Linda Thomas-Sundstrom - Code Wolf

Nevertheless, Derek didn’t even consider turning around. He blamed this brazen act on the wolf that tugged on his insides in need of freedom.

When the elevator doors slid open, Derek looked around and then turned to the left. Number 310 was halfway down the hallway. Double doors. Brass plaque.

He read: Dr. Riley Price, PhD.

Price...

The name had a familiar ring to it. Then again, there were probably hundreds of people in the city with that name. Riley was unusual, though. He decided it suited her.

Riley Price had walked away from the attack as if it had been a minor thing when he knew better than to believe that. He had felt the quakes that rocked her and could still see the expression of fear, hurt and confusion in her eyes.

His hand stopped in midair before his knuckles actually stuck wood. He closed his eyes, able to feel her in there, knowing such a connection with a human was also unusual.

He knocked three times. So that he wouldn’t frighten her more, he called out, “Seattle PD, Miss Price. I just need one more thing to help with this case. The security guard told me you were here. Can I have a minute? I know it’s late.”

Stepping closer to the door, Derek willed her to respond. To grant his request.

The strange thing was that she did.

Riley hesitated before turning toward the door, annoyed by the interruption. The glass was still in her hand, though she had only managed one more sip.

There was a cop in the hallway. The front-desk guard wouldn’t have let him in without showing proper identification, which meant she didn’t have to worry about that. She could either respond and let him in or ignore him. He wasn’t going to break down the door if she stayed where she was. Eventually, he’d go away.

Riley found herself heading to the door, hoping that this would all be over with sooner, rather than later, and then she could get on with her life.

She paused with her hand on the knob. “What’s your name, Officer?”

The same deep voice that had requested a minute of her time said, “Miller. Detective Miller.”

“I’m quite busy, Detective.”

“I won’t take up much of your time, Dr. Price.”

Riley took a deep breath to settle down and opened the door. The man in the hallway appeared to be as surprised as she was when their eyes briefly met. There was something familiar about him.

“Do I know you, Detective Miller?” she asked, breaking the silence that had stretched for several seconds. “You seem familiar.”

“I’m sure we’ve probably passed on the street. I get around on the job, as you can imagine.”

That could have been true, Riley supposed. But besides the eyes, there was also something distinctive about his voice that caused her to tighten her grip on the glass in her hand.

His gaze drifted to the glass.

“For my nerves,” Riley explained.

The hunk in the hallway nodded. “You’ve had quite a night.”

Detective Miller truly was a hunk. He was tall, dark-haired, and obviously more badass than desk jockey in his worn leather jacket and fitted white T-shirt. He said, “Can I come in, or would you prefer answering questions like this?”

Her sudden interest in guys who looked as good as this detective surprised her.

This guy, at first glance, hit most of her attraction buttons. She liked the shaggy hair, his height and the shape of his face. Action and adventure were probably his middle names. But he was a cop, and she had vowed never to put herself through what her mother had suffered, never really knowing whether her husband would come home at night or be killed on the job.

With that thought firmly in mind, Riley stepped back, opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in with a wave of the glass.

The room was dim, lit only by a lamp on her desk, and yet she easily saw every move this detective made. She was glad the dimness wouldn’t allow him a closer look at the paleness of her face. Putting the desk between herself and the detective, she said, “What do you need from me?”

He hesitated for a few beats too long for her not to notice. “You’re a psychiatrist?” he asked.

“Psychologist. And very new to the business.”

“That’s good.”

“Why?”

“Maybe you can better manage what happened tonight and put it in perspective.”

He again glanced at the glass she was clutching.

Detective Miller’s voice was deep enough that its vibration quietly filled the room. His eyes, however, told another story, and made Riley imagine he was on good behavior and playing nice at the moment.

“What is it you need?” Riley repeated.

She set down the glass.

The detective had only walked far enough into the room to get a distant view of the window, but he looked there. “Will you be able to identify your attacker?”

“I’ll never forget his face,” she said. “I have a knack for remembering faces.”

More beats of silence passed and the detective still hadn’t said anything to warrant this visit. She had already told this same thing to the officers at the scene.

“I just needed to corroborate your place of employment, Dr. Price, and to make sure you’re credible,” he said.

“Credible how? What’s my job got to do with anything?”

“It makes things easier for us all if you are believable in your statements.”

Riley pointed to her throat. “Want to see the bruises that guy inflicted?”

She flushed when his gaze landed on her neck, and began to think this detective might have had another reason for coming here. However, since she had already allowed her imagination to run amok once tonight and had landed in trouble because of it, Riley waited for whatever he’d say next.

“I’m sorry to have brought this up so soon and to have disturbed you,” he said. “Tonight’s attack must have been terrible for you. So how about if I apologize for the intrusion and let you get on with whatever you were doing? You can answer more questions tomorrow.”

Riley nodded. “Thanks for showing some concern.”

She wasn’t going to vocalize how Detective Miller’s presence lent an air of safety to a truly awful night, or how knowing that guys like this were on the streets doing their job made her feel slightly better.

There was no way in hell she was going to submit to fanciful thoughts about this guy, or let herself believe he was strikingly similar in size and looks to the man that had come to her rescue on the street...because that would have been pathetic.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re going to be okay,” he said.

“Yes, thanks to two of your guys out there.”

The detective’s inquiring gaze returned. “Did you mention anything concrete about them to the officers who took your initial statement? Descriptions? Conversations?”

“It happened so fast, I’m afraid I wasn’t in good enough shape to speak or to note many details about who those guys were. One of the officers later suggested some ideas about who my rescuers might have been, though.”

“So you wouldn’t be able to identify them?”

Riley eyed her glass on the desk, wishing she actually liked whiskey and that she’d taken another sip if there was going to be much more of an interrogation.

“I was just glad they showed up in time to save my ass,” she said.

Detective Miller’s gaze was like being caught in a tractor beam. Never one to shy away from a challenge, Riley met that gaze with an equally studious one.

“Nothing?” Detective Miller asked. “You can’t describe them in any way?”

“Other than the fact that neither of them wore shirts, not much was clear...which is strange, when I think about it. So I’d prefer not to think about it and just be grateful.”