to help the pack. Then his instincts for investigative reporting gave him pause. “The isolated beach where he was found wouldn’t be near Meara’s cabin, would it?”
***
Watching the fowl bake was like the old adage about observing a teakettle boil, Finn thought as he waited while Meara packed her bags. He was dishing out the finally cooked chicken when he heard Meara’s phone ring.
A significant pause followed, and then she said, “Joe Matheson?” Her voice shook with unease.
Wondering what the hell had happened now, Finn turned off the oven, deposited the empty baking dish on the stove top, and then hurried to join her in the master bedroom.
Her face was pale and her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. He took the phone from her, and her mouth gaped as she stared at him in surprise. Then her surprise turned to a scowl, and she grabbed for the phone.
Finn deflected her grasping hand, determined to hear firsthand what the trouble was. “What’s wrong?” he asked the caller.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Finn Emerson. Is this Dave? I talked to you earlier about sending a man after Hunter. What the hell’s going on now?”
“I was just on my way to Meara’s place. A Joe Matheson was found dead at the bottom of some cliffs north of Meara’s cabin. He was carrying a card with her phone number on it, so I figured he was renting one of the cabins. He had a return plane ticket for Asheville, North Carolina, scheduled for a week from today.”
Hell. “Have you retrieved the body?”
“Yeah. He’s at the morgue. Can Meara ID him?”
If it was the assassin’s work, why had the man killed Joe, not Finn, and not taken Meara hostage?
“We both can ID him. We’ll be right there to check it out.” Finn handed the phone to Meara, not liking where this was headed. “Where’s the morgue? We have a body to ID.”
***
Meara still couldn’t believe the news about Joe Matheson. He’d been her first alpha-mate prospect and cabin renter. And now he was dead. She felt sick knowing that and now was certain all he’d said was true. He’d been Hunter’s friend several years back, and she hadn’t trusted him.
Her stomach roiling, she and Finn entered the morgue.
The mingling smells assaulted her—the strong odors of blood and decay and bleach. Even humans would have noticed the odors, but her finely tuned wolf’s sense of smell made them worse. It didn’t matter that she had hardly known Joe; she felt horrible that she’d thought ill of him and now he was dead.
She balked at going further into the room. Finn’s steadying hand remained at her elbow, and she appreciated his strength. She would never have thought she’d need someone to help her confront something like this.
“You don’t have to see him, Meara,” Finn said. “I can ID him.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.” Although she felt anything but. She’d had to kill to save others before, so she’d seen dead bodies, but this was different. She had liked the guy and felt it was her fault that she’d encouraged him to come to her resort—for what? Relaxation, maybe a wolf mate? Not to be murdered.
White tile walls and fluorescent lights bathed the room in brightness, while the red floor masked any bloodstains. With a little more pressure on her elbow, Finn encouraged her to keep walking toward the sheet-covered body, where a police officer, Wes Caruthers—one of her pack, although a red wolf—and an attendant greeted her. She couldn’t help the way her whole body tensed in anticipation of seeing Joe dead. And because of her concern that innocent and unsuspecting Joe had been murdered instead of her or Finn.
“I’m sorry I had to call you to identify the body, Meara. If you want to step outside, I’m sure Mr. Emerson would be able to ID him and you won’t have to.”
She shook her head, hating to see Joe in death, but it was her pack, and the man had had business with her, not Finn. But when the attendant
***
Watching the fowl bake was like the old adage about observing a teakettle boil, Finn thought as he waited while Meara packed her bags. He was dishing out the finally cooked chicken when he heard Meara’s phone ring.
A significant pause followed, and then she said, “Joe Matheson?” Her voice shook with unease.
Wondering what the hell had happened now, Finn turned off the oven, deposited the empty baking dish on the stove top, and then hurried to join her in the master bedroom.
Her face was pale and her knuckles white as she gripped the phone. He took the phone from her, and her mouth gaped as she stared at him in surprise. Then her surprise turned to a scowl, and she grabbed for the phone.
Finn deflected her grasping hand, determined to hear firsthand what the trouble was. “What’s wrong?” he asked the caller.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Finn Emerson. Is this Dave? I talked to you earlier about sending a man after Hunter. What the hell’s going on now?”
“I was just on my way to Meara’s place. A Joe Matheson was found dead at the bottom of some cliffs north of Meara’s cabin. He was carrying a card with her phone number on it, so I figured he was renting one of the cabins. He had a return plane ticket for Asheville, North Carolina, scheduled for a week from today.”
Hell. “Have you retrieved the body?”
“Yeah. He’s at the morgue. Can Meara ID him?”
If it was the assassin’s work, why had the man killed Joe, not Finn, and not taken Meara hostage?
“We both can ID him. We’ll be right there to check it out.” Finn handed the phone to Meara, not liking where this was headed. “Where’s the morgue? We have a body to ID.”
***
Meara still couldn’t believe the news about Joe Matheson. He’d been her first alpha-mate prospect and cabin renter. And now he was dead. She felt sick knowing that and now was certain all he’d said was true. He’d been Hunter’s friend several years back, and she hadn’t trusted him.
Her stomach roiling, she and Finn entered the morgue.
The mingling smells assaulted her—the strong odors of blood and decay and bleach. Even humans would have noticed the odors, but her finely tuned wolf’s sense of smell made them worse. It didn’t matter that she had hardly known Joe; she felt horrible that she’d thought ill of him and now he was dead.
She balked at going further into the room. Finn’s steadying hand remained at her elbow, and she appreciated his strength. She would never have thought she’d need someone to help her confront something like this.
“You don’t have to see him, Meara,” Finn said. “I can ID him.”
She shook her head. “I’ll be all right.” Although she felt anything but. She’d had to kill to save others before, so she’d seen dead bodies, but this was different. She had liked the guy and felt it was her fault that she’d encouraged him to come to her resort—for what? Relaxation, maybe a wolf mate? Not to be murdered.
White tile walls and fluorescent lights bathed the room in brightness, while the red floor masked any bloodstains. With a little more pressure on her elbow, Finn encouraged her to keep walking toward the sheet-covered body, where a police officer, Wes Caruthers—one of her pack, although a red wolf—and an attendant greeted her. She couldn’t help the way her whole body tensed in anticipation of seeing Joe dead. And because of her concern that innocent and unsuspecting Joe had been murdered instead of her or Finn.
“I’m sorry I had to call you to identify the body, Meara. If you want to step outside, I’m sure Mr. Emerson would be able to ID him and you won’t have to.”
She shook her head, hating to see Joe in death, but it was her pack, and the man had had business with her, not Finn. But when the attendant
Similar Books
