Present

“Why is he still unconscious?” Julian asked after Dallas parked her rickety, rusting van in a lot between a brand new Mercedes and a Lexus. The eyesore would attract all the wrong type of attention, particularly since his slip was one of the farthest out.

“I hit him really hard in the head.”

Climbing out of the van, Julian inspected the lot then the marina. Though it was private and the cost to maintain guest access rather cost prohibitive, he financed several locations along the coast. He never knew when he’d need a port in the storm.

“Stay here,” he ordered her. “I’ll scout first.”

The direction had less to do with protectiveness than strategy. If she had any more wolves trailing her, better to find out while he was free to respond and not when he carried the dead weight of their captive.

Cameras provided security for the marina, but they were angled toward entrances, exits, and on the boats themselves. One perk of his slip, it was just out of range of the primary security cameras. Pacing the boards, he checked the cameras on the ships in dock. Most were angled toward their own decks.

Salt water and engine oil predominated the scents along the path. Though it was late afternoon, the sun warm, and the breeze cool—the yachts were empty. Those who could be on the water had already taken their ships out. Retracing his steps back to the van, he found Dallas waiting for him in the driver’s seat. Though she faced forward, her gaze was pinned to her side mirror.

Alerted, he shifted his attention to the lot. Like the high-end vehicles on either side of the van, many expensive cars filled the tiny parking area. Plenty of opportunities available for those who desired stealth to find it. Dallas didn’t move, not even a twitch of her fingers.

The woman had rarely ever lacked for movement. Her knee would bounce, her fingers tap, or her mouth would be flapping as she delivered verbal jabs and slices. When she maintained a predator’s stillness, Julian knew something had ensnared her attention. Nostrils flaring, he tested the air for unfamiliar scents even as he listened. Focusing his senses had been honed in the fields of battle in an effort to preserve them amidst the bloody detritus of war.

Dallas’ heart beat steadily, no agitation marking her pulse. A far more sluggish pulse near hers: their unconscious captive. Making a mental note of the faint respiration and too slow cardiac rate, he dismissed both from his mind. They belonged—odd as the sensation might be—what didn’t?

A horn on the road. Passing vehicles. One by one, he eliminated them. The rhythmic thud of boats tapping against the slips, the slap of water against the hulls, a change in the tide.

Bump. Bump.

Bump. Bump.

A third heartbeat. Continuing to discard identified sounds, he focused on the pounding throb of an anxious heart, the hurried beat of blood flow surging with adrenaline. Target identified, he strode past the van and toward the source of the sound. Most ambushers never expected a target to come looking for them. The element of surprise afforded him many advantages.

Such as the wolf’s abrupt rush of fear souring his scent. He knew he’d been made. Anticipating the wolf’s next move, Julian hastily intercepted the Volchitsa’s rapid flight.

Slamming into him, Julian captured his gun-wielding arm, locking it down then twisting to drive his elbow into the bone just below his eye. Even as the man began to sag, Julian switched positions to lock both arms around the other’s throat for a chokehold. Controlling the pressure, he studied his surroundings. As long as he was in the middle of a fight in the open lot, they were exposed.

The wolf sagged, and Dallas was there. She put her shoulder into the wolf’s gut then took the weight over her back. “It’s a good thing I’m here. One each.”

Ignoring the smart ass, he pointed to the dock. “Stay right in the middle. Last boat on the right.”

Rather than obey him immediately, she returned to the van and grabbed a backpack. Julian plucked it from her, and slung it over his arm before he reached for their second captive. Without complaining, she grabbed the cooler and strode off. At least the cargo she carried didn’t reek of onions, cabbage, and vinegar. What did the damn wolf do, bathe in it?

After yanking him over his shoulder, Julian closed the van’s sliding door then followed her. Moving as steadily as possible, he used the body to hide his face on the off chance any camera tracked him. He’d kept his gaze away from the others on his earlier reconnaissance—old habits died hard—but cognizance of Dallas ahead of him as she approached the yacht left him hyper aware of possible traps.

Without slowing, Dallas climbed aboard his yacht. By the time Julian followed the stepladder up, she had secured the unwilling passenger with deck rope. Seated on one of the lounge sofas, she gave him an irreverent grin. “Where’s the beer?”

“Don’t leave that garbage on the deck,” he ordered, then went below deck.

“Arrogant ass,” she muttered, but she dragged her passenger down the steps. Poor guy took a battering, not that Julian experienced much in the way of sympathy for him.

“That’s Captain to you, as long as we’re on board.” Petty? Perhaps. Still, meeting with Dallas netted him two captives to question in addition to the accountant he’d picked up along the way. Not bad.

“As you wish, Captain Ass.”

And there was still time to throttle her.

On the bottom level, she hesitated.

“Second door on the right. Dump him inside.” While she did that, he deposited his into the one opposite it. Door closed, he dropped her bag in front of her. Then he locked the door from the outside—there were no handles within. Frantic yelling resumed from Chris Tompkins.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Please, help me.” Every word was accompanied by another pound of a fist against the door.

“Friend?” Dallas asked scooping up her backpack, before jerking at thumb toward the door as she headed for the stairs.

“No.” Julian followed her to the deck. Then bypassed her to loosen the ties. Dallas didn’t interfere or offer to help. Instead, she claimed her cooler and studied his yacht. Her gaze lingered on the name, Wanderer.

“Don’t suppose you have any beer onboard?”

“Sure.” Ropes secure, he made his way to the bridge with Dallas on his heels.

“Nice boat, by the way.” She dropped into a leather seat while he got the engines warmed. He could manage everything on board alone. Ideal, considering when he took her out on the water, he preferred to be the only passenger. “Did it satisfy your penis envy?”

As the engines rumbled to life, he radioed his exit to the harbormaster, verified the wind speeds, and confirmed he wouldn’t have any large shipping vessels in the area. Finished, he opened the throttle and navigated through the lanes to open sea.

He had an idea of where they would head, away from shore, shipping lanes, and other possible issues. Better to give them distance from the tidal line as well. No need to litter the beach.

The silence between them stretched, and left him too much time to muse upon the catalogue of unanswered questions. “Your van will be impounded.” He tried to find an apology, but he didn’t have one.

“No problem,” she said with a shrug. “Wasn’t my van to begin with.” The faint sound of scraping accompanied her words.

A glance over his shoulder found her working a nail file with concentration, shaping her nails one at a time.

“You stole the van?”

“Did you think I invested in that smoke belching piece of crap? Do credit me with some taste.” She might be attempting to mock him with her offended tone, yet he tasted genuine incredulity.

Scowling, he returned his attention to the ocean. “I credit you only with your cleverness to be exactly what you need to be.” It wasn’t a compliment.

“Survival of the fittest,” she retaliated, not pausing as she went from nail to nail.

“Life on the run is no way to raise a child.” The scold lashed out of him, only one of many he had in his armory.

“No, it really wasn’t. Whatcha got next?” Still, the scraping continued. “C’mon, get it off your chest. Sitting on that much vitriol cannot be good for your system, Captain Ass.”

She knew how to swim. It was the only piece of information keeping him from giving into temptation and tossing her ass overboard. “My feelings are irrelevant. Tell me about the Volchitsa.”

“Not until you get that stick out of your ass. We can do it the easy way, you rip me a new one, or the hard way.”

Considering his earlier response, he still had to ask. “The hard way?”

“I remove it and beat the shit out of you with it. Sooner or later, you’ll crack the iceberg and let the volcano out. Once you blow, then we can get to work.”

Yes, he really shouldn’t have asked. After adjusting his speed, he spared her a dark look. “Keep pushing, Dallas. You will not like the result.”

“Oh boo hoo, did I damage your man-feelings because I’m not sitting here fretting over your conflicted responses to my presence?” The rasping sensation assaulted his nerves. “Get over it, Captain Ass. I’m here to do a job, to help. You can sit there wallowing in the stench of your righteousness, or you can let me have it. Let your wolf off its leash, Julian. It will help both of you.”

Throttling the engine to neutral, Julian checked the radar and the view line before he turned the bow into the wind and released the anchor. The shoreline remained a speck on the horizon. Turning from the controls, he found Dallas standing. She’d shed her shoes and balanced on the balls of her feet.

His wolf rushed to the surface. As much a part of him as the flesh on his bones, his wolf was always within reach. Dallas raised her chin, and her eyes gleamed golden. Her wolf met his glare for glare.

“You no longer have the power to hurt me.” Whether he needed to explain the terms of their working together to her or to himself didn’t matter. “You have survived because you managed to stay one step ahead of me.”

“Or behind,” she said, everything from the way her chin lifted to her shoulders squared to how she balanced her weight prepared for retaliation. No, Dallas would never back down from the fight, not the one she wanted to pick.

“Explain.” So, he would have to let her talk her way out of it. Protect. His wolf’s insistent demand echoed in the back of his mind. Neither Dallas nor his wolf could be allowed to diminish the nature of her offenses.

“You’re far easier to avoid if I know where you are. So I followed you for years. I was always behind you…it’s why you couldn’t find me.” The corners of her lips tilted, and the smile gracing her mouth kindled in her eyes. “C’mon, Julian, it’s just you and me—and Larry, Moe, and Curly in your dungeon hold. No one is going to think any less of you. You screwed up. You made the one mistake you told me an Enforcer never makes.”

I focused on my desire to find her. Folding his arms to keep from dragging her to him, he stared at her. “Now, the Volchitsa.”

“Nice try.” She began to sway from side to side, her own impatience with the confrontation leaving her restless. It might have been years since he’d met her, green off the bus from New York, a Lone Wolf intent on blazing her own path, but some habits appeared to have stuck. “You’re so mad, you can’t even express the feelings boiling away inside of you. It’s not healthy, and I’m right here. Let’s go. Let me have it.”

“No,” he said, and calmness blanketed the rage she’d kindled with her taunts. “You get nothing that you want. You agreed to assist in one matter, securing your daughter.” The reminder flayed the mounting need, a vicious reminder of her betrayal. One he and his wolf would do well to remember.

“You have been in that job too long,” she said, not bothering to mask her displeasure. “You were a wolf and a man long before you became this thing you are now. The world doesn’t rest on your shoulders, Julian. You aren’t the alpha, you’re the Chief Schoolmarm who runs after the errant wolves to whack them with a ruler. When that doesn’t work, you break their necks and call it justice.”

Every lash of her tongue scored across his soul, but she didn’t draw blood. “I’m the Chief Enforcer. I protect the packs. I enforce the law.”

“When you’re not busy breaking it.” Like an arrow drawn on Paris’s bow, she sought his Achilles heel.

“My actions aren’t the question here.” As entertaining as her pit bull tendencies were, his patience reached the expiration date. “You chose to leave your pack, abandoning your responsibilities as your grandfather’s chosen heir. You chose to leave the life you’d built here for a wolf with criminal tendencies. Avoiding the Enforcers, you managed to get pregnant, then give birth…”

Julian stopped. She’d been on the run for the pregnancy, long enough that he hadn’t even been aware of the child. Birth—she would have to have stopped for the birth.

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

“Diesel. It’s why you owed him a favor.” Suddenly his cousin’s caginess and silence on the issue made sense. No alpha would betray someone under their protection. Dallas had gone to the Yukon to give birth.

Forming a gun with her thumb and forefinger, she clicked her tongue telling him he’d hit the target.

“You gave birth in a pack, which made the birth legal.” Why the fuck hadn’t Diesel told him that?

“Leaving with my child was also legal.”

“That’s splitting hairs. It also only looks at the face value of the law and not the depth of their meaning.” Frustration wrenched him. His wolf, formerly on her side, felt as confused as Julian as the foundation of her crimes evaporated.

“Bullshit,” she said, shaking her head. “The depth of their meaning is open to interpretation, as you’ve just proved. I went to a pack. I gave birth in a pack. Technically, Chrystal has as much claim to the Yukon as she does to Hudson River.”

“And Sutter Butte,” he reminded her. “Or does the sperm donor no longer count?”

“I’m pretty sure you executed that connection.” She sliced her hand through the air.

An old, dangerous anger awoke within him. Killing Carlo Cruz had been the only choice the Rogue left to Julian. “He violated the law when he impregnated you.”

“Again I would argue, he didn’t. But you don’t care about the arguments or the reasons behind anything. You only care about what you perceived.” She narrowed the distance between them, the rise of her power crashing into his. Nothing about Dallas Dalton had ever been submissive. She thrived on conflict and battle, whether it was physical or verbal. “You saw a wolf that took what you believed belonged to you and there was no reasoning with you.”

Too close. “You didn’t try to reason with me.” Fresh wrath leaked into his veins. The char scorched his control. “You were with him. Then you vanished.”

“I vanished the day you killed him. The day after you crushed him against a wall, even as he swore he’d done nothing wrong.” Tilting her head, she studied him. “Tell me, Julian, after that rage shattered within you…did you choose to forget or did you decide a crime had to have been committed for you to react that way?”

“Carlo attacked first.” He’d been on the offensive from the moment Julian found their little love nest. The scent of sex had been overpowering. Worse, Dallas’s scent had been there. “He made his choice.”

“Fine, he made a choice. So did you. You didn’t kill him because he broke the law of the packs, you killed him because you thought he stole me. Which means you thought I was something to be stolen.” With each sentence she ticked off a finger. “The only thing a wolf can steal from another wolf—the only thing worth killing over—is a mate.”

Rigid, he stared at her.

“Enforcers don’t have mates, Julian. It’s against the law.”

A law he’d been willing to ignore for Margo, even if he couldn’t overlook other choices she’d made. A law he’d looked away from for Mitch and his Amelia, now John and Hadley. Their world was changing; their laws would need to change, too.

“I wasn’t Chief Enforcer then.”

Sighing, she shook her head. “No. You weren’t. That came a few days later, didn’t it?”

Julian wouldn’t apologize. Leading the Enforcers allowed him to protect them all, to protect the packs, to protect the wolves abandoned by feckless leaders like Toman. “Your point?”

“My point is that, when you killed Carlo, you were breaking the law.” She let the unexploded ordinance land between them. “Or maybe you weren’t? Maybe you just wanted to erase the evidence that you might have once possessed a heart.”

No longer swaying, she flicked her glance away. The action didn’t mark defeat, only willful disregard. When she turned to leave, he caught her arm and spun her around. Gazes colliding, he could almost feel the electricity of a storm forming. Zeroing in on her mouth, he waited a beat. The muscles in her arms went taut, and the tension within him coiled like a cobra preparing to strike.

She parted her lips as though to say something, and his head dipped. Fuck it.

He hadn’t tasted her in years. He claimed her lips, savoring the wild tang of her fury mingling with arousal. When she fisted his shirt, he gripped her hips and then sought and demanded access for his tongue.

Her growl reverberated through him, and his wolf answered.

Decades earlier…

The weekly check-ins grew more creative as the months passed, though Julian avoided any more compromising kisses. As delightful as she tasted and as fine a lover as she might make, she was too young. Adept at the artful dodge, he kept intimacy from their encounters.

Three months after he found her at Bobby Pepper’s guesthouse, he arrived to find her packing two bags. “Going home?” The question slipped out before he could consider her reaction.

“Hell no,” she said, sealing one bag. “My tenancy here is done. Time to find a new place.” The suddenness struck him as odd.

“Problems?” Though no scent other than hers lingered in the small house, he still glanced around as though seeking a clue. In the scant few months she’d lived there, she hadn’t left her mark. All the furniture remained exactly as he’d noticed his first night in, the art on the walls seemed rather bland for her tastes. In fact, the only personal item he’d noticed was a photo album she’d set in the top of her open case.

“Nope. Bobby found a new stray and will need the place.” Though her tone seemed casual, it didn’t ring with absolute truth. Before he could question her, however, she continued, “It’s good timing, since I’m restless anyway. I’ve also managed to save a couple of thousand, so I can afford an apartment. Until I find one I like, I’ll be camping on the beach.”

Winter in southern California was mild compared to the Westchester County she’d grown up in, but he didn’t care for her being homeless. She had two suitcases—two were more than she’d moved to the state.

“What are you going to do with your things while you’re working?” They wouldn’t fit into the saddlebags on her bike.

“I can keep them in the breakroom. Harvey won’t mind.” Pausing, she stretched her hands over her head. Her shirt hem rode up, baring her abdomen. A reminder that the beautiful woman—girl, she’s still a teenager—was also a fit and capable wolf.

“Since I’m here, why don’t I go apartment hunting with you? Kill two birds with one stone.” He’d have a chance to weigh in on her choices, provide a different perspective. Hesitating to add mature to his internal dialogue, he focused on the safety of Hudson River’s next alpha. Her grandfather may have issued an ultimatum before he left, but like any alpha he wanted to test his heir.

Julian recognized in her strength as well as her stubbornness, two traits which would serve an alpha well. Keen intelligence, sharp wit, and observational skills contributed to what would make her a force to be reckoned with. The only item missing from her arsenal in his opinion, was pack loyalty. Though he might be doing her a disservice with latter concern.

“Apartment hunting is boring—and smelly.” She grimaced, then flopped onto her soon to be ex-sofa. “I liked the beach. There was always a party or company to be found if I wanted it, or I could just sit in the sand and listen to the ocean.”

“It’s also exposed and hardly defensible.” He weighed his options. There were two Lone Wolves in San Diego, and a half dozen spread out from Napa to San Francisco. “What about the Sierra Nevada?” Tahoe boasted plenty of seasonal jobs. Ski season was just around the corner. He also had a place there she could use.

“It gets frigid in the Sierra Nevada, and it snows. No thank you.” Stretching her legs straight up, she wiggled her toes. They were painted a red so dark they looked almost black. The color reminded him of her hair.

“Then I’ll make some calls, see what I can find you.” Investment property in the region wasn’t totally out of the question. He had safe houses all over the West Coast, as well as a couple in the Midwest, with others on the East Coast. They were his, not the Enforcers, though Enforcers maintained a series of caches and safe houses all over the country.

“Julian, get a beer, take a load off, and say hi.” She curled her leg and motioned him toward her fridge with her foot. “Get me one while you’re at it.”

“You’re about to be homeless.” The idea bothered him, even if he hadn’t particularly cared for the guesthouse loan when he’d first discovered it.

“Pfft. I’m not homeless. I’m free. I have no responsibilities except to a job that I didn’t intend to keep long-term—but the restaurant is more fun than I thought it would be.” Because it answered a need within her she didn’t even know she possessed. A need to care for others.

It was a trait of dominants. Even more a trait of alphas. However, if he continued to push, she would do the exact opposite of what he would like just to stick it to the man. Somehow, she equated him with all the authority figures in her life. “Do you want a beer?”

As aggravating a notion as she proffered with her attitude, Julian refrained telling her she should drink less. She wasn’t quite old enough to be buying drinks. While her metabolism was more than capable of processing it, he suspected her interest was in the forbidden not the drink.

Opening each bottle, he dropped the caps into the trashcan before crossing the room to hand her one.

“Better,” she told him as she sat up, then clinked her bottle to his.

Even after one long swallow, he continued to brood.

“C’mon, play a game with me or get out. You’re totally harshing the vibe in here.” She patted the sofa next to her, and when he sat, she bumped his shoulder.

“What game do you want to play?” Perhaps he could reach out to one or both of the San Diego wolves and lure them to the Sierra Nevada. It would free the city for her and he had a place on Coronado she would enjoy.

“Truth or dare.” Her provocation incited a wholly inappropriate wave of lust to crash through his system. No matter how much he tried to remind himself how young she was, he did not see a child when he looked at her. Far from it, she was a mature, adult wolf—green perhaps, but she was still an adult.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Particularly when the safest way to avoid a compromising position would be to pick truth and open himself up to her questing mind.

“Of course you don’t, because somewhere along the way you lost your ability to have fun. Do they give you courses in being a killjoy when you become an Enforcer?”

Chuckling, he shrugged and leaned back against the sofa until their shoulders touched. Then he stretched out his legs and crossed one ankle over the other on the edge of the coffee table. Mirroring his position, she stared at him.

What could it hurt? “Truth or dare?” If he had the play with fire, he would be the one holding the matches.

“Yay!” She mimed applauding though she still held the bottle. “Let’s start off slow. I don’t want to overwhelm you. Truth.”

Snorting, he shifted his position so he could study her. “Why do you really not want to return to Hudson River?”

“I answered that question already,” she said, her gaze evasive, and her sigh loaded.

“So tell me the whole truth this time instead of the piece you shared.” It had been only a piece, a fraction of the real story.

Tipping the beer up, she took a long drink and his gaze lingered on the swallowing motion of her throat. Drinking from a long-neck bottle had never struck him as erotic before.

It really shouldn’t be now.

“My grandfather is a tough bastard. He’s a great alpha.” She rolled the bottle between her palms. “Invested in the pack, always there for them, doesn’t mind when there’s always someone else in the house. Grandma sets extra places at every table because they always have company. There’s never any time for him to just be him. The whole pack owns him, and he is devoted. When he told me that I was going to follow in his footsteps, I wanted to run that night.”

Her gaze fixed on the bottle, but he was pretty sure she was back in Hudson River.

“I was thirteen, and I’m sitting in his living room and I’ve been playing with Brett—he’s still little and he loves to play hunt and find. It’s his favorite game. Grandpa walks in and sees me with Brett, then just drops that bomb on me. First I think, Dad would make a great alpha or my uncle, but me? Just no.” After blowing out a breath, she took another long drink and half drained the beer. There was a sense of loss clouding around her. “Every day for the next five years, all I hear about it come with him to meet the pack, come with him to go into the city. Sit here, Dallas, these are the kinds of things you need to know.”

Handpicking a successor wasn’t their way, usually. Though some wolves were alpha potential, and the best alphas found a way to harness the strength in those wolves to best serve the packs and the needs of the individual wolf.

“I’m not my grandfather. I don’t want all those people in the pack always showing up. I need my me time. I turned eighteen four months before I graduated, and I counted down every single minute until graduation day. Grandpa wanted me to go straight to college, but I just wanted out. I asked for permission to roam when he had a houseful of wolves.”

“Sneaky,” Julian said with no small amount of admiration. “He couldn’t deny the request because it’s a natural one young wolves make, and we don’t inherit being alpha.”

“No we don’t,” she said, then tapped her bottle to his once more before she drained it. Julian plucked away her empty, then handed her his bottle. She raised her eyebrows.

“I’ll get us two more, but you look like you need it.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, then took a drink. “Your turn. Truth or dare?”

Yes, it was his turn. He deposited her empty bottle into the recycle can, then extracted two more. “There’s only two left after this.”

“I have wine in the back, too,” she said. “It was a gift, so I have no idea if it’s any good.”

Yeah, he’d stick to beer or water. Wine and him didn’t get along. “All right.” He popped the tops, before returning to the sofa. “Truth.”

How much harm could she do?

“Why are you a Lone Wolf?”

She didn’t dance around the topic; she went straight for the jugular.