Smolder: A Werebear + BBW Paranormal Romance (Bearpaw Ridge Firefighters Book 2) Page 8

  Caitlyn considered her options. Mark's offer to let her stay at his place had come as a tremendous relief yesterday morning, when she had been shaken up, utterly exhausted, and stranded far from home without a working car.

  But it now occurred to her that despite his hospitality, she was currently stuck out here on a ranch with no car and no way to get to town to pursue her investigation.

  Had Mark planned it that way?

  That didn't jive with her gut feeling where he was concerned, but it was inconvenient for researching Pemberton's story. When Mark returned, she would have to ask him about where she could rent a car.

  In the meanwhile, at least she had Annabeth's interview and the Montoya video to work on.

  She needed to figure out who had really shot that video. Those special effects couldn't have been cheap to do. Based on the envelope's postmark, Richard Montoya had supposedly sent it in to Mythtrust News on the same day that he had filmed it.

  Then Montoya had been killed—murdered, if Jake was to be believed—sometime on Wednesday night, though his body had not been discovered in the bushes until Friday morning.

  But what if Montoya hadn't actually sent them that video? What if that was part of the hoax?

  If Mythtrust News got that part wrong, Caitlyn shuddered to think about the public outrage that would follow on the heels of the death of a well-liked police officer.

  But if she could confirm that Sgt. Richard Montoya had actually made or sent that video, it would make a powerful lead-in to the story she was planning to write to accompany the video posting.

  She could picture the website's banner headline now:

  Heroic police officer killed in connection with video hoax

  Jake Zimmerman would fight to keep the shifter angle, but he'd want to post that video no matter what. And if Caitlyn couldn't verify from whom it had really come, they'd just run a version of the story that played up the shifters and didn't mention Montoya.

  Which would be a shame.

  Caitlyn pulled up her contact list on her computer and started making calls.

  She got lucky on the third call, which was to an Albuquerque police officer that she'd interviewed for a previous story.

  Pete Langlais answered his phone on the first ring.

  "Albuquerque Police Department, this is Sergeant Langlais," he said crisply. And then, in a warmer voice flavored by a soft Gulf Coast accent, "Hey, Caitlyn. What's up, darlin'?"

  She laughed. "Good morning, Pete. I'm glad you still remember me."

  "Now, how could I forget a gorgeous blonde like you?" he asked, his voice dropping even further. "And I'm glad you called. I've been meaning to ask you if you might be interested in going out to dinner sometime. My cousin's restaurant serves the best Cajun food in Albuquerque. And I'm originally from Louisiana, so I should know."

  "I wish I could take you up on it," she said sincerely, "But I'm out of town right now, on an assignment."

  "That's too bad. So this call is business rather than pleasure?"

  As she remembered, Pete Langlais was in his early thirties, tall and athletic, with reddish-brown hair in a buzz cut, lots of freckles, a great smile, and a killer drawl.

  A few days ago, she would have agreed wholeheartedly to a date with Pete when she returned to Albuquerque, but right now, she couldn't stop thinking about a certain dark-haired firefighter with a genius talent for kissing.

  "I'm afraid so," Caitlyn said. "Do you have a few moments? I wanted to ask you some questions about Richard Montoya."

  "Jesus," Pete said, his voice going hoarse. "Rich was my partner. His funeral's tomorrow."

  "I'm so sorry," Caitlyn said immediately. "I saw the news—it was awful. No one saw what happened?"

  Pete let out an audible breath. "No witnesses. OMI thinks it was some kind of animal attack. And I know that Rich was convinced he'd seen cougars down by the river. He had a hobby doing wildlife photography…maybe he got too close."

  OMI was the Office of the Medical Investigator. They were in charge of investigating any deaths from unknown causes, accident, suicide, or homicide.

  Wildlife photography, huh? As Caitlyn considered her next question, Pete continued speaking.

  "But why are you interested in Rich? Aren't, uh, UFO sightings more your thing? Or did you change jobs?"

  "No, I'm still with Mythtrust News," Caitlyn said. "I'm just looking into something that might be connected with Sergeant Montoya…it's probably a hoax, but due diligence and all that."

  "Huh," Langlais sounded suddenly interested. "What kind of hoax? Is this something that our investigators should know about?"

  "I don't know. It's pretty weird."

  Jake had warned her not to reveal the video's existence, but she didn't know how to get the information she needed in any other way.

  Besides, Pete Langlais was a cop. It didn't feel right to withhold information regarding the death of his friend and partner.

  "Do you know whether Sergeant Montoya was in the habit of carrying a video camera with him when he was off duty?"

  There was a long silence on the other end of the line. "Why are you asking?"

  Shit. Now Caitlyn had a decision to make. Could she trust Pete Langlais? And more importantly—could that video possibly be real, after all?

  She nibbled on her lower lip, then winced as a burst of pain reminded her that she'd taken an airbag in the face yesterday morning.

  "Look," she said finally. "I just wanted to see if Sergeant Montoya had maybe filmed…something…during his morning run last Wednesday. We got a tip from, uh, a credible source, and I'm just following up on it."

  "Caitlyn, if you have information that might pertain to this investigation, we need to know about it as soon as possible." Pete Langlais sounded all cop now. "When are you coming back to town? Can you meet me for dinner? And hand over what you may have received from your source?"

  "I'm 99% sure it's bullshit, Pete," Caitlyn said. "There's no way it could be real. And besides, I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere, Idaho, right now, and I don't know when I'll be back. I totaled my car last night."

  "You okay, darlin'?" Pete asked immediately.

  "Bumps and bruises—a lot of bruises," Caitlyn said ruefully. She took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry about Sergeant Montoya. And if anything about my tip pans out, I promise I'll pass along the information to you."

  "I'm sure the APD investigators would prefer to make that determination," Pete said. "Can you email me the details?"

  "I'll think about it," Caitlyn said. "But it'll be tricky—I need to protect my source."

  She wasn't sure why she had added that last part, especially since her "source" was very likely the deceased, but she'd learned to listen to her gut. And her gut was screaming at her right now that contacting Pete Langlais had been a big mistake.

  But what else could she have done?

  "I—I have to go now," she said. "Thanks for the information, Pete, and I promise I'll let you know if anything pans out on my end."

  * * *

  Mark was finding it difficult to concentrate on his meeting with his client, the female half of a shifter couple newly arrived in town, who needed a will.

  Sheri Roberts had just found out that she was pregnant, and she and her mate, Greg, wanted to make sure that everything was in order when their eagerly awaited baby arrived.

  The first step in drafting a will was to interview the couple and to determine what assets they had to dispose of and what they wanted done in case of their deaths.

  Mark was halfway through his lists of questions, taking a short break while Sheri phoned her mate and earnestly discussed with him at what age their child—or children—should receive their inheritances, should anything happen to Greg and Sheri before then.

  Greg wanted to wait until each child was twenty-five; Sheri was arguing that they should receive the money as soon as they turned eighteen.

  As he waited for them to finish their call, Mark's gaze kept drifting towards Cai
tlyn's suitcase, retrieved from the battered red car standing forlornly in a corner of Mike's yard.

  Every time a random current of air brought her scent to his nose, he was vividly reminded of her soft, willing presence in his arms and of all the things he wanted to do to her.

  After that memorable kiss in the hallway last night, he was willing—more than willing—to give the "fated mates" thing a chance. Except for one troublesome fact: Caitlyn Morgan worked for a website determined to expose shifters as real, and she had come to Bearpaw Ridge on business.

  He tried to tell himself that getting involved with her would be dangerous. Fated mate or not, surely there was someone else out there for him. Someone more…appropriate.

  His bear growled in disapproval at that. It wanted Caitlyn. And only Caitlyn.

  Sheri's telephone discussion with her mate was becoming steadily more heated. And there were still at least ten more questions to go before he could even think about starting work on their will.

  He glanced out the window and saw one of the Grizzly Creek Ranch's white pickup trucks pull to the curb and park behind Greg and Sheri's SUV. He saw his mother get out of the truck…followed by Dane.

  Both of them wore grim expressions.

  Uh-oh.

  Mark sighed and signaled to Sheri.

  "Hold on a sec," she told her mate.

  "Sheri, instead of paying me by the hour to sit here while you and Greg work out the details, why don't I email you a copy of my standard questionnaire for wills? Once you two have had a chance to discuss and decide on the answers, we can make a follow-up appointment."

  "Okay," Sheri said, a doubtful expression on her face. "I'm sorry if I wasted your time—" she began to apologize.

  Mark shook his head. "Not at all. I think we made a good start here this morning. But I think it's probably best if you and your mate discuss the answers to the remaining questions at your leisure."

  "All right, we'll do that," Sheri said. "I'll call you in a couple of days, Mark."

  After a few pleasantries, she departed.

  As she opened the outer door of his office, Mom and Dane, who had been waiting on the sidewalk outside, entered.

  Elle Swanson was tall and solidly built, with warm brown eyes and hair frosted with gray. She was a strong-willed woman who had single-handedly managed the Swanson family ranch in the years since Mark's dad had died in that crash.

  Even now, with all her children grown and Dane serving as ranch manager, she ruled her five sons and assorted ranch hands with a firm hand tempered by kindness and good humor.

  Right now, though, she looked upset, and Dane looked like he was ready to administer a thorough ass-kicking.

  Mark sat back in the leather chair behind his desk and waited to see what was going on. Some legal matter going on with the ranch? Or was it family business?

  "Mark, what on earth is going on with that woman who's staying at your place?" Elle demanded as she strode into Mark's office.

  "The reporter," snarled Dane, following close on his mother's heels. His dark brows were drawn together in a thunderous frown. He added, "Annabeth had another one of her nightmares last night. You need to send that woman on her way."

  Mark's bear bristled at his brother's tone. He clamped down on the impulse to snarl back, and he clenched his fingers, which were tingling with the need to shapeshift a set of long, wickedly curved grizzly claws.

  The last thing—the very last thing that Mark's fledgling law office needed—was for the passers-by to see him brawling with his brother.

  Instead, he forced himself to smile pleasantly at his mother. "My guest's name is Caitlyn Morgan. She was visiting from New Mexico when she got into a car accident. I offered her my spare room until she heals up and can get things sorted out with her insurance."

  Mom's lips thinned. "Dane says she works for that awful website that upset Eddy Ornelas so badly."

  "And she's been in touch with that son-of-a-bitch Roger!" Dane added vehemently. "That should have been enough to—"

  "—let her roam around town, looking for witnesses to interview?" Mark raised his brows coolly at his older brother, knowing that this gesture would drive Dane crazy, especially if he was already upset. "Face it, Dane—you messed up when you let your bear control you. You could have caught Roger Pemberton without shifting, and you know it."

  Dane growled low in his throat. "He tried to kill my mate. He's lucky I didn't tear him to pieces."

  Mom crossed her arms and gave Mark a sharp look. "So you're telling me that you invited a reporter—a young and very pretty reporter, by Evan's account—to stay at your house because you're trying to protect Dane?"

  Mark tried not to wince at her skeptical tone. "That’s part of it," he said, though it hadn't occurred to him when he had extended the invitation.

  At the time, he had just wanted to mollify his bear by making sure that Caitlyn remained somewhere in their vicinity.

  Mom was not stupid. "And the other part?" she inquired.

  Mark sighed. "Damn it, Mom, I'm a grown man. It's bad enough that you sent Evan over to spy on me yesterday. Didn't it occur to you that I might not want to share every part of my private life with the family?"

  Mom gave Dane a sidelong glance. "So Evan was right. You're…interested in her? This reporter? Who's not even a shifter?"

  Evan needs to keep his fucking mouth shut, thought Mark.

  "I'm not interested in discussing my dating life with you," he said to his mother. And realized instantly that he had made a mistake.

  I plead the Fifth, Your Honor, he thought, angry at himself.

  Why was it that he could handle judges and other attorneys with no problems, but his mother always made him feel like he was still fourteen years old?

  "Dating life?" Mom sighed. "So you are interested in her." She shook her head. "It's bad enough that Dane has mated with an Ordinary—"

  "Mom!" Dane snapped, sounding shocked.

  "—though I adore Annabeth, you know that. But it could have turned out so badly for the both of you…you remember what happened with Tanya."

  "As if you'd ever let anyone forget!" said Dane, and Mark felt sympathy for his brother.

  Mom ignored him. "Mark, of all the available Ordinary women in this world…surely you could do better? Find someone…else? Someone who isn't a reporter trying to out the shifter community?"

  Mark forgot that he had been thinking something along those lines before his unwelcome visitors arrived. He had been prepared to be conciliatory to his mother and brother. But a sudden surge of protective anger caught him by surprise.

  Do better? You haven't even met Caitlyn yet!

  "My bear thinks she's our fated mate," he snapped and was immediately sorry.

  Mom's eyes widened.

  "Your bear chose her?" Dane looked appalled. "But—but she really upset Annabeth! And if she's going to be around all the time…well, that can't be good for the baby!"

  Good old Dane. Single-track mind where his mate was concerned…though Mark was beginning to understand the feeling.

  "Mark Edward Swanson, you can't be serious!" Mom sounded scared and upset now. "She can't be—she's an Ordinary! How can you even consider going through with this?"

  "I haven't—" Mark began, then closed his mouth. I told her I wasn't going to discuss my dating life. He took a deep breath.

  "I appreciate your concern, Mom, and I'll be careful," he promised. "But Caitlyn is…special. I'll try to find a way to manage this whole situation without harming the family."

  "Oh, Mark," his mother said with a sigh. "I worry about you, you know? Evan dates too much, and the wrong kind of women. But you…ever since you returned from law school, you haven’t gone on more than one or two dates with anyone. And you won't even consider registering with ShiftMatch—"

  Help came from an unexpected source: Dane, who was still bristling at hearing his own Ordinary mate criticized. "Mom, if his bear really has chosen that reporter, you know what that means."<
br />
  "Yes," Mom said bitterly. "It means trouble. For Mark—and for all of us."

  * * *

  When his phone rang, Philippe Bertrand was in the midst of finalizing his presentation to the city council. His current pet project was a new designer brands outlet mall in the Ventana Ranch community, but a few of the residents were opposing the plan on various social media outlets.

  No matter. Change always met resistance at first. But he knew that most of the people living in the community would love the new mall and crowd its stores once it was built.

  Philippe frowned and drew the phone from the inside pocket of his expensive Italian suit.

  Very few people had the number of this particular phone…only Philippe's immediate family and the members of his pride. His shifter lineage was an ancient one, reaching back to the last ice age, and there were precious few sabertooth shifters left in the world.

  They were a fiercely competitive breed, and over the millennia, they had fought fiercely amongst themselves, killing each other in large numbers to consolidate territories and establish dominance.

  His frown deepened when he saw the Caller ID, and he felt a tiny thread of worry.

  "Bertrand," he answered coolly.

  "You stupid fuck," growled Pete Langlais.

  "How dare you speak to me like that, Langlais?" Philippe said in an icy tone. "You will show me the proper respect…or are you issuing me a challenge?"

  It had taken Philippe a long time—too long, in his opinion—to claw his way up through the ranks of the Sandia Mountain Pride to become Pride Second.

  Pride First was Sylvie Langlais, an aging lioness who wouldn’t be able to hang on to her position for much longer.

  By ancient tradition, the highest ranking male and female in a pride were mated, which gave Philippe the opportunity to observe Sylvie closely and constantly assess her mental and physical fitness.

  In the meanwhile, he took advantage of the fact that she found him extremely attractive, and he did his best to please her in bed while he waited for his opportunity. He calculated he could safely challenge her for First within a year, perhaps sooner.