Linda Johnston - Undercover Wolf

There was a rack containing tourist information near the front desk at their hotel. Prominently featured were brochures for one of the island’s tour-bus lines. That line was also the one recommended by the concierge on duty that morning. He’d said that all guests to whom they recommended that outfit came back pleased, so it was the tour company they suggested most often.

When he continued to extol their services, Kristine wondered if the concierge received kickbacks. Fine. Quinn and she needed to learn all they could about the Bar Harbor area as fast as possible. And if they could learn it from the most likely company to have shown last week’s newlyweds around, all the better for collecting information.

“A bus tour sounds great, honey.” Kristine beamed as the server brought her breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Good thing, since I already made reservations for the one recommended at the hotel. We leave in forty-five minutes.” Why did the way he quirked one edge of his mouth look so sexy? She knew that what he said was intended to be yet another kind of challenge. She had made it clear that she wanted to be involved in all decisions despite the fact he outranked her in the military.

But what they were doing here was independent of Alpha Force—at least somewhat.

So, Kristine didn’t bite at his goading. She didn’t even start to chew him out.

She suddenly realized that even after working as an aide to a shifter for as long as she had, her thought processes hadn’t completely adapted. Thinking about biting and chewing in the presence of a werewolf … She smiled at the idea.

Quinn raised his dark brows slightly, then smiled back. He had ordered an egg dish, too—a combo that included a small steak.

“We’d better finish our breakfasts as soon as we can,” Kristine said. “I’d like to stop in at the local tourist center to see what other information we can pick up.” Shorthand for saying they’d also ask about any recent visitors who’d admitted to being honeymooners.

But as it turned out, they learned half an hour later, no one at the town’s main tourist information center remembered seeing anyone like Grace and Simon—even though Quinn gave detailed descriptions. His skill wasn’t surprising, Kristine thought, with Quinn’s private investigator background. He might have tracked other people before—in both of his forms. Knowing how to ask the right questions in the right way had to be part of his former career.

They hurried to the parking lot for the bus tour Quinn had scheduled. Quinn grabbed her hand to help quicken her pace. Kristine continued to play along with their honeymooner cover while much too aware again of the innocent contact.

As they sprinted along the narrow Bar Harbor sidewalks, past stores and tourists, Kristine kept reminding herself that the man whose sleek, muscular form raced by her side was someone she could only pretend to want to touch all over.

Doing it while they spent at least another few nights together remained off-limits.

Quinn muscled them into the bus before any of the other tourists. Now they sat on the right side, across from the tour guide, who was positioned behind the driver.

Quinn had the aisle seat, and Kristine sat by the window. Stragglers still entered the bus, which was already warm and crowded even with most windows open.

That prevented Quinn from getting too friendly with the guide. The questions that formed much of the reason for this tour had to wait.

The vehicle was configured like a school bus. Maybe it actually had transported students in its youth, since the seats weren’t particularly wide.

Which meant Quinn’s hips were snug against Kristine’s, reminding him of his uncomfortable night of knowing she was in the room with him. Hearing her breathe—and not the deep respiration of sleep most of the time.

Kissing her. Feeling her against him, however briefly, as he’d taunted her. And then sensing her warm, sexy presence right beside him in that bed that might as well have been a mile wide, considering how far they stayed from each other.

Yeah, they might be undercover, but they weren’t under covers —not together. He had to keep reminding himself that they weren’t really even coworkers. He was her temporary superior officer, and she was his aide.

Another good reason for him not to have joined the military: all the protocol and rules about fraternization and other similar nonsense.

But he remained resolved never to push Kristine to have sex with him, no matter how badly he ached to touch her all over, to bury himself in her. His feral instincts hadn’t taken over completely. He wouldn’t let them, no matter which form he was in.

And no matter that Kristine had seen him naked, both before and after his shifts so far with the Alpha Force elixir.

For the sake of learning what was going on with his brother and sister-in-law, he’d follow the rules, at least all he could. He’d act like a good little soldier despite being on an unofficial mission. He’d follow Kristine’s lead wherever it made sense, since she was more experienced.

At the moment, she was thumbing through a Bar Harbor magazine, though her speed suggested she wasn’t paying much attention to the articles and ads. He turned back toward her. “Is that worth looking at?”

“We won’t find what we’re looking for in it,” she said with a sigh, her chin raised in its normal challenge to the world. He resisted an urge to touch it.

“But we might get some ideas of where else to look,” he reminded her. “Like … well, other than Acadia Park itself, are there any wildlife sanctuaries? You know I’m particularly interested in seeing local animals.”

And trying to learn if there were any kinds that could have attacked those tourists. Especially if those victims had brought it on themselves by purposely getting too close to dangerous wildlife.

“There is a private conservation easement on some property bordering Acadia.” Kristine turned a few pages and pointed to a description of a local sanctuary. “I’m not sure if anyone can visit, but it’s seeking donations.”

“Not necessarily helpful, but—”

“Okay, ladies and gentlemen,” interrupted a gruff male voice over the bus’s loudspeaker. “We’re finally ready to get on our way.”

Quinn turned back toward the tour guide. He appeared to be in his fifties, with a scruffy salt-and-pepper beard and a green Acadia cap preventing anyone from seeing whether the rest of his hair matched. He wore a gray long-sleeved shirt and coordinated pants that looked vaguely like a uniform, and he wedged a small microphone near his narrow lips.

“I’m Wendell, your guide today.” He gave a spiel reciting rules and suggestions, then told the bus driver he was ready and they took off.

The narration was loud and would have been really interesting had Quinn actually been a tourist. In fact, he did look through the windshield toward the sights the guide pointed out—churches and parks and museums, including one specializing in local Native American culture and another focusing on natural history. Some architectural features on buildings were also worth noting. Because this was an island, the coastline appeared now and then; the Atlantic Ocean was brilliant blue beneath a clear sky, and calm that day.

Finally, they headed toward Acadia National Park. Despite his previous evening visits, that remained the place of most interest to Quinn. Plus, the tour leader got quiet while the driver headed in that direction.

Quinn felt a light squeeze on his arm. He looked over and saw Kristine’s eyes wide, her full lips pursed slightly, as if she sent him a silent message: it was time.

He smiled, covered her hand with his—a feigned newlywed gesture—and nodded. He didn’t release her hand, though. He liked the feel of it as he gripped it.