Chapter 9: Alpha’s Temptation: Chapter 9

Jackson wakes me in the morning by pulling a T-shirt over my head and picking me up into his arms. “Come on, sweet girl. I’m taking you back to my house.” He carries me out of the cabin to his car. “There’s not enough good food for you here. Besides, I want Sam nearby so he can protect you if anything happens.”

I make a contented purring sound in my throat. I love being carried like I weigh nothing, gently deposited in the car seat. Jackson even buckles my seatbelt for me. When did the big bad wolf turn so damn sweet?

He climbs behind the wheel and drives down the mountain, shooting concerned glances my way every now and then. “How do you feel this morning?”

I stretch, still hatching from sleep. “Good. You?”

He drops a hand to my thigh and drags it up to my bare pussy, lightly brushing his fingers over my sensitive flesh. “How about this sweet pussy? Too sore?”

I flush a bit at having my pussy be the topic of conversation before eight a.m. “A little sore,” I admit. “But I’m not complaining. That was the hottest sex of my life last night.”

Jackson makes a choked sound, and pride battles with disbelief on his face. “You were a virgin two days ago.”

“So? It still was hot.”

“It was fucking nuclear. Baby, I want you to know, I’ve never had sex like that with any female before—human or wolf.”

I smile at the serious tone he adopted.

He shoves the hem of my T-shirt—his, really, but the one I’m wearing—up to my waist, exposing my bare pussy. “Spread those creamy thighs, baby. I need to see your pink heart.”

My breath stutters, but I part my legs. He cups my mons. “You remember who this belongs to?”

I flush.

“It’s mine. And if I was too rough with it, you’d be within your rights to pout a little, kitten. Make me kiss it better when I get home tonight.”

The thought has my nipples tightening, pussy clenching. The image of us as some kind of 1950s married couple floats through my mind. I’m the sex-kitten wife, waiting for him to come home from a hard day at work. Offer him a drink and loosen his tie before I pout and make him lick my pussy as compensation for pounding me too hard the night before.

Okay, I’m getting way too excited. And there’s work to be done. Serious work.

He pulls into his garage and insists on carrying me inside. “Your ankle is sore, and you’re not wearing panties.”

I laugh. “So those are the two criteria for getting carried?”

“That’s right. Now, watch the sass or I’ll have to see to that pretty little ass of yours before I go. Is it sore, too?”

I reach back and run my hand over my bare cheeks. “No.” I can’t decide if I’m glad or disappointed. He settles me on the couch. “Listen, I didn’t tell you something that happened yesterday. I got a call from the blackmailer—with the robotic voice. They identified themselves as Catgirl. Said they installed corruption code to wipe out all of SeCure’s backup data. Told me to transfer five hundred million dollar by midnight tonight if I want it back.”

I sit up straight. “Tell me you have the information backed up somewhere else.” Of course he does. He’s Jackson King, genius of cyber security.

“I do. Triple saved. Not even my infosec team knows how.” He flicks his brows, and I understand he believes this threat came from the inside.

“So what did you tell them?”

“I told them to go fuck themselves.”

I laugh. “I believe I used those exact words, too.”

His eyes crinkle, and he kisses the top of my head. “I have it handled. I just wanted you to know. No contact with me. Stay off your phone, or they’ll trace you here.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Preaching to the choir, big guy. I wrote the manual on going dark.”

He gives a reluctant nod. “Okay. Make sure you eat and get more rest.”

It’s too good to be true. I like it way too much. The practical little voice in the back of my head tells me not to get used to this. Not to trust. He’s already made it plain he can’t be with a human. And I can’t stay in hiding in the mansion of a member of the Forbes Fortune 500 CEOs.

I need to put my head on straight, fix this situation, and get lost. It doesn’t matter how good the sex was. How much I want to be claimed and marked and kept by Jackson King. It can’t happen.

Won’t happen.

I grab some toast and coffee and start to work. I start by opening Mémé’s favorite Parisian antique message board. Mémé and I have prearranged to message each other there if we are ever separated or need to get in touch. We made the arrangement years ago, and I forgot it until last night. I hope her memory serves her better. I search out her alias and click to private message her. Even though it’s a private message, I keep my note cryptic.

Looking for you. Can we meet?

I hope she remembers.

From there, I click open the DefCon boards. The place where hackers meet. The place I let slip, years ago, that I’d hacked into SeCure. Someone there had set me up. And now that I realize that, something in the malware has jogged my memory. If I can find the conversation I’m remembering, I might have my hacker.

~.~

Ginrummy

Something is wrong. He should be hearing more about the blackmail threat. They should all be scrambling to try to decode my corruption. He knows SeCure doesn’t have additional backup. He’s in charge of this shit.

And the FBI clowns should be all over it, too.

Which means Jackson King didn’t tell anyone about the call. Why in the fuck not?

Perhaps out of nostalgia, he opens the DefCon boards. It would be interesting to see if they were talking about the SeCure hack. Some idiot is probably bragging in there that it was been him.

He finds a direct message in his DefCon inbox. From Catgirl.

His pulse stutters as he opens it.

Ginrummy,

I need to talk to you. In person. Meet me at the Park ’n Save at the Tucson airport at one p.m.. The shade structure on Row 7.

~Catgirl

His heart pounds triple time. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, going to that meeting would be a huge mistake. He should let the FBI know he’s had a tip she’ll be there. But what if she presents the FBI with the dirt on him? Better to tell Mr. X.

But that thought just doesn’t sit right with him. He now has no doubt they will kill Kylie like they did her grandmother. And, while he should be glad he’s working with an organization willing to tie up loose ends, he can’t stomach it.

Catgirl means something to him. Even if she doesn’t reciprocate. Even if what she means is mostly in his head. He’s not willing to let go of that fantasy.

What does she want to say to him? Why does she want to meet? The fascination with her every move, every thought hooks him like a barb, reels him in. How does that brilliant mind work? Is she planning a counter-blackmail?

She asked to meet at the Tucson airport. Does that mean she’s headed out of town? If she is, he’ll let her go. Let her disappear into hiding again, bearing the suspicion for his crime. Perhaps she just wants to let him know she knows.

Or maybe she wants to kill him.

No. he doesn’t think Catgirl’s a murderer. She has principles. Very high moral standards. He remembers long discussions they had about right and wrong, which he later realized must have been colored by her parents’ vigilante thieving.

So, what does she want with him?

Damn. The temptation to meet with her overrides reason. The need to know, to see the beautiful hacker one last time infiltrates his being, sucking him down the rabbit hole of bad decisions.

He has a gun. He’ll bring it to the meeting, in case she tries anything. And he won’t notify anyone—not the FBI or Mr. X just yet.

Better to figure out her game first, then make a decision about how to react.

~.~

Jackson

Work is still a public relations nightmare. I’m on teleconference with the board most of the day, and many of them are calling for my resignation. Our stock price is down, and there are threats of lawsuits.

All I can think is fuck them all.

I can’t even make myself give a shit about SeCure’s stock price or what I’d do if the board fires me. My mind is only focused on one thing. Figuring out who framed Kylie.

Apart from me, I try to remember who from SeCure knew Catgirl hacked us eight years ago. Luis. A few members of the infosec team at the time. Who were they? Stu?

No, he didn’t work here then. Why did he pop into my head, though?

I remember Kylie’s interview. How eager he was to get her hired. At the time. I’d thought it had to do with her beauty, the Batgirl tits.

But what if Stu was the one who orchestrated her hire? He’d be capable of writing the code that infected our system—he’s a damn good programmer and probably another hacker-turned-infosec professional.

A prickle runs up the back of my neck, and I stand. I need to have a word with him.

As if I’ve conjured him with my thoughts, I catch sight of his slouchy figure out my window, walking to his car. The prickly feeling hasn’t gone away, so I head for the door and take the stairs down to the parking lot at shifter speed. His car pulls out the gates. I jog to my Range Rover and climb in. It’s all I can do not to screech the tires following him, but good sense wins out, and I keep a distance. He drives for a long time. This isn’t a quick lunch date. It’s a forty-five minute drive to the south side of downtown.

Though I have nothing to go on, my gut tells me to keep following.

He pulls into the Park ’n Save at the Tucson airport and parks near a shade structure. Rolls down his window like he’s about to make a drug deal. My instincts flare into high alert. This is not normal. Whatever he’s doing is totally suspect.

I hang back by a few cars, park a distance from him, and stay in my car. He also stays in his car. A growl rumbles in my throat as my wolf prepares for danger.

I stop cold, though, when a familiar motorcycle zooms in front of me and pulls up alongside his car, the long-legged brunette looking way too good on Sam’s motorcycle. What in the fuck is Kylie doing here?

Pain pushes through my heart like a nail in a coffin. Punctures straight through to the other side and leaves me wheezing for breath.

Betrayed.

She’s been working with Stu all along? A great roaring starts up in my ears, deafens me. My body goes numb, freezing cold as it all clicks into place. She and Stu are working together on this. I was so stupid to believe all her lies. A known thief, a known hacker, I actually saw her install the malware into my system, and I didn’t realize I was being played? She took me by the balls.

What in the hell is wrong with me? I was thinking with my dick, not my brain, that’s what. I let a pair of sexy legs and Batgirl tits lead me around by the nose. What a fucking idiot.

I watch, like a dead man, as she pulls off her helmet and dismounts from the bike. She leans back against it, folding her arms across the same breasts I worshipped only last night.

I can’t tell what they’re saying. Even if my wolf hearing could detect their voices through the window, the rushing in my ears keeps me from being able to concentrate.

I turn weak, like she’s wrapped me up in silver chains—a werewolf’s kryptonite. Power simply drains from the soles of my feet, leaks beneath the car like blood.

The betrayal coats my mouth, puts a red filter over my vision. Darkness falls across everything—the peachy future with Kylie I’d been trying way too hard to figure out. It blackens the time we spent together, muddies my trust in my own instincts.

Like I’m that teen again, covered in my stepfather’s blood, I go numb. Just shut off.

~.~

Kylie

“You going to shoot me with that thing?” I ask, peering in at Stu through his open car window.

He has a gun in his pocket pointed at me. He’s pale, sweat beading his forehead. “What do you want, Catgirl?”

“My grandmother. Where is she?”

Something that resembles sympathy flickers over his face. “Right. They took your grandmother. I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He rubs his forehead with the hand not holding the gun. “I had no idea they would do something like that.”

A sick twist wrenches my stomach. “Who is they?”

He shrugs like we’re out to coffee discussing code or what we think about the boss. “Guy calls himself Mr. X. That’s all I know.”

My hands turn clammy, and I sway on my feet. “You just took down the country’s top credit card security company working for a man named Mr. X? Have you met this guy?”

A flash of misgiving passes over Stu’s face before he hides it. “We’ve been in communication for over a year. He’s placed a good faith down payment in my offshore account.”

“Offshore account, hm?”

“It’s hack proof, Catgirl.”

I’ll see about that. I cut him with my most scornful glance. “You must be pretty proud of yourself, framing me to make yourself rich.”

Again, a flicker of regret seems to pass over his face. “Get out of town, Catgirl. You can still leave. They’ll never find you. You’re as hack proof as they come. That’s one of the reasons I picked you. You won’t be any worse off than you were before. Hiding and assuming new identities is what you do best.”

I must be crazy because I actually see his logic. “I need to know where my grandmother is.”

“I’m sorry. I really don’t know, but…I wouldn’t wait around.” Again, he looks almost sorry for me. “Get out of town, while you can.”

I eye his gun. It was crazy of me to come here unarmed, but I just had to look him in the face and hear him say for himself what he’s done. He’s telling me my grandmother is dead. My hands start shaking—whether from rage or shock, I’m not sure. Either way, there’s nothing I can do now. Not when Stu has a gun and I’m completely unarmed. Besides, physical violence has never been my way. I’ve always been the cyber attack sort. If he thinks his money will sit quietly in his offshore account, he’s fucking delusional.

I nod, once. “Okay.”

Relief flickers over his face. “Okay? You’ll leave town?”

I shrug. “What choice do I have?”

“Good.” He rolls up his window, and I watch as he puts the car in gear and coasts away. I want to throw Sam’s helmet through his back window, chase after the car and pull him out of it, stand on his throat until he tells me where to find Mémé, but I’m helpless. Just like when I watched my father murdered and couldn’t do a thing to save him. Didn’t do a thing to save him.

I’ve always wondered if things would be different if I’d gone after his partner that night instead of hiding like a terrified child. He’d already stabbed my father, but what if I’d found a way to kill him? Would that have been the honorable thing to do? Instead of hiding and going after him the sneaky way? The shameful way?

Now, I’m doing the same thing. Letting Stu drive away after basically admitting Mémé’s been killed.

The sound of a car door slamming nearby makes me jerk my head up. My throat closes when I see the figure storming toward me, dark and furious.

Jackson.

His huge hand shoots out and grips me by the throat.

“Jackson,” I choke, real fear shooting through me. His eyes are ice-blue, inhuman.

As if he catches the fear, something flickers in his expression. The fury slips away, replaced by something far more raw and broken.

“So.” He brings his face right up to mine. “You’ve been working with Stu all along. Played me for a fool, didn’t you?”

“No,” I gasp. “You have it wrong. I came—”

“Shut up.” He gives me a little shake. With my weight suspended by the column of my neck, he pulls me to my tiptoes. “All I have to do is squeeze to crush your throat.” There’s a sharp menace to his voice I’ve never heard before. It terrifies me. “Or snap to break your neck.” I remember this is the man who lost control of his wolf and killed his stepfather with an ax. Who hunts and runs wild on the mountain. He’s no stranger to violence. “Which would you prefer?”

“No.” It’s hard to speak around the fingers partially cutting off my air, around the crushing panic, because strangulation feels a lot like claustrophobia.

Tears spike, drip out the corners of my eyes.

His nostrils flare, and he releases me abruptly, a look of horror on his face. He shoves his fingers through his hair. “Get out of here. Get out of my sight before I harm you. You aren’t safe with me.”

“I’m not working with Stu,” I rasp, my throat sore from his fingers.

He lunges for me again, covering my mouth with his hand. “No more lies from that pretty little mouth. No more. Just. Leave.

He takes my helmet from my hands and puts it over my head, buckles it even. He tugs the chinstrap forward and stamps his lips over mine.

I moan into his mouth, hope flaring that he is still with me, that he will listen, but he makes a broken sound and, when he pulls away, he doesn’t even look at me.

A goodbye kiss.

Fuck.

That’s what it was. It guts me.

He stalks away without another word.

I open my mouth to call after him, to explain, but tears choke my voice, followed closely by anger designed to protect against the kind of injury I sustained.

Heartbreak.

He should have let me explain. Why would he give me the benefit of the doubt all along and then choose now to believe I’m against him? Now, when I’m already hopelessly in love with him? Now, when I can no sooner walk away from him than I can from Mémé?

Tears streaking my cheeks, I throw a leg over Sam’s motorcycle and take off. I have nowhere to go, no leads to follow. Stu was right. I should get out of town while I still can.

Why, then, would I rather cut off my own arm?

~.~

Jackson

Driving back to the office, it takes me a long time to realize my phone is ringing. I check the screen.

Garrett.

Because the guy doesn’t call me often, and that means it’s wolf business, I take the call. “King speaking.”

“It’s Garrett. Listen, do you know anything about a female called Kylie?”

The distortion in my vision and the roaring in my ears fall away, my attention sharpening to a razor point.

“What about her?” I snap.

“You do know her?”

I wait, my fingers fisting around the steering wheel, ready to rip it off.

“An elderly cat shifter showed up here this morning suffering from four bullet wounds, including one to the head that should’ve killed her. She couldn’t shift for a day, but she finally limped into my place, disoriented and badly dehydrated.

“Cat shifter?” I repeated, my brain skipping in twenty directions.

“Yeah. Jacqueline Dumont. You know her?”

“What does she have to do with Kylie?” I demand through gritted teeth, impatience tearing at me, even though I already know the answer.

“Says she’s her grandmother. Thinks Kylie works for you and is in trouble. Is this the woman who’s been all over the news for hacking your place?”

“Fuck. Yes. Where is she now—the old woman?”

“My place.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“She’s under my protection,” Garrett warns.

“I’m not going to hurt her,” I practically yell into the phone before tossing it onto the seat.

Downtown is just a few exits away. I follow roads that should be familiar as if in I drive in a new city. My mind turns over the new information. Kylie really has a grandmother. Who was shot multiple times. If she wasn’t a shifter, she certainly would have died.

And ho-boy—Kylie’s grandmother is a cat shifter? Is Kylie? She can’t be. Her fear when I partially shifted was genuine. But how would she have a shifter for a grandmother and know nothing about werewolves?

Another thought creeps in, full of heat and tingles. Kylie has shifter blood. No wonder my wolf wanted to mate her. And it means she probably would have survived it.

But that is water under the bridge. Kylie just met with Stu, proving she was in cahoots with him the whole time.

Except, now that this new information has knocked me out of my stupor, doubt creeps in. Could there be another explanation for her meeting with Stu?

I pull up in front of Garrett’s apartment and get out, walking swiftly in and onto the elevator. I stop on Garrett’s floor and get off. The scent of shifters—both wolf and, yes, the distinctly feline smell as well, hits me.

I knock on the door and one of Garrett’s housemates answers it and steps deferentially aside to let me in. The old woman is on the sofa, pale and weak. She’s dressed in one of the wolf’s T-shirts—far too big for her.

She sits up when I come in, eyes glowing gold. “Where is she?” She speaks with a thick French accent.

My eyes narrow. It’s not my habit to answer anyone’s demands, especially someone I’ve just met.

“Jackson, meet Jacqueline,” Garrett says, appearing from the kitchen.

“I smell her on you. Where is Minette?” Jacqueline demands.

“I don’t know anyone named Minette.”

She makes an impatient slash of her hand and attempts to stand, but it’s obviously too much for her. She sags back against the sofa. “My granddaughter, Kylie. They say she works for you. She’s in trouble.”

I pull a chair from the kitchen table and place it beside the sofa, settling into it. “Kylie is in trouble, yes. She stole hundreds of millions of dollars from my customers.”

“Pfft.” She waves her hand dismissively. “No, she didn’t. These men did.” She points at a place on the side of her head where she must have been shot. The hair is growing back, and the skin closing, but she’s extremely lucky she didn’t die.

The wall I spent the last forty minutes erecting shudders, as if moved by an earthquake.

This is the moment. I either go on believing in Kylie and her story as I have from the beginning, or I stick with my newer, excruciating understanding that she betrayed me.

If Kylie was in cahoots with Stu, there wouldn’t be an old Frenchwoman lying on a couch with bullet wounds, would there? An old woman who greatly resembles my little hacker. The high cheekbones are unmistakable, along with something about her mouth.

Which means…I’ve made a terrible mistake.

For the second time in an hour, my heart stutters. Stops. Starts again to a new beat.

Fates. I sent Kylie away to face her enemies on her own.

It’s unforgivable. I swallow hard. “Tell me what happened to you.”

She blinks at me with her big golden eyes, as if judging whether I’m worthy of her story. I must pass her test because she says, “Men came to our house. They were different nationalities. One Irish, one American. Two Germans, from the sound of their accents.”

I lean forward.

“I was returning from the grocery store. Minette’s car was there, but no lights were on. They surprised me—were waiting in the house. Drugged me before I could shift and fight.”

What a surprise it would’ve been for the men if the old lady had transformed into a giant cat and attacked them. Too bad she hadn’t had the chance.

“How did you escape?”

The woman groans, and her expressive hand flutters toward her face. “They kept me drugged. I was never able to fight because every time I woke, they stuck another needle in my neck.” She rubs a place below her left ear. “Next thing I knew, they’d taken me out in the desert and filled me with bullet holes. They must have thought I was dead when they left me. Thank the fates they were too lazy to bury me.” With noticeable effort, she swings her legs to the floor to face me sitting up. “Now, I have told you my story. You tell me where to find my Minette.”

She exhibits the same steely determination I’ve witnessed in Kylie, and my chest aches.

I scrub a hand over my face. “I just sent her away. I believed she had betrayed me.”

Jacqueline’s eyes move over my face, and she must see my misery because something akin to understanding flickers in her eyes. “You care for my Minette?”

I nod. How could I make such a mistake? The wolf knew, all along. I should have trusted my instincts. To distract myself from the searing pain that sliced me open from neck to groin, I ask, “What kind of cat are you?”

“Panther.”

“Kylie doesn’t know?”

“Non. My Minette never manifested. Her mother died when she was still a girl, and she was apart from me during puberty. Her father knew to contact me if she showed signs of shifting, but she never did. I reunited with her after her father’s murder, but she hasn’t needed me. Not until now.” She peers up at me, and I’m not sure if she means because of the men who framed her or because of me.

“Is she half or quarter?”

“Half. Her mother was truly the cat burglar.”

My skin prickles. Half shifter. No wonder my wolf wants her.

Mate.

I didn’t mean to speak it out loud, but I must have because Jacqueline’s eyes glow with curiosity. “She knows about you?”

“Yes. She saw my teeth when the wolf wished to mark her.”

The old woman shifts and, even with her obvious frailty, her movements evoke the grace of a cat. “Did you mark her, wolf?”

I immediately feel like a young teenager getting the third degree at his girlfriend’s parents’ door. Shame tinges my reply. “No. But I frightened her.”

Jacqueline’s eyes glint in that unearthly manner cats have. I can’t read her reaction.

I slide to the edge of my seat. “Jacqueline, come to my mansion. I will protect you, and we can find Kylie together.”

“Non.” She doesn’t even hesitate. “I will not be your bait for my granddaughter. I am safe here. If Kylie wishes to see you, she will make contact. In the meantime, Garrett will protect me.”

The band around my throat tightens. It’s like the woman already knows I don’t deserve to see Kylie again. I fucked up—put her in danger, failed to trust the female who had placed herself in my hands so many times.

I let out a low curse—not at Jacqueline, but at myself. I write my cell on my business card and hand it to her before I stand. “Please contact me if you hear from her. Tell her I’m sorry, and that I made a mistake. I’ll do anything I can to help her. That’s a vow.”

I go through the motions of shaking Garrett and his pack member’s hands on the way out, but my movements are jerky. Mechanical. I’m already a thousand miles away, searching for my mate. Figuring out how I’m ever going to make this up to her.

~.~

Kylie

I ditch Sam’s motorcycle downtown and check into the No-Tell Motel on Miracle Mile, a place where you can pay for a room with cash and rent by the hour. Porn is showing on the television in the room. Nice. Very nice atmosphere. I switch it off and pull out my laptop.

I’m dying to lose myself in code. No, I’m dying in general. I haven’t felt this lost, this destroyed since my father’s death. Back then, Mémé was the only thing that kept me going. If I don’t have her now…

No. I can’t think that. My gut says she’s still alive, and I have to trust she is. She’s tough, even for an old woman.

So my new plan is to find Mémé and leave town. But the emptiness of that plan, even being reunited with Mémé, leaves me thinner than a ghost. Leaving Jackson believing the worst of me is unthinkable. One part of me hates him for not trusting in me—after what we did last night, he thinks I played him?

But maybe that’s why it cut him so deep. He isn’t someone who gives his trust easily or to very many. Last night, he shared his deepest tragedy with me. Seeing me with Stu must’ve felt like the worst betrayal to him. But understanding doesn’t lessen the sharp cut of his mistrust. He flayed me in a million pieces back at the airport.

Still, I need to make things right. I won’t let him believe I destroyed his entire life’s work. That I stole from him.

And even if I didn’t care about Jackson and SeCure, I need to make those fuckers pay for involving me in their greedy plan. Stu, included.

I get to work following the money trail. The FBI should eventually be able to follow it, too, but by the time they do, the money will be long diverted.

I have to hack into five different banks, which takes me the rest of the afternoon, but I pick up the trail.

Bingo.

I let out a wicked witch chuckle as I send the money back to the first place from which it was diverted and reverse every transaction. Most of those accounts will be frozen or on hold. Issued new numbers. But the point is, the money will be tied up while the banks try to figure out where it’s supposed to go.

Take that, Mr. X. Take that, Stu. Framing Catgirl was your biggest mistake.

The light has dimmed, and I take a break and check the antique board for a message from Mémé. With a surge of joy, I see a message in my inbox.

Minette, I am with friends. Call them at 520-235-5055.

My heart pounds. I don’t dare use my phone, but I immediately hook up an Internet voice line and dial the number. A male voice answers. “Hello.”

For a moment, I freeze, not sure who I’m talking to or whether it’s safe.

“Hello?”

“May I speak to Jacqueline?”

“Ah. She’s been waiting for your call.” He says nothing more, but Mémé’s voice comes on. “Minette! Dieu merci. Is it safe to talk?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“I am with the Tucson wolf pack. Downtown.”

For a moment, I simply replay her words as my brain struggles to catch up. “Did you say wolf pack?”

“Oui. I’m sorry, I never told you, Minette. I am a shifter—a cat. Your mother, too.”

I’ve had too many surprises today to take it all in. My hand drops limp at my side. “Wh-what?”

“Where are you, Minette?”

Minette. The French word for puss. She’s always called me little cat because…she’s a cat. My mind topples ass over tea kettle down a slope of dawning. “My mom?” I croak.

“Yes, your maman, too. This is why this wolf is attracted to you. Where are you, my sweet?”

“Not far from downtown. Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I was hurt, but I will be better soon.”

My engines finally start firing. “We need to leave town right away.” I stand and pick up my leather backpack purse.

“Are you sure?” There’s something coaxing in Mémé’s voice, but I can’t decipher it. “Your wolf was just here. He said he’s sorry and wants to help.”

The tightness in my chest gives way to relief, followed quickly by anger. A wedge of stubbornness rises in me. He doesn’t get to flip-flop so quickly. I flip him a mental bird. He’s not my knight in shining armor. I’m the one saving his ass. I’m going to stick to my plan of reversing the money trail and refunding the millions in transactions and getting the hell out of Dodge.

If Jackson wants to beg for my forgiveness when that’s all complete, I might consider it. We’ll see.

“Give me the address where to find you, Mémé.”

She must hand the phone back to its owner because the young man returns and rattles off the address of one of the few Tucson high-rise apartments downtown. He clears his throat. “Your grandmother needs some fresh clothes when you come, too.”

I hate the icy spines that needle up my arms at hearing that. “I’ll get her some clothes,” I promise.

I consider my options. I’m without a vehicle, since I already ditched Sam’s motorcycle. I could wait for a cab. I could hack Uber and set up with a credit card with one of my new ID names. But, for some reason, I want to do this without breaking the law. I don’t know, maybe I need to prove I’m not the criminal the entire world thinks I am.

My house is a few miles away. Mémé’s clothes are right inside. The FBI will be watching. What about the supposed Mr. X? Probably.

Damn. I have a bag packed on my bed already. It’d be so great to run in and grab it and some things for Mémé. Maybe what I need is a diversion.

I call for a cab and wait for it to arrive. Then I call in a violent robbery in progress at the house across the street from mine.

I lose the cab a block away from my place and head through the back alley, sticking to the shadows in the cover of night. Sirens screech in from several directions at my neighbor’s house. I creep up my back steps and use the key hidden in the mouth of a ceramic frog in the garden.

Inside, the house feels wrong. People have been inside. I don’t know how I can tell, but I know it without a doubt. But that’s no surprise. Surely the police have already searched the place. I move through the dark without turning on any lights. I grab my suitcase and move to my grandmother’s room. I hear the gun cock just before a hand claps over my mouth and hard metal prods the back of my head.

~.~

Jackson

I’ve never felt so impotent in my life. I fucked up with Kylie, my company’s in the gutter, and I’m pacing my office after midnight, unable to come up with a strategy to fix things.

I told Special Agent Douglas about my suspicions of Stu, although I didn’t want to tell him about the meeting with Kylie. I couldn’t very well tell him about Kylie’s grandmother, either. Somehow I doubt, “I saw the old lady, but it turns out she’s a shifter so the bullets didn’t hurt her a bit,” would fly.

My cell phone rings.

Garrett.

I take the call, biting out, “This is King.”

“Jacqueline expected her granddaughter to pick her up here hours ago. The old cat thinks something happened.”

Ice washes over me, and I curse loud enough to shake the windows.

“I know, bro.”

“Where was she coming from? What was the plan?” I demand.

“She didn’t say where she was. I’ve tried the number she called from, but it just rings and disconnects. She said she was on her way over and asked for the address. I told her to bring some clothes for Jaqueline because hers were ruined with blood. That was around seven p.m.”

I partially transform, my wolf wanting out to kill. I fight to bring my human side back, but my voice comes out pure growl. “I’m going to sniff around her house. Keep in touch.” I hang up without waiting for his response.

I curse my office building for being so far from Kylie’s house. I want to shift immediately and run there, but I dare not waste precious time. I drive, hands nearly tearing the steering wheel in pieces. Two feds are sitting across the street in a van, staking out the house. I knock on the door of the van as I go by and walk up to the front door. I catch a variety of scents, human males. Nothing fresh. I walk around the house, wishing to fates I could shift, but I don’t dare. It’s okay. My human nose still works better than most other humans’ olfactory senses. I catch a whiff of Kylie at the back door. Her fresh scent. I try the handle and find it open.

Her scent is easy to follow—into a bedroom, but what terrifies me is the aroma of a human male. Not Stu—some other man. And gunpowder.

Fuck.

Kylie ran into trouble. Damn her. Why in the hell had she risked coming back here? She should know better.

I slam back out the door, sniffing the breeze, trying to find out where he’s taken her. It wasn’t out the front door—I would’ve smelled it there. Besides, the feds would’ve seen. I catch a trace of both their scents in the alleyway and then it disappears. There must have been a car waiting.

Christ on a stick, this couldn’t be worse. I pick up my phone, then dial Garrett, communicating with him what I’ve found.

Jesus fuck. If anything happens to her, I am going to tear the throat out of every man I even suspect of knowing about it.

For the hundredth time, I curse myself for mistrusting her. For sending her into danger on her own.

Kylie. My kitten. Out there on her own in mortal danger.

I lift my mouth to the moon, barely holding back a howl of rage and anguish.

~.~

Kylie

I’m in the trunk of a car, my hands duct taped behind my back, another strip covering my mouth. I’m choking to death on my own spit. My breath sucks in and out with frantic, tearing attempts, but my nostrils seal closed, keeping me from succeeding.

Stars dance before my eyes. The trunk spins.

Don’t make me grope you again.

I must’ve passed out, because I hear Jackson speaking to me. I conjure the feel of his hands pressing firmly against my sternum.

My breath eases off its frantic, suffocating pace.

I imagine Jackson lying behind me in the trunk, his huge arms banded around me, palms pinning the center of my chest.

I’m triggering your calm reflex.

I let the relief flow over me the way it had in the elevator. The sense of security being near Jackson brought me. The sense of belonging, of home.

Of course, I know that is best forgotten, but if deluding myself in this moment with the memory of Jackson King helps, I’m doing it.

The car pulls onto gravel and then slows to a stop. I tense, preparing to fight. My foot shoots out the minute the trunk opens, but the asshole dodges out of the way and punches me in the face. Pain explodes in my cheek, shatters the little concentration I’d gathered.

I wilt, sickness rising in my belly, desperation bleeding in.

The guy hauls me out. We’re at some kind of warehouse. He drags me inside where several other men are gathered, including Stu who sits bent over a computer set up on a card table. “Look who showed up at her house,” my captor drawls.

I glare at Stu, who has the nerve to look sickened by my appearance.

“The first fucking thing that’s gone right all day,” a guy answers in a crisp British accent. “Sit her down here.” He kicks out the chair beside Stu. “Someone reversed the money trail on the hijacked cards. I’ve got Stu working on it, but how much you want to bet this little hack had something to do with it?”

I want to say damn straight, but I’m not suicidal.

I’m thrown down in chair, and I look over Stu’s shoulder at his screen. He splits a glance between me and the screen. Desperation is present in his face. And fear.

Looks like Stu bit off way more than he can chew. I should be gloating, but I’m not happy for his misery. Having the one villain who’s half an ally to me be in trouble with the rest of them doesn’t help me much.

“How about we cut off her fingers? Permanently stop her from hacking?” This comes from the peanut gallery, one of four men leaning against crates, smoking cigars and talking.

“Shut up. You cut off her fingers, she can’t fix this.” British Accent walks over to me.

“Too bad we already killed the old lady. She would’ve been good leverage, now,” another from the peanut gallery declares.

I attempt to look casual despite the terrible throbbing in my cheek where the guy punched me. Like it’s my first day on the job, not like I’ve just been kidnapped and threatened. I cross one leg over the other and lean close to Stu. “So, what’s going on?”

British Accent grabs a handful of hair and yanks my head back so hard my teeth rattle. “Did you reverse the money trail?”

I give him my most mulish look. “Why would I help SeCure? Jackson King thinks I’m responsible for all this.”

He slaps me, reigniting the wicked pain of my bruise. “Get him back into the system,” he commands.

I wiggle the fingers taped behind my back. “I’ll need my fingers free,” I sing out.

“No fingers. Talk him through it.”

Damn.

I ignore British Accent and direct my attention to Stu. “Okay, where are you?”

He’s attempting a straightforward hack into SeCure, which we both know isn’t going to work. It occurs to me he might not be trying that hard. Maybe he’s seen the writing on the wall. They’re probably going to get rid of him as soon as he finishes the deal.

British Accent yanks my hair again. “Help him.”

I allow my anger to show. “Okay asshole. Do you know anything about hacking? No one ever knows the way in. It’s about experimentation. You just keep trying things until you make some headway. If I’m going to help Stu, I need my own computer and my fingers. Me looking over his shoulder just slows us both down.”

British Accent—I’ll call him BA, looks at Stu, who shrugs. “She’s right.”

It’s too much to hope they’ll give me my computer, but he does slide the tape off my wrists and shove another laptop in my face. Despite the fact that I’m still wearing the mini skirt from days before, I prop one ankle on my knee to make a desk and flip open the laptop.

I’ve been in Jackson’s system all week through his computer, but I left an open door for myself, which is how I transferred the funds back today. I don’t go in through the door, now. I go at the firewall, same as Stu.

“Is she doing it?” BA demands.

Stu looks over my shoulder. “Yeah.”

I ignore them all, my fingers flying over the keys as I set up automatic password reveal programs.

As soon as they look away, I start a hack into Verizon, which was how I made my phone call to Mémé before. Stu looks over, and I flick to the open window behind it, keeping my fingers moving. I hold my breath.

He looks a moment too long, and I know he’s seen me. I wait for the hammer to come down.

Nothing happens.

“You know, with Kylie working on this, you don’t even need me. I’ll just slow her down.” Stu closes his laptop and stands up.

The sound of a gun cocking makes both of us freeze. BA—who, by now, I believe must be Mr. X—holds the muzzle of a pistol to the side of Stu’s head. “Are you sure you want me to believe we don’t need you?” His icy tone sends shivers up my spine.

I think it made Stu nearly pee his pants because he lets out a weird squeak, sits down and opens his laptop. Still, I gotta hand it to him because he really brings it back. “You’re threatening me? You have nothing without me. Zero.”

“You just told me all I need is her.”

“And who’s going to know if she’s hacking SeCure or into your mother’s IRA?”

Mr. X palms the pistol and smacks Stu on the side of the head with it, hard enough to make him fall to the floor with a groan.

I wince, mostly at the sound of metal on bone, but also at the pathetic crumpled heap that Stu became.

Reminder to self—I am on my own, here. Nothing new, though.

I switch screens again, enter the number I’d memorized for Mémé, and send a text message.

Need help. In warehouse, 10-15 minute drive from my house. Red Toyota Corolla parked in front. Lic. DCR 583.

I close it out and flick back to the main screen.

Mémé would get help to me. I’d been stupid to go back to the house, but I might still survive this. Especially since now they need me alive.

All I have to do is stall for time…

~.~

Jackson

I wear a hole in the floor pacing at Garrett’s apartment. Sam is there, too. It’s two in the morning, but no one’s asleep. Jacqueline appears paler and more worn than this afternoon, her fear over Kylie aging her another ten years. I’d comfort her, but I’m ready to tear the building down.

The ding of Garrett’s phone makes everyone look. He reads the text aloud. Instantly, all his men stand, a unified force. It’s the first time I’ve had a warm feeling about a pack in years, maybe ever. But this solidarity, this support, is something I’ve cut myself off from.

I don’t fool myself into thinking they’re doing it for me. It’s clear they all love the old lady. Plus, they’re natural bred heroes. Garrett has an army of young, fierce twenty-somethings. Warriors, ready to defend their pack.

“That can’t mean too many places. There are warehouses on South Kino, and some south of downtown, on the other side of the train tracks.” He pulls a map up on his phone and holds it flat for everyone to see. “We’ll divide up, take drive-throughs. If you spot something, you call in. No one goes in on their own, understood?” Garrett barks the orders, and, for once, the alpha in me doesn’t even bristle. His head is way more level than mine right now. I’m grateful for his leadership.

“Jackson and Sam, take these square blocks east of Kino.”

I nod and head out the door, not even waiting for him to finish divvying up the areas.

Kylie needs help, and I’m sure as hell going to find her. We drive to the warehouse district and drive slowly up and down the streets and alleyways, looking for the Corolla. Thirty minutes slip by. Forty-five. The knot in my stomach is so tight, it’s twisted up to my throat.

My phone rings.

“We found it. 738 North Toole.”

I don’t bother answering Garrett, just step on the gas, peeling around the alley corner with a spray of gravel. I’m there in two point five minutes. I cut the engine before I reach the building and pull into the shadows. A motorcycle with one of Garrett’s soldiers already stands there. Three more pull in behind me, all equally silent and cautious. Smart boys, Garrett’s men.

We pull off our clothing and shift.

~.~

Kylie

I hear something outside, but no one else seems to notice. I hope it’s the cavalry but don’t dare let myself believe. Metal scrapes near the door, and all five men reach for their weapons.

“Shh—what was that?” Mr. X hisses.

I surge to my feet. “Hey, I gotta pee,” I announce in a loud voice. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Sit the fuck down.”

I walk forward. Maybe I took stupid pills, I don’t know. Maybe I was just so sure help was coming. I underestimated how trigger-happy and dangerous these men were.

Guy points his pistol at my chest. Stu—like a crazy man—jumps in front of me and takes the bullet just as the blast rings in my ears. I watch him fall, see the life slip from his eyes.

Damn. Stu just died for me.

Chaos erupts everywhere as the metal garage door shoves open and a pack of giant wolves flood in.

Guns fire. Bullets fly. Above the terrible ringing in my ears, I hear the whine of wolves being struck and the scream of men attacked by the beasts’ snapping jaws.

Though there are many silver wolves, there’s no mistaking mine. Huge. Majestic. Ferocious. He sees me at the same time, and it costs him a moment of distraction. One of the assholes aims and fires.

“No!” I scream and dive in front of him. Pain sears through me, through the front, out the back. White hot flames of heat. I try to keep running toward Jackson, but my body crumples into a heap. Satisfaction rises up and licks my face. For once I didn’t stand there and watch someone I loved die. Stu saved me. And, now, I’ve saved Jackson.

And yes, I love Jackson. I know it with absolute clarity. He is my safety. My home. He is my past and my future. My now.

Jackson leaps over me in a fifteen foot graceful arc, and a gurgling sound fills my ears. I don’t look, because I know he’s just taken my shooter’s throat out.

Then he’s here, beside me. He stands over me, protecting my fallen body with his own. Licking my face, whining.

A terribly prickling comes over my entire body. Flashes of heat strike me like lightening. My vision narrows to a tunnel, yet seems to sharpen. Sounds grow louder, smells stronger. My vision flashes to black at the same time my cells seem to split apart. I am nothingness and everything at once.

Holy afterlife, Batman. I just died.

It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve only just found Jackson. Allowed myself to admit my love for him. Believed we could be together.

My vision clears and, with it, all my pain returns with brutal intensity. I try to groan, but the only sound that comes from my mouth is a low growl.

Growl?

Jackson shimmers and shifts, his human face looming before mine. He blinks back tears, but he doesn’t look sad. His face is full of wonder. “That’s it, kitten. You shifted. You showed me your panther self.”

Panther self?

I look down at giant black paws. Holy shift, Catgirl.

Jackson strokes my muzzle. Smooths my fur. “You’re going to be okay, baby. Shifters can heal from bullet wounds.” He manages a watery smile. “Thank the fates. You shifted. You did it, baby.”

A beautiful rumbling sound comes from my chest. Purring. It increases the bite of the bullet wound, yet I instinctively know that’s good. It’s healing me.

Jackson continues to stroke my face and ears, staring down at me with fierce attentiveness.

Sirens sound nearby.

A wolf barks, sharp and loud. It sounds like an order.

Jackson scoops me into his arms and runs outside. I stare over his shoulder at Stu’s lifeless body. At a man who righted the scales of justice in the end. Became a hero in death, instead of a criminal. Something about his act righted more than this fucked up situation. It feels like redemption for my father’s death, too. Like the universe owed me. No, like the universe is showing me proof that there’s still good. That I can trust more than just family.

Hell, all around are people—shifters—who showed up to help me. Shifters who don’t even know me.

Sam is by the Range Rover, yanking on a pair of jeans when we get there. He throws the door to the back seat open for his pack brother, and Jackson climbs in, still holding me. Sam jumps in the driver’s seat and starts the vehicle, driving off without turning on the lights. The sirens grow louder.

I lay my heavy head in Jackson’s lap and close my eyes, the pain too much. He continues to stroke my fur and murmur softly and I believe—no, I know, without a shadow of a doubt—that finally, for once in my life, everything is going to turn out right.

~.~

Jackson

The first rays of light come up over the mountains as Sam pulls into my garage.

On my orders, he stopped to pick up Jacqueline. I knew how worried her grandmother had been, and vice versa. I want Kylie to have all the support she needs, especially considering it’s her first shift. While the shift was necessary for her survival, she may not know how to shift back when the time comes.

I carry her in. Sam tries to carry Jacqueline, but the old cat insists on walking on her own, leaning heavily on Sam. We install them both in the upstairs guest bedroom. Jacqueline shifts and curls her body up beside Kylie’s, lending her purring vibrations for her granddaughter’s healing.

I sit beside the bed, my heart rammed up behind my chin, my fingers moving over Kylie’s sleek black fur.

She’s fucking magnificent. A huge black panther with golden eyes. Truly awe-inducing. It’s the first time in my life anything’s made sense. Of course my wolf chose this incredible female. She’s everything I could ever hope for in a mate—strong, brilliant, beautiful. And a shifter.

Morning comes on like a freight train, my phone ringing off the hook with calls. I leave the room so I won’t disturb Kylie, then give orders and make statements on calls with Luis, Sarah in PR, and the CFO at SeCure. The money has been restored—all of it. I tell Luis to have SeCure take credit for the reversal because I know, without a glimmer of a doubt, who is responsible. My star employee, Kylie McDaniel.

When I come back into the room, Kylie’s breathing flows even and relaxed, her wounds already closed.

“Looks like all the money is back where it belongs. You did that, didn’t you, beautiful?” I murmur, rubbing her cheek. She pushes into my hand.

“Can you change back, kitten? Bring Kylie back?”

The great cat’s eyes widen. As I feared, she doesn’t know how.

“When Sam tried to lose himself on a California mountainside, I stood on his throat and demanded he transform. The animal can take over, if you go too long without the human side. You forget who you are.”

Jacqueline shifts and re-dresses. She murmurs to Kylie in French. I catch words I understand here and there. “Find” and “quiet” and “remember.” I don’t know if it’s different for cats, so I’m glad Jacqueline is there to help.

Kylie moves restlessly. Her eyes open and close, paws flex, showing enormous, sharp claws. She rolls over and stands up on the bed. Rolls back down to her side.

Jacqueline speaks again, a constant stream of coaching.

Kylie claws the bed, shredding the sheets and blankets.

“Come back to me, kitten. I want to kiss you,” I murmur.

She turns her golden eyes on me, and our gazes lock. Neither of us seem to breathe. Finally, the air around her shimmers.

“That’s it, baby,” I encourage, but the shimmer fades. “You were onto it there. Try again. I need to kiss that pretty mouth of yours.”

The air shimmers again, and Kylie appears, pale, but even more beautiful than I remember.

“Baby.” I lunge to wrap a blanket around her and pull her up into my arms.

“Where’s the kiss you promised?” she croaks.

“Get her some water,” I bark at Sam, who’s leaning in the doorway. He immediately disappears.

“Well?” she demands.

I don’t hold back. I claim her mouth with every bit of ferocity inside me. The need to possess, claim, mark, mate her flood from me in a torrent. The need to punish her for taking a bullet meant for me. The need to show her my love, my affection, my promise to be there for her next time. Not to let her down the way I did this time. I part her lips with my tongue, twine around hers. I slant my mouth over hers, demanding more, taking it all. I drink her in. I devour her.

“I’m so damn sorry,” I croak when we finally part, both gasping for air. “I will never let you walk away from me again. I’ll never leave you. That’s a goddamn promise.”

She smiles weakly, and I’m reminded of the fragile state of her health. A stab of guilt for kissing her so hard pricks me.

Sam returns with the water, and I snatch it from him to hand to my mate. “Jeez, man. Is this how it’s going to be for the whole pregnancy?”

Everyone in the room freezes as I flip his words over in my head.

Pregnancy?

Jesus. Yes. Kylie’s scent has changed. Victory pummels me like a meteor. My wolf does a double backflip and moonwalks in a circle around Kylie while fist pumping. She’s carrying my pup. My pup.

Jacqueline covers her mouth. “Mon Dieu,” she breathes then launches herself at us, clucking rapidly in French.

Kylie’s bewilderment blooms into moist eyes.

I clutch her against my body, my wolf fiercely protective even with no present threat. “That’s how you shifted, kitten. My cub’s DNA tipped the scale.”

She laughs through her tears. “I’m pregnant? How do you know? Are you sure?”

Jacqueline, Sam, and I all nod. “Your scent has changed, baby. You’re pregnant.” Tears prick my eyes.

Jacqueline and Sam have the grace to slip out of the room, closing the door behind them.

“Kitten, I knew you were my mate from the moment you walked into that elevator. I need you. You’re the only person I’ve trusted, the only thing I’ve believed in. Ever. I can play games with you right now, pretend I’m offering you a choice to be my mate or not, but the fact is, you’re mine. You run, I’ll follow. You hide, I’ll find you. So, please, make it easy on both of us, and tell me that you’ll stay.”

Kylie purses her lips and whistles. “That might be the worst proposal I’ve ever heard.”

I can’t fight the smile tugging my mouth. “Is that a yes?”

She gives me a long look—long enough I stop breathing, have to force myself not to fidget. “I’m still mad at you for not believing in me.”

I cradle her cheek. “I know. I fucked up. But I promise I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. You and your grandmother will rule my fucking life.”

Her eyes mist again, and she leans her forehead against mine. “I thought you were the one who liked to rule.”

“Mmm hmm. Yes. Always. Can you live with it?”

“Yes.” She didn’t hesitate this time, and I nearly fall down with relief. “There’s just one small problem.”

My shoulders tense. “What is that?”

“I’m wanted by the FBI.”

“I’m fixing that,” I promise. “Garrett stayed to stage the bodies at the warehouse so it appears Stu and his cohorts killed each other. You will be given all the credit for the recovery of the money. Don’t think of it again.” I can’t stop my hands from roaming over her soft skin, sliding up inside her T-shirt to cup her breasts. “The only thing you need to worry about is growing our baby.”

She tips back her head, offering me her mouth again, and I claim it, scarcely believing she’s truly mine.

“When are you going to mark me?” Her voice sounds husky, not afraid.

“Just as soon as you’re recovered, baby. Right after I turn that pretty ass red for taking the bullet meant for me.”

She wiggles her ass in my lap. “You know you’ll always be my hero.” She touches my face. “I just couldn’t watch helplessly while another person I love got killed.”

My heart ricochets around my chest. “You love me?”

She laughs the husky laugh that drives me wild. “I love you, wolf. I’ve told you that, before.”

“I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“I love you, I love you, I—”

I shut her up with a kiss, smothering her mouth with mine, stroking her lips, joining our tongues. “I love you, kitten. You’re home now.”

She let her head fall back and closed her eyes. “Yes,” she sighed. “You are my home.”