The Covert Wolf. Bonnie VanakЧитать онлайн книгу.
human molesters she could take out with her knee.
“No. It’s too risky. This wasn’t my choice, but I agreed to this assignment. I had my doubts about working with you.”
“Because I’m a civilian?” Those mossy green eyes regarded him with frank amusement. “No prob.”
Suddenly Matt faced a tall, gangly G.I. in a mesh-covered helmet, vintage cammies and worn army boots. There was a distinct smile on the G.I.’s face as he stood straight and tall and then hefted a squeaky-clean rifle.
“Hey, there, Lieutenant Dan. Is this better?” she drawled.
Saying nothing, he gave her a pointed look. She sighed and resumed her normal form. “That wasn’t good enough for you?”
“If you’re going to conjure Tom Hanks, then Saving Private Ryan would have proved a better argument,” he said mildly.
Her pert nose wrinkled. “I don’t like war movies.”
“My point exactly.”
Sienna made an irritated sound. “What is it, Lieutenant? You don’t like females? Or civilians? Or your tighty whities are a little too tight?”
More sass. He folded his arms, waited for her to get it. He had endless patience. Once, he’d disguised himself as a wolf and spent three nights lying in a hollow log in an attempt to catch a rogue shape-shifter. Sienna tilted her head, the long fall of her mink-brown hair spilling to one side. The move gave her an exotic, sexy look. “Oh, wait. Maybe it’s because I’m Fae.”
“Score. That’s not changing. Neither is the civilian or—” he gave her legs an appreciative glance “—the female part. And you have no experience in covert ops. So I’m calling the shots.”
“Bit of a control freak, aren’t we?”
Checking his sidearm, he ignored that comment. If he were more of a control freak, maybe Adam wouldn’t have died.
“Wait.” She caught his hand. Matt stared at the slender fingers covering his. The intoxicating scent of warm female made his senses whirl. Too long since he’d felt a woman’s soft touch. Too long since he’d had a woman in his bed.
“When you go inside, I’ll stay outside, pretend to be a curious bystander, see what I can overhear.”
“No.”
Sienna dropped his hand and sighed. “Listen, we don’t like each other, but we have to work together. With all these police around, who would hurt me?”
He fought the urge to send her back to the car. His Draicon senses screamed danger. But she was right.
“You sense anything off, you come and get me. Deal?”
She knuckle-bumped him, green eyes huge in her solemn face. “Deal.”
“FYI, I don’t wear tighty whities.”
“Oh, you’re a boxer wolf? What do you wear?”
Matt dipped his head close to her shell-like ear. A few strands of silky hair lifted with his warm breath as he gently blew.
“Nothing,” he whispered.
The spice of her female scent sharpened. Matt grinned and touched her mouth, parted in a small O. “Stay alert.”
Cops lingered in the back, dusting the sliding door that led into the kitchen. Black fingerprint powder smeared the sparkling glass. He waited a moment to ensure Sienna’s glamour hiding him would hold, then slipped through the opened door.
Except for a few blood splatters on the floor that had been marked off, the kitchen was neat and clean, with polished oak cabinets, a shiny black granite countertop and dish towels with apple motifs hanging from the stainless-steel stove. Dark, malevolent magick shimmered in the air. The stench of sulfur and rotting flesh mingled with the coppery scent of blood. Matt clamped a hand over his mouth as he headed into the adjoining dining room.
A young woman sat at a long maple table, sobbing. “I didn’t do it. I swear, I loved my mother. It was El Diablo. El Diablo!”
The devil?
The front door opened. The police hustled the woman outside. Matt searched with all his senses. Nothing here, no warding spells, no candles, as if someone had erased evidence a witch lived here.
He started searching the bedrooms, opening drawers quietly, checking every corner. Upstairs in a small rose-colored bedroom, he ground to a halt, catching the scent of fear.
It rose over him in a wave, crashing into his senses and making his eyes water. Matt rubbed the heel of one palm into his chest, trying to ease the crushing weight.
Stronger by the closet. He opened the door and peered inside. A miasma of terror screamed into his mind.
Methodically, he searched the closet. Sorting through layers of clothing awash with the smell of mothballs and cedar, he lifted boxes and set them aside.
A hidden recess in the closet revealed a locked file box shielded with a pentagram. He pulled it out and broke the spell locking it with a simple incantation his C.O. had taught all the team.
He combed through the files, his gorge rising as he scanned them. Then he found a business ledger. His instincts were right. No Draicon had stolen the Orb.
Yet another reason not to trust any Fae. He pocketed the ledger and replaced the files.
As he went into the room, he caught sight of himself in the dressing table mirror. His form shimmered.
The glamour was fading. Fast.
He had to sneak out. Racing over options, he started for the bedroom door and heard pounding footsteps. Matt withdrew his Sig Sauer 9 mm pistol, cupping it with one hand. Sienna burst into the room and ground to a halt, staring at the gun’s barrel.
He sheathed the weapon as she gulped down a breath, eyes huge in her face. “We’ve got to leave, right now. I was talking with one of the cops when one of them suddenly … It was horrible. His form, it just … I don’t know …”
“Wobbled?”
She nodded. “Like when you throw a stone in water.”
He glanced at the window. “Where?”
“Downstairs. But I think he knew I could see through him. He may be another Fae. Or something else. The daughter, they were leading her out, she was screaming that a demon tortured her mother for information, and went too far, then set the daughter up to make it look like—”
“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You did good. Where’s the rest of the police?”
“They’re all outside, since they’re done wrapping up the crime scene.”
“Good. Let’s go.”
The stench of sulfur grew stronger. Matt herded Sienna out of the room, grinding to a halt. He slid an arm around her waist and yanked her against him, away from the specter blocking the way at the hallway’s end.
The specter shimmered, losing the glamour of a police uniform.
They were screwed.
“Draicon. You have something I need,” the demon hissed. Then it smiled and held up a hand, tipped with long, gray talons.
Flames burned at the tip of each finger. Matt’s throat went drier than sand.
No way out past the pyrokinetic demon.
He and Sienna were going to fry.
Pulling his sidearm free, Matt screwed on the long barreled silencer, knowing gunfire would bring the cops running. He fired at the creature, hoping to slow it. But as the bullets whizzed at the demon, flames burst from its fingers.
The steel and silver-tinged bullets melted in midair. Sienna gasped. Damn it, the new ammo was specially designed to withstand