Bonnie Vanak - Phantom Wolf

“New security chip? This something you’re tagging all my people with, Senator, so you can watch our movements? The ID card isn’t sufficient enough?”

“Your people are like cows. Branding keeps all the strays in line.” Rogers gave her a cold, hard stare. “As Elder on the council, I order you to remain in your home. If you leave the country, you will be arrested and interned.”

When the senator, his wife and his assistant left with the admiral, Curt rubbed the back of his neck. “Miss Denning, I’ll drive you to the airport. You have a reservation on the eight-o’clock flight, courtesy of our esteemed council.”

The words esteemed council were followed by a derisive snort.

Soft with longing, Kelly’s gaze centered on Shay. She stood straight and tall, a hint of pride in those slender shoulders. “It’s not necessary, but thank you, Lieutenant Commander Curtis.”

“It’s necessary,” Curt said.

Kelly turned to Shay. Her soft pink mouth parted. She blinked back moisture gathering in her clear blue eyes.

“Sam, I’m sorry...about everything.”

A wave of emotion pushed at him. If only they could turn back time and go back to how things had once been. If only her father had not killed his family...

Shay rubbed his chest, feeling his heart constrict. I don’t know who you are anymore, Kelly.

A whistle from behind caught his attention. Renegade jerked a thumb toward the door. “Yo, Shay. Bunch of us are grabbing a few beers at the Dive Bar. Ya in?”

Drinks. With his teammates, friends. Even friends who shifted into wolves and bit were safe and familiar. Comfortable and predictable. Not a woman who spun him around into emotional knots, who looked at him sadly, as if he were the center of her universe and that particular universe had shattered. Shay gave Renegade a rough nod.

When he turned around, Kelly was gone.

Kelly had to find Sam. This wasn’t over.

In a dingy bathroom, she splashed water over her face to fight fatigue. Forty-eight hours without sleep and only an energy bar for food. After a support staff member had dropped her off at the airport, she’d hopped on a bus and gotten off at the nearest gas station.

She tried to clean her dirty clothing, blotting the worst of it with brown paper towels. Finally she gave up.

Not winning any beauty contests tonight, for sure. That wasn’t important. Getting Sam to listen to her, and believe her, mattered most.

Beneath the distrust and doubt in his hazel eyes, she’d seen taut sexual awareness. Old feelings were still there. Even though he believed her father responsible for the deadly fire, she knew.

Cedric Denning couldn’t shoot a bolt of current if a 220 line fell on him. Her father was innocent. She knew it.

Rubbing her palms against her jeans, she banished the past. It was too late for Sam’s little brother. Others needed her help.

Before being escorted out, she’d overheard the SEALs say they were going to the Dive Bar. Kelly counted her money and called for a taxi.

The first driver refused. He’d seen her on television tonight when the newscasters reported her arrest in conjunction with the kidnapping of Senator Rogers’s son. Two taxis later, she finally found a driver willing to give her a ride, for double the money. But he seemed confused. He didn’t know any bar named the Dive Bar. Never heard of it. Finally she had him drive up and down roads near the base.

Night settled over the coastal town before she saw the flickering sign in the distance.

“There it is!” She gestured to the sign.

The driver snorted. “That’s no bar. That’s an old bait shop. Been closed for years.”

Kelly counted the bills, gave them to him and then climbed out. Driver must be confused. Plain as day, the blue neon sign boasted the Dive Bar.

Well, at least it wasn’t a four-star gourmet restaurant. Here, with her dingy clothing, she might fit in. Noise throbbed from inside, the pulsing beat of loud music, the cacophony of conversation and laughter.

Gathering her courage, she pulled open the door. An old-fashioned jukebox warbled a country-Western tune as two men played pool at the room’s far end. Squinting in the dim light, she let the door shut behind her. And then, as she watched a customer wave a hand and a bottle floated toward him, the realization hit her.

Every single person inside was a paranorm.

No wonder the cabdriver had never heard of it. The bar must have a magick shield around it to dissuade humans.

Worn buoys hung from the ceiling next to fishnets and two large plastic sharks. Old dive masks adorned one wall. It was a seedy, run-down and funky bar, the type she usually enjoyed.

People turned to examine the new arrival. And then all conversation ground to a halt. The jukebox shut off abruptly.

Uh-oh. Not exactly a welcoming crowd.

Silence descended, thick as morning fog. Even the bartender washing beer mugs in the sudsy sink stopped his work.

She swallowed hard, wiped her palms against her jeans and then finally placed her hands on the counter. A SEAL she recognized from the compound flicked a hand, the gesture filled with contempt. A half-filled mug of beer exploded, showering her blouse in suds and shards of glass. Kelly jumped. She brushed off her shirt.

“I guess happy hour is over,” she said. “Because it looks like the drink’s on me.”

More silence, broken suddenly by a deep male laugh, the rich timbre rubbing against her like soft fur.

Sam.

As the conversation gradually resumed, and the jukebox kicked in, she stayed still, gauging her former lover.

He sat in the middle of the circular bar, flanked by the SEALs who’d been in the room as Rogers questioned her. A dark blue T-shirt stretched over his muscular chest, rode tight against his well-defined biceps. A hank of sandy-brown hair hung over his forehead. His mouth was set in a firm line.

Seeing him made her blood tingle and her heart race in anticipation. Breath caught in her throat. He was more wiry than muscular, with a deadly edge. The shadow of boyhood was gone, replaced by a virile man.

A pretty blonde in a red dress edged close. Sam gave a charming smile and began flirting. Kelly’s heart sank to her stomach. Always the womanizer, until the time they’d become lovers. Kelly silently pleaded for him to look at her. Finally he glanced over. But only cold speculation showed on his handsome face.

She rubbed her hands again, wishing for a change of clothing, a change of scenery. Anything but this cool hostility. But Sam was her only hope. She needed his help to stop the rogue Arcane Mages before they stole more children—and this time killed them.

Finally, as the woman moved off, Kelly skirted the bar and stood behind Sam. “Sam, we have to talk.”

Those broad shoulders tensed. He did not turn around. One of the SEALs glanced at her, growled a little. A Draicon werewolf. Wonderful. Sam’s friends had tried, judged and convicted her. But the muscular SEALs didn’t matter. Only Sam did.

“Please,” she said softly and placed a hand on his arm.

Sam picked up his beer and led her to a corner booth. A bowl of peanuts sat on the table. Her stomach grumbled. Kelly picked up a peanut and ate it. Suddenly ravenous, she devoured one after another. Sam looked at her, his mouth a narrow slash.

“You okay? That was a nasty bolt of energy Rogers tossed at you.”

“I’ve felt worse.” The two Mages back on the island made Rogers’s jolt of energy feel like a tickle.

His expression softened. “You’re hungry.”

Sam waved a hand. The bartender came over, his expression grim.

“I need a burger, medium rare, fries and a...” Sam cocked his head at her, his expression amused. “Still into root beer?”