A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing

Chapter 4

Once Finn had shifted into his wolf form, he cast a long, hard look at Meara, as if he was trying to tell her to stay put. He was a beautiful, big gray wolf with a tan face framed by fur in a mixture of browns and black, giving him a distinguished appearance.

Exasperated, Meara waved her hand toward the wolf door. “Go. Protect me, oh hero of mine.” She couldn’t help it if her words sounded faintly sarcastic. She’d never gotten herself into a bind she couldn’t get herself out of, given enough time. And she didn’t feel this would be an exception.

Finn hesitated and even looked a little surprised.

She smiled, liking that he seemed a bit unsure for the first time since she’d met him six years earlier. Not that she had seen much of him since Hunter and the rest of the team had left the Navy. Most of the time, Finn would come to the door, usher Hunter outside for a super-secretive conversation, and then vanish without a word. Hunter would make arrangements with his sub-leaders, leaving shortly after that with duffel bag in hand.

Sure, she’d seen all of them together when they were still members of the SEAL team, but they were mostly part of the background. The guys aimed a few sly smiles in her direction, but none of them ever spoke to her except to greet her by name. They had remained subdued, standoffish, and secretive.

So she really didn’t know Finn well, except that she’d had words with him on more than one occasion when the team returned from a mission. She was angry that he was always getting Hunter involved in something that could prove fatal. They had left the Navy once their commitments were up. Enough was enough. Hunter had done his duty for God and country.

Finn would listen patiently to her tirade and cast Hunter surreptitious looks as though commiserating with him for having a sister who couldn’t leave well enough alone—and that had irritated her to no end.

Then Finn would depart and, several months later, turn up for another secretive mission, and they’d do what they intended without paying her any mind… again. She hoped that Hunter would give up the clandestine operations all together, now that he was mated.

But God, Finn had a body that wouldn’t quit. If there was a werewolf calendar, he could be featured on every month—and women would be even more apt to buy it if he was featured for an additional couple of months the following year. A natural Scandinavian blond with hazel-green eyes, he was a real looker.

She thought of him without the towel, the way he had been drying his hair so innocently, acting as though he’d forgotten to cover himself in front of her. He’d only done that to pretend he’d been her lover the night before. And she had been determined to pretend right back that his nakedness had no effect on her, not wanting him to think he’d not only shocked but intrigued her. No matter how much she told herself she shouldn’t, she couldn’t quit giving his physique a few gaping looks. Even though she’d tried damn hard to refocus her gaze on his. But the way that his mouth curved up and his wickedly darkened eyes smiled back at her meant he knew the truth. She couldn’t get her fill of him.

“Go. I mean it. I’ll stay here,” she said to Finn, nearly forgetting what he should be doing.

Seemingly reassured that she’d stay put, Finn loped out of the bedroom, and she went for her rifle.

As soon as Finn made certain the house was clear and no one was lurking inside, he used his nose to push through the wolf’s door to check the perimeter of the house and its surroundings. Outside, he smelled Joe’s scent coming from the direction of the blue cabin. Finn raced through the woods to the first of the cabins, circling around the outside, but he didn’t see or hear any signs of life. Where was Joe?

As he made a broader search, Finn smelled that a male werewolf had been in the vicinity, but he saw no sign of the unknown wolf. He continued to search around each of the empty cabins but found nothing. The faint smell of gunfire rippled through the breeze, though. He hadn’t been wrong about that.

Gnashing his canines in frustration, Finn didn’t like that he had no leads, but not wanting to leave Meara alone and unprotected, he headed back to her cabin. He inspected the outside walls, looking for signs of a bullet hole in the windows or siding. Nothing.

He raced around to the back of the house and shoved his nose through the wolf door in the kitchen, praying she was still safe and secure, and came face to face with an armed Meara, who was aiming the same rifle that Joe had held on him earlier.

Relieved, he smiled, glad she’d had the sense to protect herself in case someone had tried to break into her place while he was away.

She lowered the muzzle of the rifle and frowned at Finn. “You didn’t find anything.” She sounded disappointed.

He shifted into his human form. Trying not to notice that she was staring at his nakedness again, he motioned to the rifle in her hands. “Do you even know how to use that thing?”

Her gaze shot up from eyeing his torso, and she snorted, raising the rifle parallel to her body. “You mean this?” She laid the rifle on the kitchen counter. “I’m just as accurate at shooting as you or any of the rest of your SEAL team. I’m surprised Hunter didn’t tell you I’m an expert marksman at a range.” She grabbed a pot holder shaped like a large red-hot chili pepper off the counter and handed it to Finn. “Cover yourself, will you?”

He gave her a small smile. He knew Meara was more than a little physically attracted to him. At least if the way her feminine pheromones were kicking his into high gear was any indication. As wolves, they sensed the pheromones in each other. If they’d been only human, the pheromones would still have played a role, but only subconsciously as the released pheromones sent signals to the hypothalamus region of the brain.

Her physical reaction to him—her increased heart rate, darkened eyes, and erect nipples poking at the silky fabric of her blouse—showed just how much her sexual response had heightened. But her female pheromones were also triggering his testosterone to surge, which meant he was getting damned horny around her again.

Otherwise, nudity between wolves shouldn’t have mattered. Although he had to remind himself that playing with fire wasn’t something he wanted to do.

He tossed the pot holder on the bar counter. “It’s not big enough to do the job.”

She laughed. But it was more of a haughty, give-me-a-break laugh than one of fun.

He chuckled under his breath as he strode down the hall to her bedroom. Her footfalls padded after him.

“So? Did you find any signs of a shooter?” she asked, sounding worried.

He glanced back at her and found her gaze riveted on his ass. Her eyes immediately rose to meet his, and to his amusement, her cheeks flushed crimson.

“We’re leaving.” He entered the bedroom, then grabbed his bag and dug around in it. He pulled out a different set of clothes—black denim, black T-shirt, and black boots, all more suited to the job he now had to do. But it was the pair of white boxers that caught her attention. They were strictly utilitarian so he wondered why she was so fixed on them. He quickly began to get dressed.

His words must have finally sunk in, because she shifted her gaze to his face and said, “What?” She sounded incredulous, which he figured was why she hadn’t responded in the negative yet.

But he knew that was coming. “Tell your sub-leaders you’re taking a trip. You can’t tell them where you’re going or how long you’ll be gone.”

She pursed her lips, eyeing him with irritation. “You listen here. I’m not going anywhere. I’ve leased the cabins, and it’s my job to see to the guests’ comforts.”

He yanked on his shirt. This was nonnegotiable. Meara was not going to be “seeing to the guests’ comforts.”

Before he could say so, she said, “I’m staying here. You have no right ordering me about. If some assassin is after the members of the team, he’ll be targeting you, not me. So you need to get as far away from me as possible.” She quickly folded her arms underneath her breasts. Her face turned a hot red and her lips thinned as she scowled at him.

“Hunter is the only one of us who has family. You don’t think they won’t also target you?” He was trying for negotiator calm—an attempt to settle the crisis in a nonthreatening way. But her defensive posture said she wasn’t falling for that, and although he tried his best to cover it up, his irritation was showing. “None of the rest of us has to worry about the assassin coming after our loved ones,” he tried again, sitting on the bed to pull on his boots.

He would attempt to convince her in a reasonable way, but if he had to take unreasonable methods to protect her—like locking her away somewhere safe—he wouldn’t hesitate. “Hunter won’t want your life jeopardized while he’s away. And you don’t want to be a weapon used to draw him back home. So you and I are going to disappear for a while.”

“My guests—”

“Can stay here without you comforting them.” Without further delaying the inevitable, he pulled out his cell phone. “I’ll take care of it.”

“No. You won’t.” Meara stomped out of the bedroom.

With fascination, he watched her butt jiggle as she hurried down the hallway. He had to move her quickly. And he was damned glad he was able to call in a favor if he’d needed it. Right now, he needed it.

He had laced his hiking boots and was repacking his duffel bag when he heard her speaking. “Hello, Chris? I’ve got to leave, and I need someone from the pack to check in my guests at the cabin resort.”

Good, she was agreeing to Finn’s terms—for now.

A significant pause followed, and she said irritably over the phone, “No. I don’t know where I’m going.” Another pause. “Listen, Finn’s a Navy SEAL, as well you know. Undoubtedly, he knows what he’s doing.”

She must have considered that Finn was listening to her from down the hall when she added, “At least Hunter will believe so.” Again silence. “No, of course I can’t get through to Hunter yet to okay it. It’s a done deal. Just have someone cover the cabin rentals until I can return.”

She didn’t say anything more so Finn assumed she’d finally convinced Chris that it was all right for her to go with Finn. He was sure Chris didn’t like the friendship he and the other SEALs shared with Hunter, since they weren’t part of the pack. But he had a sneaking suspicion there was more going on here than just a sub-leader’s nose being out of joint because someone outside the pack was making decisions that affected the pack leader’s sister. Chris had designs on Meara, whether she was aware of that or not, and her being alone with Finn was raising Chris’s hackles.

Finn heard the oven door open and assumed Meara was either removing the chicken or checking on it, but it couldn’t have cooked long enough. She let out an exasperated sigh and turned her ire on Finn as he joined her in the kitchen. She still had the phone to her ear. Finn was right about the food, though. The chicken was only partially cooked—still pink and inedible.

“We can take it with us or finish baking it, then go,” he offered, in an attempt to appease her somewhat. But at this point, Joe Matheson wasn’t eating a bite of it.

She gave him an annoyed look, closed the oven door, and said over the phone, “Chris, I’m doing this. I’ll be perfectly safe in Finn’s hands.”

Finn couldn’t stop the sinful way he was thinking about that remark or the calculated smile he cast her.

She shook her head at Finn and said to Chris, “Just have one of the guys stay at my place to manage the resort. I’d appreciate it. Bye.”

She ended the connection and scowled at Finn. “All right?”

He smiled. He couldn’t help himself. When she was riled, Meara was even more striking, her color high and becoming.

“I’ll get the ice chest and whatever else we might need.” He headed for the garage.

“Don’t tell me you know where my ice chest is.”

“In the garage. When I searched the place earlier, it was hard to miss.”

“Anything else you felt you needed to explore?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her, and he couldn’t contain the slow, lazy smile curving his lips. “Ask me later, and I’d be happy to answer your question. Maybe even demonstrate.”

Rourke Thornburg loved reporting the news when there was something interesting to report. In the news business, no news was not good news. But being a recently turned werewolf with Hunter Greymere’s pack had its drawbacks. The pack wouldn’t let him dig too deeply into a situation that could be considered newsworthy because they didn’t want him getting that kind of attention. What if he shifted unexpectedly in the middle of a news story and he became the biggest news around?

He could see the headlines now: Werewolf found on the Oregon coast! Will Bigfoot be located next?

Some pack member was always following him around. That wouldn’t have been so bad if the pack member had been a woman, but since there were fewer of them in Hunter’s pack and most were mated, he was stuck nearly always being escorted by a male wolf.

Today, Chris Tarleton was sitting across the desk from him at the newspaper office, reading yesterday’s paper and shaking his head. Chris was tall and strawberry blond, and Rourke had been told he was a red wolf, rather than a gray. In the wolf world, that meant he would be a smaller wolf. But in the werewolf world, the guy was just as lanky in wolf form as he was in human form. He was quiet most of the time. He preferred the quiet. Didn’t care to chitchat. But he also didn’t seem to care much for Rourke. Not for his occupation as a dealer in news nor as a newly turned werewolf who had to watch his step.

Rourke had been glad when Chris left to take care of business for a couple of days. He was hoping that the sub-leader would be gone a lot longer, leaving someone else to watch over Rourke, but fat chance of that. Late last night, Chris had come back again.

Chris’s phone rang, startling him out of his reading. He set the paper aside, then answered his phone. “Meara,” he said, sounding more than surprised. “Hell, no.”

Rourke was dying to know what was being said between the two. Even though Hunter had long ago set Chris and Dave up as sub-leaders to watch the pack while he was away on missions, Meara, being his sister and an alpha, was always asked for input on anything that would have warranted Hunter’s attention, had he been available.

But as far as Rourke knew, neither of the sub-leaders could tell her what to do and expect her to do it. Unless she was in agreement.

What was going on? Trying not to attract Chris’s attention, because Rourke was afraid Chris would leave the office if he did, Rourke strained to hear Meara’s voice over the phone. At times, she spoke so loudly that he heard bits and pieces. But nothing much that he could make sense of.

As controlled as his emotions were normally, Chris was livid, his face red and his breathing hard. He was incensed, which made Rourke even more curious about what was happening.

Rourke suspected that Chris had more than casual feelings for Meara. But Meara didn’t seem to notice, and Chris was afraid to pursue it. Or maybe he thought Hunter wouldn’t approve. Rourke liked Meara, but he knew he didn’t stand a chance with her. Not when he was newly turned and she was a royal, having few human roots in her bloodline. She had only tolerated him in the pack, not disliking him but not really accepting him. For whatever reason, Rourke wanted her acceptance and respect. So he was glad Chris didn’t seem to have what it took to get on her good side, either.

“Have you okayed this with Hunter first?” A hint of threat was in Chris’s tone of voice. If she did whatever she planned to do—and Chris was sorely angered about it—Hunter would be furious if she hadn’t discussed it with him first.

That worried Rourke. He hoped Chris was making a big deal out of nothing, but Rourke had never seen him so riled up with Meara before, and that concerned him.

Chris ground his teeth while he waited as she said something further, and then he said, “Damn it, Meara, you can’t leave with him until Hunter okays it.”

A potential mate? She was always looking for one, and now Rourke suspected Chris was so riled because he was still interested in her. As for himself, Rourke wanted a much more subdued woman than Meara. The woman needed someone who could match her fiery personality.

“Damn it to hell,” Chris said, staring at his phone.

Meara had hung up on him.

Chris quickly punched buttons to make a call, and for a moment, Rourke thought he was calling Meara back to try and talk some sense into her, but instead he said, “I need you to run over to Meara’s place and rent the rental units.” He scowled. “Hell, I know that! Don’t you think I would know that? Meara’s going to be gone for a little while. So you have the task of running the resort. Just get out there.” He hung up.

Now that was odd that Meara would give up managing the units, since everyone in the pack knew how much she was looking forward to running them while Hunter was gone. Rumor had it that all the guests for the next two weeks were alpha male bachelors, and she intended to find herself a mate.

After Chris finished his call, he stuck the phone in the pouch at his belt. He cleared his throat, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the floor for a moment as if deep in thought. He must have realized Rourke was watching him because he looked up with an annoyed expression. “You should be glad things are quiet around here for a change.”

It didn’t seem so quiet any longer—at least where Meara was concerned. Rourke sure would like to learn what that was all about. “Quiet doesn’t sell newspapers.”

Chris shrugged. “Make something up.”

Rourke stared at him blankly. “Reporting the news means reporting the truth.”

“Ah hell, that’s a crock of…”

Chris’s cell phone rang, and Rourke wondered, What now?

Chris slipped the phone off his belt. “Yeah?” His eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze from the floor to Rourke.

What had Rourke done wrong this time? He’d really thought he had this werewolf business down fairly well, but he felt like he was living undercover and he was always afraid he’d blow his cover.

“Yeah.” Chris looked at the floor again. “All right. I’ll ask him. Thanks.” He pocketed the phone and looked grimmer than Rourke had ever seen him.

“What’s wrong?” Rourke asked.

“Nothing to write home about. In other words, nothing to report in your newspaper. But we’ve got a problem.”

More than the one he’d just had with Meara? “What?”

“A man just washed up on one of the more isolated beaches, dead. He’s one of us.”

Rourke closed his gaping mouth. “But I can’t report it.”

“He’s one of us… our kind,” Chris said in a tone that sounded as if he was relaying the information to a two-year-old. But Chris was angry, too, his face red, his fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenched.

“I understand that. But no one can verify he’s one of us, so what difference would it make if I reported it?” But Rourke could see from the hostile expression on Chris’s face that he wasn’t getting anywhere with this. “Who found him?”

“One of our teens was searching for sea life on the rocks. She realized he was one of our kind right away and reported it to Dave. He wanted to know if you might recognize the man.”

“How would I know—”

Chris raised his hand to stop Rourke from asking anything further. “He had newspaper credentials. His name was Joe Matheson.”

“Joe…” Rourke shook his head. “Never heard of him.”

Chris frowned. “Are you sure?”

“Well, sure I’m sure. If he’s from a community around here, I’d probably know him unless he was brand new on the job. If he’s from somewhere else, that’s another story. How did he die?”

“Fell from the cliffs. Even though we have pretty good healing abilities, a fall on the rocks at low tide could kill anyone.”

“Was he pushed, did he commit suicide, or did he just accidentally fall?”

“Our police officer is looking into it. But he wants you to look at the man, just in case you might have known him, being that he’s supposed to be in your line of work.”

Rourke would have jumped at the chance if it meant a news story. But now it was just a viewing to ID the poor slob when he was sure he wouldn’t recognize him and wouldn’t be able to help the pack. Then his instincts for investigative reporting gave him pause. “The isolated beach where he was found wouldn’t be near Meara’s cabin, would it?”

Watching the fowl bake was like the old adage about observing a teakettle boil, Finn thought as he waited while Meara packed her bags. He was dishing out the finally cooked chicken when he heard Meara’s phone ring.

A significant pause followed, and then she said, “Joe Matheson?” Her voice shook with unease.

Wondering what the hell had happened now, Finn turned off the oven, deposited the empty baking dish on the stove top, and then hurried to join her in the master bedroom.

Her face was pale and her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. He took the phone from her, and her mouth gaped as she stared at him in surprise. Then her surprise turned to a scowl, and she grabbed for the phone.

Finn deflected her grasping hand, determined to hear firsthand what the trouble was. “What’s wrong?” he asked the caller.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Finn Emerson. Is this Dave? I talked to you earlier about sending a man after Hunter. What the hell’s going on now?”

“I was just on my way to Meara’s place. A Joe Matheson was found dead at the bottom of some cliffs north of Meara’s cabin. He was carrying a card with her phone number on it, so I figured he was renting one of the cabins. He had a return plane ticket for Asheville, North Carolina, scheduled for a week from today.”

Hell. “Have you retrieved the body?”

“Yeah. He’s at the morgue. Can Meara ID him?”

If it was the assassin’s work, why had the man killed Joe, not Finn, and not taken Meara hostage?

“We both can ID him. We’ll be right there to check it out.” Finn handed the phone to Meara, not liking where this was headed. “Where’s the morgue? We have a body to ID.”

Meara still couldn’t believe the news about Joe Matheson. He’d been her first alpha-mate prospect and cabin renter. And now he was dead. She felt sick knowing that and now was certain all he’d said was true. He’d been Hunter’s friend several years back, and she hadn’t trusted him.

Her stomach roiling, she and Finn entered the morgue.

The mingling smells assaulted her—the strong odors of blood and decay and bleach. Even humans would have noticed the odors, but her finely tuned wolf’s sense of smell made them worse. It didn’t matter that she had hardly known Joe; she felt horrible that she’d thought ill of him and now he was dead.

She balked at going further into the room. Finn’s steadying hand remained at her elbow, and she appreciated his strength. She would never have thought she’d need someone to help her confront something like this.

“You don’t have to see him, Meara,” Finn said. “I can ID him.”

She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.” Although she felt anything but. She’d had to kill to save others before, so she’d seen dead bodies, but this was different. She had liked the guy and felt it was her fault that she’d encouraged him to come to her resort—for what? Relaxation, maybe a wolf mate? Not to be murdered.

White tile walls and fluorescent lights bathed the room in brightness, while the red floor masked any bloodstains. With a little more pressure on her elbow, Finn encouraged her to keep walking toward the sheet-covered body, where a police officer, Wes Caruthers—one of her pack, although a red wolf—and an attendant greeted her. She couldn’t help the way her whole body tensed in anticipation of seeing Joe dead. And because of her concern that innocent and unsuspecting Joe had been murdered instead of her or Finn.

“I’m sorry I had to call you to identify the body, Meara. If you want to step outside, I’m sure Mr. Emerson would be able to ID him and you won’t have to.”

She shook her head, hating to see Joe in death, but it was her pack, and the man had had business with her, not Finn. But when the attendant pulled the sheet aside, she stared at an unfamiliar angular face, cold gray eyes, bushy red brows, and wet red-blond hair. A chill raced down her spine.

“This man isn’t Joe.” She meant to sound firm in her statement, but the words came out in a rushed whisper of shocked surprise.

Then again, maybe this was Joe.

“Not the man we met at your place, in any event,” Finn said, shaking his head at Caruthers but confirming what she’d suspected—that the dead man had been Joe, and the other had been an imposter. “Did he have any picture ID?” Finn asked, pulling out his phone and taking a picture of the man.

“No, sir. Just the return plane ticket and the note with Meara’s phone number and address on it.” Caruthers shoved his hands in his pockets, watching Finn and acting as though he was trying to decide whether to question Finn or remain silent. Caruthers had been a police officer up north, but when he’d learned that Hunter needed a couple of officers to help police his werewolves and others trickling into the area, Caruthers had jumped at the chance to bring his mate and join the force.

Some of the reason had to do with their werewolf longevity. As Caruthers put it, he’d been a Texas Ranger early on and then had moved farther west. He’d retired a few times and had had to die sometimes to avoid anyone becoming suspicious that he didn’t grow old very fast and had lived so many years. He and his mate had been in the Portland area long enough when they left.

Finn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. She’d seen him do it before, deep in concentration, when Hunter had talked secretly to him about a mission, right before he’d ask her brother another question.

“Were any weapons found on or near the body?” Finn asked.

Knowingly, Caruthers shook his head. “We searched the area but didn’t find any.”

Finn nodded.

So what did that mean? No weapons meant this Joe was the good guy?

Meara noticed the damn worried look Caruthers sent her way. She knew he wouldn’t want to do anything Hunter didn’t want him to do, and being new in the pack, he was probably afraid he might jeopardize his pack ties and job.

“I’m taking care of her,” Finn said, as if trying to reassure the officer.

“Hunter knows?” Caruthers quickly asked.

“No,” Meara said, annoyed she was being left out of the conversation. The officer was part of her pack, not Finn’s. He didn’t have any jurisdiction here or any say in their pack politics. Typical that he would take charge in Hunter’s absence as if he were the pack leader.

“But Hunter would approve of the arrangement,” Finn said, giving Meara, a small knowing smile.

Caruthers looked from her to Finn and then gave a stiff nod. “Thanks, Miss Greymere, Mr. Emerson, for coming by.”

She’d almost told the officer not to mention this murder to Hunter, but she knew it was Caruthers’s duty to keep the pack leader informed, although what Hunter could do about it while he was on his honeymoon was beyond her. Learning of the man’s death would only make him worry more about her safety. From where he was, he couldn’t do anything about that, either. And she did not want him to give up his honeymoon to take care of things here when she was certain the pack and Finn were capable of dealing with the situation.

Finn took Meara by the elbow and was about to guide her out of the morgue, when Rourke and his lupus garou mentor, Chris, walked in. Chris looked annoyed that he had to baby-sit Rourke, but his green eyes brightened when he saw her. Even though Chris was one of Hunter’s sub-leaders, he’d never appealed to her. Too quiet, too by the book, way too somber. He was a nice enough guy, but she liked a man who could laugh about things.

Finn eyed them both, his whole body tensing at once, and Meara hurried to introduce everyone. “Rourke Thornburg, a news reporter and friend of Tessa, Hunter’s mate—” She paused and turned to Rourke. “No story on this, or Hunter will have your head.”

Rourke gave her an exasperated look. “Apparently I’m supposed to make up the news,” he said, turning his aggravated expression on Chris.

“Oh?” She motioned to Chris. “And that’s Chris Tarleton, Rourke’s… mentor and one of Hunter’s sub-leaders.”

“And you’re at the morgue because…?” Finn asked Rourke, sounding suspicious.

Rourke frowned at him. “The dead man had newspaper credentials. Chris wanted me to check it out. Who are you?”

Finn gave him a wry smile. “Finn Emerson, friend and SEAL on Hunter’s team.” He waved toward the dead man. “Go ahead. See if it’s anyone you recognize.”

“Hell, you’re a SEAL,” Rourke said, looking impressed.

That was all Finn needed to do to impress Rourke. Ever since Hunter had told Rourke he was a Navy SEAL, Rourke had been proud to share the information—and even prouder to know Hunter.

Rourke sucked in a deep breath, then headed over to the dead body, studied him for a moment, and then shook his head. “No, I told Chris I’d never heard of the man. Probably someone new or he isn’t from around here.”

“He has a return ticket to North Carolina, but he might not be from there, either,” the police officer suggested.

“Let’s see if the Joe we met is still hanging around,” Finn said to Meara.

The police officer hurried after them. “I’ll follow you over there in case you need my help.”

“We could help, too,” Rourke added, looking hopeful, as if he was about to find the news story of the century.

“No.” Meara knew that Rourke was still a reporter at heart, even if he tried to stay out of trouble as a newly turned wolf. She said to Chris, “Take him back to his office. I’m sure a story will come up, and here you’d be at my place, missing out on an article for your paper.”

Rourke gave her a sour look. “Chris won’t let me report on anything except the weather.”

Meara smiled. Hunter had gotten himself into a mess of trouble when she had lost him for a time. She had figured that at the rate he was going, he might have turned half the population of Oregon. Good thing she had rejoined him in the nick of time. And he’d always worried about her turning someone on purpose or by accident.

“I’ll meet you at your place,” the police officer said.

Chris cast an icy glower at Finn, who just gave him a smug smile back.

Alpha males.

As she walked through the basement with Finn, Meara thought about the “Joe” who was supposedly renting her cabin and felt a tightening in her chest.

“I gave him my rifle,” she whispered, feeling another chill. “If the man was an assassin, why didn’t he take both of us out when he had the chance?”

“Maybe he’s not the assassin. Maybe he’s really Joe, and that guy…” Finn said, motioning to the morgue, “was the imposter. Also, the assassin would prefer using his own weapon, not someone else’s untried gun.”

She hadn’t considered that. She had just assumed that the dead man was the good guy and that any weapon the bad guy could use would be sufficient.

“What’s this business between you and Tarleton?” Finn asked once they were out of earshot of the others.

“What?” she asked, totally thrown off stride by the question.

“You heard me. He’s clearly interested in you and hates me, thinking I’m one of your potential suitors.”

Not believing Finn could think anything of the sort, she shook her head.

“Are you shaking your head because you don’t think he’s interested in you or because you don’t think he believes I’m a potential suitor?”

“Get serious.”

“I’m damned serious.”

She cast him an annoyed expression. “According to you, everyone is interested in me. So why don’t I have a mate?”

He gave her a conceited smile. “You’re a handful.”

She snorted, then added for his benefit, “Well, I’m not interested in him, if it’s any of your business. Chris is the most humorless man I know. I could never get along with a man who doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

Her cell phone rang, and she jumped a little, her nerves shattered. Then she yanked the phone out of her jeans pocket. Her heart beating faster, she checked the caller ID as they continued out of the basement and up the stairs. Then she felt a sliver of relief.

“Hunter.” He had to be all right. “Hunter, are you and Tessa safe?”

“We’re fine. Dave got hold of me about the danger you could be in and that Finn’s there watching over you. I’ve arranged for a couple of men to watch our backs as soon as we arrive at our lodging. I’m more concerned about you.”

“You should be more troubled that Finn is hanging around me, and some assassin might be targeting him.”