Winter’s Wolf (13 page)

Winter matched his frown to Matt’s. “Hang on. I’m not the one who walked into the Way Station and suggested we fuck.”

“No, I suppose you’re not. I’m sorry. I’m just not myself tonight.” He pulled himself off Winter’s lap and stood, looking around worriedly. Finally he spied his clothes tossed in various piles around the tree. He grabbed his briefs, pulled them on, and followed with his jeans. Winter watched, folding his knees up and resting his arms on top. In that position, his cock rested on the loamy earth. Matt had a really nice body. Slender but with obviously cultivated muscle in all the right places and a glorious ass. Too bad he had so much muscle between his ears.
Crazy-making.

Partridge pulled his sweater over his head and stared at Winter, licking his lips unconsciously. Talk about mixed signals. “I’m really sorry, Winter. You’re just more—more than any guy I’ve ever known. It’s not that I don’t want you. I want you too much.” He waved a hand around the clearing. “I know this is all my fault. I can’t explain it or really apologize enough.”

“Kind of feels like we’ve been here before, Agent Partridge.”

“Yes, I’m sorry.”

Winter waved a hand and rose in one move. “Quit apologizing. At least this time I got to fuck you.” He sighed and walked over to where his jeans lay in a pile. “But the next night you decide to take a walk on the wild side, how about you leave me out? I don’t rent my cock by the hour.”

Matt winced. “I guess I deserve that.”

Winter didn’t disagree. He slid the jeans up his legs and fastened them, then put on his T-shirt. Weird how fucking sad he felt. He looked back and saw Matt leaning over, fastening his sneakers. “I will say that whoever that guy is who picked me up tonight, I like him one hell of a lot.” On his big exit line, he walked out of the clearing into the woods. Matt would never be able to follow him even if he tried. Even if Winter left his heart lying on the path as a trail marker.

G
ARDENING
. D
AMON
stood behind a tree in the large stand of timber edging the huge backyard of the Vanessen’s house. Yard didn’t cover it. The enormous open space of flower gardens, hardscape, pathways, trees, and fountains fell more into the category of “park,” as they used to call the spaces behind the grand houses. From where he stood, most humans could barely have seen her. He saw her clearly. What would she do if he walked across her park and said hello? Would she know him? Not likely. Yes, they’d had an amazing night, but twenty-six years changed a lot. Odd how it hadn’t made him forget her.

She sat on the brick edge of a flowerbed in jeans and a sweatshirt. A floppy hat hid her face like a theater curtain sometimes; then she’d look up, and he’d see that classic profile with the long, upturned nose and high cheekbones. No wonder Lindsey was so pretty. Damon settled back against the tree to watch.

A woman—maybe a cook or a maid—came out of the house with a tray and set it on a wrought iron table on the large patio. She waved toward Jane, who looked up and nodded. The servant went back into the house, and Jane stood. Her chest and shoulders moved in a sigh so deep he could practically hear it.

In that graceful way, she moved toward the table, then sat slowly. For fifteen minutes, he watched her push food around on her plate, nibble a few bites, and then slide the plate away. Taking her glass of what must be iced tea with her, she walked back to the garden. She picked up a few implements and wandered to a section where flowers grew in bunches, then sat behind them. Behind, as in out of view of the house. He really didn’t want to scare her, but she looked so terribly sad.

His feet moved before he could stop them, running toward a clump of bushes nearer to where she sat. Little by little, he chose hiding places closer to her working spot. Finally he was just a few yards away. How could he let her know he was there? He stood just as she picked up her trowel and glass and rose. Face to face.

He heard her gasp as her huge blue eyes widened.

He held up a hand, palm forward, but he had to look scared shitless because he was.

No scream. No sound came out of her mouth. She cocked her head, opened her mouth to speak, failed, and tried again. “Is it—is it you?”

He nodded. “Yes, Jane.”

“Jane?”

“You said that was your name.”

“I’d forgotten.” She smiled just a little. “I was very, very drunk.”

“I know.” He smiled back. “I wasn’t too sober or I never would have had the nerve.”

“You didn’t seem very shy to me.”

“How did you recognize me?”

“No one has hair like that.”

“No one except your son.”

Her hand flew to her mouth and tears flashed in her eyes.

“I’m sorry.” He stepped closer, and she held up a hand. He shook his head. “I did that very badly. I came back here looking for you and met Lindsey at a party. I have a son too, and no one could miss the resemblance between them. When I learned Lindsey’s age, I knew.”

She frowned. “What do you mean, you came here looking for me? It’s been twenty-six years. That’s ridiculous.”

“I know how it sounds, but I simply never forgot you or our night together. When my son started having some problems in Canada, where we lived, I used it as an excuse to come back here and try to find you.”

“Where’s your wife?”

“I’ve never had one. Winter, my son, came from a short-lived liaison. She didn’t want him and I did.”

Her delicate hands clenched into fists. “You have no claim on my son.”

“Of course not. I didn’t dream he existed until a few days ago. If I’d known, I would have come back immediately.”

She tossed the trowel into the bed and dumped the tea. “Why? We had one night of wild sex. You don’t owe me anything—nor I you.” She looked around and raised her pale brows. “You should know that while this area looks unprotected, we’re being taped right now.”

He smiled. “No, we’re not. But I’d never hurt you—any more than I already have.”

She gazed at him for several seconds. She might look fragile, but that spine was steel. “You told me your name is Damon. Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Damon, all you can do here is make life difficult for me and my son. No one knows that he’s illegitimate except him and me. He’s accepted as the offspring of my husband. I knew we hadn’t had sex in a year, but no one else did. I became pregnant immediately after his death. Lindsey is regarded as the rightful heir of a great family. He’s also the comfort of his grandfather’s heart, and I have no intention of letting you interfere with that.”

“I don’t want to interfere.”

“Then what do you want?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think that through really well. I guess to spend some time with you.”

“Under what pretenses?”

“Friends? Dinner and a movie?”

She snorted. “That’s a silly idea.”

“Why? Surely you go out on dates with men?”

“No.”

“In twenty-six years?”

Her frown narrowed her wide eyes. “My personal life is my own.”

“Doesn’t sound like you have one.”

“I’ve lived to make a home and a life for my son.”

“And now he has a life of his own.”

She looked at her plastic gardening shoes. “Yes.”

He grinned. “Sounds to me like you could use a few more movies.”

“You think so, huh?” The corner of her mouth twitched.

“Um-hmm.”

Those blue eyes snapped up to his face. “My name’s Elizabeth. Glad to meet you.”

W
INTER
WALKED
into the marshal’s office and nodded at the secretary. “Hi. He called and said he needed me.” He held up the phone like evidence. Felt weird having the thing in his pocket. So many years of getting messages care of a postmaster.

“He has someone with him. Please take a seat.”

He grabbed one of the straight-backed plastic chairs sitting inside the door of the office, sat, and stretched out his long legs. Almost a week since he’d seen Matt. Not a word. Worse was that he gave a shit.

He sniffed, and his eyes widened. Like some kind of damned prophecy, the door to Freedman’s office opened and out walked the human in question. Matt was saying, “Thanks for the help, Ben. I’ll look into the connection.”

Winter started to stand, but his cock got the idea first and he quickly sat. Why the fuck did he react to this man like he was wolfnip? His own personal drug. With a deep breath, he got his dick under control and stood in time to come face to face with Partridge. Chances were only Winter saw the stutter in Matt’s step, the widening of his eyes, and the flare of nostrils. He nodded curtly. “Thane.” And walked out the door. The fucking schizophrenic, cock-teasing shitface of a human.
Breathe. Breathe. Control your face.
Winter gazed straight forward at Freedman, but every sense ran out that door with Matt. How did Partridge justify practically fucking Winter on the table at the Way Station and then acting like he’d somehow been betrayed? Yeah, he’d said it was his own fault, but he acted like it was Winter’s fault.
Shit.

Winter wanted to ask Freedman about Partridge so bad, but if ever there was a guy who Winter should not tell he was gay, the marshal came in number two on the list—after that guy Betz.

Freedman walked out of his office. “Winter, glad you’re here. We’re going to have some fun.”

“Fun?” Not much to do with the marshal seemed like fun.

Freedman crossed to where Winter stood. “Yeah. We’ve got a qualification run set up for you and some of the other young guys. Want to see what you’re made of. We need to understand your potential, shall we say.”

“Why, uh, sir?”

“That future in law enforcement might be in your grasp. Come on.”

What the fuck?
Winter followed Freedman to his truck, where Mario and Junior sat in the truck bed. He pointed to the cab. “Get in.”

He slid onto the seat, and Freedman got in the driver’s side, turned on some classical music station, and drove off through the town. He nodded toward the radio. “I figured you wouldn’t mind. The other males give me a hard time about my music choices.”

“I like Debussy.”

Freedman gave him a glance and a smile. “I like you, kid.”

Interestingly, Freedman was telling the truth. Winter could smell it. But a lot of the time, he just couldn’t read Freedman.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into a place that looked like a military camp—or maybe a paintball range. Freedman took a spot in the dirt parking lot.

“Where are we?”

“It’s a shooting and hunting camp.”

Oookay.
He got out of the truck as the other guys tumbled like a pile of puppies from the back and ran toward the sprawling, tilted-up building closest to the street. Even from the parking lot, Winter could hear the retort of rifles and handguns coming from inside.

He walked slowly toward the building, and Freedman fell in beside him. “You don’t look too enthused about the idea.”

He nodded toward the group of young wolves disappearing through the door. “Not many of those guys I’d trust with a firearm.”

The marshal bellowed his belly laugh. “Wise man. But the environment is controlled.”

“Better than the shooters, I trust.”

Freedman slapped him on the back. “Come on.”

Inside the cavernous building, the echo of gunfire covered all other sound. Two wolves sat behind a large counter, both wearing ear protection even though the range was clearly behind closed doors. Betz stood from a chair beside the counter. He eyed Winter as he shook hands with the marshal. “Ben. Thane.”

Winter nodded back.

Freedman stepped up to the counter, where one of the males came to him immediately, leaving a couple of the young wolves he had been helping. “Marshal, good to see you. We set up all the ranges as you requested.”

“Including the rifle—prone and standing?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want to put all these young studs through their paces, George.” He pointed to Winter. “You haven’t met this one. This is Winter Thane. He’s a Marketo.”

George extended a hand and Winter shook it. The male was a moderately powered shifter who probably used his weapons expertise to move him up in his pack standing.
Such men are dangerous
, as Shakespeare would say.

George reached under the counter and produced two Glock handguns that he set in front of Winter. Freedman pointed. “So, Winter, take your pick.”

Yes, this was a test. “This all I get?”

Freedman shrugged, clearly not wanting to provide any information that might help him. Winter smiled. “Okay, I’ll take the Glock 22. I’d rather have a Sig so I could add a laser sight, but if I only get to choose from these, the 22 it is.”

“Why?”

“It’s got more stopping power and accuracy. Harder to conceal, but I’m a big guy so hiding weapons isn’t that hard.”

Freedman nodded. “Okay, I’m impressed.”

George sneered. “He talks a good game. Let’s see how he performs.” He took the Glock and carried it behind the counter toward a door in the back wall. Freedman and Betz followed on their side while Winter, Mario, and Junior brought up the rear.