Читать книгу Undercover Wolf - Linda O. Johnston - Страница 10

“We need to plan this.”

Kristine walked at Quinn’s side after the meeting, working hard to keep up with him. He hurried along one of the walkways at Ft. Lukman that led away from the building where the meeting had just been held. His stride was purposeful, his face grim.

Two other soldiers, also dressed in camo, approached from the opposite direction. They must have seen something in Quinn’s expression, too, since both seemed to do double takes before hurrying past.

Kristine didn’t slow down. She wondered what Quinn was thinking. Well, he needed to tell her, at least some of it.

“We have to figure out where and when we’re going,” she continued, trying not to sound out of breath. “How we’ll get there, how we’ll play it when we’re there, how—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Quinn finally grumbled. “In fact, I’m working on it.”

“How?” she demanded. “I need to know. I’m in on it, too.”

He stopped dead beside her and she had to make an effort to stop alongside him. “You don’t need to be,” he said in a tone that edged too close to threatening. “I can handle this myself.”

“Sure you can.” She leaned closer, looking up so her chin edged belligerently toward him. She kept her voice low but equally gruff. “You’ll be trying to figure out what happened. Maybe shifting. Maybe needing to shift by using the elixir you just tried for the first time. Without help? Maybe, but I don’t think so. Besides …”

She let her voice trail off, staring straight into those harsh golden eyes. Lord, but the guy was good-looking, even when he appeared grim and determined and angry.

He reacted the way she wanted him to, at least. “Besides what?” he demanded.

“Your new sister-in-law, Grace, is not just my commanding officer. She’s my friend. I intend to help her. Period.”

She continued to stand her ground and glare straight into his return glower.

He was the one to flinch. Well, not flinch, exactly. He smiled. And if she’d thought his rugged features to be a turn-on before, now he was absolutely the hottest man she had ever seen.

Her recollection of seeing him naked only reinforced the current of heat that passed through her. But she shrugged that off. She had to.

“Okay,” he said. “And you’re right. I’m sure I can use the help. But I want to think this through before we rush up there. And we are going to rush up there. No later than tomorrow.”

“I’m game,” Kristine said. “Let’s find somewhere private to discuss this.”

They crossed a wide driveway, passing the main gate into Ft. Lukman.

Quinn was leading Kristine to someplace they probably shouldn’t go: his apartment in the Bachelor Officers Quarters. If anyone saw them inside the building, it might appear as if they were fraternizing, and that was a military no-no. She wasn’t a commissioned officer. He was.

In a world where things were fair, their roles should be reversed. She had told him she was career military and had planned it that way forever. She had trained to become a nurse, then had enlisted. She had been in the service for a few years and was now a staff sergeant.

She should be his superior officer.

He was the newcomer, and yet because of who he was—no, what he became when he shifted—he’d come into the service as a ready-made officer, outranking her.

As a result of all that, she could be his aide but not—officially, at least—his date. Let alone someone he snuck into his quarters. Not that he gave a damn about that kind of prohibition, but she would.

And she was right. He needed her help—as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself.

“Glad to see things are quiet around here,” Kristine remarked as they started up the sidewalk in the direction of the BOQ. He glanced down at her. She’d slowed a bit, and he figured she, too, was thinking about the military taboo they might be about to violate.

Fraternizing. That suggested more than holding a meeting to plan their approach to Bar Harbor and learning what happened to Simon and Grace.

Not that he intended to seduce Kristine—although the idea was far from repulsive. Instead, while alone in his quarters, they would discuss what they’d do to help find Simon and Grace.

To start with, Quinn needed to do some more online research, using some of the resources already programmed into the laptop computer in his room.

“Here we are,” he told her softly, using a key to open the BOQ’s side door nearest his apartment. Good thing they could get in through a side door that was relatively remote and sheltered by its nearness to the next-door parking garage. They would definitely give the appearance of fraternizing later, if the plan that had been forming in his mind reached fruition. But it would be worse if they were caught around here, where others could see.

Soon, they were inside his unit with the door closed. As far as he knew, no one had seen them.

He had an urge to take the lovely, determined Kristine into his arms and kiss her. Only out of relief, of course.

But that was a bad idea. And she was already checking out his place. It was filled with government-issue furniture and not much else. He hadn’t been there long. He’d never been sure how long he would stay in the military, even if he hadn’t been about to undertake this unofficial mission. A lot depended on whether his appreciation for the shifting elixir outweighed his unease at being a soldier and following orders.

But one thing he did know. They would head to Bar Harbor tomorrow—and before they left, he had a lot of online investigating to do.

Kristine pulled a chair from the kitchen into the well-lighted alcove that Quinn used as an office in his small apartment.

She had been in BOQ units before—mostly Grace’s. It was larger than this. But Grace had been in Alpha Force for a while, had proven herself as excellent military, as well as a shapeshifter. She’d clearly been entitled to a comfortable place to sleep.

Sleep? Kristine had purposely not even glanced through the door that apparently led to Quinn’s bedroom. Sleep—and what else people did in bedrooms—weren’t why she was here.

Even though her body throbbed just a little at the idea of joining Quinn, with that amazing body of his, in bed.

That wouldn’t happen.

Instead, she sat determinedly beside Quinn, who had already booted up the small computer that lay on a shelf that acted like a desk in that alcove.

First, though, he pulled out his smartphone. “I’ve tried this before,” he said, “but I’ll call each of them again, just to see if they answer.”

They didn’t. Nor did they respond even now to any of the many text messages and emails he’d sent. He had even resorted to trying to contact them through Twitter and Facebook. Nothing.

Quinn and she had asked both Major Connell and General Yarrow if they’d continued to try to reach Simon and Grace. They had—also to no avail.

The last anyone had heard of them—or so it seemed—was a call Simon had made to Quinn while sightseeing along the Mount Desert Island coast just after they had reached the Acadia Park area.

Which made Kristine fear the worst. Were they dead? If not, were they ignoring calls because they were, indeed, guilty of the mutilations and murders?

She didn’t want to think about either. But they had to know.

“So what are we looking for?” she asked Quinn as he sat and began typing in a web address. His home page had wallpaper depicting a big question mark in the center of it.

Interesting. Was that because he was a private investigator by background, used to answering questions?

“Okay, first I’m putting on my P.I. hat,” Quinn said, not surprising her. “I’ve already checked to see when my bro or his bride last got into their bank accounts or used their credit cards. I found nothing useful, but I’ll do it again before we decide what’s next.”

He had typed in the web address of a major credit-card company and now inserted a number and password. Had he already known Simon’s account information, or had he used his investigation resources to learn it? He next did the same with Grace’s account—and he was less likely to have been given her info than his brother’s.

He checked not only on this site but a couple of others, apparently knowing data on multiple accounts, including a bank where he said Simon maintained checking and savings accounts. “Grace and he have already opened a joint account here,” Quinn told Kristine. But after scanning the latest page of each, he shook his head. “There’s a charge for a bed-and-breakfast in Bar Harbor and some meals, ending a couple of days ago. Then nothing. Not even a visit to an ATM for cash.”

“Oh,” Kristine said sadly. That gave no further answers. But it did suggest that something awful had happened to the newlyweds.

If the suspicions expressed at the earlier meetings were true, that they’d planned this attack to undermine Alpha Force somehow, they could have started new accounts under assumed names.

But at least they could still be alive.

No. She wanted to believe they were okay, and she knew they wouldn’t—couldn’t—be responsible for the attacks.

“I’ll check some news sites next,” Quinn said, “looking for more current detail about that damned fatal assault in Acadia.”

Where two people had apparently been mauled by wild animals and died. Not something Kristine would usually want to learn the gory details about, but this was different. Maybe somehow those details could lead to more information about Grace and Simon.

“Good idea,” she said and watched as his long, thick fingers sailed over the keys. She had a passing wonderment about how those fingers would feel playing over her … Ridiculous!

She settled down to watch the screen over his shoulder. There wasn’t a lot of data in most of the news stories Quinn brought up at first, but enough to make Kristine wonder.

Even so, she still wasn’t willing to accept Simon and Grace’s involvement.

Quinn turned on the sound as he went into a video news clip from a local Bar Harbor television station.

That one was so horrible that parts of the pictures were blurred.

Enough was shown to display how mutilated the bodies were—gashed and bloodied, as if ripped by teeth and claws.

“The authorities are still investigating,” the announcer intoned as the camera panned around what appeared to be a clearing in a forest, described as part of Acadia National Park. “So far, they appear to believe this was an attack by some kind of wild animal that has not yet been identified. This is the worst event in the park since a man walking his dog apparently fell to his death and, before that, a young tourist was killed by a rogue wave along the shore several years ago. Back to you, John.” The picture returned to an announcer in a studio somewhere before phasing out.

“Some kind of wild animal,” Kristine mused aloud.

“A wolf?” said Quinn. “Two wolves?”

“They’re not speculating on that—or at least this reporter didn’t,” Kristine responded.

“Yeah, but—” Quinn clicked on another site, one for which he had to enter a password. Kristine couldn’t be sure, but it appeared to be some kind of official law enforcement website, although Quinn got off the main page immediately to do a search for Acadia.

What showed on the screen was a detailed list of crimes in the Bar Harbor area. Next, he clicked on something that brought up this specific crime.

Kristine watched his face as Quinn squinted at the small print that came up. “Couple of agencies are involved in this investigation,” he said. “There’s some speculation about what kinds of animals could be involved. Species that still have habitats around there include foxes, coyotes, bobcats and black bears. Used to be mountain lions, too—and gray wolves.”

Wolves. The word hung in the air this time.

“Not Grace and Simon,” Kristine whispered, hoping it was true. She put her hand on Quinn’s shoulder—whether to reassure him or convince him, she wasn’t sure.

The touch was like a bolt of lightning, making her even more cognizant of his hot and alluring presence. But she wasn’t a wimp. She had courage—of all kinds. She let her hand rest there … for now.

Even when he turned his head a little and looked at her with those golden eyes.

“So what do you think?” she asked him.

“What do you think?” he countered. “You willing to go there to help me investigate—in any form I need to be? Your commanding officers—our commanding officers—apparently have to act dead set against our being there.”

He’d used the word dead. Like the two mutilated tourists.

Like Alpha Force would be, if the perpetrators really were Grace and Simon, and that got out to the world.

Kristine understood why the muckety-mucks like General Yarrow and that guy Olivante from the Department of Defense’s Defense Special Projects Agency were so concerned.

Not everyone, even in the military, knew about Alpha Force. But if it were ever shown that the killings were done by shapeshifters, and that those shapeshifters were not just part of some grotesque horror story but members of a very covert and elite U.S. military force, the repercussions could be terrible.

Terrible to the U.S. Armed Forces.

And potentially devastating—fatal—to the existence of Alpha Force.

What would happen to its members then—especially its shapeshifter members?

They’d be humiliated at the least. Outed. Paraded as absurd freaks through the media.

They would never be able to use their very special, unique and amazing abilities to help with national security ever again.

The people like General Yarrow and Team Leader Olivante would be out to do the best damage control they could.

If that meant dealing with Grace and Simon in some terrible way, they’d do it—even the general, who clearly loved Alpha Force. If they needed scapegoats—scapewolves—they’d do what they had to.

But both Quinn and she would have different agendas. His might be different from hers, as well.

She wanted to learn the truth. Protect Grace and Simon if they were innocent, which she prayed they were.

But she would protect Alpha Force, too.

Quinn? Well, his main agenda might be to help his brother and sister-in-law, no matter what.

She would work with him, at least until their agendas diverged. Then, she would see.

“Let’s do it,” she said.

“Good.” He paused, then stood. She couldn’t read the expression on his face, but it seemed challenging. With a touch of humor added? “Here’s what we’ll do, then. We’ll go to Bar Harbor tomorrow, undercover. And know what our cover IDs will be?”

“No,” she said, sure she wouldn’t like the response.

“To get the most information about our missing honeymoon couple—” he paused dramatically, then grinned “—you and I will be there on our honeymoon, too.”

“What?” Kristine froze. What was he talking about?

And why did the words send the tiniest shiver of anticipation through her?

She shrugged it off. She knew what he meant. But—

“With assumed identities, of course,” he said curtly. “Like I said, undercover.” Although when she dared to look at him she saw not only humor, but also challenge, in his expression. “That’ll help us get the most information possible as we investigate.”

“Of course. Great idea.” She attempted to sound nonchalant. “We’ll try to follow Grace and Simon’s trail as much as possible. We’ll find and clear them.

You’ll see.”