Pack laws ruled, no search warrants needed.
“And, pack up her things. She’s staying at my place when she leaves the hospital. But until then… hell, I’ll go with you.”
“Not falling for another one of them, are you?” Uncle Sheridan’s voice reflected stormy censure as they walked outside the hospital.
Darien rebuffed his comment with humor. “Not this time. Hell, I don’t care for women who chase after me.”
Uncle Sheridan shook his head. “Good thing she doesn’t know any better.” He cocked a dark brow, but his expression was still scornful.
Darien wasn’t getting involved with the woman!
When they arrived at the Queen Anne Victorian bed and breakfast, Mrs. Bertha Hastings hurried to greet them, wearing one of her more colorful floral dresses. Didn’t matter the time of year, she always dressed in flowery patterns. Told everyone who would listen she was probably a garden fairy in another life. Even now her lobby and check-in counter were filled with bouquets of flowers, ivies trailing down plant stands, and small ficus trees cuddled next to the big windows, leaning toward the sun, making it appear she’d brought the great outdoors inside.
“Is the young lady going to be all right?” Mrs. Hastings handed them a key to room five.
She shook her head before Darien could respond. “I know, I should have told you right away when she arrived. At first, I didn’t recognize she was Lelandi’s sister. But I caught her without the glasses and hat, and then I could see the obvious resemblance, despite the rest of the disguise. Oh, and her voice of course. Same sweet tone. How’s she doing?”
Darien cleared his throat. “After a couple of days, she should be fine.”
“Good. Tell her I’m saving her room for her.”
He was going to tell her Larissa was leaving here for good, as soon as he found her pack and they came for her. But Uncle Sheridan beat him to it.
“She’ll be going home to her pack as soon as she’s well enough.”
Mrs. Hastings’s mouth dropped slightly. She hurried to pluck dead flowers from a vase of mums. “I’m sorry to hear it. I’d hoped…” She quickly glanced at Darien, but didn’t say anything further.
That he would take Larissa as his mate? He shook his head. “Did anyone come here looking for her?”
“Deputy Trevor already asked. Some guy accosted her behind the house. I had my phone ready to call for backup when he grabbed her arm, but she swung her arm down and around, freeing herself. Just as quickly, she kicked up her knee like she was going to hurt him you know where. Looked like kung fu or something. Anyway, before he began to sing soprano, he jumped back, and that was the end of the confrontation. He stalked off toward Mervin’s barbershop, and she headed for the tavern to see you. At least I presumed that’s why she asked where you’d be on a Friday night.”
Uncle Sheridan gave a derisive snort, his expression mirroring his response. “Chasing after you like you said, Darien.” He pulled out his notepad. “Can you describe what the guy looked like?”
“Maybe five-foot-eight or so, lanky. He was wearing jeans, hiking books, a copper-colored coat. His hood was up, hiding his face.” She shrugged. “Couldn’t see much more.”
“Copper coat? That should be easy to spot.” Darien hoped they might finally have a lead.
“I haven’t seen the guy again since the incident out back. And I don’t recall having seen him before.” She sighed.
“You figure Larissa knew him?” Darien asked.
“Yeah. I was repotting some flowers in the shed out back and heard her squeal. I peeked out the window and saw him draw close to her, and then heard them exchanging angry words. So I assumed they knew each other.”
“A red from her pack.”
“That’s what I figured. You know, this girl’s as sweet as her sister, but a mite more…” Mrs. Hastings smiled. “Spirited. More of a tigress at heart. Be careful of this one. She may look like her sister, but she’s not the same. Danger seems to follow her.”
If that wasn’t the understatement of the day. “Did Trevor search her room?”
“No. He talked to one of the twin girls staying here, but that was all. I asked if he wanted to search Lelandi’s sister’s room, but he said he had more important things to do, and he’d return later. He hasn’t come back and that was a couple of hours ago.”
Uncle Sheridan swore under his breath. Darien was going to tell his uncle to find out what Trevor’s problem was, but the stormy look on his uncle’s face told him he didn’t have to.
“If you remember anything more, let us know.”
“Sure thing.” She poured water into a pitcher. “She’s not leaving right away, is she?”
“Not until she’s well enough to travel.”
“Good.” She gave him a sugary smile and went back to watering her plants.
Darien and his uncle headed down the hall.
“So what do you think?” Uncle Sheridan asked.
“Pack member for sure giving her a hard time for entering another pack’s area without permission and getting herself into trouble. Maybe boyfriend. Doubt it’s the brother she mentioned because if he was and suspected Lelandi had been murdered, he would have come instead of Larissa.”
“Unless he is her brother and doesn’t believe Lelandi was murdered.”
Darien shook his head. “She indicated she didn’t know where he was.” The way she seemed so tearful, he believed her. “I bet the patch of fur we found in the woods was this guy’s. He’s probably hanging around near the hospital, somewhere out of sight.”
Darien stuck the key in the door lock, but a window slid open inside. “Someone’s inside.” He unlocked the door, but something blocked it, and his blood instantly heated. “Around back.”
They raced through the hallway and Mrs. Hastings scrambled out of the way, spilling the pitcher of water. Darien and his uncle dashed into the kitchen and banged the back door open. No sign of any intruder, but footprints had been left in the manicured lawn shaded by firs that edged the forest. They dashed to the back side of Larissa’s room. The window was now locked and curtains pulled closed so they couldn’t see a thing.
Uncle Sheridan grabbed a flowerpot and broke the glass with a loud crash, sending dirt, golden mums, and bits of clay pottery flying.
Mrs. Hastings would have a fit.
They cleared away enough of the glass, climbed through the window, and found the place neat as if the maid had just cleaned up, except for the dresser shoved against the door blocking it, and the mess his uncle had made.
Darien shook his head, figuring the intruder had come for the same piece of evidence he was looking for. He and Sheridan searched the lace-covered canopy bed, underneath it, the dressers, and bedside tables, the closet and the small bathroom and found nothing. Not a toothbrush, comb, bag, article of clothing, or anything else.
Then a slight elevation of the mattress on the right side of the bed caught Darien’s eye. He strode over to the bed and yanked up the coverlet. The mattress rode high in one small spot. Shoving his hand between the mattress and box spring, he felt the grip of a pistol. His heart pounded harder. Pulling the 9mm out, he checked the safety, then removed the bullets and studied them.
“Silver,” Uncle Sheridan growled as he examined them more closely. “That’s grounds for throwing her in jail. Possessing a firearm with intent to kill a lupus garou. Hell, Darien, she’s a loose cannon.”
Darien tucked the gun in his belt and shoved the bullets in his pocket. “She’s not a threat any longer.”
Uncle Sheridan groused under his breath some more.
After moving the dresser out of the door’s path, they returned to the lobby to see Mrs. Hastings, her face ashen. She scooted a mop around on the wood floor, soaking up the water she’d spilled when he and his uncle nearly ran her over.
Darien handed her the key. “Someone was in the room and had blocked the door. We had to break the window. Just charge it to my account.”
Mrs. Hastings took the key and moved around the counter. “The poor little thing really isn’t safe.” She glanced at the gun tucked in Darien’s belt, and her eyes widened. “She was packing?”
“Was there anything else you can recall about her?” he asked, not wanting to get into it with his uncle over the gun again.
Mrs. Hastings pointed to the stairs winding up to a loft. “You might check up there. One of my teenaged guests told me a woman was reading a letter and crying.
When I investigated, it was Lelandi’s sister. She must have wiped away her tears, and I didn’t see any letter.”
Uncle Sheridan hurried up the stairs to the loft.
“Do you remember anything else? Nothing was in her room to indicate she’d ever been there,” Darien said.
“Emma cleaned up the rooms after the guests left for the day. She didn’t mention anything.” Mrs. Hastings looked at the gun again.
Uncle Sheridan stomped down the stairs and rejoined them. “Nothing.”
As Darien suspected. The woman was as much a mystery as her sister. “Come on, Uncle Sheridan. Let’s talk to the little lady again.”
Tension filling every pore, Darien hovered over Larissa’s hospital bed while Uncle Sheridan stood nearby, his arms folded. Sorely vexed with Trevor, Uncle Sheridan still couldn’t locate him.
With her face cloaked in sleep, Larissa looked like a sweet, innocent angel. Yet in that petite body, the heart of a warrior beat.
When she groggily opened her eyes, Darien tried to keep a grip on his temper, but his voice verged on a low, menacing growl. “Where… is… the… damned… letter?”
His shock of white hair ruffled, Doc walked into Lelandi’s hospital room. “I ordered bed rest, not constant interrogation of the young lady.”
Darien gave him a disgruntled look. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the doctor was right—but when it came to sorting out this situation with Lelandi and her sister, he needed answers and now!
