Page 8 of The Enforcers: KANE

But aside from Selina, there was only one person from that time who’d seen his wolf form enough times to recognize it.

It had to be her. But what the hell was she doing here?

When Kane hooked up with Selina and joined her crew, Rachelle had disappeared into the dark underbelly of Seattle. After he’d broken away from Selina, he’d looked for her. When he didn’t find her, he figured she’d been swallowed up by the streets, the way they always swallowed up the small, the fragile, the defenseless.

And now here she was, alive and thriving. Definitely not fragile and defenseless, if the way she’d taken down that drunk was any indication.

Kane scrambled into his clothes, pulling on his boots without bothering with socks, and shoving his shirt haphazardly into his jeans.

He had to talk to her. He should have stayed—no, that was stupid. He couldn’t have this conversation standing naked in the middle of a public parking lot.

He jogged back to where he’d left her, but her car was gone.

Kane strode back into the lounge. There were still a few people at the bar, but he shouldered his way past them and grabbed the bartender’s wrist as he gathered empty glasses.

He should know the guy’s name—he’d studied the files on all the casino staff. Danny? Manny? Ah, who cared?

“You,” he said. “I need to contact Raven. Can you tell me how to get ahold of her?”

Manny’s eyes flashed green. He was a cougar shifter, and obviously not intimidated by Kane. He dropped his eyes to Kane’s hand on his wrist, and raised his eyebrows.

“No problem,” Manny said, in an extremely unhelpful tone. “Come back tomorrow night and wait after her set. Tip the bartender big—that would be me. Then ask me very nicely to ask her very nicely if she wants to talk to you. And if she says no, fuck off.”

He paused. “Or you could just go ahead and fuck off.”

Kane fought the urge to flatten the guy’s nose against his skull. “I’m not hitting on her,” he said through clenched teeth. “I work for the casino. Security.” He flipped open his wallet and flashed his temporary ID at Manny.

“Yeah?” Manny asked, unimpressed. “They pay you to sit in here every night and drink whiskey, and stare at a woman whose name you don’t even know?”

“It’s Rachelle,” Kane said, hoping she was still going by that. “And what they pay me for is none of your damn business unless I say it is. This isn’t a personal request.” Like hell it wasn’t, but this guy didn’t have to know that. “I’m off shift, but when I was leaving, a drunk in the parking lot tried to assault Rachelle. I chased him, but he got away. When I got back to where she was parked, she was gone. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

Manny eyed him speculatively for a minute, then he sighed and rolled his eyes. He pulled his hand sharply out of Kane’s grip, reached under the bar and pulled out a tattered notebook. He flipped a couple of pages, running his fingers down the lines, then pulled out his cell, tapped in a number and waited.

Kane heard it go to voicemail. “She’s not picking up,” Manny said.

No shit. Kane folded his arms and stared at him, immovable.

Manny heaved a deep sigh and shoved the notebook across the bar. “You better not be a psycho stalker,” he said.

Kane copied Rachelle’s address and phone number onto a cocktail napkin and pushed the notebook back. As he turned to leave, Manny called, “You’re welcome.” In an undertone, he added, “Multiple O’s. Or this guy sure as hell will not be fucking worth it.”

Only the fact that he was claiming to be a professional kept Kane from giving him the finger as he walked out the door.

Kane found Rachelle’s place without any trouble. It was a rundown bungalow on a rundown street—most likely a cheap rental. Typical for a casino entertainer. Only headliners in major cities like Vegas made real money. Most of the singers and dancers at the Silver Cloud were barely scraping by.

What was she doing here in Idaho? It was too much of a coincidence that they both just happened to start working at the casino at the same time. But what other explanation was there? It wasn’t like she would have been looking for him.

He drove by her house, slowing down to get a good look at the place. Her car was in the driveway, and the lights were on behind closed curtains. As he watched, he saw a shadowy figure walk past one of the windows.

She was home. She was probably fine.

Hell, he knew she was fine. He would have smelled any blood on her, there in the parking lot, and she’d taken that old drunk down without any trouble.

Despite what he’d told Manny, this was totally personal.

He parked down the street and walked back, standing in the shadows of the trees bordering her yard. The shade was up on the kitchen window, and he could see her leaning against the counter, eating ice cream out of the container.

If Kane ever smiled anymore, he would have smiled at that. Rachelle had always loved ice cream. They hardly ever got it, on the street—they usually didn’t have enough money for food, let alone treats. But whenever they’d had a little money and an excuse to celebrate, Kane had bought her some. He’d loved watching her eat it. Every bite made her face light up.