Taken by the Pack (6 page)

“What do you have against the sheriff?” She risked a look behind her as she reached the door and started flipping locks. Jackson melted back into the dark and shadows. He’d have been invisible if she hadn’t known he was there.

“I don’ like havin’ another a male around my female,” Jackson growled.

Her lips parted. “Archaic, much?”

“I’ll always be honest with you,
boo
.” He didn’t sound like he cared. “He’s my competition.”

“He
did
ask me out on a date.” She could feel the small smile curling her lips. She knew Jackson couldn’t see it but, yeah, it felt good to have Mr. Bayou Bad Boy on the ropes. For some reason, he wanted something from her. Something other than the obvious, because she knew good and well a man like that had more offers of casual sex than she did junk mail solicitations for credit cards.

“You remember this.” His voice was pure molten caramel. He kept talking like that and she’d come on the spot.
Bad libido
. “I’m the one pleasurin’ you.”

“You better be ‘finishin’’ the job.”

She undid the last lock on the door and slipped the chain free with a short, hard jerk. Really, she didn’t need this kind of aggravation.
What do you need?
The little voice doing the asking in her head was a bad sign. Jackson clearly made her crazy.

Which she’d known since the night of their ill-fated date.

What she didn’t know was why Jackson had disappeared out of sight right now. That was both unexpected and interesting. He’d made it clear he didn’t care if the entire bayou knew what they’d got up to in her office—and he had himself a playboy reputation anyhow—so why did he feel the need to play out-of-sight with Sheriff Cruz?

Eden popped the door open and sweet early morning air flooded inside. The sun coming up bathed everything in that soft, pretty light as the birds sang up a racket. The patrol car didn’t fit. The lights were off, but maybe Cruz hadn’t wanted to announce his presence.

Cruz himself was every bit as fine as she remembered, his long, powerful legs encased in khaki uniform pants. From the weapons belt slung low on his hips to his strong, capable hands, he radiated security and confidence. She’d never a bad word about Cruz. His family lived in the next town over, sleepy little bayou town. He came with a bunch of brothers and one sister, who somehow found the time to run both a women’s shelter and a shrimping business. He was a good man and the kind of man she
should
be dating. Unfortunately, the betraying throb in her core warned that Cruz and she might not have much of a romantic future. Her body preferred the bad boy wolf lurking behind her.

Cruz frowned as he looked at her, a tiny pucker growing between dark slash of his brows. He had gorgeous eyes. Hell, he was a gorgeous man. He could make a fortune as one of those underwear models, but instead he was all protect and defend. She liked that too. He wouldn’t cause trouble and he’d be the perfect partner.

“Welfare check.” Whatever he saw on her face must have reassured him, because the frown disappeared and he grinned, flashing her a fantastic dimple.

“Sheriff Jones.” She didn’t move out of the doorway.

“Cruz,” he corrects her gently. That was another thing about Cruz. He was no pushover. He was definitely steely wrapped in a side of soft. “I got your pictures. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine.” She fought the urge to smooth her hair down. Yeah. She looked like she’d just rolled out of bed
—
or Jackson’s arms
—
but hopefully he’d chalk the bad hair-do up to the early hour. He leaned a little closer and she’d almost swear he was
smelling
her. Now she was paranoid.

He braced an arm on the doorframe and looked at her. “You wan’ to show me your wolf?”

He’d listened to her. Even though he disagreed, he was willing to consider her point of view. She didn’t need an owner’s manual to know that the wolf-man lurking inside wouldn’t do that.
Pick Cruz
her head demanded. He checked every item off her mental wish list for a mate. Unfortunately, her body was team Jackson.

“I let him go,” she said. Lying sucked the big one, but there was no way to tell him the truth. She still couldn’t quite wrap her head around the truth that Jackson turned into a wolf. And belonged to some kind of primitive, hunt-you-down pack. She said as much to Cruz and he’d haul her off to the funny farm.

Cruz stared at her, his face impassive, and she wondered what he saw.

“We don’ get much in the way of wolves out here,” he said finally. “I wish you hadn’t done that. I’d have liked to take a look. He was a big one.”

“If I run into another one, I’ll lock his butt up and keep him for you,” she promised.

“You do that.” Cruz sounded deadly serious. Huh. Maybe he took wildlife calls as seriously as she did. It was good to know and another point in his favor.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Any time.” Again, she thought he meant his words. He didn’t go, though. Didn’t make any move to walk away from her door. “Things have been happening out in the bayou,” he said finally. “I’ve been workin’ a crime scene this mornin’ and there’s some bad shit goin’ on out there.”

“And?” she prompted, because he clearly wasn’t done.

He shook his head. “You turn on your news?”

She bit her lip. “I’m not much of a news watcher,” she admitted.

“You need to make an exception for this one, Eden. We found Red Shug’s remains out there in the swamp. We’re keeping the details on the down low for right now, but it wasn’t good. He died pretty hard.”

Red Shug had been out of town for a week or so now. His absence wasn’t all that unusual. Plenty of fishermen and trappers came and went. The bayou was a great place for the antisocial or for folks who just needed plenty of space. Red Shug? Well, he had been both.

“Can I come in?” Cruz asked.

She hesitated, every instinct she possessed screaming
no
. Instead of answering right away, she propped the door open and stepped outside. The early morning air was still relatively cool, a welcome treat on her face. Somehow, inviting the sheriff inside, where he’d be in close quarters with Jackson seemed dangerous. Jackson’s reasons for disliking the sheriff weren’t clear, and she’d never suspected him of being a violent man, but…taking chances with the other man’s safety seemed stupid.

“I’ll come out. I could use the fresh air,” she said instead, smiling to invite him to share the half-joke. She’d positioned a bench right outside the front of her practice. Yellow pansies with black faces spilling out of terracotta pots on either side, budget-friendly but cheerful. She sat, but Cruz didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he loomed over her, pressing an arm into the wall over her head, bracing her. She’d expected him to sit down beside her. His eyes moving, assessing. Hand near his gun, nostrils flaring as faint breeze stirred the tupelo leaves. Whatever danger he saw, it was invisible to her.

Something—someone—had injured Jackson Breaux badly enough that he’d come to her for help. Whatever had happened, if both Cruz and Jackson were on edge, it had been bad and she wanted no part of it.

“What’s up?” she asked when Cruz didn’t immediately start explaining.

“You want to discuss this in my car?”

No. She didn’t. “Are you arresting me?”

His dark eyes swung back to her face. “There a reason why I should?”

His question held a more familiar, playful note.

“I’m good.”

The gleam in his eye was promising. Maybe he had had dating potential after all. “I doubt that very much.”

This time, that was definitely a wicked note in his voice. Huh. Two hot men, although the one inside was the one who really got her motor revving. She filed that away to think about later.

“I don’t have a thing for cuffs,” she said and then wondered if she’d misread him. His eyes smiled at her, even as his mouth remained solemn. “Duly noted,” he drawled. “Although I reserve the right to try and change your mind.”

Holy. Moly. Her body heated up as his words hit her. Apparently, Cruz had no problem talking BDSM. She’d never considered bondage, although, yeah, maybe she’d enjoyed a couple of books. Still, fantasies were fantasies—and he was six-plus feet of hard-bodied man. The reality was far bolder than she’d imagined. The blush she could feel crawling up her cheeks had definitely not been part of her seduce-sheriff-fantasies.

“No worries,” he drawled, as if he’d somehow read her mind or sensed her discomfort
. Perhaps her
pink cheeks were his first clue, but without skipping a beat, he moved right on. “We’ll come back to that later. Right now, I need you to be aware of what’s been happening out in the bayou.”

“Okay.” Darn it. Her voice came out in the world’s unsexiest squeak. “What’s up?”

The sensual teasing disappeared instantly from his face. She hadn’t really wanted to have her wicked way with him, but his abrupt change through her off-balance. “We discovered the body about two hours ago,” he said. “Since I doubt you knew Red Shug by more than sight, I wouldn’t ordinarily be bringin’ you this news.”

Maybe she’d read about it in weekly county paper or hear about it on the radio. More likely, though, one of her clients
—
or all of them
—
would tell her. Red Shug had been pushing sixty, but hale and hearty. The older man had also preferred his solitude, spending most days out in the bayou, hunting and fishing. He knew his way around those waters and he traveled armed. He wouldn’t have been an easy victim.

“Red Shug was murdered?”

“Absolutely. His injuries included a slit throat.” Cruz’s closed-off expression said she
really
didn’t want the details about the dead man’s other hurts.

“So why
are
you here?” she asked quietly.

“Shit, Eden.” Cruz scrubbed a hand over his head. “I followed a blood trail away from that trapper’s body and it lead me here. To your place.”

Her throat closed up. “I didn’t kill him.”

Cruz smiled gently and that smile was scary as hell. “I know you didn’t.”

“Then who?” she demanded. “You got a name for me?”

Please don’t let it be Jackson
. Letting him in had been a mistake. Not that she’d done much
letting
—Jackson had been more take than ask.

Cruz shook his head. “I don’ know for certain. I jus’ know that there’s a man I need to find and I’m pretty damned certain he swung by your place earlier today. Let me in? I’ll do a quick search and make sure your clinic is secure.” The question wasn’t much of a question at all.

Her instinctive reaction to send him away was unreasonable. The sheriff simply wanted to do his job and make sure that she was safe. She truly appreciated that. In fact, she should be jumping up and down to help him rather than dragging her heels. God, she was twenty different kinds of messed up.

“Cruz—”

He cut her off. “Have you seen Jackson Breaux this morning?”

Cruz said the name she’d been expecting because, really, when you had one man show up naked and injured and another man coming by looking for an escaped fugitive, that math was pretty simple. Whatever had happened out there in the bayou last night, Jackson had been involved.

Jackson was a wanted man.
Wolf
. She stared at Cruz, grateful for once that shock could explain away her open mouth and wide eyes. Yeah. The good sheriff didn’t know who or what he was really hunting and…wow. She wanted to make sure he never found out. The fierce surge of protectiveness was as awkward as it was unexpected. Talk about stupid, but she didn’t want to turn Jackson over to Cruz. Two words:
he’s here
. If she said those words, Cruz would take over.

Cruz stared at her, watching for any signs of discomfort or alarm on her face, and she deer-in-the-headlighted him right back. She wanted him gone, except that Jackson was apparently a wanted man and that meant she really needed an assist.
Ask for his help
, she told herself, but the words refused to form.

“Did Jackson come by here? Did he ask you to help him?” Cruz moved closer, the smell of his after-shave teasing her senses. She swallowed. How did she reconcile
bloodthirsty murderer
with the man she’d just left inside?
Just
met, she reminded herself. One date or not, Jackson was a stranger. That was the God’s honest truth, no matter how talented his tongue and his fingers.

She didn’t know him. Maybe he was
precisely
the kind of monster who would tear an innocent man to pieces. Maybe he’d been up to no good in the bayou, and not in the sexual hijinks sense either.

She shook her head and stepped back toward her front door. “I haven’t seen him.”

If the sheriff had tracked him to the clinic this quickly and easily, the vamps wouldn’t be far behind. Jackson needed to get out of here and take Eden with him. No way was he leaving her alone and vulnerable.

The sheriff’s attraction to Eden and his desire to protect her was obvious to Jackson—and he didn’t like it all. He fought to stay in control and to master the jealousy ripping through him. Worse, Cruz was a shifter himself, although Jackson was betting that Eden had no clue.

You need to let her go.

Cruz could protect her. The man had fought against the skin hunters before. He was allied with Jackson’s pack because his sister had mated with Dag. Letting Cruz step in and take over here was probably the smartest thing Jackson could have done. If Cruz had followed the blood trail here, the surviving vamps would. As soon as the sun set, Eden would be in danger.

Unless he hid her.

Unless he killed their enemies and made the world a little bit safer.

Jackson moved swiftly into the back room. As always, he’d outstayed his welcome and it was time to go. There was no place for him here in Eden’s clinic. In Eden’s life, if he was being honest with himself. While he considered various plans, he grabbed medical supplies, bottled water, and a stash of granola bars. Apparently, logic was on vacation as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t,
wouldn’t
abandon Eden here. He’d been bred to fight and he’d finish what he’d started out there. Dragging Eden with him—and he was under no illusion that she’d go willingly—would slow him down. If she made enough noise or moved slow enough, they’d be caught out when the sun set. The thing was, he’d left the other shifter alone in that camp. That guy was injured and desperately needed the kind of care Eden could provide.

Which made his plan to kidnap her and take her into the bayou on his rescue mission positively humanitarian.

He’d practically deserve a Nobel peace prize or some other piece of crap for his behavior. If, of course, he hadn’t been planning on slaughtering the surviving skin hunters before they egressed from the bayou and brought out the wounded shifter.

Really.

As plans went, it wasn’t the worst he’d thought of. He snorted. Yeah, because he usually didn’t plan. He acted.

The wolf growled, demanding its freedom.
Out out out.
Oui
, he was in trouble here. His animal side rose, fighting to surface.

Mine
.