Wolf Rebel Page 3

Rachel hadn’t realized their pack mate had seen a psychologist. Before she could answer, footsteps at the base of the stairs interrupted her. She breathed a sigh of relief as she picked up Senior Corporal Xander Riggs’s scent. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate Khaki’s help, but she seriously didn’t want a shrink poking around in her head. She already knew she had a few screws loose. If a therapist confirmed it, the department would put her on administrative leave. She couldn’t let that happen.

  Xander’s voice floated up from below. “You two almost done up there? The guys and I would like to clean up in this century. Unless you’re cool with the idea of working alongside a bunch of sweaty male werewolves all day.”

  Rachel looked over at Khaki, who returned her smile.

  “I could think of a lot worse ways to spend the day,” her friend admitted. “Especially if we can convince them to take their shirts off.”

  Rachel laughed as Xander grumbled down below, making out like he was jealous. It was all an act, of course. No one could ever come between Khaki and Xander. He might be Khaki’s squad leader on the SWAT team, but he was also The One for Khaki—her soul mate—just as she was for him. In any other SWAT team in the country, cops would never be allowed to have a relationship with a fellow officer. But in their world, it was something that was accepted. Finding a soul mate was extremely important to a werewolf. Not to mention rare.

  Too bad there wasn’t a chance of Rachel finding her soul mate among the Pack. While there wasn’t a single guy on the team who wasn’t sexy AF, unfortunately they were all like brothers to her. The idea of getting busy with any of them was enough to make her want to yak. Just her luck. Here she was, surrounded by the most amazing men she’d ever been around in her life, and none of them did a thing for her.

  “Oh, and Rachel,” Xander called from below. “Gage wants to see you in his office.”

  Rachel had to fight to keep her inner wolf from coming out in pure self-defense as an inexplicable terror overtook her.

  Sergeant Gage Dixon was the commander of the Dallas SWAT team, as well as alpha of their pack of alphas. When Rachel had shown up at the compound out of the blue, eager to join the Pack, he’d gone out of his way to welcome her and make her feel like this was the place she was supposed to be. But while he was a great guy and the best boss she’d ever worked for, there was a reason Gage was the head of the Pack. The man was completely in charge and nothing ever got past him.

  What if he knew there was something wrong with her and was going to tell her he was putting her on leave—or worse?

  The panic must have shown on her face because Khaki sat down beside her and gently touched her arm.

  “Relax,” Khaki said. “There’s no way Gage could know about the nightmares. He probably just wants to talk about work stuff, maybe even something to do with that STAT unit you worked with out in LA.”

  Rachel’s inner wolf retreated as she considered that. The Special Threat Assessment Team—aka STAT—was the joint CIA and FBI task force that had helped Rachel and the guys take down the vampires. Apparently, STAT had been aware of the existence of werewolves and other supernatural creatures for some time. While it was a little scary to have the Pack on the government’s radar, at least the organization seemed to be interested in developing a working relationship with them. They’d even asked Gage if they could use members of the Pack to help them deal with some of their more dangerous cases. But the thing that had really convinced Rachel and the others to trust the STAT people was when they’d discovered that fellow werewolf and SWAT cop Zane Kendrick had found his soul mate in a member of the task force.

  She gave Khaki a small smile. “You’re probably right. I’m just tense from lack of sleep.”

  Standing up, she headed for the steps, stopping on the way to scratch Kat behind the ears.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice the slick way you avoided giving me an answer about getting some help with those nightmares,” Khaki said, her voice making Rachel pause and look over her shoulder. “You have to stop going it alone, Rachel. If you’re not going to see a psychologist, then at least find some good-looking guy and engage in a little pillow-talk therapy.”

  Rachel laughed and started down the stairs. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Khaki’s advice might be sound, but the truth of the matter was that Rachel hadn’t slept with a guy since being attacked in Chattanooga and going through her change. At first, her life had been too insane, as she’d tried to learn how to control her inner wolf. Between moving to Dallas and spending time in LA, she hadn’t had time to even think of dating. These days, she couldn’t imagine simply picking up some random guy for a booty call. She wasn’t sure she knew how to do that anymore. Even if the idea did sound inviting.

  * * *

  Rachel knocked once on Gage’s open office door, then walked in, a donut wrapped in a napkin in hand. The offering was partly an attempt to put him in a good mood—in case he wasn’t—and partly an apology for being late. It truly wasn’t her fault that she’d been forced to take a detour over to the training building. There was no way he could expect her to ignore the delicious scent of donuts. She didn’t know how it could be scientifically/biologically possible, but she was convinced she was addicted to the baked goodies.

  “Someone brought donuts?” Gage asked, glancing up from his paperwork with an amused expression as she set the napkin with the Boston cream in the center of his desk calendar. She’d intended to bring him two but had gotten tempted by the sweet pastry on the way over from the other building and eaten one. The reminder of how delicious the yummy, chocolate-topped, cream-filled confection tasted made her want to reconsider offering one to Gage. “Is it a special occasion or just because it’s Tuesday?”

  Rachel sat down in one of the two chairs in front of his desk with a laugh. As far as she was concerned, a person didn’t need a reason to eat donuts. “Cooper brought them in to celebrate. He and Everly found out last night that she’s pregnant. He’s pretty excited about becoming a dad, even if all the guys are ragging him about having a little Mini Cooper for the Pack to play with.”

  Gage chuckled, his dark eyes full of laughter. “It’s nice to finally have some good news for a change. It’s been a long time since we’ve had something as happy as a new baby to celebrate around here.”

  Rachel expected her boss to immediately get into why he’d wanted to see her, but instead, he turned his attention back to what he’d been doing before she walked in, scribbling something on one of the police department’s official forms.

  She sat patiently for a few minutes before nerves got the best of her. “Xander mentioned you wanted to talk to me about something?”

  Gage nodded. “I do. But we’re waiting for a few other people to join us.”

  His tone suggested this meeting had serious implications, almost certainly for her, and just like that, her mind immediately took off running in the worst possible direction. Gage had somehow found out about the nightmares and the rest of the problems she’d been having. As crushing as that was, it was even worse thinking about how he’d learned about them.

  Only three people knew about her secret—Khaki, because she’d figured it out on her own; Diego Martinez, the teammate she’d shared a hotel room with in LA who’d witnessed her nightmares firsthand; and Zane, because Rachel had broken down out there and told him everything. And she did mean everything, right down to the haunting scents, bizarre images hovering on the edges of her peripheral vision, and the hunter she’d let escape.

  She knew there was no way Khaki had told Gage, which meant it must have been one of the guys. If Diego had talked to Gage about the nightmares, it would be bad, but if Zane had told their boss everything she’d confided in him, she was beyond screwed.

  Rachel clenched her teeth to keep from hyperventilating. Unfortunately, that did nothing to keep her fangs from extending and pulse from racing. The big proble
m with that? Gage was an experienced werewolf with exceptionally keen hearing. Easily good enough to hear her heart pounding like a drum.

  He stopped scribbling to look at her. “Is something wrong? You seem tense all of a sudden.”

  Rachel considered shaking her head and waving off his concerns, but she knew that would never fly. Now that she had his attention, Gage wouldn’t stop pushing until he had an answer. But she had to be careful with what she said because he was a walking lie detector. Distressed breathing patterns, spikes in her heart rate, even something as simple as wetting her lips would give her away.

  “Are you going to eat that donut?” she asked, deciding to avoid the issue of answering his question entirely. “Because if you aren’t, I’ll take it.” She hurried on before her boss could recognize the ploy for what it was—a blatant distraction. “Boston creams can get mushy if you let them sit around too long and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

  Gage laughed and nudged the napkin with the donut toward the edge of his desk. “We wouldn’t want that. Go ahead and have it. I prefer plain glazed anyway. There are always lots of those left over.”

  Rachel reached out and snatched the baked goody, taking a big bite. There was the perfect ratio of cream to dough, meaning more of the former than the latter, and she closed her eyes as she chewed, indulging in all that sweetness. There was no way Gage could expect her to answer questions now, even if she wanted to. Her mouth was full. Besides, eating donuts always calmed her down.

  Best. Comfort food. Ever.

  Gage turned his attention to his form, leaving Rachel to finish her donut. Of course, the minute she was done, she went right back to worrying about who else was coming to the meeting and what they were going to talk about. She was still fretting over it when someone knocked on the door. She glanced over her shoulder to see Diego standing there all freshly showered and looking like he’d hardly taken time to brush his dark hair.

  At six foot even, Diego was the shortest male alpha in the Pack, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for in width. Seriously, the guy’s shoulders were as broad as a barn. But even though his size could be intimidating, he’d always been awesome with her. Those three weeks they’d spent sharing a hotel room in LA under the guise of being a couple, when nightmares had her waking up screaming every night, would have been a lot worse without Diego there to talk to. He’d never once asked what the dreams were about, as if knowing she didn’t want to talk about them, but instead, sat up with her watching Vikings while they ate cheeseburgers from the fast-food place down the street.

  Diego gave her a smile before turning to their boss. “The chief just got here and everyone else you asked to see is in the bull pen. You ready to meet with us?”

  Gage clicked his pen closed with his thumb and straightened the papers he’d been working on, then got to his feet. “I’m ready.”

  Rachel stood and turned toward the door, wanting more than anything to bolt. But she forced herself to take a deep breath and stay where she was.

  Diego entered Gage’s office, followed by team medic, Trey Duncan, and Rachel’s squad leader, Senior Corporal Mike Taylor. Tall and muscular, Trey had dark-blond hair while Mike’s was close cropped and black. A moment later, a woman in DPD dress blues walked in carrying a thick file folder that looked similar to a personnel record.

  Rachel’s heart began thudding all over again. She suddenly had a sinking feeling this meeting had nothing to do with her nightmares but everything to do with the hunter she’d let get away.

  Tall with medium brown skin and black hair swept back in a sleek bun, Shanette Leclair was the new chief of police, recently lured away from Detroit to take over for the current acting chief, Hal Mason. Everyone on the SWAT team had hoped Mason would be able to keep the job full-time, since he already knew they were werewolves, but the city council wanted someone from outside Dallas to come in and change the perception of the office, so Mason was back to being deputy chief. Rachel supposed she couldn’t blame them, since the optics of the previous chief of police aligning himself with the people who’d attempted to kill off his own SWAT team was something of a public relations nightmare. Not as bad as her nightmares, but bad enough.

  Leclair had a good reputation, both as a cop and a leader, but she was also known to be demanding as hell on the officers who worked for her. The fact that she’d chosen to meet with Rachel as well as some of her pack mates, instead of the entire SWAT team, for her first visit to the compound had to mean something significant. But if a reprimand was coming down, wouldn’t Leclair want to meet with her alone?

  Rachel relaxed as she realized that made sense. Maybe this meeting wasn’t about her issues at all.

  Then Zane walked in.

  The sight of the tall, dark-haired Brit made her head start to spin. Like the others on the team, Zane was a friend as well as a pack mate, but right then, all she could think was that he’d told Gage about the hunter.

  Crap.

  She remembered that night clearly. Like mere minutes had passed instead of two months. Her pack mate Max and his bride Lana’s wedding had been beautiful and the reception at the compound was the best party Rachel had ever been to. Then the hunters had attacked and everything went to hell.

  Over the past year, hunters had become the boogeymen of the werewolf community, tracking down and executing their kind indiscriminately, as well as any humans who happened to be in their way—friends, loved ones, even kids. They were bloodthirsty and ruthless. It wasn’t until Rachel and the guys had gone out to LA that they’d learned the hunters were hired by the vampires, employed to rid the world of werewolves.

  Rachel had been outside the reception tent when a dozen hunters had stormed the SWAT compound and, in seconds, turned the place into a war zone, explosions and gunshots filling the night. She’d immediately pulled her gun to engage them, only to come up against a hunter pointing his weapon directly at her head. She’d barely started squeezing the trigger when the man collapsed face-first to the ground, shot by someone. To this day, she still didn’t know who’d saved her life that night.

  She’d ended up chasing a group of four hunters as they fled toward the perimeter fence and their getaway vehicle. One of the men had been limping painfully from a bullet wound in his upper thigh and there’d been a lot of blood running down the leg of his jeans. It was obvious the guy’s femoral artery had been nicked and he had to be close to passing out from blood loss, but he’d moved quickly all the same.

  Even so, no normal human was as fast as a werewolf, and Rachel had caught up with the group easily. Since the guy who was wounded had headed for the driver’s door, that meant he had the key, so she aimed her weapon at him. She knew if she took him down first, the other three would be easy to neutralize.

  But then the man turned and locked eyes with her, and in that split second, she froze. Her mind had screamed at her to pull the trigger, but her body wouldn’t obey. All she could do was stand there and wait for him to put a bullet in her head. Instead, the hunter gazed at her for what seemed like an eternity, then joined his buddies already in the SUV and sped away.

  Rachel was so focused on the memory she didn’t even realize the meeting had started until someone nudged her knee with theirs. Giving herself a mental shake, she glanced over to find Diego staring at her like he thought she was on drugs. Then he motioned with his chin toward the far side of the small conference table in Gage’s office. Crap, she didn’t even remember sitting down.

  She looked around the table, hoping no one else was aware she’d zoned out, but everyone was focused on Chief Leclair and the collection of documents and photos spread out on the table. Rachel was relieved to see that none of them had anything to do with Rachel or her run-in with that damn hunter.

  “Jennifer Lloyd is the best assistant district attorney in Dallas County,” Leclair said, spinning a photo around on the table so the rest of them could
see it. “Which is why she was assigned as the prosecutor in the Alton Marshall trial.”

  The picture showed a pretty woman in her mid-to-late forties with shoulder-length, brunette hair and a serious expression on her face. Leclair picked up a photo of a man Rachel recognized as Alton Marshall and placed it beside Jennifer Lloyd’s. He had calculating eyes and dark hair he wore slicked back from his face.

  Rachel scanned the guy’s rap sheet that Leclair handed out while Gage and Mike discussed the man with the new chief. Apparently, Marshall had been a low-level lieutenant for a local crime boss named Walter Hardy, whom the SWAT team had taken down a year and a half ago when the man had kidnapped Gage’s wife.

  “I read the reports on the hostage situation,” Leclair said, studying Gage thoughtfully. “I’m impressed you were able to wipe out an entire organized crime syndicate without any injuries on our side.”

  “We were lucky,” Gage told her. “Unfortunately, Marshall was out of the country that night, or we would have taken him down too.”

  Leclair nodded. “And with the connections he’d made there along with the muscle they were willing to loan him, Marshall was able to rebuild Hardy’s crime syndicate in a shockingly short period of time. Since his return to the country in September, he’s completely taken over the opiate drug trade in the southwestern part of the country and started making major inroads into human trafficking. As you can guess, Marshall has become a very rich man. But that money—and the speed at which he’s acquired it—has made him sloppy. The DPD arrested him a month ago, and Jennifer has put together a solid case against him. Marshall has his lawyers doing everything they can to slow down his trial while his goons work behind the scenes to make all the witnesses and evidence disappear.”

  “And you want us to protect your witnesses,” Mike said.

  When Leclair didn’t answer right away, Rachel looked up to see the chief regarding her tall, good-looking African American teammate with what could only be described as interest.