After several seconds the grungy werewolf replied, “I don’t know much. I really don’t. My information is secondhand.”
You’ve already said that and I call bullshit.
“Then tell me what you can and answer a few questions. Then you can take this,” he tossed the bills onto table and the metal clip holding the money in place rapped against the table, “and go about your business.”
The money called to the loner, Shane knew it did. If there was one thing rogue wolves lusted after more than booze and sex it was cold, hard cash. He’d offered the incentive, tempting the male to jump the fence into luscious green pastures.
“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
Touché. “How do I know you’ll keep yours?”
“Good question.” The mongrel studied the cash in front of him. What he couldn’t know—and never would—was Shane had piled the center with small bills so the amount was far less than it seemed. “You’re not going to give me time to think about it, are you?”
“No, I’m not.” Shane reclined in his seat. “You want to help me out or you don’t.”
“All you want me to do is tell you what I know, right?”
Not really. “I need you to answer questions as well.”
“That’s it?”
Two words—a question that wanted more reassurance than an honest answer—and Shane knew he had the bastard. The promise of alcohol was nice but the allure of money was even better. He’d known it was only a matter of time. Given enough rope, a lone wolf would always hang itself. Since there wasn’t anyone around to look after them, they usually dangled and rotted to death.
“That’s it,” he answered, thrumming his fingers on the table. “The money is there. Two grand just like you asked. You can be in, out and on with life in a few minutes.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything you do.” Soon he’d be able to contact Jackson with information. The pack would take care of matters, get things in working order, and he could breathe easy for a change.
“That’s a helluva lot.”
Yep, he definitely knows more than he’s letting on. “A man gets what he pays for.”
The server returned with the drinks and he motioned for her to put them on the table. As she did he thought about the mate he’d yet to see, wondering what she looked like. Would she be blonde, brunette or maybe a redhead? Tall or short? The one thing he knew was she was she’d be slim, like all werewolf females—soft skin, lush curves, a sexy as hell shape.
She’d also be soft-spoken.
That was the only glimpse he’d been given of her. Each word breezed from her lips, a soft caress in his ears. It had been enough to put him on the edge, his teeth lengthening in his mouth. He wanted to take her, mark her and claim her. The trouble was he couldn’t find her, not matter how hard he tried. And she couldn’t find him.
Where are you?
Come to me.
Why do you keep doing this?
He didn’t understand her questions. To his knowledge he wasn’t doing anything.
Were females initiated the dreams, drawn by inner awareness. Each time he’d tried to answer he’d stumbled over his tongue, his breath catching in his throat. There were no words, only whining sounds that roused him back to reality and ripped him from sleep.
Tearing them apart, leaving him completely empty.
He yearned for her, ached for her and couldn’t stop thinking about her. Soon he’d lose every ounce of his control and go fucking crazy. Even as a born Alpha there was only so much he could take. A mated man needed the other half of his soul.
Why does mine have to be so hard to find?
“Damn this is good shit.”
Shane came crashing back to reality. He’d drifted again, thinking of his female at the most inopportune time. She was close. Even if he couldn’t see her he could feel her. Still, if he lost his rank in the pack—even if he found her—he’d have nothing to offer her. He had to make sure she had adequate protection and family, those who would love and care for her. He couldn’t go back home. His pack had made that clear before he’d left.
“Here,” Shane said, handing the man a fresh glass. “Have another.”
“I don’t know where to start,” the cur slurred and downed his drink.
“The beginning is usually best.” In your current state, sooner is probably better. “Go with the flow. Tell me what’s easy.”
“His name is Randy. He came from Cali.” He snickered. “Easy to remember.”
“Randy from Cali.” No sense in asking for a surname. Most rogues didn’t use them. “How long has he been here?”
“A month, I think? Something like that.” The rogue shook his head, shoulders relaxing. The liquor was doing its job. “He didn’t like talking about the past but he did love to brag. I ain’t shitting you. The man loved to talk some trash.” As he cackled, spittle formed around his lips. “He had some crazy stories to share. Insane fucking stuff. He’d been all around the world.”
“Which is how you found out about the female who’d hired him?” Yes he was leading the witness but he didn’t give a shit. At this rate happy-go-drunk-me asshole would walk off the beaten path and start telling Shane things he didn’t need to hear. He threw a pawn across the board, viewing their talk like a game of chess, hoping for a shot at the queen. It was all about strategy. “You don’t know her name by chance?”
“You’re trying to trick me.” The drunk snorted. “It won’t work.”
“Don’t think so highly of yourself. I told you why I came. You sent out a call and I responded.” He shook his head, his agitation very real. “You want money. I want answers. It’s not rocket science. I’d prefer not to waste any more time. You want to ditch town. I want to help you. The sooner you answer my questions, the quicker you can hop a train to wherever the fuck it is you want to go.”
Perhaps he should have felt ashamed for outright lying but he didn’t. This rogue was beyond hope, living a lost life. It was awful to see but it was a reality with some werewolves. Something inside them never felt the need to connect with a pack, making them dangerous and untrustworthy. There was no loyalty, no devotion. Death was probably the best thing for him. He’d only bring misery to everyone he met.
“That’s true.”
When in doubt, rely on reason. “Yes, it is.”
“I think it was…Sonja?” The dirty mongrel scratched his mud-crusted hair. “No, that’s not it. Sarah? No, that’s not it either.”
“Serena?” Shane offered, setting what hoped was a decent trap.
“No.”
“Sabrina?”
“No?”
“Desiree?” he asked, wondering if it might be that easy.
“Nah, it started with an ‘S’. It was definitely an ‘S’ name.”
“An ‘S’ name,” Shane repeated, pretending to think it over. There was only female with an ‘S’ name he was interested in. “Serephena?”
“Pfft,” the mongrel blew bubbles from his lips and it was a nasty sight, “no.”
“Selena?”
“Nope.”
“Stacey?”
“Another no.”
With an open board, Shane took his shot. “Simone?”
“Simone…” The man rolled the name off his tongue. Then he laughed, floating on a whiskey high. “Simone. Yeah, that’s it. You know her?”