A logical train of thought, though completely incorrect. “Amy was a lucky coincidence. And I’m not his father.” He frowned. “Though I think we’re third cousins or something. Once removed.”
“No wonder Nancy didn’t want you involved in Theo’s life. She said you were insane.”
He growled, deep and low in his throat. It wasn’t a sound he liked making, but he couldn’t stop it, either. It just happened and it drew her up short. “I’m not Theo’s father. Frank died ten years ago.” Probably not the best time to mention that Carl was directly responsible for that death. The man had gone feral and there’d been no choice.
Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing, but it’s not going to work on me.”
“I don’t see this as any kind of game.” Don’t challenge me. Don’t challenge me. The man in him was all but begging her to stay back. The grizzly was busily envisioning all the ways he’d force her to submit.
“Then believe this.” She dropped her voice to a low growl and advanced menacingly on him. “If you hurt Theo in any way, I will see you dead.” And with that, she spun on her heel and stomped into the bathroom, shutting the door with a solid thud.
Carl gripped the desk rather than pursue her. In his mind, his grizzly roared the demand to possess her while the man held him back with every ounce of sanity he possessed. And all the while, he kept replaying her words in his mind, seeing the fire that had burned through her pale blue eyes. No shifter could be fiercer. No she-bear could be more protective of her young. And no woman—shifter or not—could have hit him so clearly between the eyes.
She was magnificent. And she was his Maxima. It didn’t seem to matter that she wasn’t a shifter and didn’t even believe in them. Logic didn’t hold sway here. He was the Gladwin Max, and she was his mate. And she’d just threatened to kill him, which—now that he thought about it—was a grizzly bear mating ritual.
CHAPTER 4
Becca stared at her reflection in the mirror, desperately trying to think things through. Sadly, it wasn’t her strong suit. She was great in a crisis. If you needed someone to remain calm and react with precision during a disaster, then she was your girl. The more panic there was around her, the better she did.
Except this time, she was the only one panicking. She was trapped in a town full of lunatics and hadn’t a clue how to maneuver her way out.
But were they really lunatics? Part of her laughed at the question. Werewolves and were-bears were the stuff of bad horror movies. The most obvious answer was that the town was a victim of some chemical spill and the people were suffering from a mass hallucination. That made it all the more important for her to escape as soon as possible before she too succumbed to the vapors or got infected from the water or whatever.
Two things kept her from hightailing it out of Camp Max. First, she couldn’t figure out how to escape. Not with the whole town invested in keeping her here. And second, there was something her sister had said about Theo’s father.
The kindest thing she could say about her sister was that Nancy was troubled. Their father’s abandonment hit her sister the hardest, and Nancy had found escape in the nearest bar. She hadn’t even been thirteen, but she and her friends had found a way to get what they wanted, and from there it was a downward spiral. Not all at once. There were better years and worse years. Nancy managed to get through high school and even hold a job for a while. But alcoholics dotted their family tree, and she eventually lost the battle against her addiction.
She conceived Theo in one of those bad times but then made a valiant effort to get clean for the baby. Becca had helped all she could, but money had been beyond tight. They had squeezed every last dime to get by, which is when Becca had pushed hard for Theo’s father to help out. Nancy had refused. She’d said the man was an animal. Not ugly or violent. Just a freaking animal most of the time, becoming human only when it suited him. Only she hadn’t said animal. Her exact words were “grizzly bear.” Becca had dismissed it as an alcohol-induced nightmare.
Until now.
It couldn’t be true, and yet, everyone seemed so committed to the delusion, her own sister included. Fortunately, no one appeared violent except for the whole kidnapping thing. Which meant Becca was somewhat safe for the moment. Her best plan was to keep her eyes and ears open for an opportunity to escape. Until then, she just had to pretend to go along. She’d keep everyone calm—herself included—until she could get the hell out of Gladwin.
That decided, she washed her face, brushed out her hair, and did her best to look like she was completely cowed. Next step: search the bedroom for any weapons. She’d barely gotten started poking through the desk when Mr. Max knocked on the door.
“Tonya’s here,” he said through the wood.
“Coming!” she called as she pushed a drawer of files closed. There were names there—neat little folders of people that included lineage, medical history, and lists of incidents. Many ended with phrases like “shot in the heart” or “lost challenge.” She had no idea what that meant, but she sure as hell didn’t want to see a folder with her name on it. Or worse, one with Theo’s name.
But she didn’t have time to think about that as she straightened her clothes—dressy jeans and a now-wrinkled blouse—and headed out the door. Mr. Max was waiting for her, a big hulking presence by the door. He didn’t move as she stepped out, unless she counted the way his nostrils flared and his hands twitched in her direction. And she had to pass within a half inch of his body as she stepped into the main room of a very large house. But beyond the way his scent seemed to invade her senses at his nearness, everything else seemed eerily normal.
He didn’t speak as he gestured for her to cross to the center of the main living room. The decor was male hunting cabin, complete with an extra-large refrigerator-freezer and a big-screen TV. No deer heads hung on the wood-paneled walls, thank God, but she saw a couple very old quilts on the overstuffed couch and one of the three huge recliners.
There in the middle stood two women. The first was a police detective, her uniform crisp and her posture excruciatingly correct except for the way her head tilted slightly to the side whenever she looked at Mr. Max. Given that she was stunningly beautiful, Becca guessed that the stiffness was her only way to keep things professional in a male-dominated field. She’d been talking to a woman who looked to be in her mid-fifties with dark hair going gray. The older woman wore Crocs on her feet and a loosely tied dress that looked more like a sack with flowers printed on it. On odd pair of women, to be sure.
And when Becca crossed into the center space, the detective’s cool gaze assessed her in every way. It was all Becca could do to keep from smoothing down her hair.
“Good evening, Miss Weitz,” the woman said. “I hope you’re feeling recovered.”
“From my kidnapping, you mean?” So much for pretending to go along.
The detective’s lips twitched. “Yes. From that.”
“I’d like to be taken home, if you please.”
“I could do that, ma’am,” she answered. “But that would be one less pair of friendly eyes looking for your nephew.”
The older woman spoke up, her tone tart. “She still doesn’t believe.” Her gaze landed heavily on Becca. “Don’t pick stupidity over the evidence of your own eyes.”
