«No idea,» Nick replied drily. «What do you expect, with the dumbass gambling laws we have?
Petri will meet you inside. Tall, blonde, yuppie, radiates lawyerness. He's nervous as hell about bringing a cop, but I told him you're my best friend. You better just hope Vice doesn't have a raid planned tonight.»
«I'll make certain they don't. Thank you, Nick. This could be the break I need.»
«Don't thank me. You're my wolf, and I want these curs brought down. Talk to you later.»
They hung up. On impulse, and before he had a chance to come to his senses, he dialed Lark's cell phone. As expected, he got her voicemail. He wouldn't hang up; alphas didn't hang up. They just talked real fast when they had something difficult to say.
«Look. I don't expect you to call me back. Christmas is gonna be hell, it's my fault and I'll worry about it. Shit, I'll probably have to leave town.» He took a deep breath. «I should've tried harder to tell you. I just wanted you too much. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I'm sorry I told you to grow up and, and-everything else. I didn't mean to-no, scratch that. I lied. I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I scared you, I'm sorry I yelled. I'm not sorry I claimed you. I wanted you before I knew you were my mate. I think I loved you before then, and I know I love you now. I'm no-« Beeep.
Goddamn it. The first and only humiliating apology of his life-getting cut off in the middle of it didn't do much for his self-esteem.
Alphas didn't have self-esteem. Alphas were self-esteem.
Fuck it. He dialed again.
«You need to understand something, Lark. I'm never gonna regret fucking you, hear me? It was the best night of my life, and it was the best night of yours. I'm gonna think about it every day single day.» He felt himself growing hard just saying this out loud. Maybe he really was an asshole; he'd live with it. «I'm gonna think about how you looked, how you smelled, what you did, the way you begged me to make you come. And when we see each other-because we will-you remember this-I'll be thinking about it whenever I look at you.» He stopped, panting heavily. «I love you.»
He hung up.
CHAPTER 6
She always turned her cell phone off when she worked. Sometimes she forgot to turn it back on till long after she got home-or, in the present case, TJ's apartment. Around nine-thirty Thursday night she saw she had six missed calls, including two from Taran. Hands trembling, she looked to see if he'd left a voicemail.
She stared at the screen for five minutes before she pressed «send» to listen. The first message set her pulse racing, her stomach flipping and turning itself in knots. The second message turned her legs to jelly and she had to sit down, because her body ached and burned like he was in the damned room, saying all those things in person.
She listened to it at least a dozen times, turned on and trembling. Then she started to panic with the (largely) irrational fear someone could get hold of her phone, hack her password, and listen to the message. She emailed the voicemail to herself and then erased it. When she got home, she'd print the email from her computer and add it to the Taran Box, which no one, not even TJ, knew about.
It contained every item, memento, or, most rarely, gift she ever received from him, including the ticket stub from the showing of Beauty and the Beast. He had taken her and two girlfriends to see it the first time he came home on leave following her parents' death. After the movie he took them to Bennigan's for dinner, three giggly eight-year-old girls and one gorgeous eighteen-year-old wolf.
Their constant squealing, he said later, made his ears ring for days. Over the years, she'd filled the box with silly shit like that. Nothing like the message, though. That message was the hottest thing any guy had ever said to her. «I'm glad I fucked you; I'll remember it every day of my life; I love you.» It was probably as close to romantic as Taran could get, and it was all she needed.
He stopped by the office Friday night to confirm plans with his captain: no raids on the party, nobody cared if he won money, and a couple guys in the unit hanging out in a bar one block away from the warehouse in case Kuba showed. Taran would send a prearranged text, they'd show up and take the Czech downtown for questioning. Given Kuba's rap sheet and the information from Miami, they could hold him at least twenty-four hours without a warrant for his arrest.
Taran wouldn't talk about Kuba or Eurowolves at the game. Someone there might know Kuba and tell him people were asking about him. A wolf like Kuba didn't like people asking about him.
Taran would watch, wait, listen and hope. Mostly hope, because this shot was miles fucking long.
He'd just shut down his computer and put on his leather jacket when Denardo walked in.
«Hey!» The rookie was clearly surprised to see him, «Why are you here so late?» They hadn't spoken since Denardo got back from Vegas.
«I'm about to go play poker,» Taran replied with a frown. «Wolf, maybe you should give up the bike. It's not for everyone, you know.»
The bruise beneath Denardo's right eye was almost as dark as his iris. Once again, he limped. He had a split upper lip and contusions on his cheek.
«Not the bike this time,» Danny muttered, reddening. «The reception got a little out of hand. A fight broke out in the hotel bar.»
«Did your side win?» He grinned.
«I don't even remember,» replied the beta, easing into his chair. «I'm just lucky I didn't end up in jail.»
Taran stopped and turned when Denardo said, «Wait a minute. Poker? You're going to play poker?»
«All in the line of duty. Nick heard from a wolf who thinks he played with Dominik Kuba at a big game downtown. He's getting me in tonight. Wanna come along? Real undercover work, plus you get to gamble and drink.»
«Um, no thanks. I don't play, and I'm still kinda sore. I was gonna check my messages, then go home and sleep till noon.»
«I'll let you know if anything shakes out.»
«Good luck,» Denardo replied quietly as Taran walked out.
The two large rooms in the back of the recently renovated warehouse featured surprisingly comfortable furnishings, including custom made poker tables and easy chairs for players to relax and visit between games. The soundproofed walls blocked the noise from the goth club so well even wolves could barely hear it. Taran thought he recognized the anonymously catered food from one of Houston's hippest restaurants. Whoever ran this game had a lot of money and wanted players who did, too.
«Three hundred to you, Tom,» the dealer said, using the name Taran had adopted for tonight. He didn't see anyone he knew, but as the only Taran in the Houston pack, he couldn't risk someone blowing his cover.
Down by a thousand bucks so far, he didn't care because he enjoyed poker. He'd decided to stay all night in case Kuba showed. Petri the Lawyer (there couldn't be another Petri in the Houston pack either, but Taran assured him they'd probably never talk again) promised to point him out.
Two hours in and no sign of wolves with accents, Slavic or otherwise.
About fifty wolves played tonight. Most humans wouldn't play poker with wolves, who didn't need to read tells when they could smell fear, excitement, happiness and anger.
Folding his measly pair of sixes, he sat back and waited for the hand of five-card stud to end.
Everyone else folded as well. The guy who'd opened, a Jersey wolf calling himself Tonio, bought the thirty-five hundred dollar pot.
As Tonio raked in his chips and the dealer shuffled the new deck, another wolf whose name he hadn't gotten said, «Anyone heard from the Russian wolves? I was hoping I might get some of my money back.»
Taran took a sip of water and sat back in his chair with a yawn, thankful to be an alpha and one unusually good at controlling his reflexes and pheromones.