Winter’s Wolf (8 page)

“Uh, yes, ma’am. I’m looking for—” Through a window into an inner office, Winter saw Freedman talking on the phone at a desk. Winter nodded. “Ben Freedman. Marshal Freedman.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No. Sorry. But the marshal was advising me on jobs in law enforcement, and I happened to be in the area, so I took a chance.” He flashed every dimple at his command.

A layer of her officiousness melted. “I’ll let him know and see if he has a moment.”

She reached for her phone as the door to the back office burst open. “Winter. Good to see you, son. How did you know where to find me? Come in. Come in.”

“Thank you, sir.” He delivered a last smile at the receptionist and walked into Freedman’s standard government-issue office—metal desk and filing cabinet, some low shelves with books on law. A scuffed Indian rug on a linoleum floor. The only really personal item seemed to be a large, cushy black leather desk chair to accommodate the marshal’s bulk. Freedman took the chair, and Winter sat across the desk from him.

Freedman leaned back. “So how are you settling in?”

Don’t get me started.
“We found a cabin to live in, and now I need a job. I thought you might know of somebody looking. I can do anything physical. My skills are—shall we say, eclectic.” He grinned. “Some accounting. I’ve lumberjacked. Cut hair. Even taught yoga for a few weeks.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Nope. You should see my Cat Pose.” He laughed.

“Have you thought any more about what we talked on? Going into the law?”

“I’m not twenty-one for a couple months. I think I have to be. And I don’t have a high school diploma.”

“Can you pass a GED?”

“I imagine.”

“No Latin and Greek required.”

He shrugged. “Sorry. I was showing off. Those guys kind of pissed me off.”

“Can you speak Latin and Greek?”

“Yep. Or rather, I can read them. Not much speaking comes up.”

“You American?”

“Yeah. Have citizenship.”

“Driver’s license?”

He nodded. “But no car.”

“And you’re a good tracker?”

“The best.”

Freedman leaned forward and folded his big arms on the desk. “Tell you what. I give a few of the young guys around here some work, and most of them aren’t as smart or strong as you appear to be. What if I gave you a kind of assistant position? I’d put you on the payroll so you’d establish credit and all that shit. Give you a vehicle. Over the next few months, you study and take your GED.”

“What kind of ‘assisting’ do you need done?” He grinned.

“Different stuff. Some tracking. Some accounting—I hate that shit. Some errands. You interested? I’ll pay above minimum wage, plus you’ll have some credits in law enforcement if you decide you want to be a marshal.”

“Hey, sounds good to me. When do I start?”

“Tomorrow. Another marshal who works with me, Ollie Jimenez, is going to be escorting a guy up north for some scouting. You know the northern part of the state?”

“We came through it. Which means I know it.” He grinned.

“Okay. You won’t be finding your way. Ollie’ll do that. You’ll be giving the guy a sense of thoroughness and shit, got it? Real nose to the ground stuff.”

“Sure. Who’s the guy?”

“That Feeb you saw me with at the Way Station. Mr. FBI.”

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
“Sure, okay. What am I putting my nose to the ground looking for?”

“Whatever he says. Can do?”

“Hell yes, Marshal. Can do.” He finally let the smile spread like warm honey across his face.

D
AMON
WALKED
up to Merced’s beautiful home. “Walked” was a euphemism for the quaking in his legs. When had he ever been this nervous? Finding out you had a son you never knew existed did not qualify as everyday stuff. He rang the bell, and Merced’s butler answered the door, assured him that Mr. Marketo expected him, and led him back to Merced’s study. No waiting time.

“Mr. Marketo, Mr. Thane is here.”

Merced’s voice came from inside the room. “Thank you, Walter.”

Walter the Werewolf Butler. Seriously? Damon took a breath and stepped inside the room. The slim, pretty male he’d met at the party looked more nervous than Damon felt. He stood from the guest chair in front of Merced’s desk.

Merced said, “Damon, you’ve met Lindsey Vanessen.”

Damon extended his hand and Lindsey took it. To Damon’s callused paw, Lindsey’s skin felt like silk. No laborer here. “Good to see you again.”

“Yes.” Lindsey’s wide blue eyes looked huge.

Merced stood. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

Damon watched him circle the desk. “Uh, okay. Probably best.” The door closed on his brother, and Damon settled into the comfortable upholstered chair. Lindsey sat tentatively. Damon looked up at his rigid posture. “First, I want you to believe I never knew you existed or even that there was a possibility of your existence. I was taught that humans and weres could have sex but not produce offspring, so it wouldn’t have occurred to me to even think that a one-night, uh, I mean one-time thing would ever—shit, I’m doing this badly. But I don’t want you to think I ran away from you.”

Only Lindsey’s lips moved. “I gather you’re pretty certain that I’m your son.”

“Aren’t you? I doubt your mother was the type of lady to have a lot of flings. I knew at the time I was taking advantage of a woman under the influence and, without the alcohol, she probably would have ignored me.”

He narrowed those blue, blue eyes. “Then why did you do it?”

“I was young, wild, and crazy. Not much older than Winter is now.” He sighed. “But mostly I had never seen anyone so beautiful, graceful, elegant. Even drunk, she put other women to shame. I wanted her.” He glanced up. “Wish I could say I’m sorry, but truthfully, I’ve never recovered from that night. She pretty much wrecked me for all other females.”

His arched brows knitted over his nose. “Tell that to Winter’s mother.”

“I did.”

Lindsey shook his head. “Please. My mother’s a lovely woman, but Delilah she isn’t.”

He shrugged. “She cut my hair.”

“She’s a genteel human. Her idea of an indiscretion is wearing diamonds to lunch instead of pearls.”

“You’re walking proof that’s not true.”

Lindsey stared at the carpet.

Damon softened his voice. “It must have been so hard for you. How have you kept the secret all these years?”

“I’m half human. I don’t have to shift, but I can if I want to—at the full moon.”

“So you live in human society.”

“It’s my society, Mr. Thane.”

“Can you call me Damon?”

“Yes.”

“Are you comfortable among humans, then?”

“In many ways I’m better accepted among humans than I am among the pack.” He shot his cuffs from the elegant gray suit jacket. “Humans may not love gay men, but at least they accept that we exist.” He looked up. “My husband is human.”

“I’d like to meet him.”

Lindsey appraised him. “That’s a possibility when he gets back from his stakeout.”

“He’s a cop?”

“Yes. We’re quite an unlikely pair, but he’s my sun and stars.” His stern expression softened.

“I’m so glad you found him.” Damon took a breath. “Maybe I could meet your whole family?”

Lindsey stood abruptly, and the frown returned in spades. “Nice try, Mr. Thane. I’ve lived twenty-six years without revealing my true nature to my human family. I won’t have that interfered with. And I assure you, I may look like a powder puff, but I have both the physical and financial strength to see that you keep away from my mother.” Without another glance, he walked out the door.

Shit. That went well.

M
ATT
CRAWLED
out of his gray government-issue car in front of the marshal’s office. He looped a backpack over his arm. Freedman insisted that one of his men had found a site in the northern woods that could have been a drug lab. Nothing there now, he said, but the area deserved a good search. All Matt’s instincts said the real evidence was right outside Hartford, in the center of Harker/Marketo land, and that going north wouldn’t prove a thing. Still, Freedman and Jimenez knew the area, so their opinions had to be respected. Jimenez seemed insistent.
Get this over with.

As he walked toward the building, Freedman came out with the other marshal Matt had met once or twice. Matt nodded. “Hi, Ben. Morning, Ollie.”

Ben always had that big smile. “Great morning for some exploration, right?”

“If you say so.”

Jimenez nodded in his nervous Boy Scout way. “I think this area could turn up some important information. Really glad you’re going.”

Freedman gave Matt a pat on the arm. “I got you a supertracker to help. Should be here soon. Just load your stuff into Ollie’s vehicle.”

Matt hiked the pack with bedroll attached into the back of the newish SUV, while up the street came another one of far more ancient years. The vehicle paused behind Ollie’s trunk, and the window slowly slid down. Matt caught his breath, then coughed to hide it.

Winter seemed to be barely hanging on to a grin. “Hey, Marshal, where shall I park this valuable antique?”

“Don’t be lookin’ gift horses in the mouth there, son.” He smiled.

“Would not dream of it, sir.”

“There’re a few spaces around back.”

The old SUV drove a few feet and turned left into the small parking lot next to the building.

Matt’s heart beat so hard it hurt.
Calm down. Cool your damned jets.
Why the hell was this guy who’d tried to seduce Matt just nights before—and damned near succeeded—suddenly hooked up with the marshals? What the fuck was his game? And why couldn’t Matt get his cock to be less happy about it?

Freedman started briefing him, and he forced his eyes to stay on the marshal’s face and not drift to the tall, lean figure coming around the side of the building. Winter threw a pack into the back of the vehicle, and Matt made sure he got in the passenger seat of Ollie’s SUV, forcing Winter into the backseat. They took off up the main street, then turned onto the interstate. Thank God Ollie started up some country music and blasted it loud, so conversation became difficult, but Ollie didn’t seem to notice. He just raised his voice and yelled over the music—as if turning it down wasn’t an option he’d considered.

“Where’d you learn tracking, Winter?”

“Canada. It’s where I grew up.” He didn’t shout, but his silky baritone cut through the wail of the singer’s tenor.

“Did the marshal brief you?”

“No. He just said I should do anything the FBI told me to.”

Ollie laughed, but Matt spent the next several miles trying not to imagine all the things he’d like to tell Winter to do.

They drove about three hours, the last part on narrow backcountry roads surrounded by increasingly dense forest. Finally Ollie pulled off onto a dirt track obscured by underbrush. Matt never would have seen it on his own. Interesting. Maybe it had been hidden by drug traffickers.

After bouncing over rough, rutted terrain for at least half an hour, Ollie pulled up and stopped. “On foot from here.”

Matt climbed out but frowned. “This is really remote. Drug labs need lots of power.”

Ollie nodded. “Yeah. You’ll see.”

Winter slid out of the other side of the SUV and walked around beside Matt. Feeling heat radiating off the guy’s big body had to be imagination, right? Matt looked up. Winter seemed already in tracker mode, his eyes scanning the woods and nostrils flared like an animal sensing its environment. Who the hell was this guy?
Use brain, not cock, to think.

Ollie started tromping through the brush, Matt followed, and Winter came behind. Funny, all he heard were Ollie’s big boots. Winter’s feet fell silently. A shiver zinged up Matt’s back. Fear or excitement?

A few minutes into the brush, Ollie pointed at a large Quonset hut in a clearing beyond. “See what I told you?” A big generator sat outside the building, but everything looked quiet and abandoned.

Matt started toward the building, and Winter cut him off. “Hang on. Let me sniff around a little before you guys start interfering with the scent.”

“Scent?”

He frowned. “You know, the evidence. The trail. You don’t know what’s in there. I’m the tracker. Let me track.”

Maybe he just wanted to cover stuff up. “I am in the FBI. I’m used to handling evidence.”

Winter grinned. “Humor me.”

Hard to argue with that hundred-megawatt persuasion. “Okay.” He fought not to smile back.

Winter approached the hut slowly, no sound. Jesus, he looked for all the world like he was sniffing the air while his eyes searched the ground. He put a hand on the front door.

Ollie yelled, “You got a weapon?”

“Nobody’s inside.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He opened the door and slipped in. A couple of minutes later, his voice came from inside. “Come on in.”

Matt opened the door wider and walked in with Ollie behind him. Trashed. A few tables had fallen on their sides, what appeared to be a weighing device lay in pieces, and various bags and boxes littered the otherwise empty room. Winter stood to one side, his arms crossed, surveying the scene with a frown.