Yet Gwen’s powerful sense of smell told her that full-humans weren’t the only ones using this building.
Sniffing like a bloodhound on the trail of a murderer, Gwen followed her nose to a discreet door behind a set of stairs. That discreet door led to another discreet door. She pulled it open and came face-to-face with several bathrooms and closets filled with cleaning and maintenance supplies. She almost got sidetracked by some copper pipes in the maintenance closet but made herself focus.
She sniffed the air and went to another set of stairs and a locked door. She sniffed at the door and pawed at it a couple of times. It opened, a wolf standing on the other side.
“Hi.”
“Hi.” Gwen walked in, ignoring the way the male automatically sized her up, and quickly examined everything around her. This area of the building was huge, with its own set of elevators, a food court, several sports-related stores, and a Starbucks. This was a shifter-only space, huge and all-inclusive. A safe zone for every breed. That meant no fighting of any kind, including Pack, Pride, or Clan wars, and no hunting or bloodletting. Shifters got bitchy when they had to clean up any messes that required cops or disposing of carcasses.
“Can I help you?” the wolf asked.
“Uh…yeah. I’m looking for my friend. She’s a little taller than me, black with brown hair…she was probably talking to herself.”
He grinned. “The wolfdog? Yeah, she went down those stairs over there.”
“Thanks.”
“Want me to help you look for her?”
Gwen chuckled at that, sure of the kind of help the wolf wanted to give her. “No, thanks.”
“If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Because she obviously had nothing better to do than hook up with some horny wolf for ten minutes. How She-wolves tolerated any of them, Gwen would never know.
As directed, she went down the stairs and stopped in the hallway. The really big, multidoor-filled hallway. Because finding Blayne shouldn’t be easy, now should it?
Sighing, Gwen went from door to door. Some were locked, and some opened to a practice or training session. She wished she could have stayed and watched the gymnasts. Nothing like watching all those eight-year-old cubs and pups vaulting themselves twenty to thirty feet in the air and then screaming on the way back down because they had no real idea yet how to land properly.
She didn’t have time for that, though. She was snooping, and she wouldn’t let anything get in her way. Because who knew what Blayne was up to? Gwen was betting it had something to do with a man. She’d already seen the basketball players working out and Gwen was surprised she didn’t find Blayne there in the stands, watching and waiting on some freakishly tall loser to come over and smooth talk her. The woman had the worst taste in males. She picked what seemed to be the nicest, sweetest guys, and they always turned out to be full-fledged sociopaths. And if she was sneaking some guy in behind Gwen’s back that meant one thing—another nutbag Gwen was going to have to deal with down the road.
Why did she have to work so hard to protect her friends and family? Why couldn’t Blayne find normal, cranky shifters with dominance issues like the rest of them?
Gwen heard male voices coming from a door close to her and she reached for the handle, figuring she’d find Blayne. But before Gwen could get a grip, the door flew open and she barely moved out of the way in time. She caught sight of ice skates and knew it was the hockey players. Her uncle Cally had played hockey on a shifter team for years when he was younger.
She was trying to move around the player, when he snarled, “Do you not answer your phone?”
Gwen tensed and looked up—and kept looking up until she burst out laughing. “You play hockey?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“It can’t be fair. You battin’ the other players around the ice with your giant arms.”
“I don’t have giant arms.”
She kept laughing and shook her head. “Forget it. Is Blayne in there?”
“No. And why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I shut it off because my brother was driving me crazy after I lacerated his ass this morning. Why?”
“I found out who jumped you and Blayne at Macon River.”
Gwen stared up at the grizzly. To be honest, she’d forgotten about that Pack. Forgotten they’d existed or had attacked her and Blayne. Not that she didn’t care, but the past few weeks had been so crazy busy, it had gone to the bottom of the heap of concerns she already had.
“Who was it?”
“I was calling to tell you that, but when I thought about it, I realized I couldn’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
He took several gulps of water from the bottle he held in his hand. His hair and skin were drenched in sweat and he was panting. He must have had a hell of a workout. “Because it’s been handled, and I don’t want you going over there to start it up all over again.”
“I won’t.”
“You say that now, but then you’ll be sitting around…thinking. And you’ll remember what went down—and the next thing I know, I’ll be hearing about you in the news.”
Disgusted he was probably right, Gwen ignored him with a flip of her hand. “Whatever.”
“‘Whateva,’” he mimicked back at her and then smiled.
Goofball.
And Gwen was about to tell him that, too, when she noticed seven females dressed in black latex minidresses and carrying black-and-gray pom-poms walk by in latex boots with six-inch heels. She peered at Lock, figuring she’d have to get his attention back to ask him a question, but he was still gazing down at her. Or maybe he had a really quick response time like Mitch.
“Who are they?”
“Who are who?”
Did he really not see seven big-breasted females in black latex walk by? Or was he the biggest liar this side of the Atlantic?
“The chicks in latex.” She pointed and he glanced over, but focused back on her in less than a second.
“Oh, yeah. They’re the derby pep squad.”
Oh, no. No. No. No. No. No. No!
“Derby pep squad?” Please, Christ! Let it be something other than what I’m thinking!
“Yeah. Some leagues use cheerleaders and some use pep squads. The New York Roller Derby League uses a pep squad.”
Goddamnit! Gwen took a breath, trying her best to stay calm. “Is there a bout tonight?”
“Yep. In the stadium, one floor beneath us.”
Without saying another word, Gwen walked off.
“You’ll never get in.”
She looked at him over her shoulder. “Why not?”
“The bout’s already sold out.”
She faced him and quickly realized he was wearing a practice jersey for one of the professional shifter league teams. “But you play for the New York Carnivores.”
“I do.”
“So I’m sure with your connections you can get me in.”
“I can.”
Letting out an annoyed breath, she walked back over to him. “What do ya want?”
“I don’t want anything, Mr. Mittens.” He leaned down until their noses nearly touched. “In fact, all you have to do is ask me.”
“That’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. I try to avoid blackmail. It always works out badly in the end.”
“Can you get me into the bout?”
“Sure. Wait here.” He walked off and the door he’d come through opened up again, more hockey players streaming out. She barely noticed any of them, too busy stressing out over what she’d see in a few minutes, until one walked over to her and sniffed her hair. Normally she’d be pissed off at some strange wolf sniffing her hair without permission, but he was gorgeous and…friendly