“Don’t push it. Stop somewhere for the night if you need to. Everything here is fine.”
James didn’t commit one way or another. “Let me talk to Joshua.”
“Okay. Love you.”
“Love you too, Alex,” he answered gruffly.
A second later a male voice came over the line. “Striker.”
Striker was more than just the family name for Joshua and his brothers. It was a calling. Traditionally, the men of his family were the pack enforcers. They were judge, jury and, when necessary, executioner. Joshua had already proven he was more than capable of doing the job.
James didn’t waste words. “How are things?”
“Fairly quiet. Some rumblings from the Carlos and Jensen clans.”
James wanted to howl with frustration. They had enough trouble as a species without infighting. But that had never stopped werewolves. Their aggressive nature would be their downfall if they weren’t careful. “Serious?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
James trusted Joshua, but they were shorthanded now that Isaiah Striker had moved permanently to Chicago. “I’ll be back late tonight. I’ll call if something comes up.”
“Drive safe.”
James disconnected the call and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He’d destroy the phone as soon as he was home. Bounty hunters might be anti-government and anti-social, but they weren’t stupid. They used whatever technology might aid them in destroying all werewolves and that included using the services of hackers. Every member of the pack used disposable phones, changing them frequently.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him why he’d stopped at this roadside diner in the first place. All his senses were on alert as he crossed the paved lot and pulled open the door. The smell of coffee, ham and eggs tickled his nose.
He paused in the open doorway and removed his sunglasses, tucking them in his shirt pocket as he looked around. The place was crowded, mostly with men, but there were a few women as well. Almost all the tables were filled. The sound of chatter was punctuated with the noise of utensils clanking as they all ate. The coffeepot hissed and the grill sizzled in the kitchen.
Something else permeated the air, but James couldn’t quite place it. Grease, sweat and food all mixed together to dull his preternatural sense of smell. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind him.
Several men glanced up from their meals and stared, but most ignored him, too intent on finishing their food and getting back on the road. To a trucker, time was money.
James scanned the room and sauntered over to a vacant booth in the far corner. He slid onto the vinyl bench seat and leaned back, trying to fit his large body comfortably into the space.
From his position, he had an unobstructed view of the room and the front door. There was also a window right beside him, which would allow for a quick escape if necessary.
The diner was surprisingly clean but dull. The paint on the walls was chipped, the linoleum on the floor scarred. And the seat cushions had seen better days. But the table gleamed and the condiment bottles were full. He plucked the menu from behind the shiny napkin dispenser and scanned it.
At the far end of the room, which James assumed led to the kitchen, a swinging door popped open. A woman backed into the room carrying a tray laden with plates. She looked like any waitress anywhere—harried and overworked. He went back to studying the menu, but his gaze was drawn again and again to the woman.
Giving up on the menu, he tossed it down on the table and studied her. She appeared to be in her early thirties, but it was hard to tell. She had the look of someone who’d had a hard life. Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun, giving her face a pinched appearance.
As he watched, she competently served up the food from her tray, distributing plates to various tables, while nimbly sidestepping the roving hands of one of the truckers. His eyes narrowed as a burly driver patted her butt as she passed by. She jerked, but didn’t stop. Head ducked down, she kept going.
Anger began to burn low in his gut. It was none of his business, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to get involved. Not with paranormal bounty hunters searching for him and his daughter. The last thing he wanted to do was bring attention to himself and, through him, to his pack.
Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was dressed in a tacky pink polyester uniform that hung on her slender frame. It was hard to tell her shape. It was mostly hidden by the bulky dress, which was zipped up tight to her neck and fell all the way to her knees. Her legs were bare from her knees to her ankles and she wore white socks inside her battered canvas sneakers.
The woman was continually in motion, pouring coffee and serving food. Even though she worked without stopping, there was almost a fragile air about her, as if she’d been ill recently.
He wasn’t sure she’d even seen him, but as soon as her tray was empty, she tucked it under her arm and hurried over to his table. “What can I get you?” She pulled an order pad and pen out of her pocket.
James froze in place. All his senses went on full alert. Her scent was ever so faint, almost as if she were masking it somehow. But it was there. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered. He was so shocked he spoke before he could check his words.
The woman paled and swayed. His hand shot out to steady her, but she quickly pulled away, taking a step backward. “What? What did you say?” Her voice grew steadier with each word she spoke.
The soft tones of her voice skimmed over James like a caress. He was struck with the urge to draw her close to him, lay his head against her stomach and just listen to her talk. But fright still lingered in her dark chocolate-brown eyes in spite of her bravado. Her fingers clenched around the pen she was holding and she took another half-step backward.
“Nothing.” He kept his voice low and as unthreatening as possible. “I didn’t say anything important.”
She relaxed immediately, offering him a tiny smile that brightened her entire face. Up close, he could see that beneath her weariness, there was a beautiful woman. The skin on her heart-shaped face was as fine as a baby’s and appeared to be incredibly smooth. Her chin was slightly pointed, her cheekbones high. And her small nose turned up at the tip. Her eyebrows curved slightly and were the same light brown color as her hair.
He sat up straighter, every muscle in his body pulling tight. Deep within him, he could feel his wolf pacing restlessly.
“If you’re not ready to order, I can come back.” She glanced around the room, keeping an eye on her other customers.
James grabbed the small menu and scanned it quickly. “I’ll have the number three special. I like my bacon crispy and my hash browns not greasy.”
“Scrambled or fried eggs?” She scribbled away on her small order pad.
“Scrambled.”
“Okay.” Several of the men at another table got up and headed toward the cash register. “Coffee?”
James nodded. “Please.”
“I’ll be back with your coffee in a sec.” He watched as she hurried behind the counter and rang up their bills. The men talked and laughed, one of them a bit too loudly as he leaned toward the woman. She moved out of his reach and the man tensed.
James didn’t realize he was half out of his seat when one of the man’s companions slapped the trucker on the shoulder. Whatever the man said had them all laughing as they left the diner. James settled back down on the bench seat. What the hell was wrong with him?
She passed his order into the kitchen through an opening behind the counter, grabbed the coffee pot and hurried back to his table. On her way, she paused long enough to top off the cups of several other men. She turned over one of the clean mugs that rested on the table and began to fill it.