A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing

Chapter 17

Rourke arrived at Chris’s place ready to find any clue he could to help Hunter and his team. He just wished Chris would have been more open to sharing the information he had on the case so Rourke wouldn’t have had to resort to more extreme measures. He really could be helpful if the pack members would give him a chance.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled out a set of lockpicks. He’d used them after Hunter had given them to him as part of his lupus garou indoctrination, and he’d already practiced with them a number of times. But this was the first time he’d put them to practical use.

He slipped around the back of the ranch-style brick house, not wanting neighbors to think anything of him playing with the front lock. And then he was inside, standing in the perfectly neat kitchen with no dishes on the gray slate countertop and the chrome sink sparkling. The guy was a neat freak on top of everything else.

Rourke quickly shut the back door, hoping that Hunter and Chris wouldn’t be too angry with him if they discovered he’d sneaked into the sub-leader’s house without permission. Rourke had to find the connection to Allan’s attempted killing or he was toast.

As soon as he entered Chris’s dining room, where the table’s glass top was just as sparkling clean and the chrome chairs perfectly aligned underneath the table, he smelled Chris’s scent all over the place. Rourke realized then that Chris would smell that he had been there also. There was no hiding the fact now.

With rigid determination, Rourke stalked into the living room and spied the morning’s neatly folded paper on the coffee table. He wondered if Chris only read it to ensure that Rourke hadn’t slipped in something that Chris would object to or if he really read the news on a regular basis.

Shaking his head, Rourke quickly located Chris’s office down the hall and searched through all the desk drawers. He found a drawer full of pictures of Meara, as well as some that appeared to have been of Meara and others, but the others had been cut away and discarded, leaving just Meara. So Chris had more than a small obsession with her.

He pulled out another picture that he thought odd. Meara was dining with Cyn Iverson, seated at a window in a restaurant. The picture was taken from outside the restaurant. Why would Chris have a picture of Meara and Cyn conversing over dinner when he had denied to Hunter that he had known about it? According to two of the pack members who’d told Rourke how difficult Meara could be to watch over, she’d slipped away and had dinner with the wolf while Chris thought she was shopping for romance books.

Still pondering that bit of odd news, Rourke continued to search for the notes Chris must be gathering on the case about the SEAL team, but he found nothing. Rourke was beginning to think he was on a wild-goose chase, only his goose would be cooked if he didn’t discover something important that could be used to uncover the mastermind of all this.

He thought that odd also. If Dave was right in assuming that Chris had been checking into this business with the Knight of Swords, why wouldn’t he have notes about it somewhere? He wouldn’t have a reason to keep his investigation secret.

Having looked through everything—even a file cabinet that had notes on various pack members and personal financial files—but finding nothing that would help with his quest, Rourke left the office with a heavy heart.

He would be in so much trouble and have nothing to show for it.

He glanced in the bathroom, but everything was neat, and nothing would help him there. He continued down the hallway until he came to what looked like the master bedroom, a sitting-room combination with an attached bathroom and walk-in closet.

His gaze shot straight to a black spiral notebook sitting on a bedside table, closed with a black pen lying on top.

Hope renewed, Rourke rushed to the bedside table and jerked the journal up, flipping it open to that morning’s notes.

Nothing. He flipped through earlier notes. Just pack business.

He started rummaging through Chris’s bureau and saw the corner of what looked to be a card in a sweater drawer. He moved the stack of sweaters aside and stared at the set of tarot cards.

His hands were shaking and his heart pounding as he quickly looked through the cards, searching for the Knight of Swords. It had to be there. It had to be a complete set of cards. These couldn’t have anything to do with the one that had been found on the wounded SEAL team member.

The card wasn’t there. Rourke sorted through them more slowly this time, studying each, certain he’d just overlooked it, hoping he’d just overlooked it.

But no. The card portraying the Knight of Swords wasn’t among them.

Which meant?

Coincidence that Chris would have a set of tarot cards and the only one missing would be that particular card?

Rourke began searching the other drawers but didn’t find anything else that might connect Chris with the hit on Allan. He moved to the closet, rifling through clothes and pockets, and found nothing. Then he spied a couple of suitcases on a shelf and a bag tucked on a shelf below. He pulled out the bag and unzipped it. Nothing inside. But then he checked the outside of the bag, slipping his hand in one zippered pocket, then another. And felt something. A couple of pieces of paper. He pulled the items out. A plane-ticket receipt and an itinerary.

He quickly read the date and time of the departure and arrival. It was the same time Chris had to leave town on an important errand, right before Finn arrived to protect Meara and Hunter.

But most of all, the destination was Pompano Beach, Florida, the same city where Allan Rappaport had been shot.

Rourke had to get out of Chris’s house and share this information with Hunter as soon as humanly possible.

But he didn’t know where Hunter was staying, and what if Chris discovered Rourke had been snooping around in his place before Rourke could share what he suspected with Hunter? He couldn’t return to his own apartment. Chris was supposed to meet him there in a couple of hours so he could accompany Rourke to the newspaper office.

Rourke couldn’t go to the office by himself, either, in case Chris tried to find him there. Somehow, Rourke needed to reach Hunter and Dave before Chris discovered Rourke’s scent in his house. Quiet Chris would kill Rourke as soon as he found out.

Grabbing the airline-ticket receipt and itinerary, and stopping in Chris’s office for the photo of Meara and Cyn, Rourke pondered whether this was enough evidence to show Chris was involved in Allan’s shooting and a connection between him and Cyn.

He suspected that Chris had helped set up the situation where Meara would be alone so Cyn could meet her and have dinner. But if that was the case, what was the motive? Chris obviously felt something for Meara. Why would he willingly make it easy for Cyn to have dinner with her?

On a hunch, Rourke returned to the file cabinet and opened the drawer containing Chris’s personal financial files. He began systematically going through the sub-leader’s bank and credit card statements.

He found the charge for the plane ticket to Pompano Beach and a check made out to Cyn Iverson in the amount of $50,000. What the hell?

Not wanting to risk staying any longer and chance being discovered, he grabbed the additional paperwork and hurried out to his vehicle. He drove north, thinking to go to Dave’s place, but then changed his mind and turned his vehicle around to head south. What if Dave was also involved? The pack had mutinied once on Hunter. What if his sub-leaders both had been involved?

He’d go to Hunter and Tessa’s house. It was only about a mile south of Meara’s, where Chris was checking into the cabin-renter squabbles, but Chris would never suspect that Rourke would stow away in the pack leader’s vacated house.

Rourke pulled out his phone as he drove down the coast road, intending to warn Hunter of Chris’s involvement, although Rourke only had circumstantial evidence. When his phone rang in his hand, he nearly dropped it on the floorboard.

He glanced at the caller ID. Unknown number.

“Yeah?” he said evasively. Might be a wrong number. He hoped to hell Chris wasn’t already on to him. But he knew it would be too soon. His nerves were frayed.

“It’s Meara,” the caller said, and Rourke sighed with relief. “I’m using Finn’s phone because my own is out of commission, but Dave called and said you wanted to look more into the attempt on Allan’s life. Dave tried to call Hunter to get his okay on it, but his line was busy. So Dave called me. What is this all about?”

Dave must be one of the good guys, which relieved Rourke no end. “Chris is involved,” Rourke said. He tried to keep his voice on an even keel, but the repercussions of learning such a thing made his heart race and his voice sound desperate. “I found tarot cards at Chris’s house, but the Knight of Swords was missing,” he quickly added. “And I discovered a plane ticket that put him in Pompano Beach, Florida, at the same time that Allan was shot. I’m on my way to Hunter’s house. This whole situation with Allan has to do with Chris.”

Meara didn’t say anything. Had the mountains cut their reception?

“Meara? Are you still there?”

“Are you sure?” she asked, sounding shocked.

“Yeah. I’ve got the plane-ticket receipt and the remaining tarot cards right here,” he said, relieved she’d heard him right. He patted them resting on the console, feeling like he’d just discovered a case as big as Watergate, at least as far as the pack was concerned.

“What exactly did he say?”

“He’s in it with Cyn Iverson, Meara. The guy Hunter didn’t want you to date. Chris took a photo of you dining with Cyn at that restaurant when you were supposed to be shopping for romance books in Sacramento. He lied about it. He told Hunter he hadn’t a clue you’d been with the guy.”

Silence.

“Meara, are you okay?”

She cursed under her breath. “Anything else?” she asked. This time her voice was hard.

“He paid Cyn $50,000.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, then asked, “How far are you from Hunter’s place?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Finn and I will be there in thirty. Was anybody else in the pack involved?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I picked up the evidence at Chris’s place, I took off.”

“All right, all right. I’ll get hold of Hunter. Stay low until we get there. Don’t call anyone else. I don’t want to tip off the other pack members if anyone else is involved.”

“I’m sorry, Meara.”

“Yeah, so am I.” Meara ended the call. She tried to get hold of Hunter but only got a busy signal.

“What’s up?” Finn asked, his voice dark with threat.

“Rourke, the new guy, found evidence at Chris’s house.” Meara set his phone in the cup holder.

Finn’s brows rose.

“Apparently Chris is involved in this whole sordid mess.”

“Where’s the evidence?”

“Rourke’s got it. He’s bringing it to Hunter and Tessa’s house.”

Finn let out his breath and reached over to rub Meara’s arm. “Are you okay?”

She shook her head. “Chris has been with our pack since the early years. How could he be involved in something so hideous?”

“I don’t know. Right incentive, maybe mad at Hunter over some slight? I don’t know.”

Meara grabbed the phone and tried calling Hunter again. No luck. “Can you drive faster?”

“What exactly was the evidence?”

“Rourke has the tarot cards, minus the Knight of Swords that was left with Allan. And he discovered a plane-ticket receipt for Pompano Beach.”

“Pompano Beach? Hell, don’t tell me it was around the time that Allan got shot.”

“Yeah, same time. Then, too, Chris wasn’t supposed to know that I was having dinner with Cyn that time I was shopping in Sacramento. But Rourke found a picture of me eating dinner at the restaurant with Cyn.”

“So Chris knew all about it.”

“Yeah. Rourke left Chris’s place in a hurry before he was discovered.”

“So Chris was the one who shot Allan? I’ll kill the SOB myself. How did Rourke even begin digging into this stuff?”

“He’s an investigative reporter.”

Finn smiled. “Sounds like he’s a good addition to the pack.”

“Yeah,” she said, still fuming about Chris and wishing that they’d trusted Rourke more to do what was right. “Sounds like you’re right. Chris is a dead man, though,” Meara promised.

“Where is Chris now?”

Meara looked at Finn. “My house.”

“That’s not far from Hunter’s place.”

“A little more than a mile. He won’t suspect any of us are there. Hunter’s supposed to be wherever we are at some safe house, as far as Chris knows.”

“Yeah, but you know how well-laid plans can go awry.”

Rourke parked some distance down the road south of Hunter and Tessa’s house, hiding the car in the woods since the place didn’t have a garage. He could just envision Chris driving by the pack leader’s place, seeing Rourke’s vehicle parked in front, and wondering what the hell he was doing there since Hunter wasn’t home.

Rourke locked his car doors. Then with the evidence tucked under his arm, he bolted through the trees to reach the house. When he got there, he went around to the back door and picked the lock, memories flooding him of when he’d stayed there to help Hunter protect Tessa during a winter storm, electrical outages, and fights with bad guys. And how he’d wanted Tessa, but the SEAL had won out. Who could compete with a SEAL who was a wolf on top of that?

Now Rourke would help Finn to protect Meara, which was almost the same scenario. Only Rourke wasn’t interested in Meara the way he’d had a crush on Tessa. Meara was too… unpredictable for him.

He locked the door to the place.

Rourke glanced at his wrist and then remembered he no longer wore a watch as a werewolf. It was one of the hardest things he’d had to get used to. At first, he’d fought the idea—until he’d stripped out of his clothes, forgot his watch, shifted, and lost his prized watch in the woods.

Meara and Finn should be here by now. They were probably hiding their vehicle like he had done and were on foot in the woods, headed in this direction.

He was damned thankful his need to investigate the situation had prompted him to search Chris’s house. Never in a millennium would Rourke have believed that Chris had been involved. Without the evidence, they all might have been clueless about Chris’s involvement until it was too late.

He heard a noise on the back patio, and thinking Meara and Finn were trying to get in, Rourke headed for the back door to open it for them.

His heart thundering, Rourke stared at Chris, who stood at the back door looking in through the kitchen window. When Chris caught Rourke’s eye, he cast him an evil smile. Chris walked over to the back door and tried to unlock it with a lockpick.

“You know, Rourke, you’re supposed to be at your apartment,” Chris said through the door.

The lockpick twisted some more. Rourke’s skin chilled.

“You’re not supposed to be driving your vehicle, either.”

Twist, grind, twist.

“You’re supposed to be waiting for me until I pick you up to take you to the newspaper office.”

Click.

“Why are you here at Hunter’s house? Don’t you know that’s illegal? Breaking and entering? Hunter will not be pleased.”

Rourke raced back into the living room and shoved the incriminating papers underneath the couch cushion. Should he shift? He had no weapon on him.

“So, what are you doing here? Dave said you wanted to speak to me about investigating this situation further concerning Allan’s shooter. What was it you wished to ask me?”

Rourke bolted for the guest bedroom where he’d slept before and locked the door behind him. He was beginning to shuck his clothes when he heard the back door squeak open.

He should have brought the evidence of Chris’s involvement in here.

“You’re not hiding from me, are you?” Chris asked. “You’re supposed to be a big bad wolf now, not a rabbit, Rourke. Are you still a rabbit?”

Rourke swore under his breath as he stood naked in the guest room, unable to the shift.

“Are you in one of the bedrooms?” Chris asked, heading down the hall. “Hmm, only one door closed. Are you hiding behind Door Number 1? The big question is why?”

“How did you know I was here?” Rourke asked, hoping that he could delay the inevitable so that Finn and Meara would have a chance to arrive.

“I just happened to be leaving Meara’s house when who should I see roar lickety-split down the road in his truck past the place but my buddy Rourke, who was supposed to still be at his apartment. So I followed you here. Found where you hid your vehicle and gave the order to disable it, if you thought to leave again anytime soon. You weren’t supposed to be driving, you know.”

Someone else was with Chris? Hell, he’d never get out of this alive. “You said that already, Chris.”

“Yeah, well, you seem to need more direction. So why are you here, and why, when you saw me at the door, didn’t you let me in? You didn’t think I’d just go away, did you?”

“Hunter’s on his way here.”

“Really. Well, a little birdie told me he’s having a rough day of it on his own. I’d planned to oversee operations at the safe house, but… well, this seemed like something that needed looking into right away.”

Rourke’s heart was beating so hard that he figured Chris could hear it through the door. But no matter how many times he tried to tell himself to shift, it wasn’t having any effect. “How did you learn where Hunter is?”

“That’s the wonder of a mate who wasn’t a wolf. She was worried about Hunter and called Dave to see if he could check on him. Since Dave is in the middle of a crisis, trying to track down a runaway teen, he asked me to look into it. That’s all I needed to wrap this up. The location of the safe house.”

If Chris managed to kill Hunter because of Tessa’s mistake, she’d never be able to live with herself.

Again, Rourke tried to will himself to shift. Nothing. Hell, why was it that just when he thought he had the shifting down pat, it eluded him?

“So exactly why are we having this scene?” Chris asked with an odd tone to his voice. Like he was ready to end this now. But Rourke figured Chris was dying to know what Rourke had learned and possibly who he had told.

A lockpick was shoved in the bedroom door lock, and Rourke glanced from the door to the window, wondering what he could do even if he escaped that way when he was naked, when he heard the familiar click that told him the door was unlocked and ready to open.

Rourke expected Chris to open the door by throwing it aside. But instead, he did it in his usual quiet manner, slowly, no doubt listening to see if Rourke was a wolf ready to pounce. Rourke figured Chris probably hadn’t shifted himself yet.

“Rourke,” Chris said, his voice low and cold, testing to see if Rourke could still respond as a human.

But Rourke wouldn’t ease Chris’s mind one bit and kept silent, while he kept praying he’d shift.

Chris didn’t push the door open wide enough to allow Rourke to see him. Then Chris moved away from the door. “Just for your information, Cyn should be here any minute now. The supposed squabble that cabin renters were having at Meara’s place? Really just me and Cyn making some last-minute plans. He’s the one who is sabotaging your vehicle. He wanted a piece of you, too. He doesn’t like newly turned wolves at all and reporters in general, but I’ve waited long enough for this, and you’re all mine.”

Rourke heard Chris’s zipper slide down. Chris was going to strip and shift.

Rourke cursed his inability to shift at will. He really loved being a werewolf, but he wouldn’t be one for very much longer if he couldn’t summon the ability to become a wolf like—now!

A tingling started rushing through his veins, heating him to the marrow of his bones, the muscles stretching, welcoming the wolf side of him, and for a moment, he felt relief. But just as he shifted and looked up from the floor, Rourke saw Chris standing in the doorway, a wolf ready to rip him to shreds, his amber eyes and mouth wickedly smiling.

His fur standing on end, his heart thundering, Rourke figured maybe he should have thought this out a little more. While he’d still had the chance, maybe he should have attempted to flee out the window, and then shifted and run like hell until Finn showed up.

It was now or never. Chris growled with a second of warning, then lunged at him.

Finn figured the reason Meara couldn’t reach Hunter, Anna, or the rest of the SEAL team on the phone was because they had shifted into their wolf forms and were possibly in a fight. Meara was trying not to show how anxious she was, but he was certain she was even more worried about Rourke than she was about her brother or the others. They were trained in combat. Rourke was not. And he was alone.

“Does he still have problems shifting?” Finn asked, not having been around newly turned wolves much.

“Yes. That’s why he’s always got to have a mentor when he’s out. He’s not supposed to be driving until he can prove he’s got this shifting business under control.”

Finn hadn’t even thought of that. He could just imagine a newly turned wolf trying to drive, getting the urge to strip and shift, and veering off the coast road into the Pacific Ocean.

Meara suddenly stopped, and Finn grabbed her arm as he heard a man’s voice at the house.

“Chris,” she whispered, her voice fearful.

“Stay here, Meara. I’ll take care of it.”

“No.” She pursed her lips. “I’ll speak with him. He supposedly wants me. I’ll distract him. Then you can get the drop on him. But if you just go in, he could kill Rourke first.”

“It’s too risky. Stay here.”

She ground her teeth, knowing that Finn was used to operations like this, but she still thought her plan had merit.

Finn stripped off his clothes shifted in record time, and looked back at Meara as if doubting his decision to leave her alone. When she motioned for him to go, he turned and raced through the woods toward Hunter’s home.

As soon as he was nearly out of sight, a twig snapped behind Meara, and she swung around and gasped.

“You want me to shoot Finn, I will, Meara,” Cyn warned, his hair longer than she’d remembered it, his amber eyes gleaming with power, his voice threatening. “Come here,” he growled.

She moved away from the cliff and toward Cyn as slowly as she could without aggravating him further.

“You and your damned brother ruined everything for me,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I thought you wanted to date me. But I guess that wasn’t the master plan, was it?”

He snorted. “As if it would ever have worked out with your brother running things. My sister wasn’t supposed to die the way she did.”

She knew it. He would kill her for revenge because his sister was dead. But why would someone have changed the location of the meeting on the beach? If the team had gone to the other location, they would have all died and so would have the hostages.

Knowing the answer to the question, she asked anyway, wanting to hear him say it. “Why do you want me dead?”

“Hell, Meara, I wanted you. Period. I genuinely liked you. But you told Hunter you didn’t wish to see me. That I wasn’t good enough for you like I wasn’t good enough for Hunter’s precious team.”

She scowled at him and folded her arms at her waist. “That’s not true. I told Hunter I wanted to see you.”

He turned to look in the direction of Hunter’s house where they could hear the sound of growling wolves. “Damn your brother for lying to me.” He looked back at Meara. “I thought you decided I wasn’t worthy to see you. Hunter told me as much and then said the same thing about including me on his team.”

“It wasn’t so.” And knowing Hunter, he wouldn’t have said anything so cruel. She figured that Cyn had heard what he wanted to hear. “Why did you want to be on the team so badly? To save your sister?”

He laughed mercilessly. “She was human, you know. And she’d overheard my plans as I was talking to one of my men over the phone. She was suspicious of me. Knew something was different about me after I was turned. So we used her as one of the hostages. She was worth a hell of a lot more than a ransom to me.

“When she died, I’d inherit everything that she was to get. And you know how it is. When a human learns of our existence, they either have to be turned or die. It’s our way. No way in hell was I making her one of us. So it was the perfect solution. Kill her off in a hostage-taking situation, and I would get the inheritance.”

Meara stared at him in disbelief, unable to fathom how someone could hate a sibling that much. “So you planned the whole affair? Had the women taken as hostages so you could get the money? But you didn’t intend their release?”

“That’s about the gist of it.”

She couldn’t imagine anyone so unfeeling that he would kill for a handful of money. “What did your sister ever do to you?”

Cyn narrowed his eyes at her. “My parents didn’t like me, didn’t like what I was doing, and when they died, they left every bit of their million-dollar estate to my sister. Hell, I received a dollar to show they hadn’t forgotten me in the will. A frigging dollar!”

Meara took a deep breath, wondering how his parents had died and what he had done to deserve being cut from the will. “Why did you send the message to Hunter to change the location of the beach landing?”

“Hell, I didn’t do that. I certainly didn’t have his email address. One of your own pack members did that. Chris Tarleton was the defector.”

She still had a tough time believing Chris could be behind all this. Chris had always been quiet and had absolutely no sense of humor, but he did a good job as one of Hunter’s sub-leaders. “Why had he been involved in all of this?”

“Hell, Meara, think about it. Hunter hasn’t been around that much over the years, off fighting one cause or another. Chris is tired of playing second fiddle, so to speak. He kept thinking Hunter would get killed on a mission, and that would solve that, but the Navy SEAL just wouldn’t die. And then when the fire destroyed your home in California, Chris had the perfect opportunity to convince a bunch of the pack to mutiny and—”

“Chris did that? He split the pack up completely! Damn him.” Even now the pack was split up, with some living in southern California without any plans to return.

“Yeah, well, he hadn’t exactly meant for that to happen. Those who went to southern California weren’t supposed to. Chris would have succeeded with the group he took off with if they hadn’t wound up in a red wolf’s territory in Portland. Leidolf, I think the pack leader’s name was, wasn’t about to put up with your pack’s encroachment. Chris was forced to return to the coast with the rest of the pack. Then Hunter had the trouble with that gray pack, and Chris thought that would be the end of him.”

“But Hunter survived.”

“Yeah. He always managed to survive. And he took up with that woman photographer. It looked as though he was giving up his contract work and staying here with her for good. No more missions. No more leaving the pack under Chris’s control. And that wouldn’t do. So Chris contacted me. Said he’d pay me again to gather a group of men and get rid of Hunter and his team for good.”

“So this wasn’t about me.”

“Hell, yeah, it’s about you.”

About revenge for her not wishing to see him further, so he thought. “The two of you concocted the hostage crisis?” she asked.

“Me and my own team and Chris. We wanted the money. Chris wanted your pack. You were up for grabs.”

Right. As if she’d go along with it.

“What about the Knight of Swords?”

“The what?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. Although she suspected that Chris was the Knight of Swords, she wanted to know if Cyn knew for certain. “Someone left the tarot card as a calling card of sorts with Allan when he was shot.”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

Feeling chilled with the cool ocean breeze whipping across her skin, she asked, “Didn’t you have Allan shot?”

“No, Chris did.”

Finn would kill Chris if Hunter didn’t do the job. She felt nauseated all over again. How could they have missed the signs that one of their own pack members had been a traitor? “So you hadn’t intended for Hunter and his team to die on the beach?”

“Hell, yeah, we had. If I’d been with the team, I would have been the only survivor. Somehow I don’t see Hunter as the kind of guy who would have allowed me to take the ransom money after making sure my sister was dead. Some of the women would have made it out with me, so I would have gotten all the honors. I would have been a team leader instead of just a team member, and the ransom would have been paid to the bad guys. Which would have been me and my men.

“Only it didn’t work out as planned. And we didn’t get any of the ransom money. My sister had changed her will so that charity would get every dime of her inheritance, should she die. I hadn’t planned on that. Not only that, but she left a message that if she died an accidental death, the investigating officer should check me out because she suspected I had killed our parents.”

“Had you?”

He smiled. “In any event, she was killed in a terrorist activity, and no one suspected me. Although you can’t imagine how angry I was that she had changed her will and I didn’t receive anything from it.”

He waved his weapon at the trees. “During the operation, Finn returned fire and hit me in the leg, although he didn’t know it, and then rescued the women who were still alive. It took me a while to recuperate, devise the forest-fire plan, and then come after you and Hunter.”

“And Chris?”

He shrugged. “What can I say? He couldn’t fight Hunter fair and square as a wolf, but he has been running the pack. Then Hunter mated, planning to settle down and really run the pack full time. The last straw was when Hunter accidentally turned that reporter, decided to go on a honeymoon with his mate, and stuck Chris with baby-sitting Rourke. You don’t even want to know how mad Chris was about that.”

“Hunter would have continued to watch over Rourke. He really likes the guy. He wouldn’t have given the job to anyone else in the pack except someone he really respected.”

Cyn shook his head. “Maybe so, but Chris didn’t see it that way.”

“Who set the fire?”

Cyn ground his teeth and looked in the direction of the wolves growling. He turned back to Meara and said, “I meant to get Hunter and his whole blasted pack that time. I came to get you, and then some wolf was skulking around after a woman who was taking pictures of the fire—the woman who became Hunter’s mate. When the wolf saw me in the vicinity, he chased me off. So I missed my opportunity.”

“But Chris couldn’t have wanted you to set the fire that destroyed all of the pack members’ homes.”

“No, he didn’t know I’d set it. But he did take advantage of the calamity and convinced Hunter’s pack to mutiny.”

Bastard. “So this all started with coveting money, wanting your sister to die because she’d learned your plans and gotten all of your parents’ inheritance, and wanting to get even with Hunter for not taking you on his team. And revenge against me because you thought I chose not to see you any longer.”

“That about wraps it up.”

“So now what?”

His eyes took on a maniacal gleam. “You come with me, or you die here.”

Meara didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t strip and shift and have a chance against an armed man. She couldn’t run away. She couldn’t fight him for the gun and wrest it away from him. Not when he was a SEAL, trained for any kind of confrontation.

“Come on, Meara, you really don’t have a choice here.”

She knew that, damn it. All but one. She’d never believed she’d need someone as much as she needed Finn now. Nor that she’d do what she was about to do. Not when she was a wolf. The pack leader’s sister. A woman who had rescued others when they had needed her help. But it was her only choice. And if she could, she’d kill Cyn herself for making her do this.

She filled her lungs with air and screamed.

Finn had tried to poke his nose through the wolf door to Hunter’s house, but it was locked. Damn it. He could hear the growling inside, two wolves fighting, and he feared for Rourke’s life. But when Hunter and his mate had gone on their honeymoon, he must have locked the wolf door. And Finn couldn’t get in.

Finn suspected that Chris hadn’t locked the door after he most likely picked the lock. So wasting more time, Finn shifted into his human form and grabbed the door handle, twisted, and found the door locked.

Without a lockpick, and seeing nothing on the patio that wasn’t bolted down, Finn was fresh out of luck.

“Hold on, Rourke,” he muttered under his breath, naked as the day he was born and headed down the path to the beach to locate a good-sized rock he could use to break a window.

His heart racing with concern, he was at the bottom of the steep incline before he found a rock he thought might do.

Rock in hand, he headed back up the steep path. Halfway up it, he heard a woman’s blood-curdling scream. He froze. His first thought was that it couldn’t be Meara. Never in a million years would she scream about anything. But there was no one else out here. He shifted into his wolf form, silently apologized to Rourke and prayed he’d last until Finn could return, and dashed back to where he’d left Meara all alone.

Meara’s heart was still beating a million miles a minute as she screamed and ran into the woods, shoving aside branches, climbing over a fallen tree trunk, and traversing limbs torn from trees in a recent storm. Okay, so she didn’t think she could run away from an armed nutcase, but she did think that Cyn might just chase after her and not shoot her.

She was right. The only sounds were his heavy boots clomping on the woodland floor, his heavy breathing, and his heartbeat accelerating as he quickly closed the gap between them way too fast. He was six-two, and his lengthy stride was gobbling up the ground in a hurry, nearly giving her heart palpitations.

In the horror movies, the woman always looked back just before whatever was chasing her got her. She wouldn’t look back. She was afraid he’d strike her in the head with the butt of his weapon, knock her out cold, and then haul her off to some undisclosed location. But she wouldn’t look back.

Not until she heard the sound of a wolf in rapid pursuit of Cyn. He was quiet, but still she knew the sound of a wolf running on four padded feet, knew the way he moved when he was chasing his prey, knew beyond a doubt that he would kill Cyn before he had a chance to turn and fire off a shot.

But if Finn didn’t reach him in time, Meara had to ensure that the shot Cyn tried to fire went wild.

She looked back and saw Finn racing to her aid, his fur swept backward from the breeze and the run as he tore toward her. Or toward Cyn. Finn’s gaze met hers for a second, as if making sure she wasn’t injured, as if telling her she had nothing to worry about, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, panting hard, his eyes narrowed with anger.

Cyn had stopped and rapidly turned and, in a SEAL way, readied his weapon to kill his pursuer.

Meara had to stop him. She couldn’t slam into his hard body and make any difference, she didn’t think. She grabbed a sturdy branch lying on the ground, probably torn off in the last big storm they’d had, and ran up behind him. He heard her, but he ignored her, knowing the real threat was the wolf in front of him.

She swung the branch at Cyn’s head with all her might, connected with his ear and head, and distracted him just enough to make him miss his shot.

She was sure he wanted to kill her now, but one pissed-off wolf lunged at him, and Cyn didn’t have a chance.

Finn’s jump knocked Cyn on his back, and Cyn dropped his weapon. He reached for a sheathed knife, but Finn was too quick, biting him in the throat, and ending his murderous reign. For a moment, he sat panting over the body, but then he looked at Meara and then again at Hunter’s house.

“Rourke,” she said.

She raced toward the house, but Finn woofed, then headed to where his clothes were. She turned and watched him, confused. He poked at his pants, and she ran back to where he stood over his clothes. When she found his lockpick, he bowed his head and raced back to the house. She ran after him, trying to catch up and fearing Rourke would never make it on his own. She was damned glad to hear the growling in the house, which meant he was fighting for his life but still alive.

Chris bit Rourke in the cheek, causing sharp pain to rip through his face and pissing him off. What if he was disfigured for life?

He snarled and growled and fought tooth to tooth with the sub-leader. He tasted blood, his blood and Chris’s.

That made him even angrier. What if he chipped a tooth or, worse, lost one?

He hadn’t fought wolf-to-wolf much, but thankfully, the instinct came to him naturally. When Chris growled at him again, Rourke gave an even lower, deeper bass-sounding growl, rumbling from low in the belly. He pulled back his lips and bared his sharp canines. And when Chris clashed with him, the two stood on their hind legs, forelegs thrashing for a better hold, heads swiveling to get a bite in where it would count.

This was not a game, like he’d played with the other wolves, which had just been a practice for a real hunt. This was a battle to the finish.

Oh, if only he could be the victor and write about it in a news story!

Rourke bullheadedly shoved Chris out of the bedroom where he’d been confined by the bed and dresser. Now in the more open living room, they bumped into a table, sending a candy dish and pale-pink and green candy squares flying. Next, they upset another table and sent a lamp to the floor where it broke with a loud crash. Rourke realized now how important having a place of his own could be, not an apartment where next-door neighbors could hear the disturbance, if he ever again had the chance to get into another wolf fight, and call the police.

Chris was a tenacious bulldog of a wolf, though. He kept going for Rourke’s throat, and Rourke kept twisting his head around to counter the attack, biting and snarling even more aggressively than Chris. He thought it was because Chris was always quieter. But the growling made Rourke feel more at home with being a wolf, more in control of his situation, better equipped to fight another wolf who wanted him dead.

They both banged into the couch and then the coffee table. Rourke kept trying to get hold of Chris’s throat, but the wolf was as adamant about keeping him from doing so as Rourke was about protecting his own throat. They danced again on their hind quarters, sparring and fighting, then down again with Rourke persisting, pushing, and trying to wear Chris out. But Chris wasn’t wearing out, damn him. Rourke was.

Somehow they’d ended up back in the bedroom.

But then Rourke got a lucky break. Chris backed into a clothes tree, and it began to fall on him. When he turned his head slightly to see what he’d run into and probably where to go next to continue the fight, Rourke had his chance. And took it.

With Chris’s head turned, Rourke grabbed for the sub-leader’s neck and bit down hard.

Meara reached the back door where Finn circled her, anxious to get inside Hunter’s house to rescue Rourke. She was so nervous that she fumbled with the pick, finally managing to unlock the door and shove it open. Finn rushed into the house, both of them expecting the worst. Finn would have to kill Chris, and Rourke would already be dead.

The place was a wreck: end tables on their sides, a candy dish broken to pieces, and the remnants of pastel after-dinner mints scattered all over the carpet. Chris and Rourke’s scents and the smell of blood wafted into the living area as soon as they entered. But there were no sounds of anything. The place was quiet as death.

Then Finn ran down the hallway and entered a guest room. Meara waited, expecting to hear more growling as Finn fought with Chris. But then Finn poked his nose out of the room, smiling like only a wolf could.

“Rourke,” she cried. He had to be all right. She rushed to the guest room as Finn headed through the living room and exited the house. As a wolf, Rourke was panting on the carpeted bedroom floor, while Chris’s dead body lay near the bedroom window, a clothes tree on top of him.

She wiped away annoying tears and wrapped her arms around Rourke, pressing her face against his cheek. His tail thwapped enthusiastically against the floor. She didn’t want to give him ideas and finally released him. She also didn’t want Finn to see her hugging Rourke when he returned and get any wrong ideas.

She wiped away more tears and smiled at Rourke. “Thanks for learning the truth, and…” She choked on the words and gave him another hug. She was still hugging him soundly, so grateful he was alive, that she didn’t even hear Finn come into the room.

But Rourke saw him and immediately rose, as if getting ready for a new confrontation.

“Where’s the evidence, Rourke?” Finn asked, fully dressed and looking relieved that Rourke was alive but angry about Chris and his evil doings.

The papers. She’d forgotten all about them. Rourke licked her hand, then hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall to the living room. She suspected he couldn’t shift back.

He poked a paw at the couch, and Finn shoved his hand between the cushions and pulled out a handful of evidence—plane ticket, tarot cards, photo, financial statements. He handed them to Meara, but she shook her head. “Let Hunter see them.”

Then with new worry, she ground her teeth. “Hunter.”

“They’re fine.” Finn pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Hunter said two men hit them at the house, but everyone’s fine. Except for the two men. And the house.”

“What happened to the house?”

“The two men were demolition experts. They blew it up.”

Meara gaped at Finn.

“Of course, Hunter’s more than furious that Chris was involved. He and the others are driving up here—all but Bjornolf—and Hunter will take it from there.”

“Bjornolf had already left, I thought.”

“Apparently not. He hung around to make sure the guys didn’t need his help. And then he heard there was a runaway teen in the pack and he wanted to look into the kid’s disappearance.”

Meara’s mouth gaped again. “Bjornolf?”

“Don’t start getting ideas that he’s a nice guy, Meara.” Finn pulled her into his arms and kissed her cheek. “If you were afraid Rourke was going to have a time finding a mate, after they learn what he did here today, the unmated females will be flocking to him, wanting a chance to be that mate.”

Rourke grinned with a silly, wolfish smile. Meara gave him a small, weepy smile back. Now she knew why Tessa had a fondness for the man who was now a wolf. He truly was a welcome addition to the pack.

Finn and Meara returned to her place and discussed all that Chris and Cyn had been responsible for—the fire that had destroyed their homes, the mutiny Chris had encouraged, the murders of innocent victims—all so Chris could be a pack leader when he didn’t have the courage to fight Hunter wolf to wolf for the position. And so Cyn could pocket a bundle of blood money.

Meara continued to obsess about all that had happened as they entered her home. “The safe house was demolished,” she said, shaking her head. “What will the owners say?”

Finn ushered her into her living room, sat her down on the couch, and pulled a throw she had hanging over the arm of the couch onto her lap. Then he went into the kitchen and began making her a mug of mint tea. “The owners will say that the home can be rebuilt. That none of us could have been replaced. Nothing else really matters, you know.”

“They won’t care anything about us, except to be furious that we brought this down on them,” Meara moaned. “Even if insurance covered it, which I highly doubt, the home would still need to be rebuilt.”

“I’ll just sell off the property. The location and land will still bring a good deal of money. Prime oceanfront property, worth a mint.”

“You? You said it was owned by a friend of a friend of a friend.”

“That’s how I had to buy it to keep the ownership hidden so we could use it as a safe house.”

“It was your home? You mean, here I made the remark about whoever the owner was must have decorated in all yellow to chase away the Oregon gloom, and all along it was your home?”

He carried out a cup of hot tea for her and tucked a straggle of hair behind her ear. “And I said the owner must be from California. To which you looked to the ceiling as if unable to believe I would say such a thing because you are from northern California. But it was my interior decorator’s idea. She’s from southern California like me and said yellow would help brighten the place.”

Her lips parted, then she frowned. “That’s why you knew where the brandy was located. And the master bedroom. It was yours.”

“Ours. Was ours.”

“Who was staying there before we arrived?”

“A Navy SEAL and his new bride—I reimbursed them sufficiently so that they were able to pay for an island adventure.”

“Your poor home.” Then she managed a smile with a gleam in her eyes. “So just how much will the land be worth if you sell off the property?”

Two days later, confident the pack would be secure without his being there, Hunter returned to Hawaii to be with Tessa while Finn and Meara settled into her house before they took off on their own honeymoon. Allan, Paul, and Anna had left for places unknown. And Bjornolf had run down the runaway teen. Seemed the runaway had wanted to start his own wolf pack—teen only—but couldn’t get any takers. Bjornolf had talked him into SEAL training when he was old enough. Bjornolf was now taking a break somewhere in the South Pacific, or so he said. But for all they knew, Bjornolf could be lurking just down the road.

Rourke was the hero of the pack, and at least three of the females had taken notice of him. They all wanted to mentor him, and he didn’t mind being mentored any longer in the least.

All that was left was a Caribbean cruise that Meara and Finn would take when Hunter and Tessa returned, only they’d extended their trip to three weeks instead of two. That left Meara and Finn exploring the coast close to home and each other.

After a brisk swim in the Pacific, Meara and Finn returned to the house for a hot shower. Meara was glad that Hunter had always watched out for her and that she hadn’t ended up with the wrong wolf before Finn showed up to steal her heart.

She hadn’t thought of showering with Finn, given the economical ones he always took, quick and over with in no time, and although she didn’t like to waste water, she enjoyed the heat and steam or a simulated rain shower for a relaxing time. Water-tile body sprays in the wall provided an adjustable massage, working wonders on taut muscles, too.

But once she headed for the glassed-in shower stall, Finn walked into the bathroom to join her. Admiringly, she slid her gaze over his sculpted nude body, his skin salty from the sea just like a SEAL’s should be.

“What happened to taking a brief shower?” she asked, hoping that he didn’t think she would want to do the same.

“Hmm,” Finn said, “I like to conserve water, and sharing a shower with you sounds like a good deal.”

She smiled and switched on the digital interface, mixing water, light, and sound into a pleasing symphony of pleasurable sensations, and then stepped into the shower. “But,” she warned him, “I don’t believe in turning off the water while I’m soaping my body.”

Finn entered the stall and pulled the door closed, then gathered her into his arms under the heat of the running water and kissed her upturned face. “I’ll be the one soaping that gorgeous body of yours. And the water stays on.”

Releasing her briefly while she shampooed her hair, he poured vanilla-scented body wash into his hands and began a careful and methodical soaping ritual. His large hands started at her throat, spreading the scented wash all around her neck, down her shoulders and breasts, pausing to lift and massage. Then he worked in tiny circles over and around her nipples while she made a mountain of soapy curls on top of her head and chuckled at the diligence he showed in making sure her breasts were thoroughly cleaned.

He smiled at her as she began to thoroughly wash him, too, her fingers massaging his neck and shoulders, lathering the soap all over him as the water continued to rain down on them, taking the soap with it.

She gave him the same attention to detail, her forefingers running over his nipples with delicate precision, making them as sensitive as hers, she was certain, from the way his erection poked her in the belly. He hugged her against his body to reach her back and soap all the way down to her buttocks. She found his rubbing against her like this more erotic than she could imagine. She tried to reach around to soap his back, but he was too tall and broad.

He laughed at her futile efforts.

Then he added more soap to his hands and shifted to her waist and down between her legs. “Hmm, Meara,” he said, kissing her cheek, sounding as though he’d found wolf heaven, a version of SEAL heaven, as the hot water forced streams into their backs or sides, depending on which way they moved.

And then he was leaning down, soaping her legs as she lathered his head. That gave him pause as she used her fingers to massage his scalp from the hairline to the back in tight little circles and then did the same thing on the sides until every inch of his scalp was stimulated, the blood flowing freely to every follicle.

When she was done, he rose and slid his hands into the mountain of soapy hair she’d created on top of her head. Then he began to give the same delicious massage to her scalp, his fingers working her into a relaxed state of bliss, only she was also hot and needy and wanted him inside of her now. She soaped her hands again, wrapped her fingers around his erection, and slid up and down, up and down, watching the way his eyes darkened to midnight, hoping he would not be able to resist taking this to the next step.

“You’re melting,” his voice rasped, and she was, under his ministrations, ready to slide down onto the shower floor, spread her legs, and beg for him to finish her off.

Then he was rinsing her hair and the rest of her body and himself until they were squeaky clean and free of soap suds. But he didn’t stop there as he slipped his fingers between her legs as if making sure she was soap-free there, too. His fingers gently assaulted her, ratchetting up the strokes over her clit until her body was shaking with need and wanting fulfillment, the desire so rampant that she’d do anything to reach the pinnacle.

Before she could demand that he hurry, she felt the uplift as the climax hit, and he knowingly smiled but didn’t wait for her to come back down. In one swift movement, he lifted her and penetrated her deeply. Her body held him tight, contractions wrapping her in a cloak of heated bliss. Then he began the steady thrusts, deeper, his mouth on hers, their tongues and bodies wet and slippery and beautiful.

“Oh, Finn,” she mouthed against his throat as another wave of orgasm drew over her.

But it wasn’t until he gave one last thrust and she felt his hot seed fill her that he finally whispered in her wet hair, “You are a Viking’s treasure.”

“Conquest, you mean,” she said, breathlessly.

“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek and set her on the shower floor. “I always knew my mate would live by the sea.”

She raised her brows. “What would you have done if I had still lived in the forests of California?”

“Moved you to a home by the sea.”

She sighed and turned off the water. “I’m so sorry about your home.”

He grabbed a towel and began drying her. “It didn’t have the amenities that this one does.”

“Since it was so luxurious, I’m surprised that you didn’t have the fancy showerheads and all.”

“I meant you,” he said, wrapping the towel around her back like a sling and pulling her to his hard body. His mouth pressed against hers until her tongue played with his, and she slipped her arms around his waist and held on tight.

“I thought you weren’t a romantic, but, Finn, you’ve got them all beat.”

He finished drying her and grabbed a towel to dry off his body while she wrapped one around her hair in a turban. “Damn right I have,” he said.

She chuckled and slipped into a strapless terry cloth dress, the smocked bodice fitting tightly over her breasts, the length of the skirt high thigh.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, smiled down at her, and cupped her breasts in his hands. “I like this.”

“Thank you. It’s meant to be a beach cover-up, but I like to wear it when I get out of the shower sometimes before going to bed. I’m going to fix some roast beef hash from the leftovers—old family recipe. Want some?”

“Yeah, but…” he said, pulling her close, “I thought maybe we could lie down for a bit first.”

“Not now. Afterward. I’m starving.” She pressed his lips with a quick kiss, but when his hands went to her hips and he locked onto her mouth with a penetrating kiss, she quickly broke free. And smiled at him. “You’ll have me barefoot and pregnant before long if we keep this up.”

“Hmm, Meara, I like that idea.” He reached for her shoulders, but she quickly dodged his hands, tossed the towel from her head into the clothes basket, slipped out of the bedroom, and headed for the door. “More after we eat.”

Smiling, she hurried down the hall to the kitchen, thinking how much her uncle’s place was really a home to her now that Finn was her mate. And wondering if he was through taking Navy showers for the rest of his life.

A knock on the back door had her nearly jumping out of her skin.

She walked to the door and opened it to see a tanned, attractive man with obsidian eyes and hair and a smile that brightened his whole expression as he looked her over from the wet tangled hair dangling over her shoulders to the short terry cloth dress she wore and her bare feet. “Well, I believe this little resort is just the place I needed to be for the first vacation I’ve had in years. You must be Meara Greymere. I’m—”

She didn’t have a chance to say anything before Finn stalked into the room, silent as a SEAL and a wolf combined, still wearing only a towel around his torso as he closed in on her and pulled her against his chest in an overwhelmingly flagrant show of alpha male possessiveness. He kissed the top of her head.

In no uncertain terms, he was making it clear to any other male wolf, this one in particular, that Meara might be renting the cabins to single alpha males, but she’d already made her selection and Finn was one damn lucky wolf. But it also reminded her of how he had first claimed her in front of Bjornolf.

The man stood his ground, typical alpha male, but smiled a little unevenly. “Guess I booked my reservation a little too late.”

“Reservation.” She had totally forgotten about the incoming guests this week. “No,” she quickly said, wanting to make the resort a success since Hunter had given her full rein over it now that he didn’t have to worry about her because she was Finn’s problem. She smiled at the notion. “You’ll have a wonderful time. And Finn’s a SEAL, so if you need a running partner or someone to show you the best places to swim, he won’t mind going with you.”

“And you?” he asked.

“For an extra cost, I cook meals.” She caressed Finn’s arm still wrapped around her waist. “Finn does a great job making s’mores, though.”

“S’mores?” The guest chuckled. “Looks like I made the right choice for a vacation after all. Only I still wish I’d come a little sooner.”

Meara smiled. “Things were a little… hectic earlier. And you would have had to come a long time ago, if you were looking for more than a vacation.”

He looked at Finn and said, “Long drive to get here, and I need to work out some kinks before I retire for the night. Want to show me the area and take a little run?”

Finn smiled and tightened his hold on Meara. “We’ve got the night booked. Tomorrow, first thing, I can show you around the place.”

She sighed. “You must be Hugh Sutherland.”

“Yes, I am.”

Thrill seeker, she recalled that she’d noted about him. But if he sought anything of the sort, he’d have to find it on his own. “There’s your key. You have the cabin farthest from this one.” She waved her hand toward the north.

Hugh nodded and took the key in hand, then said to Finn, “Tomorrow then. But I won’t disturb you.” He gave Meara a meaningful look, then refocused his attention on Finn. “Just drop by when it’s convenient. Hell, I’m on vacation, so no appointments for anything. Oh, and someone delivered something on the back porch.” He bowed his head to the two of them and closed the back door.

“Hmm, you’re supposed to help market the resort, too,” Meara said, as Finn slid his hands around her breasts and began to massage them, his face nuzzling her neck. “And sending away our guests without accommodating them further probably won’t give us four-star rating.”

“I’ll make it up to him tomorrow,” Finn said, seductively licking her ear.

She groaned and whispered, “I’m hungry.”

“Me, too.”

She headed for the back door to check out the package, but when she opened the door, she frowned at the tall box. And then as she read the label, she shook her head. Turning, she saw Finn smiling broadly at her.

“Well? You told me you needed a new vacuum,” he said smugly.

“A vacuumer. As in someone who vacuums. Hmm, I guess I did say that I needed a new vacuum also. And you know what? I know just who to teach how to use it.”

He stalked forward to carry the box inside, then locked the door, and pulled her into his arms. “So, what do you think of the wedding present?”

“Oh, Finn, I think it’s a great wedding present for you,” she said, sliding her hands across his nipples in a provocative way.

His hands went to her breasts again, and he was about to kiss her when his phone rang in her pocket.

Uh-oh.

He slipped his hand into Meara’s front right pocket. “Got my phone again?”

“Yeah, just in case you get any unwanted calls.”

He snorted. “Like from old flames or anyone contacting me about any dangerous missions?”

He glanced at the caller ID, and she waited, barely breathing. He took a deep breath and patted her on the rump. “Fix dinner. I’ll make a salad.”

“Salad?” She couldn’t believe he’d eat a salad, considering all the times when she’d had to force Hunter to.

Finn shrugged. “My mother taught me to eat my greens. It just became a habit.”

“That’s good, Finn.” She frowned at the ringing phone in his hand. “Aren’t you going to answer the call?”

He slipped his hand around hers and hauled her to the kitchen. “What for? It’s probably another of those damned dangerous missions Paul wants me to go on now that Hunter won’t leave Tessa alone. I’ve got enough of one right here. First, I’ve got to make sure all these bachelor males that made arrangements to stay at the resort know you’re not available, and second, I’ve got to keep you satisfied.”

God, he was the only wolfish SEAL-man for her. And she loved him for it.

She touched the top edge of his towel with her fingertip. “Maybe we could eat afterward.” She yanked off his towel, dropped it to the floor, and dashed around him for the bedroom.

Finn tackled Meara before she got far and swept her up in his arms, loving this aspect of her also—her playfulness. She tossed back her head and laughed. She was the most beautiful thing that had happened in his life, and he couldn’t see how he’d even considered which option to choose—deadly contracts or… this.

Plus after the shower they’d just shared, he was never going back to Navy showers.

The SEAL had caught his wolf and his only mission now was making her happy, proving to her that he had no intention of quashing her alpha tendencies, and loving her just the way she was—every sexy damned bit of her.

While keeping her out of trouble.