Jenna Kernan - Shadow Wolf

“Where are we going?”

“My place.”

She lifted her head and stared, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher his intentions. Funny, to think of that sort of danger after all the other threats she had faced today.

“I’m not comfortable with that.”

“You don’t need to be comfortable. You need to be safe. I can make sure he doesn’t get to you.”

When she spoke, her voice seemed almost sedated, as out of focus as her gaze. “Maybe I could stay with a friend.”

“That would just put the friend in the crosshairs.”

She rubbed her arms and rocked back and forth.

“I can’t stay with you all night.”

“Lea, think for a minute. You need protection.

Nowhere else is safe.”

“I could go home.”

“To Salt River? He’ll follow.”

She slapped her hands on her thighs in frustration.

“You make him sound like an unstoppable robot or something.”

“Yeah. Exactly, but with one important difference.

I can kill him.”

Shadow Wolf

Jenna Kernan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNA KERNANwrites fast-paced romantic suspense, Western and paranormal romantic adventures. She has penned over two dozen novels, has received two RITA ®Award nominations, and in 2010 won the Book Buyers Best Award for her debut paranormal romance. Jenna loves an adventure. Her hobbies include recreational gold-prospecting, scuba diving and gem-hunting. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan, on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com.

For Jim, always.

Contents

Cover

Introduction “Where are we going?” “My place.” She lifted her head and stared, eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher his intentions. Funny, to think of that sort of danger after all the other threats she had faced today. “I’m not comfortable with that.” “You don’t need to be comfortable. You need to be safe. I can make sure he doesn’t get to you.” When she spoke, her voice seemed almost sedated, as out of focus as her gaze. “Maybe I could stay with a friend.” “That would just put the friend in the crosshairs.” She rubbed her arms and rocked back and forth. “I can’t stay with you all night.” “Lea, think for a minute. You need protection. Nowhere else is safe.” “I could go home.” “To Salt River? He’ll follow.” She slapped her hands on her thighs in frustration. “You make him sound like an unstoppable robot or something.” “Yeah. Exactly, but with one important difference. I can kill him.”

Title Page Shadow Wolf Jenna Kernan www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author JENNA KERNAN writes fast-paced romantic suspense, Western and paranormal romantic adventures. She has penned over two dozen novels, has received two RITA ® Award nominations, and in 2010 won the Book Buyers Best Award for her debut paranormal romance. Jenna loves an adventure. Her hobbies include recreational gold-prospecting, scuba diving and gem-hunting. Follow Jenna on Twitter, @jennakernan , on Facebook or at www.jennakernan.com .

Dedication For Jim, always.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Kino Cosen wondered if this trail might be the one that would finally lead him to his father’s killer. Ten years he’d waited but he’d never been this close. Smugglers were dying, killed by the Viper. If he just had a little luck, he might finally be at the right place and at the right time.

He pulled the truck to the shoulder of the road on the lands of the Tohono O’odham Nation, which were just two miles from the Mexico border. Waves of heat undulated across the asphalt road as the June sun blazed down on the Sonoran Desert from a clear blue sky. His brother Clay opened the door of the SUV and the heat hit Kino like a furnace blast, eliminating all traces of AC in the time it took to take one single breath. He started sweating as he grabbed his rifle from the rack behind the seat. Clay took his from the opposite side.

Kino left the vehicle to investigate the solitary footprint where someone had stepped from the asphalt before returning to the impenetrable surface. This was the only visible sign of the smuggler’s passing. But farther up, he saw more tracks.

His brother slammed the passenger door shut and swore. “And this isn’t even the hot part of the year.”

“They crossed here,” said Kino, pointing to the narrow gap of open ground between two thorny bushes. His brother fingered a bent branch.

Clay, the better tracker, saw things that even Kino missed. He squatted to study the imprints upon the sandy ground.

“Carpet shoes,” he said and stood, returning his attention to the unrelenting sun. “If we were home I’d be tracking elk right now instead of men.”

“Not men. Man. Just one and these guys can lead me right to him. Then we can head home.”

“It won’t change anything,” said Clay.

“Family first,” said Kino, echoing his father’s favorite expression.

Clay made a sound through his teeth before backtracking to the vehicle to retrieve their water. When he returned, he handed Kino his bottle and they both clipped the plastic containers to their belts, leaving their hands free for the rifles. Kino also carried his service pistol, a semiautomatic, but Clay would not carry one. It was a difference between them. Kino was the law and Clay an ex-con. Not a felony, but since his release, his brother despised handguns. Their captain, Rick Rubio, had told Clay he could carry, but to no avail.

Prepared to track on foot, they stepped into the thorny brush, following the faint depressions left by the distinctive carpet-soled shoes that marked the trespassers as smugglers. Clay went first and then Kino.

“Another,” said Kino, pointing at the slight disruption of the unbroken sand. The indentation was small and circular, definitely a track.

“Good work, little brother,” said Clay, slapping him on the back, making his shirt and bulletproof vest stick to his shoulders. “How many?”

“Three?”

“Four,” he corrected, noting the different tracks visible to Clay, even though the group had walked in line and often in each other’s footsteps.

Walking was cumbersome because he and Clay wore full SWAT gear, as required even for them, and the standard equipment ringed their narrow hips. The water bottles knocked against their legs with each step, and the portable radios, ever ready, sat heavy on their left shoulders. Kino had left the satellite phone in the SUV. His semiautomatic was holstered around his waist and anchored to his thigh with a wide black strap. On their sleeves was the arrow-shaped tan patch that read Shadow Wolves. In the center was a fierce black wolf with one eagle feather tied to its fur.

Kino and Clay had taken one liberty with the uniform. Neither wore the regulation boots, preferring instead the lighter, higher moccasins that had been specially made for them by their grandmother. They were knee-high and sewn from soft buckskin. The lining was a paper-thin fabric that was totally snake-and thorn-proof. The rawhide soles were equally so. Kino’s moccasins had a thin vertical band of beads in a traditional pattern of arrows in red and white, while Clay’s sported beaded crosses of black and yellow. Anyone who knew the Apache would recognize the brothers’ people instantly by the distinctive tab at their toes. No other tribe wore moccasins quite like theirs.