Mick crouched down behind a fallen log with a handful of other shifters. Less than a hundred yards away, the small, rough cabin crouched in the fading light, a thin tendril of smoke rising from the chimney tube and quickly disappearing in the quickening wind.
The weather wasn’t offering them what you’d call ideal conditions for the evening’s operation. The cold front that had hit a few nights ago had finally passed, but in its place a storm seemed to be blowing in from the south. The sheriff had warned them that with the predictions of heavy winds beginning within a couple of hours after sunset, they wanted to keep this shindig on schedule. No one wanted to be stuck out in the woods when trees started shaking and branches started falling. Get in, get the targets, and get home—those were their instructions.
Other clusters of deputies and volunteers had taken up positions in the surrounding brush and even up on the top of the ridge behind the cabin. The sheriff was taking no chances that any coyotes would be able to make a run for it, sheer rock face or no sheer rock face.
Zeke shifted minutely beside him. He knew that his friend, still in human form and clad in black tactical gear, had one of the small in-ear radio communicators that allowed him to coordinate movements with the other team leaders in the operation. It was how they knew that four figures had been confirmed inside the structure and how they would coordinate the timing on their assault.
Mick wished they’d start it already. He could practically taste the blood of one particularly doomed coyote.
Geoffrey Hilliard would fall under his fangs, and woe betide anyone who tried to interfere with his kill. The rest of the men had been warned.
He had to work hard to control his wolf, a particular challenge given that he currently wore his fur. When in his animal shape, instinct always had more power and reason tended to fall by the wayside. Not that he became some sort of mindless beast or anything. He retained his identity and even his personality as a wolf, but the world always looked a little more black and white through wolf’s eyes. Predator or prey, friend or enemy, kill or be killed.
The growing charge in the atmosphere wasn’t helping. The approaching storm was messing with the barometric pressure and electrostatic energy in the area, making his sharp canine senses go on high alert. He thought his ears even caught a rolling rumble in the distance. Given the rarity of thunderstorms in the area, he figured this meant tonight could get wild in more ways than one.
He shoved back an impatient whine and kept his gaze focused on the cabin. He could smell the coyotes even at this distance, even over the thickening ozone. Hell, they might as well have put up a neon sign and mailed out invitations for all the good their hiding spot did now. He scented the motor-oil aroma of Ayala, as well as the sweetly rotten and decaying fungus fragrances of the Molina boys. And there was no way in hell he would ever mistake the thick, sulfurous odor of Geoffrey Hilliard, especially not after he’d had to spend so much money purging the noxious stuff from his home.
All four scents were fresh and strong, offering proof positive that the coyotes were indeed holed up inside the ramshackle cabin. They carried easily on the stiff breeze, making him hope the troops on the upwind side of the cabin had taken the scent-dampening precautions the sheriff recommended seriously. No one wanted to give away the element of surprise. Now that the presence of the targets had been confirmed, they just had to go in and drag the fuckers out.
He felt Zeke shift again, felt the sudden rise in tension overtake his friend, and knew this was it. The time had come.
Now.
Zeke gave the order, sweeping his hand forward and releasing the members of his team like the surge of a tide. Mick bounded from cover, soaring over the log and eating up the distance to the target with long, galloping strides. The wind seemed to surge with him, carrying him forward and whipping through his fur with primal energy.
The attack began in eerie silence. No one howled or roared or wasted breath on warning the enemy they were coming. They simply moved forward, fast and quiet and deadly.
Mick didn’t waste time looking around, but he could still sense the rest of their force converging on the cabin. He caught glimpses of bears and wolves and big cats of all kinds joining the attack while the team leaders in their human forms made use of weapons other than tooth and nail. Two of them moved into position and hurled flashbang grenades through the windows, shattering glass and formally announcing their presence.
Immediately, the cabin door swung open and a disheveled and disoriented shifter appeared, hands raised in a sign of surrender. Mick skidded to a halt at the base of the steps and wondered what the fuck was going on. A second man followed on his heels, this one looking less confused and more smug.
“Welcome to our humble abode,” the second one said, his scent and appearance identifying him as Tommy Molina. He had to shout to be heard over the commotion of the attack and the steadily increasing wind. “We’ve been expecting you, wolf. You and your friends.”
Mick shifted back to human, stretching to his full height and stalking slowly toward the coyotes. “Send out Hilliard,” he snarled, lips curling to bare gleaming fangs. “He’s who I came for. Tell him to face me like a man.”
His wolf whined, urging him to shift again or, better yet, to assume his wereform. After all, this was a battle, and he intended to win it.
“We’d love to, but I’m afraid Geoffrey’s not at home right now.” Tommy grinned. “May I take a message?”
Mick cursed and leapt up the steps, shoving the coyotes aside and forcing his way inside the cabin. His gaze swept around the single room and landed on the sofa in the small living area. On it, two life-size mannequins had been dressed in the clothes of Geoffrey Hilliard and Will Molina and propped up in conversational style.
His heart dropped to his stomach and he spun back toward the door.
Renny.
Fuck. The coyote bastard had taken a page out of their book and set up his own decoy operation. While the Alpha Sheriff’s Department had deployed its forces on the supposed coyote hideout, Geoffrey Hilliard was nowhere to be found.
Double fuck.
His mate was in danger.
Renny gave up trying to relax about three seconds after Mick walked out the door that evening. Yeah, playing it casual just wasn’t going to happen. Until her mate came back safe and sound, she was just going to have to live with an unbearable sense of trepidation. Woohoo.
She tried pacing, reading, watching television, yoga, and deep breathing exercises, but nothing managed to keep her mind off of her worry for more than a minute at a time. It was enough to drive a wolf crazy.
The worsening weather wasn’t helping things, either. Her tension rose as the barometer dropped. The restlessness many shifters felt during a coming storm only increased her tension, giving her yet another variable to worry about. Would the storm just bring wind, the way the forecasters had predicted? Or would her mate and the others find themselves trapped out in heavy rains, or even one of the area’s rare thunderstorms? Geoffrey and his minions were dangerous enough; she didn’t need to add the possibility of lightning strikes to her list of irrational fears.
“Ma’am, I’ve told you not to worry.” Renny turned to scowl at the junior deputy who had pulled babysitting duty during the most exciting operation his department had launched in years. He was trying to be a good sport about it, but it didn’t take a mind reader to see he really, really wished he were in on the action instead. “Everything is going to go like clockwork. I’ve never seen a team more prepared.”
Obviously, the kid had never heard about Landry’s Law. He didn’t seem to have checked the weather forecast, either. “Deputy, what did I tell you earlier about calling me ma’am?”
“Sorry, m—er, I mean, miss.” Deputy Draper turned pink once more. She was starting to think it had something to do with her.
“Forget it.” Renny waved a hand and resumed pacing. This was her third bout of it, and Mick hadn’t been gone even an hour. The operation wasn’t due to start for another twenty minutes. She’d be ready for a padded room by then. “I’m a little cranky this evening.”
“I understand, but you really shouldn’t be. Sheriff Lahern has this planned out to the last detail. Nothing bad is going to happen to your mate. Mr. Fischer will be just fine.”
Good Goddess, but this cub was making her feel old with all the “ma’ams” and “misses” and “misters.” What was he, five years younger than her? He couldn’t be much beyond that. What age did you have to be to go to police academy, anyway?
She decided to ignore him.
It had been Mick’s idea to station him inside with her in the first place. She had insisted that she was fine with having him stay outside and patrol around the house and yard the way the guards had been doing before now, but her mate had disagreed. Strongly. If he’d had his way, there would have been more guards doing the outdoor patrol thing as well, but Sheriff Lahern had preferred to use his manpower resources to take on Geoffrey and his pals with an overwhelming show of force. One deputy with solid training, a reliable sidearm, and a good eye would have no trouble protecting a single she-wolf. After hearing that scouts had confirmed all four coyotes had been sighted in the cabin and would remain under constant surveillance until go time, Mick had reluctantly agreed.
She supposed, given the turn the weather was taking, it was rude to wish she’d won that argument. She might feel a lot less itchy if she didn’t have someone staring at her while she did her nervous twitching.
When all this was over, she and Mick were really going to have to work on this overprotective streak of his. She’d like to be able to get some time to herself in the future, maybe even shower alone from time to time.
Well, okay. She’d like that once in a while, anyway.
Deputy Draper cleared his throat until she looked in his direction. “Uh, is there anything I can do to help make this evening less stressful for you, Ms. Landry? I’d be happy to try and distract you. You play poker?”
Oh, she’d like to play poker, all right, but her version of the game didn’t involve playing cards. It had more to do with her taking the iron implement usually reserved for stirring the fire logs and bashing it over his annoying head.
Whoa, Nelly, her inner voice chided. And Renny. Get a grip, girlfriend. The kid hasn’t done anything wrong. He doesn’t deserve blunt-force head trauma. He’s just trying to do his job.
But his job should be joining the group of men and women protecting her mate, Renny thought. If everyone was so damned sure that Geoff and the boys were in that damned cabin, why did anyone need to stay behind with her?
Renny struggled to muster up a smile. “No, thanks, Deputy. I’m fine.”
He looked skeptical. “Are you sure?”
Her fangs threatened to erupt. She fought them back. “Positive.”
And back to pacing.
Things went on like that for another fifteen minutes, while the wind began to howl around the edges of the house. Finally, Renny just stopped in front of the fireplace and watched the second hand of the mantel clock tick slowly toward six P.M. For an instant, she thought she saw the damned thing move backward.
Draper rose from his armchair and joined her in front of the hearth. “They’ll be moving in right about now. Just a few more minutes, and I’m sure the phone will ring to let us know everything went off without a hitch. Trust me.”
Trust had nothing to do with it, or rather not the way he meant. The problem with this whole scenario was that Geoffrey was the one she didn’t trust.
A particularly wicked gust of wind rattled the windows, making Renny jump. She turned instinctively in that direction, only to gasp as the sound of cracking wood ripped through the air.
“What was that?”
Draper looked toward the front of the house and frowned. “Sounded like a branch coming down to me. Right out next to the driveway, from the ruckus.” He pointed toward the sofa. “Sit there. I’m just going to take a look out the window. We need to make sure nothing is blocking our road access in case of emergency.”
Right. Like Renny had plans to go anywhere until her mate got home. She huffed to herself. You couldn’t get her to step foot out the door with a bulldozer, not until Mick returned safe and sound.
She watched through the doorway as Draper stepped into the front hall and approached the glass. He twitched back the curtains to peer out into the twilight dimness, then appeared to jerk. She heard a sharp tinkling sound and saw a crack in the windowpane even as he folded into a boneless heap on the floor. The front of his shirt looked suddenly darker.
It took a second to process the information. When the metallic scent of blood hit her, she knew. Draper had been shot. Someone had fired through the front window.
Another echoing crack sounded, this one much louder and more forceful than the presumed falling branch. Renny jumped to her feet as she heard the thump of the front door banging into the wall. Someone had just broken it down.
She had enough time to blink before the alarm sounded, but not enough time to run. Her feet remained stubbornly planted on the floor as a menacing figure filled the doorway.
Geoffrey Hilliard smiled at her. “Hello, Renny, my sweet.”