Her Lone Wolf
Authors: Paige Tyler
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Copyright © 2014 by Paige Tyler
Cover and internal design © 2014 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Dawn Adams
Cover art by Craig White
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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With special thanks to my extremely patient and understanding husband. Without your help and support, I couldn’t have pursued my dream job of becoming a writer. You’re my sounding board, my idea man, my critique partner, and the absolute best research assistant any girl could ask for.
Love you!
Buffalo, New York, 2008
Clayne Buchanan sat on the lone cot in the holding cell of the Erie County Jail, trying not to think about how completely screwed he was. But since he was probably going to be spending the rest of his life in prison, it was hard not to think about it.
This
is
what
you
get
for
taking
that
freaking
job, dipshit.
It was supposed to be simple. All he’d had to do was play guard dog for a shipment of merchandise going across the U.S.-Canadian border. He’d done it before and it had always been a piece of cake. This time though, things hadn’t worked out the way he’d expected, and now there were three dead men to explain. Not just a little dead, but big-bloody-mess-on-the-floor dead. Sure, the pricks had deserved it, but he doubted the system would see it that way.
The cops were out there right now trying to figure out what the hell had happened in that warehouse last night. And how three guys as big and badass as those bums had ended up looking like they’d gone twelve rounds with a pack of rabid wolves.
Unfortunately for Clayne, the cops had found him standing over the bodies with blood on his hands, his clothes, and everywhere else. It might take a few more hours for them to piece everything together—if they could find all the pieces, much less get them to fit—and explain how three men had been slashed when they hadn’t found a knife on him. But they’d connect the dots at some point, and when they did, he’d be done.
Shit
.
Clayne clenched his hands into fists to keep from punching something. Maybe he’d luck out and the district attorney would offer him a deal. But who the hell was he kidding? This case was a DA’s wet dream. All the evidence the DA could ask for and a bad guy who looked the part, with a rap sheet to match. It was a slam dunk. But for him, there really wasn’t a difference between ten years behind bars and life. Someone—a guard or another inmate—would piss him off at the wrong time or look at him the wrong way, and a lot of people would end up dead, including him.
But that’d be a small price to pay for stopping those assholes he’d killed from getting their merchandise across the border. At least that’s what he kept telling himself.
The door at the far end of the hallway opened, then closed. Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor. That would be his public defender. Clayne could smell the crappy cologne from his cell. No doubt the guy had a cheap suit to match.
But the man who came to a stop in front of his cell wasn’t wearing a cheap suit. Clayne had seen enough cheap suits—and expensive designer knockoffs—when he’d moved them on the black market a few years ago to know the difference. The one this guy wore was $800, easy.
Okay, so the average-height, average-weight, average-everything man who studied him thoughtfully through the bars wasn’t his public defender. The district attorney, then?
“Who the hell are you?” Clayne demanded.
The guy regarded him silently, taking in Clayne’s six-foot-six-inch frame in the county jail jumpsuit as if he were some prized piece of livestock he was considering purchasing. “I’m the man who can change your life.”
Clayne snorted. “You mean like my fairy godmother?”
The man chuckled. “Your file didn’t mention you had a sense of humor. But if I’m your fairy godmother, that would make you Cinderella.”
“Ef-you.”
“No, not Cinderella. More like the Big Bad Wolf, I’d say.”
Clayne swore softly. He wasn’t sure whether the man was simply playing a game of name-that-Grimm’s-fairy-tale-character for fun or if he actually knew something.
“Yes. Definitely the Big Bad Wolf. Complete with claws, fangs, and an extremely poor choice in business associates. Not to mention a serious problem with anger management. That would just about sum you up, wouldn’t it, Mr. Buchanan?”
Heat swirled in the pit of Clayne’s stomach the way it always did right before he was about to lose control. He hated it when people acted like they had him all figured out. Because he was damn sure this guy didn’t know him at all, regardless of all the wolf innuendo.
Clayne doused the fire coursing through his veins before getting to his feet and approaching the bars. He stopped just short of them, afraid if he didn’t, he might reach out and choke the crap out of the guy.
“I’m not in the mood to screw around. What do you want, Suit?”
If the man on the other side of the bars picked up on the low growl underlying Clayne’s words, he gave no indication of it. “I don’t expect you are, Mr. Buchanan. The possibility of a lifetime in prison can do that to a person. So I’ll just say what I came here to say—I can make your problems go away. If you cooperate.”
Clayne narrowed his eyes at the guy. Maybe he
was
the district attorney.
“Why would you want to make my problems go away?” Clayne demanded.
“Because I know you’re a shifter.”
Clayne had been called a lot of things in his life, but that wasn’t one of them. “What the hell is a shifter?”
“Someone who’s part human, part animal.”
Clayne stared. Even if he’d been capable of speech at the moment, he wouldn’t have known what to say.
On the other side of the bars, the man in the suit smiled smugly. “I see that I have your attention now.”
Damn right he had Clayne’s attention.
“I know exactly what you are. In fact, I probably know more about your wolf side than you do.”
“How do you know so much about me?” Clayne practically growled.
“Because I work with other shifters like you.”
Clayne’s head spun. How could this guy possibly know what he was? He’d spent most of his life on the move, never letting anyone get too close to him, never allowing anyone to learn his secret. The only people on the planet who knew what he could do had died in that warehouse last night.
Yet this guy said he knew all about him. And if he was telling the truth, there were others like him out there. That struck a nerve Clayne hadn’t even known existed. He wasn’t the only freak like this?
The man put one hand on the bars, casually leaning against them. “I have a simple deal for you. The organization I work for would like to offer you a job. If you take it, the charges against you go away.”
Clayne wasn’t so off-balance that his bullshit meter didn’t spike at that. Who the hell did this guy work for that he had that kind of power? “How can you possibly cover up three dead bodies?”
The man sighed. He actually sounded bored. “Look, I’m not going to give you the full recruiting pitch. You don’t have a lot of options. You can take my offer, or you can rot in prison for the rest of your life. Because that’s what’s going to happen. Trust me, I’ve seen the evidence they have on you.”
Clayne was this close to telling the suit to go screw himself just because he didn’t like it when people gave him ultimatums. But the guy went on before he could say anything.
“I will tell you this—if you take the job, you’ll be working for a very particular branch of the U.S. government.”
What the hell was he being roped into? “Which branch?”
“The branch no one’s ever heard of.” The suit eyed him coolly. “So, are you in?”
“Depends.” Clayne might have his back to the wall, but that didn’t mean he was going to roll over easily. “What kind of work will I be doing?”
“Don’t worry about what you’ll be doing. The work will suit you. But if it will help you make up your mind, rest assured you’ll be making the world a better place.”
Clayne hesitated. “You really have the power to get me out of here?”
“I just said I did.”
Not good enough. “How do I know you won’t turn me over to the cops when you’re done with me? It’s not like there’s a statute of limitations on murder.”
The guy muttered a curse. “You don’t know. But what other choice do you have? It’s not like you have a lot of options.”
Clayne pinned him with a hard look. “I just don’t want to go from the frying pan into the fire.”
“You’ll find this out if you come to work for us, but I’ll give you the distilled version now—if we want something done, it happens. You accept the offer and the murder charges go away, along with all the evidence, forever. In return, I’ll expect you to bust your ass for us. You get a job, a paycheck, your freedom, and the chance to do something for someone other than yourself. Does that just about answer all your questions?”
Clayne had a whole lot more, but he was already pushing his luck. There was one more thing that was eating at him, though.
“You said there are others like me. If that’s the case, why recruit me after knowing what I did? Why the hell would you want someone like me working for the U.S. government?”
When the suit didn’t say anything, Clayne figured maybe that was one question he wasn’t going to get an answer to.
“Because I have plans that require a certain kind of shifter, and I’ve decided that shifter is you. That’s all you need to know.” The man pointedly checked his watch. “Now, what’s it going to be? You in or not?”
Instinct told Clayne there was something going on here he didn’t fully comprehend. His gut said the man in front of him was a total sleazebag who couldn’t be trusted. But he’d heard it said that a drowning man will grab on to an anvil if you throw it to him. And right now, he was in over his head and barely treading water.
Clayne reached his hand through the bars, offering it to the other man. “I’m in.”
The suit stared at his outstretched hand for so long Clayne thought he wasn’t going to take it, but then he grasped it and gave it a shake. “Dick Coleman. Welcome to the DCO, Mr. Buchanan.”