Mrs. Hastings would have a fit.
They cleared away enough of the glass, climbed through the window, and found the place neat as if the maid had just cleaned up, except for the dresser shoved against the door blocking it, and the mess his uncle had made.
Darien shook his head, figuring the intruder had come for the same piece of evidence he was looking for. He arid Sheridan searched the lace-covered canopy bed, underneath it, the dressers, and bedside tables, the closet and the small bathroom and found nothing. Not a toothbrush, comb, bag, article of clothing, or anything else.
Then a slight elevation of the mattress on the right side of the bed caught Darien’s eye. He strode over to the bed and yanked up the coverlet. The mattress rode high in one small spot. Shoving his hand between the mattress and box spring, he felt the grip of a pistol. His heart pounded harder. Pulling the 9mm out, he checked the safety, then removed the bullets and studied them.
“Silver.” Uncle Sheridan growled as he examined them more closely. “That’s grounds for throwing her in jail. Possessing a firearm with intent to kill a lupus garou. Hell, Darien, she’s a loose cannon.”
Darien tucked the gun in his belt and shoved the bullets in his pocket. “She’s not a threat any longer.”
Uncle Sheridan groused under his breath some more.
After moving the dresser out of the door’s path, they returned to the lobby to see Mrs. Hastings, her face ashen. She scooted a mop around on the wood floor, soaking up the water she’d spilled when he and his uncle nearly ran her over.
Darien handed her the key. “Someone was in the room and had blocked the door. We had to break the window. Just charge it to my account.”
Mrs. Hastings took the key and moved around the counter. “The poor little thing really isn’t safe.” She glanced at the gun tucked in Darien’s belt, and her eyes widened. “She was packing?”
“Was there anything else you can recall about her?” he asked, not wanting to get into it with his uncle over the gun again.
Mrs. Hastings pointed to the stairs winding up to a loft. “You might check up there. One of my teenaged guests told me a woman was reading a letter and crying.”
When I investigated, it was Lelandi’s sister. She must have wiped away her tears, and I didn’t see any letter.”
Uncle Sheridan hurried up the stairs to the loft.
“Do you remember anything else? Nothing was in her room to indicate she’d ever been there,” Darien said.
“Emma cleaned up the rooms after the guests left for the day. She didn’t mention anything.” Mrs. Hastings looked at the gun again.
Uncle Sheridan stomped down the stairs and rejoined them. “Nothing.”
As Darien suspected. The woman was as much a mystery as her sister. “Come on, Uncle Sheridan. Let’s talk to the little lady again.”
Tension filling every pore, Darien hovered over Larissa’s hospital bed while Uncle Sheridan stood nearby, his arms folded. Sorely vexed with Trevor, Uncle Sheridan still couldn’t locate him.
With her face cloaked in sleep, Larissa looked like a sweet, innocent angel. Yet in that petite body, the heart of a warrior beat.
When she groggily opened her eyes, Darien tried to keep a grip on his temper, but his voice verged on a low, menacing growl. “Where... is... the... damned... letter?”
His shock of white hair ruffled. Doc walked into Lelandi’s hospital room. “I ordered bed rest, not constant interrogation of the young lady.”
Darien gave him a disgruntled look. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew the doctor was right—but when it came to sorting out this situation with Lelandi and her sister, he needed answers and now!
If Lelandi had possessed the strength to smile, she would have. The white-haired man looked like a taller, older version of her cherished uncle. Too bad he’d left the pack when she was little and become a rogue, too much of an alpha to put up with the leader, but not strong enough to take over. Yet, Doc looked like he could stand his ground, and had a compassionate side that made him lovable like her uncle.
His eyes were the same color—dark amber. He had a manly chin and large hands. The same cheerful expression. Except when he confronted Darien. The doctor stared him down. Who would win the confrontation this time?
“You’re the boss, but if you want to be the doctor, too, have at it. Otherwise, let the woman rest.”
“I need some answers.” Darien growled.
“Get them in the morning.” Doc stood firm, his hands on his hips.
Darien motioned for Silva to leave.
Silva cast him an annoyed look, walked over to the bed, and patted Lelandi’s hand. “I’ll see you in the morning, sugar. Don’t let the big bad wolves scare ya none.”
Lelandi tried to manage a smile, but her body seemed beyond her control.
“Talk to you tomorrow, Uncle Sheridan,” Darien said, dismissing him, too.
“Get with you if I have any late-breaking news.” The sheriff inclined his head and gave the doctor a peeved look, then headed out of the room.
Darien took the seat where Silva had been sitting.
“Your brother’s sleeping soundly. Finally got Sam to shut up. Think from the way he talks he’d been fighting World War III single-handedly. But she’s been injured the worst of the bunch and needs to rest.”
Darien glowered at her. “I hear you, Doc. But I have to know what we’re up against.”
Lelandi was sure she smiled that time, and Darien caught the look. She couldn’t help it. Who’d ever think a gray could make the leader back down?
Darien crossed his arms and this time he gave her an evil smile back.
The doctor took a deep breath. “Peter’s got guard duty. Trevor will follow him.”
“Fine. Close the door on your way out, will you?”
The doctor nodded and retired from the room.
Darien glared at Lelandi, his brown eyes filled with fury.
She closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. They burned, along with her skin, and the fever created an earth-shattering pounding in her head, like the time she went to a human rock concert—too much noise for a lupus garous sensitive hearing.
An hour later, she woke to rustling. Darien was searching through her purse. Lipstick, hairbrush, wallet loaded with cash, no credit cards, no driver’s license, no name. She could have told him that.
He caught her eye, dumped her purse on the table and frowned, but he didn’t question her. Man of his word. Good trait for a pack leader.
She must have drifted off to sleep again, because his low voice woke her when he spoke to the deputy in the hall. The smell of strong coffee reached her, then everything faded.
Until someone screamed, something crashed on the floor, and a slew of curses followed.
Lelandi’s eyes popped open. Holy crap! Shapeshifting in her delirious state, the IV jerked out and dangling over the floor, the blasted hospital gown in between her front legs. Lelandi lay on her side in her wolf form. She hoped whoever cleaned bed sheets were lupus garous, because if not, humans would wonder why a patient shed red fur.
Darien and Trevor rushed into the room, instantly looked at the mess Ritka made on the floor, and then at Lelandi, drowsy red wolf extraordinaire.
“Odin’s wounds, she’s a royal.” Darien said under his breath.
“Hell, Darien, if the word gets out, she’ll have a whole mess of suitors. But if she’s going to shapeshift without warning, she should be at the vet’s,” Trevor said.
Silva poked her head in.
“Get in and shut the door,” Darien barked.
She scurried in, closed the door, and smiled at Lelandi. “My, my. She’s a royal. Knocked that dye job right out. Told you so, boss.”