What the hell am I doing?
Oh yeah, hunting down his vixen. And no, it wasn’t pathetic that Fabian was excited he’d get to see her.
Okay it was, but he’d punch the first idiot who said anything to his face.
According to the latest text from Colin, they were right around here somewhere. Here being downtown where his vixen wanted to do some shopping.
Fabian didn’t like it, but he’d expected her to do something rash before now. At least she’d listened to reason and taken a guard while Fred ensured others shadowed their movements. Still, nothing beat hands-on. His hands.
And mouth.
How he’d missed her when he had to leave. However, while a good portion of his business could be conducted from home, there were times he needed to hit his official office and play the part of corporate mogul, times like today. But even bigwigs in the business world—even those with questionable business dealings—were allowed to stop for lunch.
Given Fabian knew she was in the area, he decided to track down his vixen and take her to lunch—then maybe back to his downtown office where they could consult behind closed doors.
If nothing happened in between now and then. So far, so good. No attack. Not even a hint. Good, right? Except he didn’t trust it.
As he walked the few blocks to their last location, he couldn’t help but mull over the frustrating lack of information. Everywhere he turned, he ran into a dead end. No one had heard anything about a missing woman, either in the shifter world or human, and it wasn’t for lack of trying.
His friends in law enforcement ran searches for him. No one matching her description popped up. Fabian had Brody tapping the shifter grapevine for rumors.
Everything came up empty. For all intents and purposes, it was as if she didn’t exist. And if he couldn’t figure out who she was—She’s mine—then how was he supposed to take care of whoever wanted her dead?
Must protect.
Indeed, he had to, but protect her against what? He couldn’t kill what he couldn’t find, if there was still someone to find.
Perhaps whoever had a grudge against her had decided to let it go. But what if they hadn’t?
The possible threat to her still worried him, and yet, at the same time, he couldn’t keep her a prisoner in his mansion forever—even if he would make her stay most enjoyable by keeping her entertained with sensuous delights. However, his vixen, a name that now seemed rather permanent, would end up chafing at the restriction eventually. Maybe even resenting him.
While he wasn’t averse to the occasional fight and ensuing make-up sex, this curtailment of her freedom couldn’t last forever, not if he wanted her to stay with him.
Argh. In the olden days, a man could have locked his woman in a tower and no one would have batted an eye at his protective instinct. Nowadays people would call it forcible confinement and call the cops.
Society and its damned rules, rules even he had to follow.
Hence, his orders to Fred. If you can’t stop her from leaving, then at least make sure she is well protected.
Except her protection was currently on the sidewalk beside the car, playing pretty eyes with a curly-haired redhead whose skimpy shorts and tight tank top left nothing to be discovered.
As soon as Colin saw Fabian bearing down on him, his eyes widened. “Boss, what are you doing here?” The redhead who’d been chatting Colin up slipped away.
“I thought I’d surprise my woman with lunch. What I’d like to know is what you’re doing here outside without her.” Where the hell was his vixen?
“Your lady is over in that boutique. I’ve been watching the door the entire time. No dudes have entered, and Johan is watching the alley behind it to make sure no one sneaks in the back.”
That should have eased his mind, and yet unease nagged him.
“I’m going in.”
Colin smirked. “Brave man. All that lacy shit and bras is emasculating if you ask me.”
“A real man can handle a lingerie store, especially when he knows he gets to peel the goods off his woman later,” Fabian said with a smirk. He also lied. He did find the idea of entering such a feminine domain daunting, which was why he added, “If I’m not back in ten minutes, come find me.”
Off he strode, the urge to run strong—stupid gut feeling wouldn’t go away—but Fabian kept his pace measured. Upon his entering the shop, nothing untoward jumped out at him—unless that negligee with the strategically placed holes counted.
The overwhelming girlishness of the interior battered at his masculine defenses. Pink walls, painted red hearts, and mannequins wearing flimsy articles all over.
He wasn’t quite sure where to look lest someone accuse him of ogling the plastic dolls. How he wanted to escape, even if a part of him snickered at his cowardice. He should be better than this. He knew men bought lingerie for their girlfriends and wives all the time. He certainly loved seeing the end result. However, the sheer abundance of frilly undergarments made him want to scratch his man parts.
Of more concern than his masculinity was the fact that he couldn’t spot his mate. Given the racks displaying the wares only rose a few feet high, he should have seen her. Where had she gone?
His visual scan located an employee, so he headed in her direction. “Excuse me.”
The young woman turned his way and bestowed upon him a perky smile, a smile that widened as she took him in. “Well, hello there. Are you shopping for yourself or someone else today?”
“Me?” He practically choked. “No. I’m not shopping at all. I’m looking for my wife. She came in here a little while ago. She’s about so tall”—he held his hand up—“with short, dark hair and a decent set.” He cupped his hands.
The salesperson didn’t bat an eye at his gesture. “I remember her. She hit our change rooms with some stuff. Very sexy stuff, I might add. You’re a very lucky man.”
“Yes, I am.” He started to move away, but the woman stepped in front of him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t go back there.”
“But that’s where you said my wife is.”
“Yes, but she’s not the only person trying on things. We have a policy about not allowing the opposite sex in the woman’s change area. It makes them nervous. Now if you were to try something on yourself, then we do have a male-only area. Just installed last spring for the man who likes to pamper himself.” She smiled brightly.
“No.” And no. “Listen, I understand your policy. I’m kind of glad of it actually.” No men allowed in the change area meant no one he’d have to kill for seeing his woman. “But see, I was hoping to surprise her. It’s our anniversary,” he lied with impunity, adding in a wink for good measure.
He could see the clerk wavering. Ducking his head, he whispered, “I’ll be very discreet, and as a thanks that you’re looking the other way just this once, let me buy you dinner.” He slid a hundred-dollar bill into her hand.
“I don’t know—” Two more bills magically appeared. The eyes of the salesgirl widened. “You promise to be quiet?”
“Like a mouse.” Which really made no sense. Those long-tailed rodents squeaked pretty damned loud when chased.
“Okay, but don’t tell anyone I let you.”
“Promise.” He let her bask in the charm of his smile for a moment before heading once again toward the change room. He didn’t run, barely.
Unease nagged at him. He didn’t smell anything untoward. Didn’t hear or see anything, yet he couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong.
Someone threatens our mate.
Problem was, what was a man to do when the threat was a woman? And one smaller than him?
As he went through the curtain that led to the change rooms, he was startled to see his vixen, shirt untucked, hands laced behind her head, being prodded by a petite blonde wielding a gun.
Do something.
Like what? Not only was it against his moral code to hit a woman, but this one also held a firearm that, if fired, could kill his vixen.
His mate’s eyes widened when she spotted him. “Fabian!”
“Stay back or I’ll shoot.” The blonde took aim in his direction, and in that moment of inattention a fist flew.
Smack.
And no, it wasn’t he who punched the blonde holding the gun. His vixen had whirled on a heel and snapped out a perfect left hook that hit the threat in the jaw and sent her to the floor, out cold.
“Nice shot,” he remarked with a hint of surprise.
“I can’t believe I did that,” she replied, looking from her fist to the woman on the floor.
“Just another hidden skill, my delightful vixen. Now let’s see how you are at smuggling a body out.”
“What?” Her brow furrowed.
“This woman is our first living clue. Hence we need to take her for questioning.”
“I understand that, but we can’t just waltz out of here with her. I’m pretty sure the saleswoman will notice. The saleswoman is why my attacker made me get dressed before she forced me out of the cubicle.”
“Which is why we’ll send her out the back. Or did you not wonder where she was taking you?”
“I was kind of distracted by the whole she-wants-to-kill-me thing.”
Was that him who growled? More like his wolf, who didn’t like the reminder of the threat. “The whole she-wants-to-kill-you thing is why we need to get her out of here and fast before someone notices anything.”
“But—”
“Do you want to know why people keep trying to kill you?” As he asked, he knelt down and took a peek at the space under the stall doors, looking for feet—in other words, witnesses who might require handling.
“There’s no one else here. And, yes, I want answers.” Lips in a tight line, she bent down and grabbed the feet of the gunwoman. “Let’s go before I realize what a stupid idea this is.”
“I never have stupid ideas,” he remarked. Rash ones, violent ones, and, sometimes, regrettable ones—such as the rat tail he sported in high school—but a true man never admitted to stupidity. Unless a woman pointed it out. “And no need to dirty your hands. I don’t need any help carrying her.”
Thunk. She let go of the feet.
“So what exactly am I supposed to do?” she asked.
“You act as lookout in case that saleslady comes snooping.”
“How did you know I was in danger, anyhow?” she asked as they went through the door marked: EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Did your super Scooby sense go off?”
He glared at her. She didn’t pay it any mind.
“I did have a gut feeling, yes, and it had nothing to do with my Lycan side.” He did not mention the part where he was only here because he’d missed her. Some things a man did not admit.
“Colin’s not going to get in trouble, is he? It’s my fault I ditched him. And I really didn’t expect any trouble. Who knew they’d use women killers?”
Fabian should have known, given his cousin Megan was an assassin for hire. Or at least used to be. Since she’d gotten hooked to Gavin—Mr. Strait-laced himself—she tended to avoid the use of deadly force.
What a waste of talent.
“Women are just as capable of violence as men.”
“Apparently,” she mused, peering at her fist as if she didn’t recognize it.
She shoved at the metal push bar on the door at the back of the storage room marked EXIT in big red letters.
Before he could tell her to stop, she’d stepped out.
“Get your ass back here. We don’t know if it’s safe.”
She poked her head back in. “Stop bitching. This was your plan. And for your information, the only thing in this alley is a little red smart car. You’d think a hired killer would drive something a little cooler.” And out she popped again.
“Idiot,” he grumbled as he quickly followed, the blond killer still deadweight in his arms.
His vixen was correct in that the alley was empty, at first glance. At second, Johan stepped from behind a Dumpster and blinked at Fabian. “What the hell, boss?”
“The hell is you and Colin didn’t think to make sure the women entering the shop were clients or hired assassins.”
Johan’s blue eyes widened. “For real? Damn. And here I thought your cousin was the only hot chick with a gun. Is your mate okay?”
“Yes, but no thanks to you.”
Figured that she would catch his slip of the tongue. “‘Mate’? Is that some wolf term for ‘girlfriend’?”
Before Johan could explain, and because Fabian wasn’t ready, he shoved the limp body at his minion. “Take the assassin back to the house and secure her. I’ll want to question her when she regains consciousness.”
“Right away, boss.”
His vixen snickered.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. Your henchmen. Have you ever thought about growing a mustache and twirling it when you give them tasks?”
“You are not funny.” Actually, she was, but he didn’t want to encourage her. Fabian tugged her back into the storage area.
“What are you doing?” she asked. “Shouldn’t we be going with Johan?”
“Not yet. We’ve got something more important to deal with first.”
“What could be more important than getting information on who I am?”
Several things, such as reassuring himself that she was safe. He could think of one very good way to ease that panic. Not that he’d truly panicked. Real men didn’t succumb to that emotion. Or so he’d been told. He now had to wonder if that was true.
“A certain salesperson told me you were trying on some sexy lingerie,” he said as he closed the alley door behind them.
“I was, until a certain crazy lady pointed her gun at my hooch.”
“We shouldn’t let a paltry thing like a failed murder attempt keep you from the important things.”
“But—”
He drew her into his arms for a quick, yet scorching, kiss. “I insist.”
“Well, in that case then”—she smiled—“wait until you see the stuff I grabbed.”
He couldn’t wait. First a quick peek through the employee door. Spotting no one, he dragged her back into the cubicle, which, while spacious, wasn’t meant to accommodate a male his size. But he didn’t care once he spotted the lacy negligee hanging from a hook.
“Put that on,” he demanded, his voice low and husky.
“You do know this is nuts. I just escaped getting killed by some midget blonde, and now you want to ogle me as I dress in a fancy nightgown.”
“Ogle. Touch. And taste. So strip, or I’ll strip you.”