Linda Johnston - Loyal Wolf

She glared up at him. Damn, but that firm chin, that angry scowl on such a beautiful face...it turned him on. Even more than her presence already generated reactions inside—and outside—him that he’d never have imagined would occur with a woman in uniform, especially when that uniform was not one associated with Alpha Force.

“Then you promise that this will be the only time you’ll not include me in your plans from now on.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Her voice was chilly, but not even that forced his body to lose interest.

“Yes,” he lied as he stooped to clean up after Click. “I promise—as long as you promise not to interfere with what we’re doing tonight.”

Chapter 6

Sure, Kathlene had given her promise.

She needed to make sure Jock considered her a member of their team, so what else could she do? She didn’t want to fight him again, at least not yet. Besides, he claimed it would only be this one time they would exclude her.

Ha!

On her drive back to department headquarters that afternoon, along the winding road outside town, and even when she reached the main streets, she stewed.

Damn the man and his overprotective, exclusionary attitude!

Was it going to be like this all the time? Would Jock tell her each day that she’d be included in their plans...tomorrow. But not today?

Well, she might not be officially included in their recon plans that night.

But unofficially?

She’d been there last night observing.

She would do the same tonight.

* * *

They’d followed Kathlene back into town. No, not followed her. Not exactly. But Jock had made sure that Click was settled back in his cabin. Then he drove their car, with Ralf in the passenger’s seat, in the direction that Kathlene had headed.

When they reached Cliffordsville, their first plan of attack was to drive by the sheriff’s department.

Kathlene’s car had been parked in the large outside lot. Was she inside the building?

She could be out on patrol already. And each sheriff’s department vehicle, parked in rows nearest the building, looked like the rest, with their white color, gold logo and lights on top. Jock could definitely distinguish them from the unofficial ones also parked in that lot where Kathlene had left her car among a bunch of others—ones probably also belonging to the deputies and other department employees.

It didn’t matter where she was, not now. Or it shouldn’t matter.

But now that Jock had met her, he worried about her safety—her training and the way she had demonstrated her prowess in hand-to-hand notwithstanding.

Would she listen to him and stay away that night?

He doubted it.

But he had to trust her...didn’t he?

“So where are we going?” Ralf asked from beside him.

“Any games on TV now? I saw a sports bar not far from the restaurant where we had lunch, and it might be the one Kathlene mentioned. I think this would be a good time for beer and conversation if the place is likely to have any kind of crowd.”

Ralf pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and slid his fingers over it. “Baseball, of course. But I’m not sure what teams they follow in Montana. There aren’t any major league teams here. Maybe college teams. There’s a baseball game between the Minnesota Twins and New York Yankees being played in the East tonight, starting about now. Maybe they watch stuff like that in the bars, even though it’s not local.”

“We’ll go see,” Jock said.

Sure enough, Arnie’s Bar, along Main Street, had a big-screen TV on the wall, and it was tuned to that baseball game. The crowd seemed rather sparse, but of course Jock was used to seeing lots of people gather in bars in the Baltimore area when he and other Alpha Force members decided to join regular humans in their celebration of the teams nearest to their headquarters at Ft. Lukman on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.

Jock motioned for Ralf to join him on a couple of empty stools at the tall wooden bar where most of those present had congregated.

“Hi,” he said, the epitome of friendly visitor when the bartender, a short, middle-aged guy who looked as if he enjoyed both the drinks and food he served, came over to take their orders. Both chose a locally brewed bottled beer. Jock liked beer, and drinking one that originated from around here should provide an additional topic of conversation, if they needed one besides sports. Oh, and who besides them were visitors here?

Jock glanced around at the others surrounding the bar. All eyes were focused on the large screen occupying the wall behind where the bartender bustled around filling orders. Jock looked at the score at the bottom of the picture. Close game. Just one run separated the two teams, but it was only the second inning. Plenty of time for them to jostle for position before one or the other won.

The bartender plopped bottles and glasses down in front of both Ralf and him without offering to pour. That was fine with Jock. In fact, drinking directly from the bottle seemed more appropriate to this apparent guy hangout.

He lifted his bottle in a silent toast, and Ralf did the same. Both took swigs just as some members of the small crowd around them started to cheer. Jock looked up to see the screen filled with two players dashing to the next bases. The batter for New York must have hit a double, or at least his teammates were treating it like one.

“Hey,” Jock said to the guy on his left side. “Good game, huh?”

“It’s okay, but it may be over already since the Yanks have scored again.”

“I’m from Seattle,” Jock said, “just visiting here. I wouldn’t mind if the Yanks won. How about you?”

“The Twins are my team,” he said shortly.

“Are you from Minnesota?” Jock asked. “Or do you live here?” He kept his tone light, as if all he was doing was making polite conversation rather than conducting his first interrogation here.

“Neither.” The guy took a swig of his own beer and stared back up at the screen. Interesting, Jock thought. He might just have been lucky enough to start out finding one of the possible anarchists—or sportsmen, as Kathlene was calling them. Although the guy could, of course, just be visiting friends or relatives here, or even have business to conduct in Cliffordsville.

But his disinclination to answer suggested some degree of secrecy. Jock couldn’t rule him out as being one of those hanging out at the old ranch for possibly nefarious purposes.

He felt Ralf elbow him gently and turned toward his aide. “Hey, Jock,” Ralf said. “This is Hal.” He gestured toward the man on his other side. “He’s just visiting town for a while, like us. He’s doing some target practice on a ranch not far from the motel where we’re staying.”

Jock leaned so he could check out Hal from behind Ralf. He held out his hand. “Hi, Hal. Good to meet you. You a hunter?” He kept his tone light and nonjudgmental. Heck, if he were to ask, probably ninety percent of the regular humans who lived in an area like this most likely engaged in hunting, for food or sport or both and probably most complied with the laws. Just because he identified with some of the wildlife they might go after didn’t mean he should give them a hard time about it.

“Sure am,” Hal said. He was a moderate-sized guy and, if Jock were to guess, he probably worked out regularly with weights, judging by the way his arm muscles bulged as he, too, reached around Ralf to shake Jock’s hand.

“Me, too,” Jock lied. “We’re only here for a short time visiting an old friend of mine, but target practice sounds like fun. Any possibility of our joining in?” Of course, they’d have to find reasons not to if it turned out this guy’s target practice wasn’t at the old ranch as part of whatever was going on there.