Loving Their Vixen Mate (Pack Wars Book 4) (17 page)

Around eight the next morning, after a rather restless night of sex and thinking, both men kissed her goodbye and headed off to work. She told them she’d be investigating all day. It wasn’t her fault if they assumed she’d be sitting at her computer, tapping away. Eventually, they’d learned that wasn’t her style. Her PI firm expected her to do just that, and she was tired of the constraint. She wanted the action, the excitement. Because the company owners understood that in order to keep her, they had to let her in on some of the investigations or she’d find work elsewhere.

Mac studied her screen once more. There were ten men, who, in all probability, had purchased one or more women from John Hood and associates. While she probably should start with a thorough computer search on all of them first, she wasn’t sure how long her men would be at their cover jobs, so she didn’t have time to waste. From what she could tell, Sam really did perform the duties of a full-time deputy. That would mean he probably wouldn’t pop back home without cause. She had to hand it to him. He worked hard and seemed quite driven, too. Some inner demon appeared to be driving Sam, and someday, she’d find out what it was.

Brandon’s schedule didn’t seem as set, as evidenced by his ability to drop everything yesterday and come home. For the most part, he said he could stop in whenever she needed him. If he came home on a whim, and found her gone, he might freak, which meant she had to take advantage of the time he was at work.

Today, her plan was merely to scope out the first few men on the list. She had no intention of trying to break-in anywhere. This mission was to get a feel for their properties, what kind of neighbors they had, and the best ingress and egress.

With her laptop tucked safely in her purse, she headed out. As Mac slipped into the front seat of her rental, Brandon’s comment about the road noise when she’d called him to tell him she was moving in, troubled her. Werewolves had great hearing, but the phone would have dampened some of the grinding of the tires on the pavement. A wild thought entered her brain, but she quickly dismissed it. The men wouldn’t have had the nerve to put a tracker on her car, would they? If they had, when would they have done it?

Mac started the engine and let it run. When Sam had first seen the dockside tape of her looking into each of the warehouse windows, and then ran her profile, he’d found her arrest record. If she’d been them, she would have wanted to keep an eye on her, especially if she was at the site of Cheryl’s abduction. Mac shivered at the thought of what Cheryl was going through right now, but she couldn’t dwell on it, or she’d never get anything done.

Just look.

To put the troubling thought to rest, she climbed out, walked to the back of her car, and ran her hand under the bumper.

“Fuck.”

She ripped off the tiny device, and was about to stomp on it, when she got a brilliant idea. If the men believed she was safe and sound inside their house, they probably wouldn’t come home to check on her. For now, she’d place the device under the cushion on the porch chair. If she went some place innocuous, she’d take it with her. Simple. The men would never catch on.

In case one of them happened to be driving toward the house as she was leaving, she’d filled out a shopping list to show them. Having an explanation why she was out would go a long way to soothing those two beasts. Luck was with her, and she made it to town without spotting either man.

First stop was Carl Hampton’s estate. Because he worked from home as a day trader, she had no plans to stomp around the outside of his house and look in the windows. She’d be caught for sure. Her plan was merely to snap a few pictures of his movements, as well as those of the surrounding neighborhood in case she needed to return at a later time.

If only she understood human trafficking better, she’d feel more confident about her search. It also would have helped if she’d known whether someone like Carl treated a woman like a commodity—that is, something to trade—or would he store his newly acquired possession someplace to use when his wife wasn’t satisfying him? If that were true, he’d need a second location, making Cheryl that much harder to find. To make matters worse, all this speculation was predicated on the assumption that all ten men still had the women they’d purchased. A sharp pain ran down her arm. Christ. She rubbed the ache and inhaled deeply.

The more she thought about the huge task in front of her, the faster Mac’s heart sank. Despite the tall hurdles, she was determined to succeed. Once or twice she’d contemplated asking the men to help, but the past had proven that too many hands messed things up.

As she neared Hampton’s home, the image of a tied up and gagged woman surfaced. Would he drag her out just to use and abuse her? Or would he care for his expensive investment? What confused Mac was why buy a woman instead of hiring a hooker when his urges got the best of him? Damn. All these ideas disturbed her more than she cared to admit.

She finally reached Carl Hampton’s neighborhood. He lived across town, on the northwest edge of Gulfside. If the huge mansions were any indication, it was where all the rich people resided.

Despite the wonders of the glorious, balmy day, bright sunlight wasn’t always the best for taking pictures. The glare could kill a shot, not to mention the backlighting would silhouette a person to the point of making them unidentifiable. But Mac was not deterred. If she spotted the man, she’d take her chances and hope for the best.

From her research, the wife didn’t work. Given it was close to Christmas, no telling if the kids were out for vacation or not. While Carl Hampton might be rich, she couldn’t imagine a wife putting up with a man who brought home another woman—especially if he’d purchased her. Then again, there was a lot of kinky shit happening these days.

Mac drove around the neighborhood, amazed at the opulence. Almost everyone had some kind of gate in front of his house, making getting close impossible. Damn. She’d have to go to plan B, which was to take a walk in the hope someone would leave the Hampton compound. If she was near, and the gate slow, she might be able to sneak in without anyone noticing. If she did get caught she could say she was a professional photographer, specializing in family photos taken at the person’s house. People ate that shit up.

For the next hour, she walked up and down the street, but never once did Carl Hampton’s gate open. Christ. How did he stand staying cooped up inside all day? She’d have gone stir crazy.

By the time three p.m. rolled around, she was hot, tired, and her feet hurt. If only she’d been able to shift, she would have leapt over the damn shrubs. Perhaps she should swallow her pride and ask Sam and Brandon to get close to this guy. She might have to move on to someone else.

Since she hadn’t even eaten lunch, she hiked back to her car, and drove home. Luckily, neither man was there. She promptly fixed a sandwich and went back to doing more research. There had to be something that would help her find out whether this man had Cheryl. Evil men often came from troubled pasts.

Mac started with recent news stories and worked her way backward. Finally, under the crime section in a paper from thirty years ago, an article mentioned a teenager who claimed Carl Hampton had raped her behind the school bleachers after a football game.

Mac dug deeper but found nothing more about the trial, or if he was sent to juvenile detention. When she did the math, she realized Carl would have been seventeen at the time. She speculated that with his family money, his records had been sealed. But did it matter? Mac could contact his accuser. Mary Whitmore would be about forty-seven. Even if the woman lived in town, what good would it do to dredge up the past? The fact Carl Hampton had purchased a woman implied he was scum, which was all Mac needed to be convinced that he was low enough to not only be a Colter, but to buy a woman from one.

Mac was not ready to give up though. There had to be more. For the next two hours, she dug into Hampton’s family members. She learned where his wife got her nails done, which school the kids went to, and where he had his car detailed. From Sam, she’d already learned that Carl’s parents were dead, and that he and his brother had inherited the fortune. While there were bad apples in families, she suspected the brother might be cut from the same cloth.

Because she didn’t have time to scope out the next man on the list before one of her men returned home, she did a quick check on brother Bill. To her surprise, he’d been in a car accident two years ago, leaving him a quadriplegic. The chances of him having Cheryl were slim, so she decided to come back to him later if all else failed.

Happy with her progress for the day, she took a break and went grocery shopping, figuring the men would probably appreciate a home-cooked meal. She envisioned all of them discussing the case, and then having mind-boggling sex.

M
ac was smiling when she woke up the next morning. Who knew her men would be so excited to have her make them spaghetti and meatballs? Sam, in particular, had been highly complimentary. As happy as she was to hear she was a good cook, she was more thrilled to see him so content.

The big upside to last night had been the incredible sex. The downside was the lack of sharing between the men and her. They claimed they were busy at work and hadn’t had time to do their Pack stuff. Mac didn’t buy it. Sam and Brandon were too driven to let their jobs get in the way of searching for Cheryl. When she’d asked them which of the ten men they were targeting, they wouldn’t tell her. Sam said she’d just end up sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong. Damn men. From the way Sam kept watching her all night, she suspected he feared she’d get into trouble.

She’d just have to show them that she could get the job done as well as they could—if not better.

Once the men went off to “work,” she moved on to man number two—Roger Medlock. During their one and only sharing time, Brandon had told her about the man’s high-living lifestyle. If he’d made millions with his online game, it made sense he might not think anything of buying a beautiful woman.
Fucker
.

Mac made sure to replace the tracking device under the porch chair before heading out. Medlock, like Carl Hampton, lived northwest of town. When she arrived, she was pleasantly surprised to find the man’s estate wasn’t gated. Perhaps he was arrogant enough to believe his security system was infallible. It wouldn’t surprise her if he had a few werewolf bodyguards instead of using an electronic service. She preferred the latter. She could get around wires a lot better than wolves.

The one-story brick façade looked very much like a medieval castle, complete with two armored guard statues holding spears standing by the front door. All that was missing was the moat. Given his video games were about knights, the home fit him. In front of the house, at the end of a circular drive, sat a large fountain. She’d really have to give some thought as to how to get close without being seen. He didn’t seem to be a big fan of trees, and there wasn’t much to shield her from view.

Not wanting to look obvious, Mac drove down the block and spotted a more modest home that was for sale. An idea sprung up. She parked, called the name on the sign, and waited for the real estate agent to answer. As soon as Mac explained she was interested in purchasing the exclusive home, the agent said she could meet up with Mac within the hour. That worked for her.

In the meantime, Mac slung her camera over her neck, and began canvasing the neighborhood, taking tons of shots. If anyone asked what she was doing, she’d tell him the truth—she was waiting for the realtor.

Less than thirty minutes later, a woman in her fifties pulled into the drive. Mac strode toward her as the realtor eased out of her BMW with a clipboard in hand.

“Ms. Atkins?” the realtor asked, extending her hand.

“Yes.” Mrs. Atkins was Mac’s eighth grade English teacher. It was the first name that popped into her head. It wouldn’t do to use her real name. She could only imagine what Sam and Brandon would say if they found out she’d gone there.

“I’m Mary Walters. Tell me what you’re looking for in a house.”

If Roger Medlock had a lot of parties, Mac bet there’d be noise in the neighborhood. That was the angle she wanted to leverage. “I’m actually looking at the home for my parents. They live up north, so they asked me to take a look at the place.”

“Perfect.” The woman led her up the stairs to the front door.

Mac’s dad wouldn’t have been caught dead living in a place so opulent. He’d been a frugal man who believed in saving resources. “While I was waiting for you, I ran into a woman who told me that one of the neighbors often had parties that were quite loud. Have you heard anything about that?” Mac was pleased with the lie. It had rolled off her tongue.

“You mean Mr. Medlock in the castle house?”

Excitement sliced through her. “Yes. What can you tell me about him? Is he nice? My folks are very picky about their neighbors, if you know what I mean.” Mac didn’t even know what she meant, but it sounded good.

“He’s an upstanding citizen. In fact, he’s planning to run for the State senate. Can’t get better than that!”