“How about casual hook-ups?” I blurt.
Deke coughs, like I just made him choke.
I twitch my inner thighs together, trying to alleviate the needy pulse between my legs.
“You know. If you wanted to collect that favor.”
Silence.
Deke’s quiet so long I wonder if he’s still there. “Deke?”
“Sadie, it's not a good idea.” His voice is rough, and I realize he sounds sad.
“Because you have a record?” I ask as gently as I can.
Another pause. “How did you find out about that?”
“I have my ways.” I want to joke about being a badass super spy, but it sticks in my throat.
“Yeah. I’m dangerous.”
“You were special ops. Of course, you’re dangerous. Kinda the job description.” I try to sound playful, but he’s getting more distant. I’m losing him. I barely know him, and it already hurts.
I swallow, and it feels like there are knives lining my throat. “Can I at least call you?” I ask.
“Yeah, Sadie. You can call me.”
Chapter 5
Swiss Alps, Four Days Later
Deke
The wind whips over the rocks and cleaves a path through our camp. The frozen breeze slices through my thin jacket. If I were human, I’d be shivering, but my shifter blood keeps me warm. Snow crunches under my boots as I make my way to Sierra One, the highest sniper position in our mission. Lance is already there on his belly, peering through his rifle scope down at the fancy ass chalet. We’re deep in the Swiss Alps, high above our target.
My radio crackles, and Rafe’s voice says, “Sierra One, this is TOC. You got eyes on Tango?”
“TOC, this is Sierra One,” I respond. “No movement yet.” Several hundred yards below our stakeout perch, the mansion is lit up like a candle, each window emanating a soft warm glow. Nestled in the side of the mountain, surrounded by snow-dusted pines, the castle looks like it’s part of a Christmas village set. One of those kitschy toy ones grandmas put out around the holidays, with mounds of cotton balls to make fake snow. Except this place is real. Twenty-five thousand square feet of luxury housing, inhabited by the most successful black market arms dealer in the world. Gabriel Dieter, a guy who makes a living being pure evil.
“Should we move in closer?” Lance asks me softly, his eyes still trained on the target.
“We’d better not.” The mission is surveillance only. Getting close could cause us to engage when we’re just here to watch.
Of course, my wolf hates that. Just being on a mission brings on blust lust. My wolf wants to tear down the mountains, howling, take on the mansion security—guards, dogs, lasers—find Dieter and rip the Tango’s head off. Mission accomplished. Which is why my alpha’s concerned I’m not stable and sane.
“Movement, front left. Near the pool,” Lance reports.
I lift the radio to my mouth. “TOC, we have movement. Eyes on Tango.” I report the subject’s movements. Gabriel Dieter is set to meet with a contingent from an unknown terrorist force. We're here to spy on the meeting, record Gabriel’s movements and get any evidence we can of his illegal arms deals.
But first it looks like the man's going to use his fancy schmancy outdoor pool. Dieter walks out of the glass conservatory. He’s a tall man, fit. A head full of dark hair with no sign of going grey or his body going to seed. Of course, anyone would be fit and toned if they had enough money to hire an army of cosmetic surgeons. Evil pays.
“Deke,” Lance calls, and I realize my chest is rumbling with a growl. My wolf wants off the chain. I slide my hand into my pocket and touch my phone. It’s become a habit, and it all started with Sadie’s call a week ago.
She’s taken to texting me every other day. A smiley emoji, a joke. “Happy Monday,” she sent an hour ago, along with a picture of a cheerfully smiling sun. “Hope you have a great week.” I shake my head at her optimism.
Reading her texts helps focus me. Just swiping a thumb over the smooth phone screen is enough to instantly calm my wolf.
I gotta get a grip. What would Sadie think about the things my wolf has done? What he wants to do? That thought sobers me.
“Movement in the house. Far right wing. Base of the turret.”
I grab a pair of binoculars and check out the side of the mansion Lance is referring to. A door opens and black clad men are pouring out, each armed with tactical gear. Boots, knee pads, helmets and balaclava masks over their faces. And giant guns.
“Fuck.” I swivel and get eyes on Gabriel Dieter again. The business mogul stands beside the pool, water dripping off his muscled chest. He raises a hand and waves right at me.
“Bastard.” I toss the binoculars in the bag. “He knows we’re here. Move out.”
Lance is already on his feet. He has his rifle, I have our bags. We turn and race up the mountain.
The radio squawks. “We’ve been made,” I holler into it.
Three hundred yards below us, men stream in coordinated lines up the mountains towards us.
“Abort mission. Get to high ground,” Rafe orders.
Barking fills the air.
“They got dogs,” Lance announces the obvious, and picks up his pace. We pound over the ice slick rocks, climbing the mountain peak. The air is thin, and my lungs burn, struggling to adapt. My legs scream for more energy while my head gets light.
“Come on, Deke,” Lance calls. “Race you to the summit.”
I push myself to climb faster. The snarls of the guard’s dogs echo around us. They’re getting closer. I hope our alpha’s planned a surprise exit; otherwise, I don’t know how this ends well.
My boots skid on black ice, and I halt, considering. I should stand my ground, give Lance a chance to escape. This is the way I could go out a hero. No one but my packmates would mourn my death.
And Sadie…
“Deke, what the fuck are you doing?” Lance skids to a halt a few yards ahead. Behind us the shouts and scrape of the militia's boots and barks of the dogs grow closer.
But there’s another sound, this one up ahead. A thuk-thuk-thuk of helicopter blades.
Lance’s face splits into a grin. “Sonofabitch,” he murmurs. “He’s done it again.” We both turn and race up the mountain, headed for the snowy ridge as the bird appears, hovering over the summit.
“Heard you needed a ride,” the pilot shouts over the din of the helicopter blades.
Rafe sticks his head out of the side and throws down a ladder. “Get the hell up here.”
Lance leaps on the ladder and starts climbing. The militia chasing us shouts, and I grab the bottom of the ladder. Any second now, they’ll start shooting. It’s a miracle they haven’t started already. Guess Deiter didn’t think to ready any long range guns.
A few heartbeats later, Rafe and Channing haul me into the chopper, and the pilot spirits us away.
“What the fuck happened?” Rafe asks.
“He had eyes on us,” I tell him. “He knew we were there.”
Rafe curses. “I can’t believe this.”
“Is there a leak on our end?” Lance asks.