She gave a watery laugh and sniffed. “Not really. Tears don’t solve anything. I haven’t cried in…” She shook her head. “I don’t really remember the last time. Years, I guess.”
“Then I’d say that you were due.”
“You’re a very unusual man, James Riley.” She was so serious, her large chocolate-brown eyes luminous. He thought she looked good enough to eat.
He shrugged. “I don’t know any other way to be.” She started to shift away from him and his arms tightened reflexively around her. He only relaxed when he felt her settle back into his embrace. He wasn’t ready for her to leave yet. She felt incredibly right wrapped in his arms. “Tell me what you do remember.”
She rubbed her fingers against her temples as if her head still pained her. He waited while she seemed to gather her thoughts. Patience was the key to getting Shelley to open up to him and he suddenly found himself filled with boundless amounts of it where she was concerned. He knew they had to be back on the road soon, but there was time for this.
“Not much.” She dropped her hands back into her lap and clasped them together. “Snippets of other people and places. People I don’t really recognize.” She glanced up at him and then away, and the sadness he glimpsed in her face almost brought tears to his eyes. He’d never seen anyone so sad. “I feel as if I should know them, but I can never quite reach for the knowledge.” She shook her head. “Maybe I don’t want to remember.”
“Why wouldn’t you want to remember?” He rubbed his hand over her arm, cuddling her closer.
“I couldn’t go back to them even if I’d wanted to.”
James stilled, his entire body going on alert. Whatever she was about to reveal to him, it wasn’t going to be good. “What do you mean, you couldn’t go back?”
Her hands were clenched so hard in her lap that her knuckles were completely white. “I…” She shook her head, curling tighter into herself.
“It’s all right,” he promised. “You can tell me.” He continued to keep his voice low and soothing as he started to stroke her arm again.
She shook her head and her lips pursed together. He’d gotten as much as he was going to. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
Chapter Three
Steve Macmillan sipped his drink as he surveyed the three men seated around the table with him. Some folks might think it was too early in the day for a drink, but he didn’t care. The whiskey was smooth and mellow and heated his belly. But it didn’t soothe the anger that seethed inside him.
He carefully set his glass back down on the scarred wood surface, hanging onto his temper by sheer willpower. What he really wanted to do was smash the glass against the faded beige walls. But that would be a waste of fine whiskey.
He was sick to death of being on the move, staying in cheap motels, but they’d had no choice. The debacle in Chicago last fall had landed them in a heap of trouble with a pack of werewolves. He’d spent the last five months hunting them and being hunted by them. It was a deadly cat-and-mouse game that had left five more dead on his side.
But they’d trapped and killed a dozen of those so-called purist wolves. Steve didn’t care if a wolf’s blood was pure or not. In his book, they all needed killing.
He’d enjoyed that part, but it had meant time away from his special project—finding the bitch that had murdered his father. Now it was time to get back on track.
That’s why he’d gathered these men here in his motel room. Once they made plans, they’d split up and do some searching.
“What have you found?” He directed the question to the group, but it was Red Coulter, an old friend of his father’s who answered him.
Red tipped the bottle beside his glass and poured. The amber liquid swirled before settling. The bottle hit the table with a thump and Red raised his glass. “Not much.” He took a big swallow of bourbon and swiped his hand across his mouth. “She must have stolen Tom’s money. I know he kept some on hand for emergencies. It’s hard to tell what she took from the cabin. The fire destroyed damn near everything.”
Fresh anger swamped him as Steve remembered the charred remains of his father’s home in the Tennessee hills. At first, they’d believed it was an accident. But when they’d turned up only one body, he’d brought in an expert, a friend. The last thing any of them wanted was a formal investigation by the authorities. When it had been confirmed his father had been murdered, Steve and his men had torn down the cabin and buried his father’s remains. Then he’d started hunting.
He’d never understood why his father had kept the female werewolf. She’d been a teenager when he’d captured her. She’d been around almost as long as Steve had and he was nearing forty.
His father had told him many times that he was studying her to learn more about their kind. Steve had known the old man had used her for sex and as a housekeeper. He didn’t care about that. The bitch was passable enough and his father had been alone since Steve’s mother had died in childbirth.
His father had made the fatal mistake of believing he’d tamed her and had let down his guard. All her kind were fucking animals and it was his job to put them down.
He shook off the dark memory and turned to Quinn, who met his gaze without flinching. He still wasn’t sure about the quiet man. He’d held his own these past few months and was a crack shot with a rifle. That made him valuable. Quinn didn’t say much and didn’t offer anything about himself. Still, he was an asset Steve would readily use.
“There’s been no sign of her using any of your father’s credit cards,” Mitch added. Mitch had been part of the clusterfuck in Chicago and had been working hard to make up for it ever since.
“That would be too easy,” Red spat. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. A cloud of white smoke rose above his head as he took a long drag and exhaled. “But we’re on it. We’ve got men all over the country watching for her. And our computer guy is monitoring every site he can think of. She has to surface eventually. We’ll find her.”
“Maybe she’s dead,” Quinn offered. “She was alone in the woods with little money and supplies.
“No chance of that, boy.” Red rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. “She’s a wolf, pure and simple. That kind can survive in the woods a sight easier than you or I could.”
The leftover pizza he’d eaten for breakfast was sitting heavy in his gut. Steve spun his glass between his hands, wishing it were her pretty neck between his fingers instead. He wanted to choke the life out of her. And he would. But not until she’d paid for what she’d taken from him. He had plans for her. Plenty of hunters would pay good money to have sex with a she-wolf. He’d sell her until she was worn out and then he’d kill her.
Oh, he’d find her if it took the rest of his life. And by the time he was done with her, Shelley would be begging for death.
Shelley had no idea what she was doing or how she’d found herself sitting in James’s lap. His hand was warm as it stroked her arm and he smelled so good. Like fresh air and trees after a rainfall. She longed to lay her head on his shoulder and forget all her worries. She couldn’t believe she’d actually cried all over him.
Why had she let down her guard around him? She’d actually told James a little about her past, which was something she was very careful never to do. What made him so special?
She sniffed and felt his arms tighten around her. He’d slipped beneath her defenses by simply showing her kindness. How sad was that?
She needed to remember she could only depend on herself. There were men looking for her. Evil men. There was no way she could involve someone else in the mess that was her life.