Then she twisted her gaze back toward the den. “Though it certainly is the weirdest. And risking pneumonia is new.”

“I rarely get sick,” he said. He heard a rustle to his right and shifted to hear better. A possum hunting for trash. They never cared about rain. He relaxed again, though he kept his gaze on the darkness. “You should go back inside. Thanks for the coffee.”

“What if I'm attacked through the back door? What are you going to do then?”

“I set a couple traps in the back. I'll hear it before you're in any danger. Plus, I do a perimeter check periodically.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath. “You put traps in the backyard?”

“Just at the edge of your property line.”

“And what if I decide to go for a walk?”

“I'll hear that, too, and join you. They're not lethal traps, anyway.”

“Do you even hear yourself? Just how long do you plan to hang around?”

“Until you leave in the morning. Then I'll set up a security system before your dad gets back.”

“A security system? My dad will never pay for it.”

That was true. Her father was the original penny-pincher, though not for the usual reasons. He just never wanted the hassle of people invading his space for any reason. Pave the driveway? Why bother? Watch for intruders? He didn't have anything anybody would steal. Except, of course, he did. He had no idea how valuable his research was to a feral like him.

He heard her shift uncomfortably behind him, and he cursed himself for getting lost in his senses again. It was yet another sign that the animal was too close to the surface. He routinely forgot the ebbs and flows of human interactions.

“Look, it's no trouble,” he said. “I've got plenty of money. And if I can keep you and your father safe, then it's well worth it.”

“Safe from what?” she huffed, thereby taking the conversation full circle. She thought he was nuts. He
was
nuts, but not that way.

“I'm not abandoning you again,” he finally admitted. “Not when it costs me so little to keep you safe.”

“Again?”

Oh, hell. Had he said that out loud? That's what came from trying to manage human interactions. He forgot himself and said the wrong things.

“So you do remember me,” she said.

Her words startled him enough that he turned to face her, no matter what it did to his night vision. Did she seriously think he'd forgotten the best night of his life? The one time when animal and human had been so perfectly in accord that everything aligned in absolute synchronicity? And that she had been the center of that miracle of perfection? Until it had unbalanced. Until he'd lost control and tipped into beast, then run in terror.

“Yes, Julie,” he said dully. “I remember you.”

“And you're not going to abandon me again. Not going to run off howling into the night and never speak to me again for eight years.”

He stiffened. “I did not howl.”

She pursed her lips, apparently thinking back. “I really think you did.”

Well, he might have made a loud animal kind of noise. But grizzlies did not howl. “Maybe it was more of a roar.”

“It was…” She chuckled. “It was perfect. Until you didn't come back.”

“And I've been waiting eight years to apologize for that.”

She arched her brows, her expression disbelieving. “You haven't thought twice about me since that night until I showed up at your door today.”

“Not true.” So incredibly not true, she had no concept of how large a misconception that was. “But by the time I got my act together, you'd already gone back to Chicago. And you didn't come back the next summer.”

“And Gladwin is so backwards there aren't phones. Or even the postal service.”

He sighed, knowing she was right. “I was a teenage boy. We don't communicate well.”

“I have news for you, Mark. You don't communicate well now.”

Well, that was certainly true. “Look, I was a dick. I knew it wouldn't work between us, so I just…let it go.”

She took a breath. “Why wouldn't it work between us?”

Hell, she was like a dog with a bone digging at him. But he couldn't give her the truth. He couldn't tell her that he was shifter and she was human. Normally, that was just the ticket for someone like him. A strong shifter had to mate with a pure human or risk a child who was too animal. But even back then he'd known he was on the path to feral insanity. There was no saving him, and that night showed him how far gone he already was. After all, it had taken him more than a month to return to human. Even his father had given him up for dead.

So he landed on a lesser truth and hoped she'd leave it at that. “You lived in Chicago with your mother. I lived here.”

“That's your excuse? Long distance?”

He groaned. “To a kid that's a big deal. Plus, you're rich, and your dad's a professor. My dad didn't graduate from high school, and I ate stuff I killed, skinned, and cooked myself.”

She arched her cocky, impertinent, damn sexy eyebrow. “That espresso machine looked pretty expensive. Not to mention whatever security system you're—”

“That's now,” he said, hating that his face had flushed hot. “Back then we had nothing.”

“And you think I care about that? And if you think a professor makes a lot of money, then you clearly don't understand academia.”

God, why wouldn't she just give it a rest? “Like I understood that then,” he said. “Look, I'm trying to apologize. I was a dick and I'm sorry.”

She was silent for a long moment, but in that time he heard her breathing relax until she released a slow sigh. “You're forgiven. Hell, you're right. We probably couldn't have made the long-distance thing work.”

“You had a boyfriend in Chicago, anyway.”

She jolted. “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“I saw your prom picture, remember?” She'd worn a crystal-blue gown that had hugged her curves, showed cleavage that made his head spin, and made him wonder if she ever made it past the front doors and into the dance. If he'd been her date, he'd never have let her out of his car.

She laughed. “That was my cousin. Trust me when I say you were the only one in high school.”

“What? That can't be true.”

She shook her head. “You jocks always think life is an endless party of cheerleaders and casual hookups.”

“And you geeks never lift your nose out of your books long enough to see that there's a whole world around you waiting to be enjoyed.” What made that accusation even funnier was that he turned out to be the biggest geek of them all. He was the one who hid himself in software coding rather than face what he was becoming. By all accounts, she'd gone on to create a good life for herself in Chicago.

Meanwhile, she was silent for a long while, but in the end she said one word. “Touché.”

He grinned. “You seem to have ended up okay.”

“You're the one with the expensive espresso machine.”

“It is my favorite appliance, but you can have it after I die.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she drawled, having no idea that he meant it seriously. Then she straightened off the wall. “So we're good, right? Teenage drama all cleared up? I'm not holding any grudges, you're not obligated to sit on my front porch and freeze to death. So go home, Mark. Live long and prosper.”

He smiled at her, glad to get at least this tiny mark off his soul. “We're good.” Then he drained the rest of the coffee and handed it to her. She took it from him, and their hands touched. Fingers entwined and held. Heat transferred from her to him and back again. Lust slammed into him hard, but he didn't move. He wouldn't break this moment of accord. Not even when she blushed a fiery red and pulled back, coffee mug in hand.

“I'm glad I woke you up this afternoon,” she said.

“I am, too.”

Then he nodded to her and took off toward his truck. She stood there on the porch watching him as he started up the vehicle and drove it down the long driveway. He didn't know how long she waited. He watched her until the rain hid her from sight.

Then he drove a few hundred yards farther until he found a good spot to park his truck. Five minutes later, he was doing another full-perimeter check. Fifteen minutes after that, he was back on her porch, tucked into the shadows as he waited for something
wrong
.

Just in case.