One Eye Open
Karen Whiddon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To my best friend and critique partner Anna Adams,

for all your valuable insight and immeasurable support—

thanks from the bottom of my heart.

And to Lucienne Diver, my agent.

Your unflagging belief and enthusiasm have

meant more than I can ever express. I appreciate you dearly.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 1

“I never pay for sex.”

It took a minute for the tall man’s words to register. When they did, Brenna suppressed a smile. “That’s good, because I’m not selling it.” She couldn’t blame him for thinking she worked the seedy bar. Apart from two waitresses, she was the only female in the place. And the snug fit of her worn jeans with the black leather vest didn’t help, either. Maybe that explained why she felt as if she was being watched.

“I want to talk to you.”

The corners of his mouth twisted. “Sure you do.”

She took a deep breath. “I heard you’re looking for The Wolf.”

Icy contempt flashed dark in his eyes. “Maybe.”

“I have information,” she lied. “I know him well.”

From his skeptical expression, she could tell he didn’t believe her.

“We need to talk.” Though insistent, she kept her voice low, showing none of her rising impatience.

“Outside. That is—” his gaze slid over her, dismissing her too-suggestive apparel with a frown “—if you can stand the cold.”

She’d worn the biker clothing to fit in. Gritting her teeth, she nodded once. Her heavy parka lay on the bar stool next to her. She picked it up and slid her arms into the sleeves without answering.

Outside, the full moon shone bright and silver through the threadbare tangle of trees that fringed the small parking lot. If she’d been a Hollywood-style werewolf, this man would be dead, his throat ripped out in seconds.

“Look, before we start—”

“I seldom pay for information, either,” the man drawled. “And then only from known sources.”

His words barely registered. There was something else…She sensed a threat in the frozen night breeze. Carefully she let her gaze drift past him to the dark and shadowy underbrush that surrounded them. Though she couldn’t put her finger on it, there was wrongness to the night.

Someone was watching them.

Every nerve on edge, she forced her attention back to the stranger. “I don’t want money. I want an even exchange. My info for yours.”

His dark brows lifted. “What makes The Wolf your business?”

She would tell him her name, in case he knew of her. “I’m Brenna.”

“So?” He made a dismissive motion with one gloved hand.

So he didn’t know. Time, then, to play her trump card. “The Wolf is my brother.”

Nothing on his rugged face indicated she’d shocked him. Instead, his insolent gaze again raked over her, making her shiver despite the warmth of her parka and relative anonymity of her hood.

“Sure he is.”

Hounds help me, she thought, and clenched her jaw. “I’m telling the truth.”

“Alex doesn’t have a sister.” His voice sounded flatly certain.

The use of her brother’s first name jarred her. But only for a second. “You talk like you know him.”

“I do—or did.”

She cocked her head, considering. “He never mentioned you. Are you a friend?”

Instead of answering, he took a step closer. “Alex always said he had no family.”

That stung. But only for a moment. Most likely Alex had tried to protect her.

Since she couldn’t speak her thoughts out loud until she determined this man’s intent, Brenna contented herself with a small smile and a shrug.

“Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought.”

He conceded her point with a dip of his head. “So you’re a biker babe, huh? You don’t look it now.”

She dismissed the inconsequential remark with a shrug. “How I look doesn’t matter. Your purpose for hunting my brother does. Why do you want him?”

His jaw tightened. “Personal reasons.”

“Not an answer. Friend or foe?”

He laughed then, his breath a plume of white frost in front of his face. “Look, lady, it’s ten below. I don’t have the time or the inclination to stand here all night. Do you have information or not?”

Her sense of wrongness increased. The back of her neck tingled. Every sense urged her to change, which meant the danger was great indeed. She needed to stall this man until she could assess the risk, take care of it and then somehow get the information she needed.

But how? Ever since this stranger had appeared in the same places she’d haunted, asking questions about her brother, the same questions she herself had asked, she’d planned this confrontation. While normally her kind avoided conflict, retreating into the shadows, she’d known if she wanted to find Alex she had no choice but to deal with the threat, face-to-face.

“My information for yours.” Lifting her chin, she tried to scent the night air unobtrusively. “You go first.”

Harsh lines in his face belied his anger. “I could run a check on you. One phone call and I’ll know everything about you.”

She stared. “Are you threatening me?” Humans usually had sharper instincts.

“If you have reason to feel threatened.”

If he looked for arrest information on her, he would find nothing. She’d never broken a law in her life. Since blending in with humans was one of her people’s first and most important rules, she, like most others of her kind, lived an exemplary life. She worked as the sole librarian in the tiny upstate New York town where she lived. A librarian on leave.

Having no fears of a police record, Brenna studied the human. His dark eyes carried many shadows; his rugged features bore an unmistakable stamp of pain. She needed to find out what this man knew about her brother. Without causing him harm, if possible.

Though patience had never been her strongest virtue, she took a deep breath. “Please. I need to know. Why do you want to find Alex?”

He took a step closer, his long shadow menacing, though he kept his hands jammed in his coat pockets. “Do you know what your brother is?”

His words slipped like icicles down the back of her parka. “I do,” she retorted, though she knew they were speaking of different things. “The question is, do you?”

A metallic click from the trees behind them made her spin. She’d once had the misfortune of being in the forest during deer hunting season, and she recognized the sound.

“Down!” she yelled, dropping to the pavement at the same time. To his credit the big man didn’t hesitate, going to the ground immediately. A millisecond later the sharp crack of a gunshot confirmed her guess. With her preternatural hearing, she heard the bullet whiz past harmlessly.

Immediately another shot rang out, again barely missing them. She stayed down. Though she had many powers, immortality was not one of them. A bullet would do the same damage to her that it would to any human.

Her companion swore. “Stay here.” Without waiting to see if she would obey his terse order, he was up and running for the trees, crouched low. Bemused, she watched him go, though her senses told her the shooter had fled.

Who had shot at them? Though this man’s questions bothered her people, she doubted any of them would take such a drastic step. Especially since she was the only one who truly believed Alex’s life was in danger. She alone was hunting for him; her goal was to find her brother and make certain he was safe. The sudden appearance of this stranger with his numerous questions worried her, confirmed her fears. Alex was in grave danger.

Again she inhaled. The icy sigh of the winter wind in the trees told her that the danger was past. Standing, she wiped the snow off the front of her wet jeans and waited for the stranger to return.

A moment later he did, jogging awkwardly in the soft snow. He slowed as he approached her. Narrow-eyed, he shot her a look more icy than the glaciers of her ancestral homeland.

“Who was it?” Moving with a speed that startled her, he grabbed her arm. “Are you with them?”

Anger flared, clogging her throat. Jerking away, she stepped backward. “With whom?”

“Right.” He cocked his head. “I’m taking you into custody.”

Custody. “So you are a cop?”

“Of sorts.”

“Odd choice of words.” Hands on hips, she stared at him, unafraid. “So you think you’re arresting me? For what?”

“Your own protection, maybe?” His deep voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I had nothing to do with that gunshot.”

“Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t. Still, they’ve been trying to kill me for a long time. I wouldn’t put it past them to send a woman. Either way, you’re coming with me. As insurance.”

About to protest again, Brenna reconsidered. Going with this man might not be a bad thing, especially since she had no other leads to Alex’s whereabouts. If she spent more time with this stranger, she might be able to get him to tell her what he knew. And if his intentions were evil, her physical presence might help keep her brother safe.

But she would make him suspicious if she seemed too eager.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said. “Or who you are or what exactly you do.”

“Well, Brenna.” The menacing way he spoke made her wonder. “You’ve had the bad luck of trying to prey on a DEA Agent. Special Agent Carson Turner. Pleased to meet ya.”

Stunned more by his word choice—how he had known that she’d considered him prey—Brenna simply stared. After a moment she realized he was waiting for her to respond.

“D…E…A.” She enunciated each letter deliberately. “Interesting.”

“Come on.” Indicating a snow-covered SUV, he reached again for her arm. “Let’s go.”

With a simple step she evaded him. “I want proof.”

“Proof?” All but snarling the word, he reached into his pocket and, fumbling with his gloved fingers, withdrew a plastic covered ID, holding it up for her inspection.

“Drug Enforcement Agency,” she read out loud. “Carson Turner, Justice Department.”

“Yeah.” Pocketing the ID, he flashed her a humorless smile. “That’s me. Now get in the car.”

She examined the black Tahoe parked to the side. It was one of only two four-wheel-drive vehicles amid the seven or eight motorcycles in the parking lot. He pressed his remote control, and the vehicle lights flashed as the doors unlocked.

“I need to get my bag from the car.” She started forward.

“I’ll get it,” he said. “Toss me your keys.”

Without another word she did as he asked. So he worked for a government agency—was that good or bad? Since Alex wouldn’t do anything illegal, what would the DEA want with him? No one in the Pack used drugs of any kind. Doing so could seriously impair the ability to change, causing far greater damage than any brief moment of pleasure would be worth.

Climbing in after her, Carson tossed her duffel bag in the back seat and started the engine, turning on his wipers to clear the powdery snow from the windshield. She waited until he’d backed from the parking lot and pulled out onto the road before trying again.

“Tell me what you want with my brother.”

He gave a rude snort, shooting her a look of fury that felt like a slap. “I thought you said you knew what your brother was.”

Holding on to the shreds of her patience, she gave a slow shake of her head. “Alex disappeared over a year ago. No one in the Pack—” she stopped, heart in throat, then shook her head “—I mean, no one in my family has heard from him. I’m worried.”

Only the quiet rumble of the motor broke the silence.

“You know, if I didn’t need to keep my hands on the wheel, I’d clap,” he said. “You sound really sincere. Family. Right. Academy Award material, that.”

She gave him a blank look. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not going to argue the point now, but I’ll tell you what—” disdain underscored his savage tone. “—when you level with me, I’ll level with you.”

Having learned long ago that there was no way to deal with irrationality, she stared out the window at the dark landscape as it flashed past. Being called a liar was a new experience and one she couldn’t say she particularly liked.

But none of that mattered. None of it mattered at all, if she could only find her brother and make certain he was safe.

“What, no elaborate explanations?” Carson taunted. “Surely Alex gave you a better cover story than that.”

“Enough.” Turning to look at him, she was careful not to show her teeth. “If you really believed I was a criminal, you would have searched me for weapons before allowing me in your truck. You’d need a hell of a lot more proof of some kind of crime before you could legally arrest me.”

He swore under his breath. She continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

“So, in the spirit of honesty—and legality—” she allowed a trace of her own anger to show in her voice “—why don’t you tell me why you’re looking for my brother? Or I’ll start to believe—” she met his stare directly, ignoring the cynicism she saw there “—that you yourself are engaged in some sort of illegal activity. I won’t allow you to threaten my family.”

“Won’t allow?”

Though she’d spoken one of the most important creeds of the Pack, he didn’t seem to recognize it, which was good.

“No.”

He smiled. “Short and sweet. I like that.”

Crossing her arms, she waited. Finally he shrugged. The look he gave her was laced with mistrust.

“Ever heard of Hades’ Claws?”

Puzzled, she mentally reviewed every magazine article she’d read, every television show she’d watched, in preparation for this trip. “No.”

His mouth thinned. “Right. The Wolf is your brother, but you don’t even recognize the name of his biker gang?”

Biker gang? No way. Not Alex. Like her, he’d gone to college, gotten a good job. He worked in marketing, with a large Long Island firm.

“You must be mistaken,” she said, her certainty showing in the flatness of her normally melodic voice. “Alex doesn’t even own a motorcycle.”

“Then why did you call him The Wolf? And why were you looking for him in a biker bar?”

She frowned. “The Wolf has been his nickname ever since third grade. And I heard he’d been to that bar, that’s all.”

With a quick motion, he peeled off his right glove, keeping his left hand on the wheel. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a much-folded sheet of paper and handed it to her.

Though grainy, the black-and-white photo in the center of the page was unmistakable. Alex.

Quickly she scanned the text. An FBI datasheet, the paper went on to describe how a biker gang, Hades’ Claws, had committed numerous crimes, including several drug-related murders up and down the East Coast. Her brother was believed to be one of its high-ranking members and was wanted for questioning.

Feeling numb, she handed the paper back to Carson.

Accepting it, he kept his bleak stare on the darkened road ahead.

“Time to share again,” he said. “Since you know why I’m looking for The Wolf, now you can tell me who shot at us.”

She raised a brow. “Why do you think I would have that information?”

“You obviously were forewarned. You knew when to hit the ground.”

“I heard the gun cock.”

“Right,” he said. “Who was the shooter?”

“I really don’t know.” She shrugged, careful to keep her expression neutral, while her head spun and her heart ached. Was the datasheet right? Was her brother hiding because he’d turned to crime? Or, as her premonitions suggested, was he in real danger?

“Damn.” Carson went still, focusing on the rearview mirror.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw headlights approaching fast on the otherwise deserted road.

“Are they—”

“Hold on.” His low-voiced order was terse. He accelerated. The Tahoe leaped forward. The speedometer crept past eighty, then eighty-five. Ninety. The cab began to vibrate. She hoped that the road would remain straight and flat; at this speed, the slightest curve might send them into a skidding rollover.

Checking to make sure her seat belt was securely fastened, Brenna glanced over her shoulder. If they were going over ninety, the other vehicle had to be traveling in excess of one hundred, for it still seemed to be steadily gaining on them.

“I can’t kill the headlights.” Carson swore again.

A green highway sign loomed ahead. Wicket Hollow—One Mile.

“I’m gonna take it,” he said. Still, he kept his foot on the accelerator, his hands locked in place on the steering wheel.

“Not at this speed. If we crash—”

“We won’t.”

Oddly enough, his calm certainty appeased her. She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to relax her death grip on the door handle.

She told herself not to be afraid. Yet one thing kept running through her mind. If they crashed and she was mortally injured, she would be unable to keep from changing. She would have to drag herself away from the crash scene and die in her natural state far from human eyes. This was the law of her people. To do otherwise would risk bringing discovery and possible ruin upon them all.

Closing her eyes, Brenna began to plan. Just in case.

“There’s the exit.”

At his words, she opened her eyes. “Too fast,” she snapped, as they blasted past the sign and left the highway.

“Seventy-five.” Satisfaction sounded in Carson’s voice. “One curve, then, straight shot.”

She sat up. They were on the access road. Trees blocked the highway from view.

“Are they gone?”

“Not yet.” Violence still sounded in his voice. “There.” Pointing to a dirt road that wound into the trees, he killed the headlights and slowed. Pulling into a thicket, he parked.

Then they waited, the sound of their mingled breathing harsh and loud in the quiet interior.

A moment later a vehicle sped past, too quickly in the darkness for Brenna to make out its type.

“Hummer,” Carson said, as if he’d read her mind. “Dark colored—black, brown or blue. Whoever they are, they’ve got money.”

Swallowing, she nodded. Still her heart pounded in her chest. She willed it to slow.

“We need to go,” she said.

“In a minute.” Leaning against his door, Carson spread his arm comfortably along the back of the seat. “Why don’t you start talking? Are these the same people who shot at us?”

“I don’t know.”

“Enough lies.” His tone lined with steel, he sat up and dropped his arm.

When she only stared silently at him, he swore again, his mouth twisting. With a savage flick of his wrist, he started the ignition. Once out of their hiding place, he pulled back onto the highway, continuing north.

Brenna watched the speedometer climb to eighty again, unable to resist a quick glance behind them at the now-deserted highway.

“No headlights.” Carson confirmed. “Tell me the truth. Are you working with them?”

“Working with—” She shook her head. “Of course not. I don’t believe in random violence.”

He regarded her strangely. “Your brother does.”

“My brother’s in trouble,” she muttered. “I don’t know how or why, but he is.”

His short bark of laughter contained no humor. “In trouble? Of course he is. Besides having the DEA, ATF and FBI after him, he has to worry about rival gangs. It’s only a matter of time until one of us finds him. I wouldn’t want to be in your brother’s shoes right now.”

There was something in his voice. Pain. Bitterness. Rage.

“It’s more than that with you,” she said, keeping her eyes on his shadowed profile.

At that his head snapped up, his gaze icy again. “What do you mean?”

“You’re too angry. With you, it’s personal.”

She thought he might deny it, even as the fury that momentarily darkened his eyes betrayed him. But after a moment of chilly silence, he gave her a cold smile and nodded.

“My wife and daughter are dead because of Hades’ Claws.” He might have been discussing the weather, so remote was his voice. “They thought they’d killed me, too.”

His unspoken anguish sliced through her, sharper than any knife. “Were you shot?”

“In the back. I nearly died. Now I want the ones who killed my family.”

She swallowed. “Surely you don’t think Alex was part of that.”

“Yeah, actually, I do.”

She couldn’t believe it. There were a hundred reasons why Alex couldn’t be the killer he sought, but she couldn’t give him any of them.

“Now.” With one hand on the steering wheel, he grasped her chin with the other. “I want the truth. Are those goons who shot at us and chased us Hades’ Claws?”

Furious, Brenna tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let her. “How would I know? If Alex is, as you say, involved with this gang, he wouldn’t let them endanger me.”

His expression turned dark. “They want me dead. They should have killed me when they had the chance. Now they’ll have to wait until I’m done.”

“Wait until—” She stared at him. “Are you saying you want to die?”

“Not until I find the people who destroyed my life.”

He hadn’t said no. What kind of man…? But she knew. He hurt. Like a wounded animal, Carson would seek death rather than continue to endure horrific pain.

Shaken, she looked away. There was no way she could fathom such grief.

“If you’re in on this, now’s your chance to come clean. I can get you government protection if you testify.”

“I’m not in on anything. Alex would never…” She didn’t bother to finish.

“I’ll shut up about it for now,” Carson finally said. “But if you’re not with them, you’re in danger. Hades’ Claws mean business.”

This time she smiled. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can.” His mocking tone belied his words. “If you really are Alex’s sister, you’d be real good at looking out for number one.”

Every time he spoke her brother’s name, she could taste the hostility.

“I am his sister,” she said. “And if you knew him at all, you would understand why I can’t believe my brother killed your family.” The words stuck to her tongue. She tried again. “I don’t understand how you can think he did.”

He spoke a vile word under his breath. In the dim light, his features appeared savage, so like one of her people at the moment of change that she stared.

“Understand this, then. I was there. I was shot, but I saw Alex. He had a gun.”

Chapter 2

Stunned, Brenna swallowed. “Alex couldn’t,” she stammered, her words trailing off at the cynical certainty she read on his face.

“The killing was a test to determine Alex’s loyalty. They said he passed with flying colors.”

A sound escaped her, something between a plea and a moan. She had read about this case. “The newspapers said an unnamed biker.”

“Innocent until proven guilty. How could you not know? You’re his sister.” He made the simple sentence sound like a curse. “Or so you claim.”

He thought her brother was a murderer. Worse, he believed she knew and was lying through her teeth. Her throat felt tight, closed in. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. She forced herself to breathe deeply. To swallow then lift her head and look directly at Carson Turner, unflinching. Alex couldn’t have done what this man claimed.

“There has to be some other explanation,” she said. “You were shot. In pain. Maybe you saw wrong. Alex isn’t a murderer.”

Though in effect she’d just called him a liar, to his credit he didn’t threaten or sneer. He didn’t open the door and shove her out with a wave and a quick hasta la vista, baby. No, Carson did none of those things. He merely continued to regard her much like a wolf watches a rabbit caught in a snare, waiting for her to prove her statement.

But she couldn’t, not in words he would believe. She hadn’t been there; she hadn’t seen her brother with a smoking gun. Carson had. Or thought he had.

“What kind of trouble are you in?” Carson asked, breaking into her chaotic thoughts.

Still silent, she shook her head, raising her hands, palms up, in a gesture meant to convey ignorance.

His mouth twisted. “If you want me to help you, you’re gonna have to tell me.”

Startled, she met his gaze. “Help me? Why would you do that?”

“Because whoever you are, I’m stuck with you right now.” His sour tone left no doubt as to his feelings about the situation. “If you really are Alex’s sister, having you with me might help me get his attention. If you’re not,” he shrugged, “you still seem to care deeply for him. Either way, your being with me can’t hurt.”

His eyes narrowed. “If you know something about the shooting or those guys in the Hummer, you’d better tell me now. Traveling with me is dangerous. You’re putting your own life in danger.”

“No,” she told him. “I don’t know anything.” In more ways than one, she thought. Whatever Alex had gotten himself involved in, dangerous didn’t seem to begin to describe the situation.

“Okay. I consider you warned.” He sounded oddly agreeable—pleasant, even—making her wonder if he used this tone on a daily basis to trick suspects under interrogation into admitting guilt.

“You really think I’m a criminal.” She spoke her thoughts out loud.

“The men in the Hummer weren’t with law enforcement.” He spoke as though he had no doubt. “Neither was the shooter.”

She shook her head. “Hades’ Claws?”

He snorted. “You tell me.”

“Hey, I don’t even know them.” She could tell from Carson’s skeptical expression that he didn’t believe her. “Seriously, I never heard of Hades’ Claws until you mentioned them.”

“How long have you been looking for your brother?”

She narrowed her eyes. “A few months. I haven’t heard from him for six. Why?”

“Surely you read the papers.”

“Some.” She gave a halfhearted shrug. “But I don’t remember seeing anything about them.”

He laughed then, lightening the grim atmosphere in the Tahoe. “Are you from around here?”

“No. Upstate. I came down here looking for my brother. Why?”

“Because they make the paper here all the time. Maybe your local paper isn’t interested.”

“So they aren’t that bad?” Keeping her expression haughty, she resisted the urge to chew on her fingernail. This was a habit she’d broken in her teens, right after she’d passed the Pack tests that made her a full-fledged huntress. Odd that a habit she despised would try to resurface now.

“Oh, they’re bad, all right. Unless you don’t count murder, smuggling—” he ticked the words off on his fingers “—illegal weapons, drugs and robbery as wrong.”

“And they want to kill you,” she said softly.

“Oh yeah. And even if you can’t get a grip on the idea that your brother is one of them, while you’re with me you’re a target, too.”

“I’m not worried.” She ran her fingers through the back of her long hair, combing it out from force of habit. “As I’ve said, I can take care of myself.”

“So you claim.” He lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug. “Either way, I have no intention of letting you out of my sight. So don’t even think about taking off.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” she drawled.

Instead of replying, he accelerated. At her questioning look, he flipped his fingers at the dark road ahead of them. “We need to get off the interstate.”

“Do you think they’ll catch us?”

One corner of his mouth twisted. “Eventually. For a while they’ll keep going down that access road, thinking we’re just ahead of them. But once they realize we pulled off somewhere…” As he spoke, he glanced in the rearview mirror.

His profile seemed hard and angry. No doubt he still believed she’d lied about her connection to the biker gang.

Biker gang. Alex a murderer. Hard to even think of using the words together in a sentence. Never mind DEA and FBI. Another shiver went down her spine.

“I’m not a member of Hades’ Claws.” Her words came out in a furious, staccato burst.

“A rival gang?”

“Of course not. No.”

“You don’t sound too certain. What about this ‘pack’ you mentioned?”

Alarm clogged her throat. He’d caught her accidental slip. “It’s a nickname, an inside joke among my relatives,” she said. “It’s what we call ourselves. No gang, just family. You know how family can be.”

“Yeah. I had a family once.” The grim savagery in his voice made her catch her breath.

“How long ago?” she asked softly. “How long ago did it happen?”

He shook his head, a muscle working in his jaw. With a white-knuckle grip, he held on to the steering wheel. “It’s been eighteen months.”

Eighteen months. Last year, early spring. Alex had called her, told her he’d taken a new job, one that would let him move from the city back to the Catskills. Still only a few hours away, he’d said, knowing she missed him. After they’d graduated from college, he’d left her once before to go alone on an extended winter tour of the northern cities. Seattle, Vancouver, Boise, Helena, Bismark. Then east to check out Phillie and Boston and New York. His absence had made her sad, then furious, wishing she’d gone with him.

When he’d finally returned to the small town of Leaning Forest, he’d told wonderful stories. Not of blood or murder or mayhem, but of ordinary, city-human things. Rush hour and crowded subways, poodles with painted toenails and corner hot-pretzel vendors.

They’d laughed together over his tales. In her quiet life as the town librarian, she’d secretly envied him the adventure, the experience, never dreaming that one day she would venture forth from her comfortable existence in search of him. Never expecting him to go missing, be accused of murder. How peaceful her old life seemed now.

“Eighteen months,” she repeated. “And you’ve looked for revenge ever since?”

“I’ve been looking for your brother,” he said. “As soon as I got out of the hospital, I started searching. Alex went underground. Obviously, he doesn’t want me to find him.”

She let that one go, focusing on the word hospital. He’d said he’d nearly been killed. “Did it take you a long time to recover?”

He gave a curt nod.

Less than two years. In her own life, a lot had happened in that time. She’d lost a fiancé, misplaced her brother. Meanwhile, this man’s entire family had been ripped away, brutally murdered in circumstances that made her brother look guilty.

“I’m sorry.” She knew her words were inadequate, but she meant them nonetheless.

In response, Carson accelerated again.

Brenna got the message and closed her mouth. The digital clock on the dashboard showed 1:30 a.m. Late for humans, but prime hunting time for those of her kind. Glancing at the shadowy woods as they flashed past, she wondered if any of her people roamed there. Snow had begun to fall, the dainty white flakes becoming thick, heavy ones the farther north they traveled. Soon Carson slowed the vehicle to a crawl, his headlights reaching only a few feet ahead of them on the snow-covered road.

A sign proclaimed they were on the outskirts of Albany, the state capital.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I got a lead that some of the gang is holed up in Hawk’s Falls, near the Vermont border.”

Mostly wilderness. Her kind of place. She allowed herself a small smile. As a huntress, her tracking skills were unparalleled. If Alex hid anywhere in a forest, she would find him.

“How long before we get there?”

He shook his head in the clumsy manner of a wolf cub shaking off snow. “We won’t get there tonight,” he said, his deep voice sounding gravelly. “It’s late, and the storm’s getting worse. I need some sleep.”

She sat up. “I’m not tired. I’ll drive.”

He drummed on the steering wheel. “I don’t think so.”

“I want to find him as much as you do,” she reminded him. “You sleep, I’ll get us there. It’s not too far.”

“We’re pulling off at the next town. We’ll take a motel room for the night.”

“But—”

“We have to stop sometime.”

“I’ll stop when I find my brother.”

He shook his head again. “We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

“If we’re not snowed in.”

“I’ve got chains.” He shrugged. “And there’s always a plow.”

She tried not to grind her teeth. “Look, I really think—”

“Enough.” His tone was sharp enough to cut a coyote off in mid-howl. “This is not a democracy. We’re stopping and getting some rest. End of subject.”

Brenna glared. “Fine. You get a room. I’ll stay in your vehicle.”

“Right.” He snorted. “It’s ten below and snowing, and you want to stay here?”

Put that way, her words did sound…unusual.

“I don’t want to waste money on a motel room. I can rest here. This is comfortable enough for me.”

“Money?” He gave her a long look. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay. We’re sharing a room, anyway.”

At her sputter of protest, he flashed her a bleak, tight-lipped smile. “Look, I’m not going to attack you. I don’t want sex with the sister of my family’s killer. I’ll make sure we have two beds.”

Safe. If only he knew. She suppressed the desire to growl. “I’m not worried.”

“Of course not.” His tone mocked her. “But like I said, until we find Alex, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“I don’t want to be that close to you.”

“Tough.”

She took a closer look at the intense man beside her.

“Fine,” she conceded. “I want to keep an eye on you as badly as you do me.”

“Then it’s settled.” In silence he drove on, windshield wipers slapping ineffectively against the blinding snow. He handled the vehicle with the ease of long familiarity. In the blizzard, the streetlights shone like dim halos, the occasional car or semi looming up huge, then lumbering away, like brief scenes from a surreal, homemade movie.

An exit sign indicated available lodging. They left the freeway, turning right and fishtailing on the snowy road.

“Slow down,” she said.

Instead of commenting, he pointed. “There.” Clustered together were several older motels. A red neon sign at the first one indicated a vacancy.

Carson pulled into the snow-covered lot, parking around back, out of sight of the brightly lit office. With the snow coming down fast and furious, the place looked cozy, inviting, though Brenna knew in harsh sunlight the weather-beaten exterior would seem tired and worn.

With an innate caution that came as naturally as breathing, she took stock of her surroundings. The frame building appeared badly maintained, its fading green paint peeling. A few pine trees, bent and sickly, grew near the office. The weight of the snow on their branches made them seem about to topple.

Despite the storm, or perhaps because of it, the parking lot contained five or six other vehicles, all older, all rapidly disappearing under white shrouds of snow. From the iron bars on the office windows, she judged this would not be a safe place for a woman to wander at night, at least a human woman unable to change.

Carson killed the ignition and pocketed the key before turning to face her, his expression flat.

“Let’s go.” He squeezed her shoulder, effectively cutting off her last attempt at refusal. “Give it up. You’re staying with me.”

“I’m your captive?” Both amused and angry, she couldn’t help but wonder at his reaction if she were to change right here, right now. If she were her powerful wolf self, he wouldn’t be able to contain her. No man on earth could hold her then. Even as a human, she was a formidable opponent. Years of martial arts classes had made sure of that.

For now she could only let him think he had won. The force of his glare told her he didn’t appreciate her amusement or her anger.

“Fine,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Brenna, I’m warning you.” Illuminated by the flashing neon hotel light, his gaze was as cold as the night and twice as harsh. “Don’t try to escape. Your brother destroyed my family and ruined my life. I will make him pay. Neither you nor anyone else will be able to stop me.”

Releasing her, he pushed open his door and strode around to her side. Before he reached the door handle, she pushed it open herself and slid to the ground in front of him. Squaring her shoulders in the bulky parka, she lifted her chin and stared him in the face, snow swirling around both of them in a heavy cloud.

“My brother is not the man you’re looking for.”

“Unwavering devotion,” he drawled. “That’s good in a sister.” Pausing, he looked her over once. “That is, if you really are Alex’s sister.”

Her breath came out in a hiss. Narrow-eyed, she glared at him with such ferocity that he took a step back. Then she spun on her heel and marched over to the hotel office, yanking open the dirty glass door. She went inside without waiting to see if he would follow.

A few minutes later, metal key firmly in hand, Carson allowed her to precede him toward their room.

On the ground floor, 119 sat at the very back of the building, as far away from the growl and snarl of the normal freeway traffic as the hotel offered. Though the blizzard muffled sound, she was still glad, as the noise, utterly foreign, made her uncomfortable and restless.

Come to think of it, the utter absence of sound, normally welcome, had her feeling skittish as well. Or maybe she owed her heightened awareness to her companion. With his grim-jawed features, he appeared oblivious to her discomfort as he unlocked the door.

Once inside, he flicked the light switch. A single dim lamp illuminated the well-used room.

Brenna went in. She sniffed, wrinkling her nose at the foul smell. Though he’d asked for nonsmoking, the stale scent of cigarettes hung in the musty air. Coughing, she looked at the window. Carson shook his head.

“Too cold.” A battered heat/air unit, faded yellow, sat under the window. With the twist of a knob, he turned on the heat. She could only hope the warmth didn’t intensify the nauseating smell.

“I’ve been in worse,” he said. Never having stayed in a motel, Brenna didn’t reply. She waited to see what he would do next.

Two double beds took up nearly all the space in the room. Once he’d pulled the door closed behind him and turned the dead bolt, he had to turn sideways to get past her. Their chests brushed. He jerked away as though she’d given him an electrical shock. She couldn’t help it—a quick chuckle escaped her at his discomfort.

Ignoring her, he moved quickly, turning on every lamp. The cheap clock radio on the nightstand blinked red—2:05 a.m. Then Carson went to the bed nearest the door and yanked back the sour-smelling bedspread.

“Nice and comfy, don’t you think?” His tone mocked both her and their surroundings. The heat overpowered her. The sickening odor made her head spin. Because she didn’t trust herself to speak without giving her true nature away, she went into the tiny bathroom and closed the door with a sharp click.

Chipped turquoise tile decorated the walls and floor. The porcelain sink, though old, appeared clean. She turned the faucet. The tap water felt icy and refreshing. Splashing her face, she drank deeply from her cupped hands. Then she finger-combed her hair, eyeing herself in the distorted mirror. Exhaustion and worry had made faint circles under her brown eyes and carved new hollows in her narrow face. She craved a long hot shower, but she didn’t want to leave Carson alone for too long. If he made a phone call, she wanted to hear every word.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, he had pushed one of the beds snugly up against the front door, effectively blocking them in.

“Yours?”

He nodded.

“Give me a break. What if there’s a fire?”

“Then we’ll move it.”

Unable to resist pointing it out, she said, “There’s always the window.”

“You’d have to go over me to get to it.”

Over him. The air felt suddenly charged. Brenna shrugged away the unfamiliar feeling of awareness with a quick toss of her head.

“We can keep this up all night,” he said. “Or we can get some rest. It’s late.” Massaging the back of his neck, he indicated the other bed. “That’s yours. Go to sleep. We’ll start again early in the morning.”

“If the plows show up.”

He gave her a tired smile. “They will. They always do.”

He watched while she gingerly tested her mattress. She pinched a corner of the faded bedspread between her index finger and thumb, yanking it back so it fell on the floor at the foot of the bed. The nappy blanket, though, she turned back neatly. Then, still fully dressed, she lay down on her side on top of the sheets, trying to ignore the faint musty scent that tickled her nose. Still facing him, she kept her eyes open. Watching.

“Tap on the wall,” he said.

Blinking, she sat up. “What?”

“I need to go in there.” He indicated the bathroom. “I want you to tap on the wall until I come out.”

Amused, she let her mouth curve in the beginnings of a smile. “You really think I’ll run.”

“Won’t you?”

Exhaling loudly, Brenna lifted one shoulder. “Turn down the heat.” Moving with deliberate slowness, she peeled off her heavy leather vest and tossed it on the bed. Then she lifted her hand to the wall and rapped three times, the plaster rough against her knuckles, repeating until she’d found a simple, primitive rhythm. Oddly, this soothed her.

After flipping the dial to off, he nodded curtly. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he spent less than a minute in the tiny bathroom before he emerged. Without glancing at her, he went around the room, extinguishing the lights one at a time. That made Brenna want to laugh again. She saw as well in the darkness as she did in the light.

She let her arm fall, watching him as he readied for bed.

Like her, he didn’t undress. She heard the rasping sound of his jeans as he slid between the sheets, fully clothed.

In the silence, she listened for his breathing to slow. Instead his restless movements indicated he was as far away from sleep as she.

“Let me tell you about my brother,” she said finally, keeping her voice low and nonconfrontational.

He grunted. “Go to sleep.”

“Maybe I can tell you something you don’t know.”

“I doubt it.”

“Alex and I are twins.”

He sat up at her words, his bulky shape ominous in the dim light. “Listen, quit the lies. You’re not even his sister. Alex had no family. Believe me, I would know if he did.”

She sighed, reaching over and clicking on the light. “Maybe you don’t know him as well as you think.”

“You don’t even look like him.” Disgust colored his words, and his hard tone would have shaken even a career criminal. “He’s blond and you’re dark.”

“We’re fraternal twins.”

“Sure.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You live in fantasy land, lady.”

She sighed again. “This is getting old. I’m telling the truth. Alex is my twin. I have no reason to lie.”

“Don’t you now?”

Ignoring his skepticism, she continued doggedly. “Alex and I are different in a lot of ways. Of the two of us, he is calmer and more rational.”

“Alex is an unemotional man,” he agreed, the savagery in his voice surprising her. “And I still don’t believe you’re his sister.”

She leaned forward to peer at him through the dim light. “Did you ever see his birthmark? The one on his arm?”

Surprise briefly lit his face. “Yeah, I did,” he said grudgingly. “I thought it was a tattoo at first.”

Turning her back to him, she lifted her shirt, pushing down the waistband of her jeans so he could see. “The shape of a wolf,” she said, giving him a clear view of her own birthmark above her left hip. “Maybe you’ll believe me now.”

He swore at the unmistakable evidence. “He never mentioned family. Any family. At all.”

Ignoring that she let her shirt fall back into place, turning once more to face him. “You never told me. Where do you know Alex from?”

“DEA.” He spat the single word. “We were undercover together. Alex was my partner.”

Chapter 3

“Partner?” For a moment she didn’t understand. Then, once she realized what he meant, she wanted to call him the liar. “You’re telling me that my brother was working for the FBI?”

“DEA.”

“Whatever.” She swallowed. “He would have told me.”

With a wry twist of his mouth, Carson shook his head. “He couldn’t. Right after we graduated from Quantico, we were sent out together. We were both undercover.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Very.” From the hitch in his voice, she knew he was thinking of his murdered family.

“No wonder he didn’t mention me,” she said. “He didn’t want to put me in danger.”

With a pointed glance at the clock, which now showed 2:45 a.m., Carson made a rude sound. “Who knows? Who cares? Turn off the light and go to sleep.”

Stung, she glanced away. No matter what precautions her brother had taken, she’d managed to put herself at risk by traveling with Carson. Judging from the shooter and the men in the Hummer, danger had found her.

Reluctantly she clicked off the light and closed her eyes.

Morning came quietly, with bright sunlight peeking through the heavy curtains. The second she opened her eyes, Brenna lay motionless, instantly alert, and listened for activity outdoors.

“The snow’s stopped.” Carson spoke from near the door. How had he known she was awake?

Slowly she raised her head. Even with his five o’clock shadow and sleep-mussed hair, the man looked devastatingly attractive. Dangerous. She licked her lips. “I haven’t heard the snowplows.”

“They haven’t made it through yet.” He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “I think we got maybe a foot.”

Forcing herself to look away, she swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Powder?”

“I can’t tell. Probably, under the crust. We’ll find out. There’s a coffee shop across from the motel office.”

She stretched, yawning. Though her jeans were snug, they were comfortable and she’d slept well in them.

“I’d like to take a shower.” She rubbed the palms of her hands on the faded front of her jeans. “That way I’d feel more human.” Now there was a laugh.

Carson opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he’d been about to say was drowned out by a burst of static as the clock radio alarm on her nightstand went off.

The previous occupant must have set it. Shocked, she saw it read 10:00 a.m. They’d slept late.

“Breaking news.” The radio announcer’s stern voice broke into the dying strains of the music.

“Drugs were involved in a multiple murder in the small town of Welkory near the Vermont border.”

They looked at each other. Swallowing, Brenna grimaced and reached to turn up the volume.

Details followed. In the midst of a bank robbery less than an hour earlier, two groups of people had opened fire on each other, killing several innocent bystanders. One of the getaway cars had been captured, trunk loaded with cocaine. Supposition was that the robbery had been an attempt to gain money to pay for the drugs.

“Damn,” Carson said as the news announcer switched to another story. “That’s north of Hawk’s Falls. We need to check it out.”

“The Claws?”

“Hades’ Claws,” he corrected absently. “And yes, I’m willing to bet they had something to do with it, especially since Welkory is so close to their hideout. Add the cocaine, and it’s pretty much a given.”

Again she met his gaze, letting him see her fierce determination. “You think Alex was involved, don’t you?”

He shrugged, turning away. “No doubt.”

Brenna took a long look at the man who’d claimed her as his captive. In the small room the pain radiated from him so strongly it made her own heart ache with sympathy she could ill afford. She needed to focus only on finding her brother and ensuring his safety.

“Let’s go,” Carson said.

“Wait.” She held up a hand. “We need to get something straight. Your family is gone. You want revenge. I’ve got that. But I want to know the truth. You said you knew Alex well, that he was your partner. Well, why would he go bad? Is it possible there was some other explanation why he was at your house when it happened? Some other reason he had a gun?”

The absolute silence in which he glared at her was the embodiment of rage. Though the muscle that ticked in his clenched jaw should have been adequate warning, she couldn’t stop herself from continuing.

“What do you think he did? Really? Murder, rape, torture?” The mere notion of someone thinking her twin could hurt anyone for no reason, anyone at all, made her furious. “He’s incapable of those things. You should know that, too—if you truly know him as well as you say.”

Despite her taunts, Carson said nothing. His features seemed cast in stone. Implacable. Angry. Hurt. She noticed he, too, wore the same faded jeans and dark flannel shirt as the night before. And boots. The man wore cowboy boots made of some kind of exotic leather.

“Somehow I have to prove to you that my brother is not the devil incarnate.”

“You only have to prove it to yourself.” Bitterness coated his words with acid. “Grab your coat. We’re hitting the road. Since the robbery was less than an hour ago, the investigation will be in full swing.” He consulted his watch. “The interstate should be plowed. If we leave now, we’ll get there in time to talk to them.”

For the space of a heartbeat, she merely looked at him. “Logic,” she drawled. “The one thing I can’t argue with.”

A few minutes later they were back on the road. He’d been right about the snowplows. Piles of snow lined the one open lane on each side. Carson constantly pressed the Seek button on the radio, looking for more news about the robbery.

The farther north they went, the less deeply the snow appeared to blanket the ground. The highway opened up, too, all lanes, though the traffic seemed considerably lighter than the day before.

Welkory, Exit One Mile.

As they approached the turnoff, he reached behind him and yanked a wrinkled black jacket from behind the seat.

“Here,” he said, shoving it into her lap. “Put this on over yours.”

Noting the yellow DEA on the back, she guessed the coat would provide cover as well as warmth. Shrugging out of her own parka, she slipped on the lighter jacket. “What about you?”

“I’ve got a cap.” His tone discouraged conversation.

The two-lane road that led to Welkory was curved and lined with towering, leafless trees. Coated with a light dusting of snow, they appeared both majestic and threatening. Brenna sensed the presence of animals in the woods, though she and Carson sped by so fast that she had no time to communicate with any of them. Before long they rounded the final curve and found themselves smack-dab in the middle of Welkory.

Downtown seemed oddly deserted, as though at the first hint of danger all the shops had rolled up their carpets and locked their doors.

Carson slowed the car, though every one of the four stoplights turned green at his approach. First Street, flanked by well-maintained, charming historical buildings. Then Second and Third, until finally they reached the intersection of Main Street and Fourth. Yellow police tape squared off the corner of Welkory First Bank and Trust, and a yellow fire truck, lights flashing, was parked next to the drive.

Brenna counted no fewer than seven police cruisers, two of them local, the rest state police.

Carson rolled down his window to flash his ID at the officer blocking the entrance. “DEA,” he barked and was rewarded with an immediate wave past the barricade. They barely glanced at Brenna. Wearing Carson’s jacket made her look like another DEA agent.

He parked between two police cars, right next to the building. After turning off the ignition, he pocketed the keys and grabbed a battered black cap and crammed it on his head. The DEA letters in yellow made the cap a mate to her jacket.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice raspy. All traces of emotion had vanished from his face. He looked every part the professional government officer, stern and unforgiving in his quest for justice.

She licked lips suddenly gone dry before she replied quietly, “Yes.”

“Then let’s go,” he said. “More than anyone else, you need to see this.”

She heard the unspoken second part of his sentence: so you’ll understand what kind of man your brother has become.

Eager to prove him wrong, Brenna pushed open her door. Ice-coated gravel crunched underfoot as she walked beside Carson to the squat brick building. Crisp air carried a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the grim mood radiating from the uniformed officers who congregated inside the bank.

Brenna froze, sensation overwhelming her. The interior of this place smelled strongly of fear, of blood and death, like a hunt gone brutally wrong. She wanted to cover her nose, so nauseated did the scent make her. The odor of evil hung in the air so strongly she thought she might be sick. More than anything, she wanted to break away, lunge for the door and run. But she was a huntress, strong not weak. Though her sense of smell was ten times more powerful than a human’s, she would force herself to stay.

She breathed, though each lung full of air felt cloying, full of decay and hate. She swallowed, tasted bile and concentrated on not being weak. Nothing, not the hunting rituals of the Pack, nor any of the limited television shows she watched, had ever prepared her for the carnage here.

Mindless savagery. Hate. Pure evil.

It felt surreal and simultaneously more real than any experience had ever felt. She despised every minute, wishing she were somewhere, anywhere, else.

Three sheet-covered bodies lay in front of the long, paneled counter. One man, probably the coroner, knelt beside the nearest one, making notes. Quiet sobbing came from a group of people clustered in the back.

“Tellers and other customers, most likely,” Carson told her, sotto voce. “The ones who survived to tell their stories to the police.”

Heart in her throat, Brenna managed a nod, trying to hide her trembling. Though hunters by nature, her people did not believe in mindless violence or senseless slaughter.

Two uniformed locals intercepted them.

“DEA,” Carson said again, touching the brim of his cap. They looked at Brenna, eyed her jacket and relaxed their stances. One, a younger man, met her gaze and blanched. Some humans always reacted so to one of the Pack.

“Where’s the FBI?” the shorter of the two officers asked, his tone disapproving. At Carson’s shrug, he grimaced and moved aside to allow them access to the witnesses.

Striding across the room as if they belonged, they moved into the edge of the group surrounding the survivors.

Then she smelled it, mingled with the acrid, coppery scent of blood. His scent—faint, but definitely Alex. She felt an instant of panic. Was he hurt? She nearly turned to Carson, then, remembering he was not like her, glanced casually around the room instead.

There. A faded jean jacket lay crumpled on the floor next to the wall, splattered with blood. It carried her brother’s scent. She would have to inspect it, smell it better and touch the cloth before she could determine if the blood belonged to him.

Carson’s hand on her shoulder kept her in place.

An older, heavyset woman, bright spots of color high on her pale cheeks, talked quietly. “The leader was a tall man, built like a wrestler or something. Muscular, and he liked to show those muscles off, I think. Despite the weather, he didn’t wear a shirt or coat, only a black leather vest. And jeans.”

The officer taking notes nodded. “Any other distinguishing characteristics, ma’am?”

“His hair was long—longer than mine. Oh—and he had a tattoo.”

Carson looked at Brenna. She knew he was thinking of Alex’s birthmark, shaped like a wolf.

“Tattoo?” she asked, keeping her voice professionally level. “What did it look like?”

Eyes wide, the woman waved one plump beringed hand. “Oh, it was very intricate, some sort of curly snake thing, evil looking, that wrapped all the way up his arm.”

Not Alex’s birthmark. With an effort, Brenna kept her relief from showing on her face.

“Hades’ Claws.” One of the troopers muttered to another. “It’s their mark.”

Carson gave Brenna a narrow-eyed look, and she saw that he already knew about this tattoo. Again she wanted to open her mouth, to tell him Alex would never defile himself like that, but too many others surrounded them, so she held her silence.

“Eye color? Hair color?”

Ah, now was the important part. Brenna held her breath.

The woman didn’t hesitate. “Dark eyes. Brown, I think. And that hair, why it was so inky black it didn’t reflect the light. It had to be dyed.”

Another officer had begun to question two more tellers, who responded with similar answers to the first. Carson watched and listened, intent on their answers.

Brenna had heard enough. Glancing around the brightly lit interior of the bank, she wondered at the creepy feel of it, as though the room had taken on a texture both clean and sharp, yet tainted and foul. She ran her hand along the faux wood surface of a desk, the smoothness an odd contrast to the rough menace that still hung in the air.

Moving as unobtrusively as possible, she went to the jacket and lifted it, resisting the urge to bury her nose in the cloth and breathe in the familiar scent. Carson made no move to stop her, though she could feel his watchful gaze boring into her back. Instead she held the coat a few feet away, inhaled deeply and breathed.

Another’s smell tainted the material, mingling with and overriding her brother’s. This other man, a human who had left the sharp smell of anger and fear embedded in the fabric, had worn it recently. Though it might once have belonged to Alex, someone else had worn it here. With a quiet sigh, she let it fall back to the floor and turned to rejoin Carson.

Something else…Teasing her sensitive nose, the scent came strong, alive instead of dead. Not human nor of the Pack. She stopped before reaching Carson, carefully looking around. A high-pitched whimper from under a nearby desk caught her attention. Crouching down to peer underneath, she let her breath out in a quiet hiss. A tiny black puppy of mixed heritage, eyes huge and frightened, stared up at her from the floor, shaking.

Here, then, was something she understood, one in many ways closer to her kind than the myriad assortment of humans inside this place. Still kneeling, Brenna held out her hand, letting the small creature absorb her scent before she reached out to stroke the softness of his midnight-colored fur, noticing the contrast of his white paws.

Touching the animal, Brenna felt a sensation of noise and terror. She shivered with the aftershocks of what the small creature had experienced and even now still felt. This young dog had been with his human companion when he died. Glancing at the sheeted bodies, she received a brief image of love, burst apart by a single gunshot to the head. The noise, the blood, the hatred, had terrified this young animal. Grieving and fearful, he was alone now.

Without a second thought, Brenna scooped him up in her arms. “I will be your protector now, small one,” she promised, whispering the ancient words that had always bound her people to their animal companions.

“Has anyone viewed the tapes?” Carson asked the nearest officer.

“Not yet.” The cop indicated another man, a plainclothes detective from the looks of him. “We were waiting for him.”

“He’s here, let’s go,” Carson barked.

The other two men conferred, then moved toward a darkened back office. Carson signaled Brenna to follow. Head held high, she did, the pup cradled in her arms, trying to burrow under her jacket.

“Where’d that dog come from?” one of the local officers asked, eyeing her suspiciously.

She lifted her chin to reply. “He was under the desk. I think he might have belonged to one of the victims.”

The officer gave her a skeptical frown. “Do they allow pets in here?”

“Who cares?” the detective snapped. “Let’s go.”

With the lights dimmed, they had already set up the equipment to play the security tape.

“Ready?” At the collective nod, he hit Play. Grainy images began to move on the monitor as the horrifyingly brutal robbery was reenacted in black-and-white.

From the general area outside the office, Brenna could hear a woman sobbing.

“There.” One officer pointed to the tallest man in the video, the obvious leader, the one with the bare chest and intricate tattoo twining up his muscular arm.

“Can’t see his face,” another man grunted, leaning so close to the monitor his nose touched it.

A grumbled complaint from the others moved him back.

Brenna held her breath, letting it out with a loud sound as she got a better look at the criminals’ leader. He was built like her brother, yes. But there the resemblance ended. Though she couldn’t make out the killer’s features, she could tell from the way the man moved that he was not her twin.

Relief flooded her. Carson’s unwavering certainty that her brother had gone bad had given her doubts. But the man in the video was not Alex. A quick glance at Carson told her he knew that, as well.

“Hey.” Catching the interaction, the detective moved closer. “Why didn’t you come with the other DEA guys who called this morning? They’re on their way in.”

Carson went still. “We wanted to be first,” he said. “We wanted to check around on our own.”

Though the other man nodded, Brenna got the distinct impression he knew Carson was lying.

“As a matter of fact, I think we’re gonna head into Hawks Falls and look around there. We’ll check back with you guys tomorrow to see if anything new turns up.”

As they left the room, Brenna heard one man comment, “DEA or FBI, they’re all the same. Always want to sweep in and steal the glory, even from their own.”

“What was that all about?” she asked, as soon as they were outside. “Why aren’t you working with the other DEA guys?”

He didn’t answer, just yanked her truck door open with a brusque motion. Without protest, she climbed into the cab, the puppy still tucked in the curve of her arm.

“Just a minute.” Carson indicated the young dog with a wave of his hand. “Leave the animal here.”

“No. That’s not negotiable. He comes with me or I don’t go at all.”

Carson frowned. “That puppy doesn’t belong to you.”

“He does now.” She pulled the door closed behind her with a thunk. Adjusting her seat belt, she made sure the dog was comfortable before turning to look at Carson, who was still standing outside the truck. Finally, as she continued petting the pup’s soft fur, Carson shook his head and strode around the vehicle. He climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed his own door. Without another word, he started the ignition and put the vehicle in Reverse.

“Tell me one thing,” he said, one arm draped over the back of the seat. “Are you bringing that dog because he’s your brother’s?”

Brenna laughed. “You really think Alex would bring a puppy with him to rob a bank and kill a bunch of people? And then leave his pet behind?”

Carson lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Why not?

In his tone she heard what he did not say: If The Wolf didn’t value human life, what would the life of one small animal matter?

“Not my brother’s,” she told him finally. “I think the owner was probably one of the people killed in the robbery. Now it’s your turn to answer a question. Why aren’t you working with the other DEA agents? You lied. You didn’t even know they were coming.”

Carson drove as if a demon were chasing him, rapidly increasing their speed until they were hurtling down the highway. They took the left lane by storm and passed every other vehicle they encountered.

“What are you hiding?” Brenna heard the taunt in her voice and lifted her chin. “Tell me, Mr. Level-With-Me. Why aren’t you working with the other government people?”

“I work better alone,” Carson snapped. “I’ll find him and bring him in before they even get their heads out of their asses.”

“You never stop, do you?”

His expression grim, he shook his head. “No. And I never will. Not until he’s in custody.”

“Did it ever occur to you that he might still be undercover?”

“Yeah.” His mouth twisted. “It did. Briefly. But I saw him. I’ll never forget that. He shot my family, then threw away the gun. And he never contacted me. Ever. Not even the day of the funeral, the day I buried Julie and Becky. He was my partner, damn it. My friend.”

The bitterness of betrayal rang in his voice. Unable to take the stark desolation in his eyes, she looked away.

“That wasn’t Alex in the video,” he said finally. He eased up on the gas pedal and moved into the middle lane.

Staring at him, she nodded. “I know.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved.”

“He wasn’t.”

The puppy whimpered, shifting in her arms. Some of her tension must have communicated itself to the animal. Taking a deep breath, Brenna forced herself to relax.

“You’ll see,” she told him. “Once we find him, I’m sure he’ll have a reasonable explanation for everything.”

Ignoring her, Carson exited the freeway and pulled into a service station.

While he refueled, Brenna concentrated on her new companion. He had to have a name. For now she would call him Phelan, little wolf.

As she spoke the name out loud, three times in the custom of her people, the puppy raised his head. He lifted a small foot, accepting the naming with quiet dignity. As she took his paw in her hand, Brenna saw a splotch of rust marring the white fur. Blood, dried and flaking. Surely Carson had tissues or something in the glove box. A sidelong glance showed her that he had his back to her.

She opened the glove box. Inside there were no tissues, only a few sheets of paper, crumpled and wadded into a ball. One of those would have to do. Smoothing one out, she glanced at the words printed on it and froze.

“Leave of Absence—Medical.” Swiftly she scanned the rest of the document. In disbelief she read it again, before crumpling and tossing the paper back. Carson Turner had lied. Whatever he did, he was no longer acting under the auspices of the DEA. Since early summer, he’d been on forced medical leave. Six months ago. That meant that in his hunt for her brother, he was acting alone and unsanctioned, his reasons personal rather than official.

A private vendetta. Now, more than ever, she knew she had to find Alex first.

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