The Beast in Him

  “And who is he?”

  “He’s a Smith. I thought he was just a wolf, but he’s a Smith. What are you thinking?”

  I’m thinking the man can palm my breast anytime. “I’m not sure what you mean. What am I thinking about what?”

  “Jessica”—to her great annoyance, he took her elbow and led her farther away from the coffeehouse—“Smiths are, at the very least, not good for a woman’s reputation.”

  “My reputation?” Had she actually portaled to another time and dimension? Where women actually had to worry about their reputations.

  “I know. I know. You don’t think about those things, but you need to. Smiths are infamous womanizers.”

  She’d never call Smith males “womanizers.” Although she would call them whores.

  “I see.”

  “And,” Sherman said in all doglike seriousness, “they’re dangerous, Jessica. Unstable. Even other wolves avoid them.”

  “I had no clue.” Sure, she could explain to Sherman how she’d grown up around Smiths and knew them better than most. She could also explain how Smitty and she used to be friends. But all that would require her to spend more time with the man, seconds of her life she’d never get back.

  Forcing herself not to glance impatiently down at her watch, she said, “I’ll talk to my Pack about it.”

  “Of course. Because God forbid you should move without their permission.”

  It was the venom with which he made that statement that had her eyes narrowing to slits. Her Pack only wanted her to be happy. For instance, they sure as fuck wouldn’t let her stand out in the cold so they could lecture her.

  The coffeehouse door opened and Smitty walked out, heading right toward them. She hadn’t been this relieved to see the man since he dragged Bertha off her while she was pummeling Jess’s face.

  Smitty glanced down at her, and she knew he’d immediately caught on to her rapidly growing anger. Taking her arms, he pulled them around his waist and pulled her in tight to his body. His jacket and body heat kept her warm; his embrace kept her from tearing out Sherman Landry’s throat.

  “Everything all right out here?” Smitty asked.

  “Yes,” she said out loud. Under her breath, she added, “Make him go away.”

  “Leave it to me,” he muttered back. “Well,” he said clearly, for the entire street to hear, “we’re going to go home now and have some hot and dirty sex.”

  Jess let out a startled gasp and tried to pull back, but Smitty held her tight against him.

  “Yup,” he continued, “we’re gonna go have some nasty, dirty, whore sex.”

  Even with her face buried in his—very nice smelling—chest, Jess could still sense when Smitty locked his sights on Sherman.

  “And you’re not invited.”

  “Jessica,” Sherman tried again, “maybe we should—”

  “Son,” Smitty drawled, “don’t make me show you how much of a Smith I truly am.”

  Sherman cleared his throat. “I’ll speak with you another time, Jessica.” She heard his footsteps heading back to the coffeehouse.

  When Sherman opened the door, Smitty tossed out, “Just don’t call her when we’re having sex—which will be constantly!”

  Jess waited long enough for Sherman to get inside before she yanked away from Smitty and followed up with a solid fist to his chest. The pain that radiated up her arm afterward, she ignored.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “Nothin’,” he said, looking confused. “Why?”

  Smitty wasn’t sure what he enjoyed more. Torturing that scrawny dog—and he had tortured him. The poor guy didn’t know whether to be horrified or jealous of Smitty and Jessie going at it. Or had his pleasure come from torturing Jessie Ann? All that was fun, but what he enjoyed the most was having Jessie Ann plastered up against him. She nuzzled real nice, even when she didn’t mean to.

  At the moment, however, she looked real cranky.

  “I was helping like you asked.”

  “You were being a dick,” she said while looking down at the giant watch on her wrist. “And you were enjoying every damn second of being a—oh, my God! I’ve gotta go.”

  She ran to the corner and hailed a cab, but before she stepped inside, she ran back over to him.

  “One other thing.”

  “Yeah?”

  She slid her hand under his jacket and twisted his nipple until his eyes watered.

  “Touch my tits again without permission and I’ll rip this off.” She glanced at her watch again. “Ach! Now I really do have to go.”

  Jessie turned and ran back toward the waiting cab. Sure, Smitty could have let her go, but to be honest, he’d never been so damn entertained by a woman before. “So how do I get permission?”

  She spun around, jumping back when she realized he stood right behind her. “Stop sneaking up on me! And you don’t get permission.”

  “Why not? You said I was pretty.”

  “Look, Smitty, while I appreciate your doglike persistence, you need to know that nothing you do or say will change my mind about this. You’re part of my past, and these days I’m all about my future. I don’t have time or room in my life for you and your casual chats. Understand?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good.”

  “’Cause I always love a challenge.”

  He’d caught her with that when she was halfway in the cab. With one foot in and the other still braced against the curb, she stared at him. “What challenge?”

  “You’re challenging me to get you back into my life.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Your exact words were ‘I challenge you, Bobby Ray Smith, to get me back into your life.’”

  “I never said that.”

  “That’s what I heard.” The beauty of wolf hearing. You heard only what you wanted to, made up what was never said but should have been, and the rest meant little or nothing.

  “Is there something wrong with you? Mentally?”

  “Darlin’, you met my family. You’ve gotta be more specific than that.”

  “That’s it. I’m leaving. I can’t have this conversation with you. I can’t—”

  He saw it immediately. The way her entire body tensed, her eyes focusing across the busy city street, locking on something in the distance. She went from exasperated to on point in less than five seconds.

  “What’s wrong, Jessie?” He followed her line of sight but didn’t see anything that stuck out to him.

  “Nothing,” she said, her eyes still staring across the street. “I need to go.” She went up on her toes and absently kissed him on his cheek. He’d bet cash she wouldn’t even remember she did it.

  She stepped into her cab and closed the door. She didn’t look back at him, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. That wasn’t like her. Even if it was to give him the finger, she’d do or say something before driving off.

  Smitty turned and stared at the spot Jessie’d been staring at. But he still saw nothing that made him feel tense or worried.

  So what the hell had worried his little Jessie Ann?

  As soon as Jess stepped off the elevator, her friends made a run for it. They got away except the one she wanted to catch anyway.

  “Jess! Be reasonable!” She dragged Phil into her office by his collar and slammed the door. She had about ten minutes before the others would sneak back in. She had to make this fast.

  Phil, however, was busy defending his actions of deserting her with a crazy hillbilly wolf. “We figured we all didn’t need to go to the hospital with you.”

  “Shut up about that. I’ve got a question for you.”

  “What?”

  “Do you remember Walt Wilson?”

  Phil thought for a second. “The name sounds familiar…”

  “Kristan’s biological father.” And the man who’d unceremoniously dumped an eighteen-year-old Maylin because “That thing inside you ain’t mine.”

  “Oh. Him,” Phil sneered. “What abou
t him?”

  “I think I saw him.”

  “In New York?”

  “No, in space.”

  “Okay. Sarcasm a little unwarranted.”

  Jess paced to the big window behind her desk. She rarely looked out it. She rarely had time.

  “You sure it was him?”

  “No, but I think it was. I saw his picture once in May’s photo album. She kept only one picture of him so Kristan would know what he looked like.” She frowned. “He’s lost a lot of hair for a wolf. Got a giant receding forehead.”

  “I don’t think foreheads can recede.”

  “You’re gonna argue this with me?”

  “Whoa. Is all this tenseness about Walt Wilson?” Phil grinned. “Or about that big ol’ country wolf?”

  When Jess pretended to lunge for him across her desk, Phil wrapped his arms around his chest. “Not the nipples!”

  “Track Wilson down,” Jess told him. “If he’s in town, I wanna know.”

  “Okay.”

  “I find the timing of his appearance a little suspect, Phil.”

  “I was thinking that.”

  “And I won’t have Kristan hurt. Not by this asshole. But keep your mouth shut until we know something.”

  Phil walked around the desk and stood beside her, mimicking her stance. “What else is wrong?”

  “Wilson is a bigger problem than any of you realize.” She let out a breath. “He’s a Smith. Distant cousin or something. I’m not sure of the bloodline, but it’s there.”

  “Great. Just great.”

  “Yeah, you know how the Smiths are about family. And if they think we’re crossing him—”

  “Let’s not go there yet. I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll be discreet.”

  “Good.”

  “Besides, I wouldn’t worry.” Phil grinned. “We’ve got the Smitty hookup now.”

  “I’m not asking him to go against his family, you bonehead.”

  “Awww. You’re protecting him. Is love in the air? I bet you just need a little help from me to get this thing moving. Just trust the love doctor to—and don’t throw anything at my head!”

  Jess put the five-inch pewter dragon statue back on her desk. “Don’t irritate me, Phil.”

  “Yes, ma’am. But you know Wilson may just be here to see the kid.” Phil shrugged. “Maybe he already has.”

  “I thought about that.” Jess sat back on her desk. “But she’s either with Keith”—Sabina and Phil’s oldest boy “—or her sisters.”

  “You don’t think they’d cover for her?”

  “No way. No one’s stupid enough to cover for Kristan’s crazy ass.”

  Johnny moved his book to the side so the waitress could put down his burger and fries. He’d never been big on the fantasy stuff. He liked westerns and murder mysteries. But Jess went on and on about Tolkien’s work, and to shut her up, he grabbed one of the many copies from the many bookshelves all over the Pack house. Johnny had to give it to her, though, the book was really good. He’d enjoyed the movies, but Tolkien’s written word spoke to him on another level entirely.

  “Hello? Calling bonehead.” Annoyed, Johnny pulled his gaze away from the book and into the pretty face of Kristan Jade Putowsky.

  “What?”

  “I need you to do me a favor.”

  “Not on your life.”

  He returned his focus to the book, but Kristan’s hand slapped down over it, covering the page. “Please?”

  “What?”

  “I need you to cover for me.”

  “Cover for you?”

  “Yeah, you gotta go rehearse or practice or whatever, right?”

  Every weeknight, Johnny spent three to four hours practicing on his violin. Jess had actually rented him rehearsal space at a nearby music studio.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “If they ask later, just say I was with you. You usually get home around nine, right? I’ll meet you out front at nine.”

  “Forget it.”

  “Come on, Johnny. Please?”

  “No.”

  “I’d cover for you. I’ll owe you one. I promise.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you need a cover?”

  “Can’t you do this for me without asking a bunch of questions?”

  “No.”

  She leaned over the table and he caught her scent. That scent drove him crazy. She drove him crazy.

  “Johnny, come on. Please.”

  It had to be a guy. He knew a few at their school who’d give their left nut to be with her. He definitely didn’t like the thought of her with another guy. Any guy. But she showed him absolutely no interest, and alienating her now didn’t get him any closer. At least this way, if he covered for her, they could remain friends. Important with them living together and all.

  He stared into those brown eyes and realized he could deny her nothing, fool that he was.

  “Nine o’clock. At the corner. You’re a minute late and you’re screwed.”

  Kristan squealed and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you!”

  Spoiled princess. He should hate her. She’d grown up loved and cared for with a Pack that adored her. But he didn’t hate her. If anything, he had it for her bad. But the way her father, Danny, watched him, that would never be happening unless Johnny decided living wasn’t one of his favorite things to do.

  Resigned to a life of sexual frustration until he was old enough to go to college and get away from Kristan Putowsky, Johnny went back to his book and his burger.

  Jess, already wearing the headset that went with her office phone, simply hit the answer button without even bothering to look away from the e-mail she was drafting on her computer.

  “This is Jessica.”

  “So you going to tell me what happened earlier or do I have to guess?”

  Shocked, Jess stared at the phone display. “How the hell did you get my personal number?” It wasn’t listed and only the Pack had it. Even those in the building couldn’t contact her through this particular line, and it wasn’t billed under her own name. In fact, more people had her personal cell phone number than her private business line. That was the only reason she answered it at nine o’clock at night anyway.

  “I can’t really answer that,” Smitty replied.

  “Well, lose it. And stop calling me.”

  “I can’t help you, Jessie Ann, until you tell me what’s going on.”

  “Who asked for your help? I’m relatively certain I never asked for your help. And I never will.”

  Besides, as irritated as she was from hearing that slow drawl and sweet-as-molasses voice on her private phone line, she still wouldn’t drag Smitty into this, whatever “this” was. The Smith credo was a simple one. Family first. Pack second. Everyone else dead last. If you were a blood relation to the Smiths, they’d come from all over the States to step in on your behalf. For that reason alone, the other shifters gave the Smiths a wide berth. Just one Smith was dangerous, but a whole swarm of them would be lethal.

  For one Smith to go against that for an outsider would bring the wrath of Bubba Smith down on Smitty’s head. She couldn’t do that to him. He and his father had a difficult relationship. She wouldn’t add to it.

  Jess rubbed her eyes. Wait. Why did she give a shit about Smitty’s relationship with his father? Had she lost her mind? She was getting sucked back in. Back into the insanity known as the Smith Pack.

  “I appreciate you wanting to help,” she said, trying a different tack with him. “But there’s nothing I need help with. Everything is fine.”

  The pause that followed was long, and for a moment she thought she’d lost the connection.

  Until Smitty said, “You’re lying to me, Jessie Ann. And I’m gonna find out why.”

  “And why is that? Because you clearly need a hobby—and a girlfriend?”

  “No, because that’s what friends do for friends. We help each other out. And no matter what you think, we’r
e still friends.”

  “What planet are you living on anyway?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s nice. There are fire hydrants everywhere—and bunnies!”

  Jess snorted, fighting hard to keep in her laugh. Damn him! He always could make her laugh. Like when he’d found her hiding in an air duct that time after the Friday homecoming bonfire. She’d planned on staying there the whole night until the liquor wore off with Sissy’s She-bitches. But he’d coaxed her out with jokes and the promise of one of those giant Hershey bars. Then he made sure she got home safe.

  Years later and he was still trying to protect her. Except now she didn’t need it.

  “I’ve gotta go, Bobby Ray.” She was glad he couldn’t see her face. Her smile would do nothing but prompt his continued efforts. “Don’t call me again. Don’t try and ‘help’ me. Just get on with your life—and be happy.”

  When he didn’t say anything, Jess disconnected the call, glanced at her watch, and went right back to work.

  Smitty walked back to the surveillance truck, Jessie’s last words to him playing again and again in his head.

  His sister sat on the edge of the truck floor, her back against one of the open doors. They had a job this evening involving some foreign businessmen, but so far all had been calm. The perfect job, really. Low on danger, high on payment.

  “Break time?” he asked.

  Sissy sipped coffee and nibbled on coffeecake. “Yes, I’m not lazing off.”

  “I just asked.”

  “It was the way you asked.” Sissy watched him for a moment. “What’s the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. Why?”

  “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “If you must.”

  Smitty took her coffee and sipped it. “Do you care if I’m happy?”

  “No.” Sissy took her coffee back. “And get your own.”

  “Fine.” He swiped up her slice of coffeecake, and as she made a wild grab for it, he shoved the entire thing into his mouth.

  “There,” he said, making sure he spit crumbs at her. “I got my own.”

  Chapter 7