Terry Spear - A SEAL in Wolf's Clothing

“I’m sorry,” Finn said, which surprised the hell out of her. Hardly any of the men she knew ever admitted to being wrong, nor would they ever apologize for it. Hunter was top of the list. Her father and uncle had been also.

Finn’s hands covered her shoulders in a gentle grasp. If he had stood next to her, speaking softly like he did now, that wouldn’t have had half the effect that his caressing her shoulders did. Or the way his body pressed against her back. Or the way his warm breath fanned the straggles of hair dangling next to her cheek, his mouth nuzzling her neck with an insistent need to make amends.

“I told you,” she said grumpily. “I hadn’t done anything.”

He shifted his hands to her tank top, then slid them under her shirt and caressed her breasts. “Let’s go back inside,” he said, his cheek sliding along hers like that of a wolf who was trying to get her attention, his hands stopping their sexy assault.

“And?”

“I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” His voice was already low and husky and rampant with need.

“Hunter’s around here somewhere,” she warned, not exactly telling Finn she didn’t want to go with him. She couldn’t, damn it, when she wanted this as much as he did.

“Yeah, well, that’s why I want to take you back inside.”

She shook her head. “Next time I tell you something…”

“I’ll listen.”

“Yeah.” She believed that as much as that she wouldn’t have the urge to shift to her wolf form ever again.

She didn’t move from her spot on the deck, trying to make up her mind whether she should prolong this torture or give up her annoyance and return to bed with him. But her reluctance to agree didn’t stop him.

She gasped in surprise as he swept her up in his arms and then strode back into the house with purpose in his long stride. “Hunter might not be here right now, but he’ll be back. It’s time that you and I have a real heart-to-heart talk.”

Bjornolf was surprised as hell when Hunter called sounding as if he was ready to roast him alive for upsetting his sister.

“Why in the hell did you call Finn and accuse Meara of deleting my messages?” Hunter growled.

Bjornolf never—at least that he would admit to—made mistakes. And he still was damned sure Meara has been involved in the message fiasco, despite what Hunter said. But then again, maybe he was wrong.

“My mistake,” Bjornolf said, without meaning it and unable to let go of what he thought was the truth.

“Next time you have an opinion about something that concerns her or me, bring it to my attention.” Hunter hung up.

Not expecting the confrontation to end so quickly, Bjornolf was reminded of a squall abruptly appearing on the ocean during one of their SEAL missions and then disappearing just as suddenly. Bjornolf didn’t care much about most people’s opinions, but Hunter and the rest of his team had long ago earned the deep-cover operative’s respect because of all their successful missions. And although Bjornolf didn’t like admitting that he’d done anything wrong, he felt unsettled.

Then again, that might have had something to do with watching Finn standing on the deck with Meara as he slipped his hands up her shirt and began to caress her breasts, speaking low in her ear, his body pressed provocatively against her backside, and undoubtedly trying to win her favor.

Observing them through the screen of pine trees, Bjornolf frowned. Meara was softening under Finn’s touch, but when he said something more to her, she balked. Bjornolf smiled cynically. She wouldn’t be won over easily. Finn wasn’t as charming a talker as he thought he was. Meara definitely wasn’t buying his attempts to smooth things over with her.

Finn suddenly grabbed her up in his arms without her permission and headed for the house like some damned medieval warrior bent on taking the woman for his own whether she approved or not.

Bjornolf scowled. They were just the moves he would have made if he’d had the chance and a soft touch wasn’t working.

Hell, it was a mating for sure.

For the first time since he’d been turned, Rourke was truly enjoying himself. Not that he had a news story to report, but he was really getting into investigating what he could concerning Hunter’s final SEAL mission. One thing he thought odd: quiet, unassuming Chris Tarleton had seemed unduly on edge when Rourke talked to Meara about the Knight of Swords. It wasn’t like the information was top secret or anything. And she had a right to know what was going on. Then he realized what it was all about. Chris didn’t want Meara looking into the matter because she was known for lunging into situations that could get her into real trouble. Hell, now he wished he hadn’t told her about it.

Rourke did another search on the Internet, breaking into areas that were classified but that he had a knack for getting into. Purely for research. If he’d wanted to be one of the bad guys, he probably could have made a lot of money at it. But he was cursed with wanting to do what was right—even down to stopping at a yellow light because it might turn red when he was in the middle of the intersection.

Thankfully, Hunter had enough faith in Rourke to allow him to remain unsupervised in his own apartment. And if Rourke could, he’d break this case for Hunter and stop whoever it was from trying to harm any of the rest of the SEALs or Meara. He wanted in the worst way to be an important pack member, someone others could rely on.

He chewed on his bottom lip and scrolled down the page some more. And then he figured he was going about this all wrong.

He called Dave, the other sub-leader, and when he answered the phone, Rourke said, “Chris gave me some of the information about the hit on Allan and the Knight of Swords card left behind. What do you know about any of it?”

Dave gave a grunt. “That’s Chris’s business. He’s the one who’s been looking into it. I’ve been busy with all the other pack troubles that come up. Don’t know a thing about any Knight of Swords card. Why would you need to know, Rourke? You’re not working on a new story, are you?”

“No. But this is what I do. Investigative reporting. Except the only reporting I intend to do is finding out who is behind this and giving Hunter the news so he can deal with it.”

Dave didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he let out his breath with a heavy sigh. “Really can’t help you with that. With petty wolf squabbles and one teen runaway, I have my hands full. Talk to Chris. If he believes he can trust that you’re not going to put this in the paper, he’ll fill you in. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Dave. I want to help solve this if I can.”

“You’re all right in my book, Rourke, and don’t let anyone tell you any differently.” Then the phone clicked dead.

Rourke was so surprised Dave would say so that he just sat staring at his computer monitor, absorbing the praise for a moment. Then he smiled—and then he frowned.

He wouldn’t get anywhere questioning Chris. If Chris wanted him to know something, he’d tell him. Otherwise, he’d say nothing to Rourke. If Chris had been taking notes about the investigation concerning the hit on Allan, where would they most likely be? His desk at home? Bedroom?

Chris didn’t have a human job. Running the pack with Dave kept him busy. Now he had to oversee renting Hunter and Meara’s cabins. That was where he was right now, dealing with two disgruntled renters.

Hunter would give Rourke hell if he knew the reporter had left the apartment without Chris’s okay, and even worse if he learned that Rourke had searched Chris’s house for evidence about the crimes against Hunter’s team without permission. But Chris wasn’t an investigative reporter. He might be sitting on the evidence that could prove who the mastermind of the whole operation was and never know what he was holding onto.