Chase Me (22 page)

“I need to go.” She whirled away—but not quickly enough to hide her glistening eyes.

“Lorin—” Ah, damn. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t known he could hurt her.

What the hell had he done? Was it possible she—

The door slammed. “Damn it!” he shouted to the ceiling. Whose bed had he driven her to with his act of epic stupidity? Rafe Sebastiani? Chico Perez? Jack Kirkland? Someone else he didn’t even know about?

He threw his clipboard across the room.

“Nice shot.”

“Nicer ass.”

Lorin threw a look up to the ledge overlooking the racquetball court. She and Andi had drawn an audience.

“Match point,” Andi called, grasping her racquet firmly.
Whap
. The small blue ball shot off her racquet with blistering speed.

She leaped to return serve.
WHAP
.

“Whoa,” someone said.

Whoa
was right, if she did say so herself. Wicked spin, paired with blistering pace. Better late than never, because Andi was kicking her ass.

The ball whizzed around the rectangular court during the long volley that followed, with both of them bumping off the walls, and each other, until Andi changed things up by tapping a soft shot to the front wall. “Damn it.” Even as she dove, Lorin knew she’d get there too late. Her bare, sweaty belly squeaked against the thin-slatted wooden floor, and she tumbled into the front wall in a tangle of arms and legs. She hadn’t even gotten her racquet on the thing. “Nice shot,” she gasped to Andi as she flopped onto her back and stayed there.

Applause, hoots, and catcalls echoed from above. Their peanut gallery obviously agreed.

“That’s match. Good hustle.” Andi Woolf grinned, but the bitch was sucking air through her big white teeth.

Excellent.
If Lorin had any doubts at all about how Andi’s recovery was progressing, this balls-out racquetball game had removed them. Lorin and Andi hadn’t played racquetball for ages—not since Stephen had nearly killed Andi, leaving her with a throat bracketed by surgical scars, and an anger she didn’t know what to do with.

Andi extended a hand. Taking it, Lorin let Andi hoist her to her feet. Andi’s arms and shoulders, exposed by the skimpy sports bra she wore, positively rippled with definition. Andi worked as a personal trainer, but had obviously stepped up her own use of the health club’s facilities during her off-hours. Given that Stephen was on the loose, Lorin couldn’t blame her.

“That wasn’t even close,” Lorin groused. “You absolutely thrashed me.”

“Your jealousy tastes like candy.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Do you feel better now?” Andi asked as she opened the door at the back of the court. “You were about ready to stroke out when you first got here.”

Lorin dropped onto one of the metal folding chairs right outside the door. Andi leaned against the wall as Lorin rubbed the stinging red circle imprinted above her right kidney.

“Sorry about that.” Still grinning, Andi punched in a code, unlocked the storage bin, and extracted their gym bags. After tossing Lorin hers, she reached into her own, grabbed a water bottle, and guzzled.

“You’re not sorry at all,” Lorin said as she unzipped her own bag, hoping her reaction to her friend’s permanently hoarse voice didn’t show in her own. Ignoring her chirping phone, she grabbed a towel and rubbed it over her sweaty face, neck, and shoulders.

“I expected you to move out of the way, grandma.”

Lorin snorted. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the assist you got from the wall as you sat down just now.”

“You have no proof, only suspicions.” Andi wiped at her own face and neck, working carefully around the fading incisions.

Lorin throttled back helpless anger. How many months had passed since Stephen had blown into their lives, leaving wreckage in his wake? Andi had been his first victim—had nearly died—and while Andi had been hospitalized, in an induced coma to aid her recovery, Stephen, posing as her lover, had gained regular access to her room, assaulting her again and again.

But Andi was alive, kicking, and recovering—unlike Annika Fontaine.

Andi pushed to her feet. “Come on, lazy bones.” She extended a hand to Lorin again, yanking her up off her chair. “I want a smoothie.”

“Okay.” It amused her that Krispin Woolf, the fearsome WerePack Alpha, owned a health club that had a froufrou juice bar—even if the juice bar also served blood, either warmed or chilled.

They picked up a shadow as they tromped up the cement stairs to the main level of the health club. The man was about her own height, wearing the khakis and black polo shirt combo that the health club’s employees wore, but his hard-soled shoes were completely wrong for the venue. Andi noticed the guy too, but instead of appearing concerned, she rolled her eyes instead.

The guy kept his distance.

Lorin didn’t say anything until they’d pulled up two padded stools at the end of the juice bar, as far away as possible from a trio of fully made-up, hair-sprayed women who’d turned up their noses at Lorin and Andi’s sweat-dampened clothes and lank hair. The buff vamp behind the bar acknowledged them, finished preparing the Mean Girls’ drinks, then came down to their end of the long, curved bar. Lorin asked for some orange juice on ice, and Andi ordered a multi-berry smoothie with wheat germ, flaxseed, and so many other additives that Lorin couldn’t imagine how it could possibly have a liquid consistency when it arrived.

Lorin indicated their shadow with a tilt of her head. “So what’s with the tail?” The man had taken a seat at a table near the juice bar’s entrance.

Andi sighed. “Bodyguards. My father insists.” She raised her voice, calling across the room, “Bill, tell my father I said ‘hi’ the next time you report in.”

A wisp of a smile crept across the bodyguard’s mouth before he schooled his expression back into hard-assed neutrality.

So Andi had bodyguards. Good. Krispin Woolf was an epic pain in everyone’s ass, but in this matter, Lorin agreed with him. As a victim still alive and able to testify against him, Andi was at risk until Stephen was recaptured.

“They’re really starting to cramp my style.” Their drinks were delivered, and Andi sucked on her straw. “A couple of Gideon’s people are here too, but at least they’re stealthier about it.”

If the reports she’d heard were accurate, Gideon Lupinsky, who headed up their law enforcement operation and had revived Andi at the scene after her assault, was as detail-oriented as his younger brother was.

Andi fell silent, gazing pensively into the air.

“What’s wrong?”

“When they’re around, I can’t forget. Not for a minute.” Andi sat up straighter, lifted her chin, and huffed out a breath. “Okay. Enough of the pity party for today.”

“Are there any new leads?”

Andi shook her head. “It’s like the bastard just disappeared into thin air.”

“Disappeared into thin air” was a pretty accurate description, Lorin thought as she sipped her orange juice. Lukas and Jack were driving themselves nuts trying to figure out how Stephen, his body swimming with psychotropic meds, had escaped their high-security treatment facility in the first place. Scarlett had worked all her music industry contacts, had contacted mutual friends, but if anyone had heard from or about Stephen, they weren’t talking.

“Speak of the devil,” Andi murmured.

Adrenaline surged. “Stephen? Where?”

“No, silly. Gideon Lupinsky. Over there, on the treadmill.” Andi scowled slightly and sucked on her straw again. “Pulling guard duty himself. I guess I should feel honored.”

On the other side of the room, Lorin watched Gideon Lupinsky punch a button to pick up the pace on the treadmill. From this distance, he looked a lot like Gabe. His hair was dark brown where Gabe’s was black, but they had similar builds, with the same broad shoulders, trim hips, and excellent ass. Lean muscle shifted under a gray T-shirt dampened by perspiration. Commander Gideon Lupinsky was no desk jockey—and he couldn’t stop looking at Andi Woolf.

Interesting. “Are you two…” Lorin made a back-and-forth gesture with her hand.

“No.” A bitter laugh escaped. “I’m a victim. To him, I’ll always be a victim.”

Lorin wasn’t quite so sure. She recognized the heat, the interest, in Gideon’s eyes. She’d been the recipient of the same expression from his brother on too many occasions.

“You’re sleeping with Gabe, though. I smell him on you. How is he doing?” Andi shook her head sympathetically. “Tough news about his eyes. He just can’t catch a break.”

“What’s wrong with Gabe’s eyes?”

“His sister Gwen told me he needs cataract surgery before they can even think about dealing with the macular degeneration.” Andi stared at her. “You really didn’t know?” She shot a disgusted look to the ceiling and answered her own question. “Of course you didn’t know. You just work together, sleep together, spend nearly every waking moment together. You Valkyries, with your ‘food-fight-fuck.’ You treat men like slabs of meat without a brain attached—not that they don’t enjoy it immensely.”

The observation stung. “I do not treat Gabe like a slab of meat. And his brain is stellar, thank you very much.” But his eyes… weren’t. And he hadn’t told her.

“Don’t you guys talk at all?”

Lorin’s thoughts flipped like a slideshow: Gabe, clapping her body against the log wall of the cookhouse, kissing her silly. Her back, scratched and scraped by birch bark. Him, staring at her as she rode him like a cowgirl in broad daylight, not caring at all who might see them.

Nope. Not a lot of talking.

“Is the sex that good?” Andi murmured. She shot Gideon Lupinsky another assessing glance then scooted her stool a couple of inches closer. “Tell me everything.”

Lorin sipped at her orange juice.

“No dish? What’s up with that?”

What
was
up with that? She and Andi talked about their lovers all the time, in exacting, minute detail. But for some reason doing so now felt wrong. Not that Gabe was her lover any longer.

She swallowed as the orange juice she’d been enjoying so much started to climb back up her throat. Was Andi right? Had she made Gabe feel like a mere sexual convenience? Was that why he’d—

“Are you two dating, then?”

She hesitated, setting her glass down on the juice bar. “No.”

“Another friend with benefits thing, like you have with Rafe?”

“
Had
with Rafe,” she corrected. “I’m not sleeping with Rafe anymore, and damn it, I’m not just using Gabe for sex. I’m not. How insulting.”

Andi eyed her innocently. “What’s so insulting about it? It’s pretty much your standard operating procedure.”

Damn it. “We’re… friends and colleagues,” she finally said. “Who”—she gave Andi an annoyed look—“yes, have had sex. Note my use of the past tense. He ended it yesterday.”

“Why?”

“He’s always had a problem with me reporting to him, about me being the Valkyrie Second, about me being ‘out of his league’—whatever that means.” She took a deep breath as she remembered Gabe’s facial expression, the twist in his voice, when he’d said he couldn’t sleep with her while she slept with other men. “He all but called me a slut.”

“I’m sure he didn’t say that.”

“No,” Lorin had to admit. “But I know he was thinking it.”

“Really.” Andi’s tiny, satisfied smile grated.

Lorin snatched up her glass of orange juice again. “I’m glad you find this so damn amusing.”

“It’s a relief to focus on someone else’s issues for a change.”

“Issues? I’m not having issues—”

“Lorin,
I
thought you were still sleeping with Rafe, so I can understand why Gabe might.” Andi sucked hard on her straw, her cheeks hollowing as she drew the viscous liquid into her mouth. “I can also understand why he might back away.”

“Huh?”

“Think about it. Weres tend toward monogamy in the first place, and Gabe has never been one to play the field. He’s deliberate. Careful. If he started taking this”—Andi waved her hand—“thing between you more seriously than he thought you were, if he didn’t think there was a chance for your relationship to go anywhere, he’d end it. When we mate, we mate for life.”

We
mate
for
life.
Andi’s words burned like a brand.

Andi took another drink of her smoothie. “So, now that Gabe’s called things off, will you and Rafe pick things up again?”

Her stomach clenched. “No—”

“So who’s the next lucky man? Chadden? He’s made no secret of the fact that he’d love to share your bed.” Andi shot her a sideways glance. “Or did you share it last night?”

Damn
grapevine.
“Can’t a woman have dinner with a friend?”

“A candlelit dinner, cooked and served by the chef himself, at his private table? Sounds pretty romantic to me. Doesn’t Chadden look positively edible in chef’s whites? With that bandana lashed around his head?
Hoo
-boy.” Andi fanned her face with her hand. “He looks like a debauched pirate.”