Last Wolf Standing (9 page)

“Should I get some water to throw on her?” she heard Max ask, and she gasped, not sure if the sound managed to make its way past her lips or was still trapped in her throat.

“No, she’s coming around,” Michaela told her brother, her concern clear in the worried tone of her voice. “That’s it, Torry. Come on, honey. Open your eyes for me.”

Taking a deep breath, she finally managed to crack one eyelid, wincing when the bright morning sun spilling through the bedroom window nearly split her skull in two. She felt wrecked, her heart racing, mouth dry. But at least she was awake.

“There you are,” Mic said softly, smiling down at her, while Max stared over his sister’s shoulder. “We heard you crying out in your sleep, so I’m betting you were having another nightmare. You okay now?”

“Yeah,” she croaked, sounding like she’d swallowed a frog.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Max told them, reaching out to ruffle her tangled hair before heading out of the guest room and giving them some privacy.

“Sorry for being a bother,” she mumbled, feeling self-conscious and disoriented, still trying to shake off the heavy layers of sleep. Without her glasses, she couldn’t see the clock, but she could tell by the brightness of the sun that she’d slept late. Mic was already dressed, with her long hair curling over her shoulders and wearing a light application of makeup that made her look well rested, even though Torrance knew she had taken turns keeping watch last night with Max. “If you can loan me something to wear, I can hurry and be ready to head into the shop with you in fifteen.”

Michaela gave her a startled look of surprise. “Of course I can loan you some stuff, but are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Trust me,” Torrance said, smoothing her hands over the surface of the quilted comforter, “the last thing I need is to sit around here worrying about everything.”

Looking doubtful, Mic crossed her arms over her cappuccino-colored silk shirt. “I really think you should stay here today with Max and take it easy.”

“No, that’s the last thing I need. The worrying will drive me crazy. Just let me grab a quick shower and I’ll head into work with you. It’ll do me good,” she declared with a grin, trying to sound confident.

“Okay, if you’re sure that’s what you want,” Michaela murmured, still looking concerned as she got up to leave. At the door, she turned back, one hand resting against the frame, her slender silver bangles jangling around her forearm like tiny bells. “You want me to have Max grab a friend and head over to your apartment for some of your things?”

Torrance shook her head, hating the idea of ever having to walk back into her home, knowing the memories would always linger. She loved the building she lived in, loved its character and her colorful neighbors, but she would definitely have to move. When she could finally face going back. And she didn’t want Max going anywhere near the place until she knew if it was safe. “Not yet. Let’s give it another day or so.”

“No worries, honey. But you’re staying here with us for as long as you need to, and I don’t want to hear anything else about it. You go on and grab your shower, and I’ll have some clothes ready for ya when you’re done. Oh, and if you’re lucky, I’ll get Max to whip us up some of his famous French toast before we leave.”

With a smile and a wink, Michaela shut the door behind her.

The second Max pushed open the back door to Michaela’s Muse, Torrance knew something was wrong. The alarm which should have been beeping persistently, waiting for someone to disengage the system, remained eerily quiet.

“What the hell?” Max muttered, while Michaela pushed past him. Seconds later she rushed into the front room of the shop, a choked sound breaking from her chest that made Torrance feel sick to her stomach.

Sometime in the night, Michaela’s Muse had been vandalized.

Bookshelves and display cases covered the floor, broken into pieces, the fine wood finishing marred with long, deep gouges that she was sure had been made by claws. The shop’s impressive collection of coffee table books on a variety of paranormal subjects had been shredded, the new shipments of Tarot decks, candles and crystals scattered over the floor, crushed by whoever had stomped over them. Everywhere Torrance looked, something had been mindlessly destroyed.

Silent tears slipped down Michaela’s face, Max cursed a foul string of words beneath his breath, and Torrance simply closed her eyes, wishing like hell she could just go back to yesterday morning and start over.

“I’ll pay you back,” she rasped, her voice rough with emotion. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and her stomach churned at the musky scent of animal, ripe and feral, mixing with the rich aroma of perfumed oils whose vials had been smashed to pieces. “I’ve got some money saved up. We can use it to replace everything that they’ve ruined.”

“Do not make me angry, Torry,” Mic snapped, glaring at her. “This is not your fault, so don’t even start feeling bad about it. You didn’t ask that bastard to do this. I will not let you take the blame for it.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” she insisted, furious with herself. “If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t have happened!” She gestured at the vengeful destruction that surrounded them.

Crossing her arms, Michaela narrowed her dark blue gaze and in a low, sibilant slide of words, she said, “Did you ask for this to land in your lap?”

“No, but if I had been smart and just left town or something,” she groaned, pushing her hair back from her face, “then it wouldn’t have landed in yours, as well.” God, it would have been so simple! She should have bought a bus ticket and hit the road. The small leather wallet that she used for carrying her check card and ID had been in the pocket of her jeans, so money wouldn’t have been a problem. She could have traveled through the night, heading north until she found some sleepy little town with a cozy bed-and-breakfast. No one would have been able to find her…and none of this would have happened!

“Yeah, and you’d probably be dead. Call me crazy,” Michaela snorted, “but I’d rather have my best friend alive and breathing and have to deal with a mess, than leave her in the clutches of some psychotic asshole.”

“Hey,” Max cut in, interrupting them. “I hate to break it up, but you two need to look at this.”

Torrance turned toward the sound of his deep voice, painfully aware that what little color was left in her face had just drained away when she saw where he pointed. “Oh, God,” she gasped, clutching the edge of the counter with a white-knuckled grip, feeling lightheaded as she read the message that had been scraped into the far wall.

You can run, Little Red.

But you can’t hide.

“That’s what Simmons called me,” she whispered in a hoarse voice. “Little Red.”

Too nervous to stand still, Torrance turned to pace, picking her way through the heartbreaking destruction while trying to think what her next move should be. Maybe she should just sneak out in the night, leaving a note saying she’d be in touch when she got settled somewhere. They’d be furious with her, but at least they’d be safe. She hoped. Torrance couldn’t help but worry that now that she’d drawn them into this, they were stuck in it, whether she stayed or hit the road.

She had just paced her way back toward the front of the store when she glanced through the front window and nearly stumbled over the broken leg of a display table, falling flat on her face. Rushing forward, Torrance peered out through the glass, shaking her head in shocked surprise. “I don’t believe it,” she whispered, recognizing that familiar dark head and muscular bod.

“What is it?” Michaela asked, hurrying to her side.

“It’s him,” she whispered. “Mason. The one who saved me. He’s out there.”

“The guy you ran from?” Max grunted, moving to her other side…and sounding far too protective for her peace of mind as he glared suspiciously outside.

“Um…yeah,” she said uncomfortably, feeling her cheeks heat with a telling blush when she realized Mason was staring back at her through the glass, his gaze touching her like a physical caress. He lounged against a black Tahoe, with one shoulder propped against the SUV. His brawny arms were crossed over his chest, biceps bulging beneath the dark cotton of his T-shirt and flannel, a cigarette burning in his right hand, looking every bit the badass.

“Wow,” Michaela drawled, “you weren’t kidding when you said he was gorgeous.”

“I know.” Torrance sighed, sounding miserable. She played through a thousand and one scenarios in her mind, then finally said, “I think I should go and talk to him.”

“I think so, too,” Mic agreed. “But I’m going with you.” Turning toward Max, who had fallen into step right behind them, she drawled, “Uh-uh. You stay here and watch through the window. There’s already enough testosterone out there. I don’t want a fight on my hands.”

He scowled, clearly ready to argue, until Michaela added, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt her.”

Max cut his sister a sharp, questioning look, muttering, “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Torrance thought she heard her best friend say, but she was already pushing through the front door, the silver chimes chattering loudly as the wind caught at the tiny bells. Despite her intention to remain calm, she felt a powerful surge of excitement flutter through her system the moment their eyes connected, dazzling and swift, like a startled school of luminous fish rushing through the water. He stepped away from the Tahoe as she approached, then tossed down the cigarette after taking one last drag, grinding the butt beneath the toe of his boot.

Praying that she wouldn’t stammer, Torrance said, “You have a bad habit of following me, don’t you, Mr. Dillinger?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. He did, however, level an intense stare at her that made her breath catch. “Yeah, and you can thank me for it later. You can also call me Mason.”

“Do you know who’s responsible for this?” she demanded, gesturing toward the shop.

The rugged lines of his handsome face settled into a hard scowl. “You know who it was, Torrance.”

She nodded, that sick feeling twisting through her stomach again, and his dark eyes narrowed in concern, the wind blowing the thick strands of his hair across his brow. “Are you holding up okay?” he asked in that whiskey-rough voice she’d spent a good portion of the morning trying to convince herself wasn’t nearly as sexy as she’d remembered.

She’d been wrong. It was even better.

Giving another jerky nod in answer to his question, Torrance found herself drowning in rich, velvety brown ringed by the thick border of his ebony lashes. No man had ever looked at her the way he did, and it hit her on a level that went beyond the physical, to something deeper, darker…more intimate.

Despite the chill in the air, she felt hot beneath the skin, mesmerized by his presence, even though he looked scruffy as hell. Dark stubble shadowed the strong line of his jaw. His eyes were tired…clothes wrinkled. In fact, he was still in the same jeans and shirt he’d been wearing yesterday, and she suddenly wondered if he’d slept at all since she’d last seen him.

Almost in answer to her unspoken question, he jerked his chin toward the shop. “I was outside your friend’s house last night, watching, staying close. That’s probably why he decided to come here instead.”

“He left her a message inside,” Michaela blurted, and Torrance turned to find the brunette standing near her side, staring at Mason out of narrowed, piercing blue eyes.

“Michaela!” she groaned, wondering what the hell the woman was up to.

“What’s it say?” Mason asked in a silky rasp, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. She got the feeling he was trying to look and sound nonthreatening, but she could see the tightening of his jaw, the flare of fury in his eyes, and the telltale pulsing of a vein in his temple.

He was pissed—because she’d been threatened.

“It says that she can run,” Michaela told him, “but she can’t hide.”

His gaze cut back to Torrance, and he squinted against a shaft of late-morning sunlight breaking through the heavy cloud cover, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way that only made him look better. As if he needed to look any better. “You know what you have to do, Torrance.”

She was beginning to suspect he was right—but that didn’t mean she had to like it. “Is that so?”

“If you want to keep your friends safe. If you don’t care about dragging them into this, then…” He shrugged his broad shoulders as his voice trailed off, but his meaning came through loud and clear.

Michaela arched one slim brow in his direction. “She’s not going to be guilted into going anywhere. You’re—”