“Weren’t you? Trying to kill him, I mean?”
“Nah. At first, I reacted pretty violently, figuring he intended to kill me, and I planned to do it to him first. But I could tell by the way he forced me down, countering all my lethal moves with blocking maneuvers and attempting not to hurt me, that he didn’t intend to harm me permanently. At least I didn’t think so.”
“But he tied you up.” Meara righted the couch cushions.
“With… nothing that hurt. And he was trying to keep me from injuring him. I imagine he’ll have a few bruises, but our werewolf genes heal them quickly.” Anna grinned at her and headed for the bedroom.
Meara followed her in there. Anna probably considered the confrontation between herself and Imposter Joe to be nothing more than a good workout.
Meara stared at the two pairs of black sheer panty-hose lying in a pile on the bed and the black silk scarf near the footboard. “He tied you up with your own clothes?” But not just with Anna’s own clothes. With her sexy, sheer panty hose.
Anna grabbed them and threw them in her suitcase, which was lying on the floor on the other side of the bed. Anna’s clothes were strewn all over the pale blue carpet.
“I wasn’t easy on him when he tried to confine me. We usually go into a situation packing light. If we can, we use the other’s possessions like this so we don’t leave any evidence behind.” Anna began to gather her clothes: black lace panties, black leather miniskirt, strapless black heels, and a black negligee.
Meara would have thought Anna was goth because of all the black clothes, but she didn’t have any piercings or heavy makeup, and her hair was a rich auburn color. Not that werewolves would have any piercings or wear heavy makeup. It just wasn’t done. Meara could just imagine seeing one panting as a wolf—the only way to cool off since wolves don’t sweat—with a miniature diamond barbell centered on the wolf’s tongue.
That would be easy to explain to a hunter if one caught a werewolf in wolf form. Not.
Meara’s gaze swung back to Anna, and she asked, “Did you… knee him in the crotch?”
Meara had intended to, or at least to swing her leg up between his to incapacitate him, until he’d kissed her and turned her to stone.
Anna harrumphed in a dark way. “Tried to, but he was damned quick and seemed to know what I was going to do before I attempted to retaliate.”
Just like he seemed to know what Meara was thinking when she worried he might hold a gun on her and try to force her outside.
“Did you try to knee him in the crotch?” Anna asked, her brows raised.
Meara felt her face grow warm, which irritated her. She wasn’t about to tell Anna that Joe had kissed her and that she hadn’t done anything about it, like slap him or something. At the same time, she hadn’t kissed him back.
“Hmm,” Anna said, as if she’d just witnessed some deep, dark secret. The intense gaze of a wolf gave others the impression he or she had the ability to see into a person’s soul—and right now, Meara felt as though Anna had done just that.
Anna finished resettling her clothes neatly in her bag and then set it on the luggage rack. “He didn’t catch your interest, did he?” This time she eyed Meara with suspicion.
Was it because Anna was drawn to Joe and worried he might have a thing for Meara? Or was she concerned that Finn might be hurt if Meara threw him over for Joe?
“Of course not,” Meara said too quickly and way too vehemently. Hell, she figured both Joe and Finn were in the same line of work, one where they wouldn’t settle down and take mates. Anna didn’t need to worry about her interest in either man.
“No,” Meara said again, and wished she hadn’t as Anna eyed her speculatively.
Anna pulled the desk chair around and sat down on it while motioning for Meara to sit on the end of the bed. “So then what exactly did happen between the two of you?”
Finn had expected to discover that Joe had slipped out a back door through the kitchen of the hotel lounge, but following the man’s scent, Finn found him sitting at a booth in the lounge, watching for him.
Or most likely not for him, but for Meara. Damn it to hell. She had been headed in this direction, following the operative and unconcerned about her own safety, most likely hoping to learn more about him so she could share her findings with Finn. Her impulsiveness would be the death of him.
He blew out his breath and stalked toward the booth. He should have known she wouldn’t stay put in the lobby like he’d told her to do. He should have left her at the safe house.
“I was expecting someone else,” Joe said with a half smile, lifting a beer in greeting. His expression was pure predatory wolf, and Finn had to reign in his combative nature before he took out the bastard.
Finn had seen the way Joe had seemed fascinated with Meara at her cabin, and Joe hadn’t hidden his animosity for Finn, either. He wouldn’t easily forget that the man had stuck his hand in Meara’s pocket, letting her know he was doing so as he left a bug there.
“She’s not coming,” Finn said abruptly.
“I gathered that when you showed up instead.” Joe motioned with his free hand for Finn to join him, although Finn wasn’t waiting for an invitation.
“At Meara’s place, you told her that you didn’t drink,” Finn said, letting Joe know he’d had an eye on him the whole time he’d been in her house.
“I lied. Some women are wary of a man who drinks.”
True enough. Sliding into the booth, Finn asked, “Who are you, and what’s your business?”
“Bjornolf Jorgensen…” He bowed his head slightly. “…at your service.” He gave Finn a look of conceited satisfaction when he saw Finn’s expression change to instant awareness.
“Bjornolf,” Finn said under his breath. Bear-wolf. The person known by that name served as a deep undercover operative, although many thought the man was a legend or a myth rather than someone real. No one was sure who the man really worked for. And he rarely revealed his identity. Many thought that those who bragged about knowing him were telling tales.
“That’s me.” Bjornolf waited for Finn to ask something further, then seeming to remember that Finn had asked what he was doing here, he added, “I’m here to watch your backs.”
“Ours,” Finn said softly.
“Yours, since you’re here, and Hunter’s sister’s.”
“And the others on the team?”
“They were merely a distraction.”
Finn narrowed his eyes. “The assassin nearly killed Allan Rappaport. How is that nothing more than a distraction?”
Bjornolf shrugged. “Fatalities can cause a pretty good distraction.”
Finn’s phone buzzed and he looked at it, noting that Hunter was calling. Finn hoped he wasn’t having trouble in Hawaii—the only reason he could think of for Hunter calling at this hour. He lifted the phone to his ear and asked, “Hunter, can I call you back?”
“What the hell happened, and who’s the guy you’re talking to?”
How in the hell had Hunter gotten word about this already? Meara had to have called him.
Finn studied the man sitting across from him and said to Hunter, “I’m talking with Bjornolf Jorgensen.” He figured Hunter would be just as surprised since the man rarely revealed himself to anyone. Finn wondered who Bjornolf was working for now. “I’ll call you back in a bit. Meara’s safe with Anna Johnson.”
“Call me back ASAP,” Hunter said, his tone short and angry, and hung up on him.
Finn knew Hunter was incensed about the way he had handled the situation with Meara and Anna. It wasn’t the first time Hunter hadn’t liked the way Finn dealt with a situation, nor would it be the last. But there were times when Finn had felt the same way about Hunter’s handling of a mission.
Bjornolf was watching him with an amused expression, and Finn wanted to wipe the arrogant look off his face. Bjornolf was the whole reason Finn would have words with Hunter over this mess. “What if I send Meara to Hawaii to join Hunter?” Finn asked.
Without hesitation, Bjornolf said, “They’ll go after her there.”
Finn couldn’t believe it. “Why her?”
“She’s Hunter’s sister.”
Finn scowled at the operative. “I already got that part. But why go after Meara?” he repeated.
“You would have all been dead on your last mission if it hadn’t been for Meara. Didn’t you know that? That’s what this sick bastard intended. But when Meara thwarted him, he vowed revenge. At least I assume that’s the case.
“The fires that burned down Meara and Hunter’s home and those of their pack members? Who do you think set them? Neither Meara nor Hunter were supposed to have escaped that. As luck would have it, the winds were in Meara and Hunter and their pack’s favor. After Hunter and his pack relocated to the Oregon coast, they ran into all kinds of trouble. On top of that, a red pack leader named Leidolf was poking his nose into their business. The man in charge waited for a more opportune time to strike again—a time when fewer pack leaders could cause him trouble.”
Finn straightened taller. “Did Hunter know the fire was set on purpose by someone out to get them?”
“Yes. But he didn’t let Meara know it. Several in the know have been investigating, trying to find a link to the arsonists.”
Finn scowled at Bjornolf. “Meara should have been told. How did Hunter think she could protect herself if she wasn’t aware of the danger to them both?”
“None of us thought it would be carried any further. Possibly it had just been a way of getting back at them. Destroying their homes. Hunter’s pack even mutinied. Quite effectively, the arsonist wreaked havoc on Hunter and his pack, more so than if he’d just eliminated Hunter and Meara. But then, maybe the arsonist didn’t believe they’d been punished enough. Maybe he saw how nicely Hunter and Meara were doing in their new home in Oregon, how Hunter had located a mate and Meara was happily looking for one through renting the cabins.”
