Jaguar Pride (25 page)

They had done this kind of mission so many times—and though every assignment was unique in the problems that could arise, for them it was like driving a car—they didn't have to think twice about what they would do.

Lights were on in the living room and kitchen only. Lori's bright red Pinto was sitting in the gravel driveway, Rose's pickup truck was parked next to that, and a black sedan neither Paul nor Allan recognized behind that.

Shrubs hugged the foundation and Paul moved in behind the hedge to reach Allan's sister's bedroom, but the window was locked. They headed around to the back patio. Allan pulled out his spare key and unlocked the door as carefully and quietly as he could, then gently opened the door.

It made only a slight squeaking sound, and Paul hoped that whoever was there hadn't heard them enter. Only wolves—like their family—would be able to hear it.

“No!” Lori said from the kitchen. “I won't do it!”

***

Adrenaline surging, Paul and Allan raced across the family room and down the carpeted floor of the hallway between two of the bedrooms, and from there crept toward the kitchen, where they'd heard Lori speaking.

The living room was all clear. Paul and Allan silently passed the guest bathroom and neared the entrance to the kitchen and breakfast nook, where they heard the clinking of silverware and dishes.

In place, Paul was about to peek around the doorjamb to determine the extent of the threat when Catherine shouted, “No, watch out!”

The crashing of porcelain against the tile floor spurred the men on. Paul's heart was pounding triple time when he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, materializing out of the darkness in black clothes and black face paint, gun in hand.

Rose saw Paul first. She screamed and dropped the coffee mug she was holding. It crashed on the floor, splattering coffee everywhere.

Lori swung the broom she was holding and whacked Paul in the head with it as Catherine yelled out in fright. Confused, Paul assessed the situation in the kitchen and found only the four women there. One broken plate. One broken coffee mug and coffee splashed everywhere. No armed hostage takers anywhere.

Overwhelmed with relief, he quickly holstered his gun and tried to wrench the broom away from Lori before she could hit him again. It looked like this time she was dying to, just on principle for scaring her. When he couldn't wrest it from her, he grabbed her shoulders instead, pressed her hard against the wall, and kissed her.

He'd been wanting to do that forever—since the last time they'd resolved an issue in this manner.

His chest pressed against her breasts. She wasn't wearing a bra under the slinky tank top—and his internal thermostat turned even hotter. Her shorts were…short, showing off her shapely tanned legs, and her feet were bare. One scorching, sexy she-wolf package.

Unexpectedly, Lori twisted her body and swept her leg behind him, tripping him up and effectively knocking him off balance. He pulled her down with him a
s he fell on his backside and she landed on top, dropping the broom. He grinned at the way she'd outmaneuvered him.

“It's me,” he said, just in case she hadn't realized it.

“Jeez, Paul, you look like a bank robber!”

Lori was lying on top of him, not making a move to get up. His body immediately responded with ravenous hunger. He took advantage of the moment, flipped her onto her back, and kissed her again. She smelled of lilacs, woman, and she-wolf, and tasted of honey as he licked the sticky sweetness off her lips.

She finally smiled a little against his mouth about the same time as Catherine cleared her throat. As much as Paul didn't want to move from their stimulating pose—and hoping he could quickly get his body under control—he eased off Lori and pulled her to her feet.

This was how he wanted to see her when he came home from missions.

Brows raised, Allan put his weapons away. “I was going to ask if the two of you needed my help…”

“This is why I didn't want you and Paul to run with those boys any longer,” Catherine scolded, picking the broom up off the floor so she could sweep up the broken dishes, while Rose cleaned up the coffee splattered on the floor.

“The boys” Catherine was referring to were the rest of their wolf Navy SEAL teammates, none of whom had been boys for a very long time.

“I told you I was busy and would see you later,” Catherine said reproachfully.

Lori's gray-haired grandma, Emma, was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea and smiling. “Now, Catherine, don't scold. Allan and Paul are such good boys.”

Catherine snorted. “Running around in the jungle like that…” She turned to eye them, then frowned. “Still practicing your stealth moves? You're
supposed
to be on vacation.”

Paul had almost forgotten how he and Allan had taken a few years off Catherine's life when they were young, practicing sneaking up on her, either as wolves or as future SEALs. The whole point was for her never to see them. Only she always did see them—because of her wolf senses—and they'd gotten scolded back then, too.

Paul glanced around the kitchen, trying to figure out what the women were up to. They'd had buttermilk biscuits and honey… Paul licked his lips, still tasting the sweetness on his mouth after kissing Lori. A stack of paper was sitting on the table. It looked to be some project Catherine was in charge of, as usual.

Movement behind them in the dim hallway made Paul and Allan whip around to see Michael Anderson, wearing only jeans as he strolled into the kitchen, his red hair mussed, hazel-green eyes wide at seeing Paul and Allan. “When did you two get in?”

Michael was the brother-in-law of their SEAL team leader, Hunter Greymere. Neither Michael nor his sister, Tessa, had been born as
lupus garous
. Yet they both had been drawn to seek out wolves—Michael painting them, Tessa photographing them. Then Hunter had gotten involved with Tessa, and everything changed.

“We got in just a little bit ago. Hell, we didn't know you were going to be here. Didn't you hear all the racket in here?” Paul stepped forward and shook his hand.

“Heavy sleeper,” Michael said, looking a little sheepish.

Paul remembered the Bigfork Festival of the Arts had to have been last weekend on the shore of Flathead Lake. “Was your work at the art festival?”

“Yeah. Catherine and Rose had a booth showcasing their homemade salsas and jellies. I stayed the week and painted a new picture for the…” Michael glanced at the women, then cleared his throat. “For a special auction for a charitable cause. One of the galleries put some of my paintings on display at the festival. I also brought some new paintings for Rose's gift shop. I've got a flight out to Portland this afternoon. I'm going to drop by and see Tessa and Hunter first, then I'm leaving for Brazil for another showing.”

“Brazil.” Paul was a little surprised that Michael would be leaving the States, but figured he would have someone from Hunter's pack watching over him. Newly turned wolves always had a shadow from the pack. “Are you doing well with your paintings?”

“Can't complain. Still winning awards, selling well,” Michael said. “Get lots of dates.” He grinned.

Same old Michael. Charming. Talented.

“Doing all right controlling your wolf half?” Paul asked. This was the first time he'd seen Michael on his own, without a wolf chaperoning him—one who had either been born a wolf or who had been turned years earlier. For newer wolves, the call of the full moon could still wreak havoc with their control.

“Been doing great. Thanks for asking,” Michael said, sounding proud of the fact.

Still, Paul thought it was way too soon to let Michael out on his own. Paul was just glad everyone in his wolf pack had been born that way. New wolves could be real trouble.

“If we don't see you before you leave, give Tessa a hug for us, will you?” Paul asked.

Allan said, “Yeah, and good luck with your exhibits.”

“Thanks. Who would ever have thought I'd have the opportunity to paint wolves that weren't exactly all wolf? Hey, would you be up to shifting so that I can catch you on canvas?”

Paul smiled and shook his head. “Not this time around.” The thought of lying around for hours while Michael painted him didn't appeal.

Michael looked inquiringly at Allan.

“Not me,” Allan quickly said.

Diversion over, Paul thought Allan would have to explain to his mother why they'd donned face paint, armed themselves to the max, and silently slipped into her home, ready for a fight. Instead, Allan said, “Come on, Paul. We'll come back later when the situation is less…hostile.” He glanced at Lori. “Or…something.”

Lori was wearing a small smirk, her dark hair curling about her shoulders, her dark brown eyes smiling at Paul, and he sure got the impression that she was hanging around this time. He hoped he'd helped to change her mind if she had any notion of leaving again.

As soon as he and Allan headed outside and closed the front door behind them, they made their way along the road to Paul's SUV.

“So what was
that
all about?” Paul asked.

“I could ask you the same question. I…didn't know you had a thing for Lori. I mean, I used to think you were interested in her, but then the two of you never went anywhere with it.” Allan waited for an explanation, but Paul didn't offer one. “Did it seem to you that the ladies were hiding something?” Allan asked.

“Yeah, it did.” They climbed into the SUV and drove off.

“They were being secretive,” Allan said.

“Yeah, I agree.” Paul recalled the guilty look Catherine had worn. Rose's mischievous expression indicated she knew what it was all about. He suspected it had something to do with Allan and him. Lori had worn a similar expression, once they were done kissing. Even Michael had seemed a little apprehensive—he had glanced at the women as if to get his cues.

“The last time they looked that guilty, they were contemplating marrying me off to Tara Baxter,” Allan said. “Mom thought if she could entice me to settle down with a mate, I wouldn't want to tear off on these high-risk jobs any longer.” Allan glanced at Paul. “Maybe Mom is working on a mate prospect for
you
this time.”

That
would be the day. Not only were there no other she-wolves in town besides Lori and Rose—well, and Tara—but Paul loved the job he and Allan did. Every assignment was completely different from the last, exhilarating, fulfilling, heart-thumping excitement. And it meant saving people who might not have a prayer otherwise.

“This place isn't known to have a big wolf population—as in our
lupus garou
kind—female or otherwise. So who would she try to set me up with?” Paul asked, figuring Catherine
wouldn't
attempt that with him.

“I was thinking of Lori, and then you went and kissed her.” Allan grinned at him. “Hell, I thought she would have used one of her more lethal martial arts maneuvers on you, not taken you down and kissed you back. Have you been keeping in touch with her on the sly?”

“Me? Hell, no.”

Since she taught martial arts to the local kids and had a fourth-degree black belt in jujitsu, Paul wondered how she would fare if he and she were to do a little workout—when he was better prepared for her takedown maneuvers. Paul had to admit that even if he loved his job, he had wanted to see Lori again. Especially since for the last two years, she had been conspicuously absent whenever he'd been around. He told himself it was just because she was part of his pack and he wanted to know what was going on, but it wasn't true. He had wanted to see
her
.

“So why
did
you kiss her?” Allan asked.

“To keep her from smacking me in the head with the broom for a second time. I couldn't get it away from her without too much of a struggle. Figured a more subtle and different approach might work.”

Allan chuckled. “Subtle?”

Paul smiled.

And in case you missed it,

read on for an excerpt from

USA Today
bestselling

A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing

Of all the damn times for his SEAL team leader, Hunter Greymere, to take a mate and fly off on a honeymoon to Hawaii, why did he have to do so now?

The problem wasn't only with the assassin, should he arrive here and target Hunter's sister, Meara, since Hunter was gone, but also with the fact that Meara was on the prowl for a mate. Finn Emerson had discovered that when he read the advertisement for cabin rentals that was lying on the white marble breakfast bar in Meara's cabin.

He would have been wryly amused if the situation wasn't creating even more difficulties for him. Glancing down at the counter, he reread the advertisement.

Cabin rentals with single occupancy located on Oregon coast. Great for rugged adventurers looking for a wilderness escape. No nearby shopping, theaters, or restaurants. Strictly a roughing-it getaway. For a special fee, management will provide a select menu. Cabin availability limited, so sign up now.

Meara Greymere, Owner and Manager

As he considered each point in the advertisement, Finn shook his head and slipped a bug into Meara's phone.

Single
occupancy?
After searching the five unoccupied cabins, Finn had found that each had two bedrooms and a living area furnished with a fold-down couch for additional guests.

Rugged
adventurers?
From what Hunter had told Finn, Meara had been searching for a mate for some years now, and he assumed she wanted only alpha males to rent the cabins.

Cabin
availability
limited?
Yep, limited to five alpha males, if she could ensure she only rented to alphas.

Meara
Greymere, Owner and Manager?
What had happened to Hunter in the equation? Finn knew Hunter wouldn't have given Meara total control over the rentals.

As to the special fee for a select menu, he just wondered what—or more appropriately, who—she would be offering.

Finn spied a notebook sitting next to the phone and flipped it open. A woman's handwriting listed guests due to arrive this week—with abbreviated notes beside their names.

Joe
Matheson, investment broker—sounded sexy, first arrival.

Hugh
Sutherland, thrill seeker—rugged voice.

Ted
Greystalk, bank president—promising.

Caesar
Silverman, dive-shop owner—sounded wet and wild.

Finn snorted. He didn't think she liked Navy SEAL types much because he and Hunter were SEALs. So why would the owner of a dive shop be appealing? Maybe she covertly
was
impressed with SEALs but refused to admit it, and the diver reminded her of a SEAL.

Rocky
Montana, independently wealthy—mysterious.

The guy sounded like he was a wrestler or something. But the “mysterious” bothered Finn most. A man with something to hide?

Five other names had been crossed out and had merited comments like “not rugged enough,” “sounded way too controlling,” “by own admission, strictly loner wolf,” “too old sounding,” “strictly human,” and “mated!”

She had another list of eligible and ineligible wolves for the following week.

Finn slapped the notebook closed and set up a hidden camera in the living room, wedging it between books in the bookcase. He would have a couple of his buddies run background checks on each of the men to see if they could turn up anything. Because
lupus
garous
lived so long, they had to change their occupations and locations after a time to avoid suspicion, so the background checks might not turn up much.

That was fine. Finn would interrogate the men thoroughly in person anyway. He smiled a little. He'd prove to them that none had what it took to turn Meara's head.

Still, Finn couldn't believe Hunter had left a couple of sub-leaders in control of the pack and Meara in charge of the cabins. So who the hell was in charge of Meara?

The worst-case scenario was that Meara would get stuck with a wolf she wasn't interested in mating due to a poor choice on her part. From what Hunter had told him, she'd always been headstrong and hard to heel, and Finn figured the years hadn't changed her. Besides, she was always picking up the wrong kind of men.

Finn stalked down the plush ivory-carpeted hall to her bedroom—a nicely appointed room with a queen-sized bed covered in an olive-colored silk comforter and pillows, all trimmed in gold. The walls were a marbleized olive color, and all the wood was rosewood, making him feel as if he were in a cozy woodland den. On the walls hung pictures of redwoods from the California forests Meara and Hunter had called home for more than a century. Finn wondered if Meara ever got homesick, or if she'd adjusted to living on the Oregon coast. He still couldn't believe they'd been forced to move because of some damned arsonist.

Used to living out of a duffel bag, Finn was surprised to feel an uncharacteristic pang of longing for an ocean-view cabin, comfortable, homey, and appealing for every season. He had a place of his own with an ocean view a couple hours south, having thought he might live there if he ever wanted to set down more permanent roots, but he rarely stayed there, renting it out to others for most of the year. Or using it as a safe house on occasion.

His home didn't feel like his own place, having been decorated by an interior decorator. Nothing there was his personally. It was just a spot to drop in when it was vacant, once in a blue moon, and he wasn't on a mission.

Meara's cabin had a different ocean view, and it was warmer somehow, filled with her enticing scent and smaller, homier than his place. A rosewood-framed collection of pictures of her family—Hunter, her parents, and her uncle, who had owned the cabin resort before giving it to Hunter and Meara—sat on the dresser. A silver-plated hairbrush engraved with her grandmother's name rested beside the pictures. A tube of lip gloss next to that made Finn think of Meara's moistened lips—succulent, full and petulant, and damned ripe for kissing. He scowled at himself for even going there and glanced out the window.

He could imagine a summer day like today with a refreshing, cool ocean breeze blowing through the open windows, or a wintry landscape where the pines were dusted with snowflakes while he ran through them in his wolf coat, or spring wildflowers filling the woods, or the leaves turning crimson, burnt orange, and brilliant yellow on a fall day.

He shook his head at himself. When had he become an old man?

He stripped out of his clothes and dumped them next to his duffel bag. If any of these vacationing wolves thought they had half a chance of making a play for Meara without Hunter around, they'd soon learn that they'd have to deal with another alpha male.

The situation could be a lot more serious than that—not that selecting the wrong mate wasn't serious enough, since
lupus
garous
mated for life and lived long lives. Finn didn't know if, in an effort to get to Hunter, the assassin would attempt to grab Meara.

Finn snatched his cell phone from his belt and tried to call Hunter one last time. According to one of Hunter's sub-leaders, Chris Tarleton, Hunter would be flying out with his mate to Hawaii any minute now and he'd probably already turned off his cell phone. Hell, Finn had to warn Hunter to watch his back. If he'd only known sooner that Hunter had moved his
lupus
garou
pack from Northern California to the Oregon coast, Finn might have caught Hunter before he left. A few months had passed since their last contracted mission, and Finn had just assumed that Hunter and his pack were still living in the same place they had for years.

The phone rang and rang.
No
answer.
Finn would have to keep trying to reach him. For now, Finn needed to stake the territory as his own until Hunter returned. Finn extended his arms and summoned the quick and painless transformation into his wolf form, welcoming the stretching of muscles and tissue. The softer fur covered his skin close to his body, while the coarser outer coat added a protective layer. He dropped to stand on all four paws before loping down the hall to the kitchen where a wolf door was his ticket to the outside.

Once outside, he raced across the slate-gray patio, then dove into the woods surrounding the oceanfront cottage and ran along a trail already marked by Hunter and a female, probably his mate. By the time the two of them returned from Hawaii, their scent markings would be two weeks old, and another werewolf coming into the area might think it was unoccupied, allowing him to stake a claim to the territory.

Finn loped through the northern pine and Douglas fir forests, scent-marking the area surrounding each of the five rental cabins. Waves crashed below the cliffs, and the Pacific Ocean breeze shook the pine branches as the clean air filled his lungs. He paused briefly at the cliffside to take another heady breath and watch the foaming waves crest and fall against the beach. He could never get enough of the sea.

But instead of striking from the direction of the sea and returning there after accomplishing his clandestine mission, as he would have done while serving as one of the elite U.S. Navy SEALs, Finn was sticking to the land this time. Nothing about
this
operation would be clandestine. Finn wanted the assassin to know he was here protecting his own, if whoever it was decided to make a hit on anyone else who had been with the team.

Hunter had been like a brother to Finn while they'd served as SEALs, and Finn owed it to Hunter to keep him safe—and Hunter's sister also, knowing that she could be a target and Hunter wasn't here to protect her. Not that Meara would see it that way once she learned why Finn was here, he suspected.

Finn leaped over a fallen tree on a pine-needle path farther away from the ocean, breathing in the scents of pine and fresh water trickling by in an ice-cold stream. Neither could mask the distinct smell of another predator. A cougar. And farther in the distance, its potential prey, an elk.

Finn paused, twisting his ears this way and that, listening to the sounds of the ocean, the water in the stream, and the birds twittering and singing to one another, but he could detect no other sound of animals, human or otherwise, traversing the land.

Despite this not being
Finn's
territory, he was leaving fresh markings and
making
it his territory until Hunter returned home. Finn scratched the ground again with his paws to help ensure that any newcomer would know Meara had not been left alone without protection.

Finn loped back toward the house, satisfied he'd left enough of his scent to warn anyone who intended to get close to the territory to back off. He glanced at the drive in front of the wood-frame cabin. No vehicle there yet. From what Chris Tarleton had reluctantly told him, Meara should be returning from the airport in about an hour.

Chris definitely didn't sound happy to hear that Finn was back, nor that he was looking out for Meara's welfare. Finn wondered what interest Chris had in Meara. A pack sub-leader's interest—as in she was the leader's sister, and if she was in trouble and Chris didn't watch out for her, he would be in trouble? Or something of a more personal nature?

Baby-sitting Meara wasn't what Finn had in mind, either. But the assassin had already attempted to kill one of their SEAL team members and was suspected of going after another. Finn had the sneaking suspicion that the assassin intended to go after each of them. Fortunately for them, the assassin was batting zero, and with the SEALs aware of the menace, whoever this was would have a devil of a time succeeding now.

Finn ran around the pine trees surrounding the house to the back patio of Meara's cabin. He'd checked out the cabin farther down the coast and found it was Hunter's and Tessa's. Meara's sweet scent permeated this cabin. And here's where he'd stay until he could reach Hunter and apprise him of the situation.

Butting through the wolf door with his nose, Finn entered the kitchen and headed for the master bedroom to dress. If he had judged the time right, Meara would be arriving soon. He'd have a fight on his hands from the outset.
Guaranteed.