Blood Enforcer (Wolf Enforcers Book 2) Page 2

  And they were out. Smooth as French Silk pie.

  Down on the fourth-floor landing, Sam folded her into the maintenance cart, hiding her in the prepared space. He laid her head as gently as he could in the corner, tucking the blankets around her and stuffing handfuls of her slippery fall of hair in after her. Then he shut her in.

  They pushed the maintenance cart through the fourth-floor hall, past the main bank of elevators. Ian carried the mop and bucket. Each step had to be slow. Excruciating, janitors paid-by-the-hour, slow.

  Finally, they were in sight of the small back elevator. Ten more steps.

  A tiny Native American woman, shoulders stooped with age, waited in front of the metal doors. She had a small beaded bag suspended on an old string around her neck, and she held a large bag in one gnarled hand, long, sharp, metal needles protruding, dangling bright red and yellow yarns. The ding sounded, the doors opened. She stepped into the elevator and pressed a button, a gap-toothed grin spreading across her wrinkled brown face.

  Sam maneuvered the cart into the elevator, and Ian got in behind him. The doors shut. From inside the cart came a low moan. The woman jerked, the wide smile on her face sliding away. Sam fake coughed into his elbow.

  “That sounds bad.” The old woman moved to the other side of the elevator, reaching for her necklace and holding it like a talisman against Sam’s cough. “Hot honey and lemon in whiskey, works every time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Sam nodded, keeping his overlong hair swung low, mindful of the elevator camera. Come on, come on. Their cargo couldn’t be waking up. If she did, and found herself stuffed in the close quarters of the cart, there was no telling what she’d do. He faked another long hacking cough, just in case. Finally the elevator dinged on their level of the parking garage.

  “Ma’am.” Ian touched his cap.

  The old woman gave him a tight nod, her body pressed into the side of the elevator, as far away from Sam as she could get. “Honey and lemon,” she called after them as they exited and wheeled the cart out the elevator doors and out into the lobby of the underground parking lot.

  They didn’t speak until the cart had been wheeled up the panel van’s wheelchair ramp and they were inside with the doors shut.

  “I almost wet myself when I saw that old lady,” Ian said.

  “Yeah. Thank God she wasn’t security.” Sam climbed into the driver’s seat, his body still tight with the tension from the op. The adrenaline coursing through his veins would take time to ease off. He rolled his neck and drove the van out into the heat of a sunny fall day in Colorado. He could hear Ian rattling around in the back, checking on their companion. “She still out?”

  “Yeah.”

  They passed the police cars blocking the front entrance for the CDC, and headed for the freeway—and the freedom of the Rocky Mountains.

  They’d done their part. They’d saved the woman from the CDC and their experiments. Now they just had to hope she survived.

  Chapter Three

  Glenna reeled in and out of a fever-filled sleep, asking for and receiving water before crashing back into the darkness. Kind faces in scrubs took care of her needs. Too kind. They almost set her chattering teeth on edge through the blur and sweat of her delirium. It wasn’t until the blistering heat of her fever faded that she was able to look around and pinpoint the cause of her anxiety.

  The room she was in wasn’t in the hospital security wing. That had been stripped down, utilitarian, and had smelled of pain. This room had cement walls painted a cheery pale yellow. And there were pictures. Mountain and prairie scenes that would fit into a hospital—if this had been a hospital. But the homey touches of a braided rug, homemade quilt, and Mason jar of wildflowers said someone’s guest room. It was the narrow band of sunlight, streaming in through a tiny, high-set window covered with black iron bars that scraped her suspicions raw.

  The door opened.

  “Ah. Good. You’re awake.” A solid woman with gray hair just touching the tight black curls framing her face shut the door and crossed the room to Glenna’s bedside. She pressed the back of her hand to Glenna’s forehead. “How are you feeling?” Her dark skin smelled of warm summer roses and fresh soap, and the warmth in her sympathetic brown eyes brought tears to Glenna’s.

  “Okay.” Her throat hurt, and her voice sounded rusty and unused. She eagerly sipped the cool soothing water from the cup and straw the woman held for her. “Where am I?”

  “Let’s not worry about that right now. I’m Ellen. Let’s get that catheter out and get you walking around.”

  When the medical issues had been dealt with and Glenna was back in bed, shakily facing a tray of broth and gelatin, she asked again.

  “Where am I?”

  Ellen’s smile was gentle. “How much do you remember?”

  “Everything. No, wait.” Glenna reached back into her hazy memories. She remembered waking up in the hospital security wing. Once, maybe twice. But before that she had a big blank.

  “I remember leaving work late. It was dark. The parking garage was empty. Then I woke up chained to a hospital bed.” She shuddered, remembering the fear and isolation, weaving in and out of consciousness. And pain so much pain. She touched her stomach. It was a little tender, but nothing like she remembered. “Then here.”

  But that was it. She couldn’t remember anything else. It was all gone. Panic tickled inside her stomach.

  How many days had she lost? Where was she?

  She grabbed Ellen’s plump hand. “What happened to me? How long have I been here? Where’s Sarah?” Where was her sister, her grandmother? Roger? Surely someone should be here.

  “Shush, dear. It’s all right. You were attacked, do you remember?”

  Glenna searched her memory, getting more and more upset with each dark image. The dim corner of the parking garage. The broken overhead light. Her car. She remembered walking to her car. She’d heard a noise, something clattering.

  And then...images of dark shapes coming at her across the cement flooded her mind. Her pulse picked up. They were coming for her. Here. Now. She had to escape or they would do it again.

  A high-pitched keening rose in the back of her throat.

  She struggled to run, to move her weakened limbs and get out of the bed. The tray of food crashed to the floor. Ellen tried to shush her again, but Glenna thrashed and shoved her away.

  “Noooo!”

  “I need a little help in here!” The anxiety in the woman’s voice didn’t even register. Glenna was back on the cement floor of the parking garage, and they were moving in for the attack.

  She thrust the heavy blankets off her legs and pushed at Ellen’s restraining arms. The door opened and a younger woman ran into the room. Glenna was too slow to evade the syringe. The room faded to black.

  ***

  Sam entered the safe house kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator, nodding at Lana and Ian playing five-card draw at the large wooden farm table. Lana had taken off her white lab coat and looked more relaxed than he’d seen her lately.

  He supposed he should find her attractive, but somehow she’d always left him cold. Maybe it was the smell of harsh soap her skin always carried. Or the way she pulled her sleek brown hair back into that severe bun that put him off. Or maybe, despite what everyone said, maybe it was too soon.

  “Ha! Read ‘em and howl!” Ian lay his cards down and whooped his success.

  “Well, since it’s your only win of the night, I suppose you have reason to crow.” Lana turned to Sam. “Anything happening on the perimeter?”

  Sam pulled his selections out of the refrigerator and began building a hoagie roll into a masterpiece of sandwich ingenuity. “Nope. It’s all quiet on the front. Just like every night since we brought her here last week.” He took his plate over to the table, grabbed a chair and reversed it before straddling it.

  Ian shuffled the cards and cut the deck.

  “How’s the patient?” Sam picked up his creation and widened his jaw
s for a bite.

  “She woke up while you were on patrol,” Lana said.

  “Oh yeah? How’d that go?” The flavor of smoked turkey, avocado, balsamic vinegar and thick slices of provolone would have been perfection, if he’d taken the time to toast the roll. He missed his panini press.

  “It didn’t go well.” Lana shuffled the cards, the perfect skin of her forehead marred by a frown. “I had to give her another sedative. She’s screwed up from the attack. I had Ellen contact one of the dreamwalkers.”

  A prickle of unease skittered on his skin. He ignored it.

  “Can dreamwalkers work through the sedative?” He realized he’d forgotten something to drink and got back up to look for a beer.

  “Some of them can. The best can.”

  “Well, I’d assume she gets priority.”

  “No doubt.” Ian reached over and snagged one of Sam’s pickles. Sam glared at him, but his beta just gave him a wink and chowed down on the spear. “And guess what?” he said between crunches. “They’ve discontinued the APB. We might be able to move her to the compound.” Ian darted a questioning look at Lana. “Once she’s stable and functioning.”

  “Is that smart?” Sam found his beer and popped the can.

  “Put that away, you’re still on duty.” Lana frowned at him as he took a sip and he figured she’d be writing this one down. He didn’t care. The beer was worth the write up and she was wrong, he’d been off duty for...five minutes, at least. “I don’t want to move her just yet, it’s too soon. She’s gotten through the fever, and her internal injuries are mostly healed, but until we know that she can handle the trauma she’s been through, she’s a wild card.”

  “She’s a wild card anyway.” Sam defiantly took another swig of beer. “We don’t know how she’ll react to any of this.”

  “No, but she’s one of us now. She’s part of the pack and we need to do our best to help her acclimate.” Lana tapped her fingers on the table. “The beer, Sam.”

  “She’s not pack. All we know is she tested positive for the antibodies at the hospital and that the feds think she’s got it. The antibodies might go away.” He eyed Lana. “How long until we know?”

  “We have sketchy information on the virus in adults who weren’t exposed as adolescents.”

  “Shit, aren’t there any records of adults contracting the fever? Can’t a spelltalker contact some ancestor and ask?”

  “It’s not that easy, you know that.” Her lips thinned out and she gave him a long suffering look. “Even the spelltalkers can’t access the Akashic records without a lot of trouble.”

  “Yeah.”

  He focused on finishing his food, leaving the nearly full beer sitting next to his plate and ignoring the way her looks raised his hackles. Maybe the lack of attraction to her wasn’t his fault. Maybe it wasn’t the way her skin smelled like the harsh soap she used, or the fact that he wasn’t ready for a relationship. Maybe it was on her end, because she was a doctor and to her he was nothing but a grunt enforcer, barely back in the pack after his own personal collapse. Maybe it was because she used the fact that women were in control of the packs to throw her weight around, when she didn’t have to.

  He finished his last bite of sandwich. “I’m going to hang out for a while.” He stood up and picked up his beer. He’d finish it in peace, away from Lana.

  “Uh, actually you’re not and toss what’s left of that beer. You need to stand guard here at the house.” Her voice had shifted from conversational to authoritative, underscored with a hint of nerves.

  The hair on his neck lifted. Something was off. “I’m off for the next twelve. It’s Ian’s shift.”

  “Normally, yes, but Ian needs to go pick up the dreamwalker and escort her in.”

  “The dreamwalker is coming here? Why? They work remotely, over the dreamscape.” He should know. He’d spent a lot of time in therapy.

  “Not with this patient. She’s set up too many barriers and the drugs aren’t helping.” Something about the pity in Lana’s lovely tip-tilted brown eyes, and the way Ian seemed to be looking everywhere but at Sam, set alarms jangling in Sam’s inner warning system.

  His dinner began to churn in his stomach. “Why Ian? Why not me?”

  “It’s Serena.”

  His perfect sandwich sank like a lead weight inside his stomach. Serena was on her way. His brother’s wife. The woman who should have been his life-mate. And the reason he’d almost lost his mind.

  Chapter Four

  Sam was on the front porch when Ian pulled up three hours later. And there she was getting out of the car. Serena. Dreamwalker extraordinaire. Black hair, black eyes, and the long lean build of the Eastern Packs. Her scent hit him as she exited the car. He jerked back, his lip raised in a snarl. Underneath the tantalizing smell of Serena’s frangipani perfume her skin now reeked of another man. His brother.

  As if he needed another reminder of his loss and shame.

  She walked, just as smooth and confident as ever, up the grassy slope to the cabin, keeping a careful distance between them. He hadn’t expected her to jump up and hug him, but he had expected a smile.

  “Serena.”

  “Sam.”

  She was as lovely as she’d been the first time he’d seen her. But then, her eyes had lit up, sparking at the sight of him. Now they sidled away from his in a leery dance. They’d been attracted to each other right from the beginning, a chemical thing that had crowded everything else out of his brain. But apparently the right chemicals were just in his DNA. And his brother had the same fucking DNA too. He’d never resented being a twin—until Serena.

  He stood in the middle of the steps, every muscle tense, intent on forcing her to brush past him on her way into the house. Intent on seeing just how far he could push his self-control. They said he was cured. But he knew—he’d never erase the wild from his blood. Not now. And not within a mile of smelling the woman who’d sent him off the deep end.

  She stopped two steps down—just close enough for him to smell that underneath his brother’s claim still ran the strong scent of Serena. Sweet, sexy Serena. She should have been his. Instead she was Gabe’s.

  His wolf rose up, hot and fierce, and he fought to stay still.

  “Sam.” Ian’s stressed voice and nervous scent, instead of calming him down, ratcheted his tension up another notch. Ian was charged with Serena’s protection, but Sam was dominant. Now the beta was an uneasy shock absorber, pushed in between his alpha and his responsibility.

  Sam knew he should care, knew he had a responsibility to Ian, to the job. But right now, he didn’t give a flying fuck that his beta needed reassurance.

  Serena’s lip curled. “Sam, I have to be here. If you can’t handle it, get out.”

  His head dipped. She wasn’t his. She didn’t want to be his. He’d already fought—fought hard for her—and still he’d lost the battle.

  And he’d nearly died the first time. Nearly ran so wild he’d been a wolf forever, lost to the world of human thought. He’d never go there again. He couldn’t.

  He forced himself to move away and pressed back stiffly against the stair rail. Serena passed by, as far away as she could get. Up the stairs and inside without shooting him another glance, the wooden door banging hard behind her. Her scent lingering in the air long after she’d gone.

  Sam’s hand clenched white around the wooden rail. Blood pounded in his ears. His wolf pushed at him, wanting out. He pushed back. He was a mature male, nearly thirty years old, and he’d been through the worst emotional hell a shifter could. And he’d survived.

  He’d come out of it in shaky control of his wolf—though that was his secret—and he’d moved up in pack ranking. He was a career enforcer now, and a team leader. He guessed there was a tarnished brass lining after all.

  Ian sidled past.

  Sam’s hand snapped out, he grabbed Ian’s arm. “You’re on duty now, right?” He couldn’t control the low vibrating growl of his words—he was too close to the
edge. He had to get better control.

  He’d already had a run when he’d checked out the perimeter of the safe house earlier, but he needed one now. Needed to run without being responsible, without having to come back and report. Needed to just fucking run.

  “I’m here for the night,” Ian said. “You go.”

  Sam released Ian and watched the nervous beta move after Serena into the house, the screen door slamming behind him on its spring. He stood alone under the Rocky Mountain stars and rolled his head from side to side, cracking bones. The urge to get away crawled under his skin.

  He moved, down the stairs and across the drive, forcing his stride to stay loose and casual as he walked down the slope and over to the gazebo on the edge of the woods. The trees and scrub of the large piece of property would keep him from spying eyes as he stripped, and the gazebo roof would hide him from satellites or helicopters. He should go into the house and change, use the God-damned doggy door to exit so he’d look like one of the house pets that they pretended to be. But he wasn’t going back in there. No way in hell.

  His clothes fell to the gazebo floor and he shifted. He hit the forest floor running and didn’t look back.

  ***

  Serena heard the door shut behind her and, for the first time since she’d gotten the call, she relaxed. It was just Ian.

  “I’ll take your coat and bag. If you want.”

  If she’d been a full shifter, she’d have been able to smell Ian’s anxiety over being torn between her and Sam. As it was, she could see it with her merely human eyes in the nervous way his hands jerked as he reached out and took her belongings and moved around the kitchen table, heading for the hall.

  Ian’s worry over the conflict between fighting his alpha to protect her was moot. As was her worry that her bond with Gabe wasn’t strong or right. Sure, seeing Sam brought back memories—good, bad, horrible—but the one thing it hadn’t brought back was desire. What a relief to finally know that any passion for her husband’s twin was dead and buried.