Chapter 5
Max sat in his car on Park Lane, his gaze trained on the Wallace house as he strained his ears to hear even a peep of a noise that meant Terence and his sisters were in trouble. If he heard anything to suggest that Wallace was hurting those kids or their mother, he’d go in and worry about the consequences later.
Ernest Miller, the crusty, old neighbor, had called Max a couple hours ago, saying Wallace was up to his old ways, shouting like a madman less than a day after the cops had been there. Ernest had called the police, but by the time the uniformed officers had shown up, everything had calmed down. Eileen Wallace claimed everything was fine and that the kids had been watching TV too loud or some crap like that.
Max had wanted to haul ass for the Wallace house the moment Ernest called, but unfortunately, he and a few of his pack mates had been stuck outside a convenience store in midtown, waiting while negotiators convinced a guy with a gun to come out with his hands empty, instead of clutched around a hostage. The city negotiators, with more than a little help from the team’s hostage negotiators, Zane and Diego, had gotten the guy to give himself up, but waiting around had been agonizing.
To make things worse, Max couldn’t simply take off the moment they’d gotten back to the SWAT compound. Since it was the middle of the afternoon and he was still on duty, he had to ask his squad leader, Xander, for a couple hours off so he could take care of some personal business, all the while praying his fellow werewolf didn’t question it—or worse, know he was lying. But Xander had told him to take off.
Max had wanted to march right up to the front door of the Wallace house the moment he got there, but he was smart enough to know that wasn’t going to work. As much as he hated the idea, since the kids and their mother were too scared to talk to anyone, the only way to put a stop to the abuse was to catch Wallace in the act.
He tilted his head a little when he heard a loud noise coming from the house, his fangs and claws extending. He was already reaching for the door handle before he realized the sound he was hearing was a TV playing too loud. Some kind of cop show or something.
He pulled his hand away from the door and put it back on the steering wheel, staring at his claws. He’d never been great at keeping his claws and fangs where they belonged, but lately, it seemed like he was losing control at the drop of a hat. It didn’t escape his notice that it coincided with Lana’s appearance in his life. Not that he was complaining. Lana was an incredible woman, and if having her in his life meant he had to put in extra effort keeping himself focused when he was with her, then it was worth it.
Max almost laughed. He was beginning to think there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to be with Lana, which was a little scary when he thought about it.
It was obvious that Lana was The One for him. Still, he’d have been lying if he didn’t admit the intensity of this whole thing had him a little…unsettled. Sure, he’d heard the guys talk about what it had been like when they’d met their mates—“catching lightning in a bottle,” “strapping yourself to a tornado,” and “riding a nonstop roller coaster” were some of the ways his pack mates had described it. But even after hearing all that, he was only now starting to realize exactly what Gage had meant when he’d said taking it slow and easy might be tougher than Max thought. Max was falling for Lana so fast it made his head spin. He’d known her for less than forty-eight hours, and she was already the only thing he could think about. He just wished he had a clue whether Lana felt the same.
He knew she was attracted to him. From the way she leaned into him when they walked and looked at him when they talked, it was obvious. This thing with her not behaving like any other werewolf he and his pack mates had ever met was tossing him for a loop, though. What if Lana was so different that the legend of The One didn’t apply to her? What if she liked him the way any woman would like a guy she’d just met? What if she didn’t feel the same magical connection he felt?
Max cursed. There were bigger issues to worry about here than whether he and Lana were meant to be together, and it all had to do with her roommate’s murder in Austin. He wasn’t sure what the hell had happened, but whatever it was, it was more than just a simple home invasion gone bad. His gut told him that somehow Lana was at the center of all of it.
After Lana had gotten up and walked to the other side of the conference room, Detective Peterson had gone through the rest of the photos with him. Max was glad Lana hadn’t seen them because they were all pictures of Denise. Lana’s roommate had been badly beaten, worse than Max had ever seen—and he’d seen a lot since becoming a cop. She had been brutally tortured for an extended period of time before she’d been shot in the head.
After hearing Lana talk about Denise for nearly three hours in the diner, Max couldn’t imagine what the girl could have done to inspire that kind of treatment. The fact that no one heard anything during the night meant Denise Sullivan had been gagged for much of the beating.
The expert lock picking, the methodical way Denise had been beaten, and the silenced gunshot to finish her off implied this had been a professional looking for information. But what information? It wasn’t like Denise had been sitting on a wad of money or a drug stash.
Max could see where Detective Peterson was trying to take his investigation. All the questions about boyfriends, whether Denise had slept around, and who she might have hung out with when she wasn’t with Lana told Max the man was looking at this as a simple crime of passion. Denise had gotten on some guy’s bad side, and he’d gotten back at her.
That didn’t feel right to Max.
He knew his worries about Lana’s safety might be clouding his judgment, but with all the hunter crap they’d heard lately, it was difficult not thinking this might be connected to them. They’d learned a few months ago in New Orleans that the hunters were a vicious bunch who didn’t shy away from hurting people, and they tended to go for a head shot when it came to taking out werewolves.
Max was tempted to believe Lana was hiding that she was a werewolf because she knew hunters were on her trail and thought if she kept her true nature a secret, it would be safer for everyone. But when he started picking at the individual threads of that argument, the logic kind of unraveled. If she knew she was in danger from hunters, why wouldn’t she reach out to Max for help, since he was a werewolf, too? Hell, if she knew there were hunters around, wouldn’t she want to warn other werewolves about them? Max was pretty sure he knew Lana well enough to suggest she’d never put another person—or werewolf—at risk to save her own skin.
Of course, there was always the possibility that Cooper was right and Lana wasn’t aware she was a werewolf, in which case running home to Dallas before the hunters arrived in Austin might have been an instinctive thing. That idea kind of made sense. Lana said she’d felt like she needed to come home the second she’d finished college. A lot of the werewolves who’d shown up in Dallas lately had admitted they’d been drawn here without knowing why, like pure survival instinct telling them to get close to a strong alpha pack.
Max had mentioned these ideas to Gage this morning, and while his commander promised he’d talk to some people about the possibility, he was of the opinion that Max was twisting the facts in an attempt to connect dots that were simply too far apart. Denise getting tortured and shot, as horrible as it was, didn’t automatically mean hunters were involved. Sometimes, it was merely regular psychos out there killing people. Heaven knew there were enough of them.
While that all sounded very logical, it didn’t keep Max from worrying. Lana was a werewolf, even if she didn’t act like one. His gut told him if anyone was coming after her, it would be a hunter. With that in mind, it was damn difficult not seeing hunters in every shadow.
He was still contemplating that when he heard shouting coming from the Wallace house.
Max didn’t stop to think. Shoving open the car door, he jumped out and sprinted down the block just as a little girl’s scream echoed in the air. The terror in it made his inner wolf howl.
He was wearing his backup piece in a holster around his right lower leg, but as he hit the porch steps, Max didn’t bother slowing down to grab it. Another high-pitched scream came from inside the house, forcing his fangs to extend even as he swung open the screen door.
“Dallas Police Department…I’m coming in!” he shouted before twisting the knob and shoving the inner door open.
The scent of fresh blood hit his nose as he rushed inside, ripping a growl from his throat and pushing him within an inch of totally losing control. But if Max thought the scent of blood had him close to the edge, that was nothing compared to how bad it got when he saw the scene spread out in front of him.
Little Natasha kneeled behind the arm of the couch, her eyes almost completely glazed over in fear. Nina stood in the middle of the living room, her face tight with defiance as she stood between her father and brother. Terence was in the kitchen doorway, standing defensively in front of his mother as if trying to protect her. There was a thick layer of white gauze wrapped around his right hand, from fingertips to the middle of his forearm. Red stains were already seeping through the bandages, and Terence wrapped the fingers of his other hand around them, squeezing hard as if trying to stop the bleeding—or the pain.
Max didn’t know exactly what had happened, but it seemed obvious that Wallace had been going after his wife and Terence had put himself in the middle of it. No doubt Wallace had decided to take his anger out on the boy instead, doing something to bust open the stitches in the kid’s bandaged hand.
Max growled low and deep as he moved across the living room, every instinct in his body screaming at him to kill the son of bitch where he stood.
