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“No, we don’t,” he agreed. “But I sure as fucking hell know how to find out.”
And he knew where to go. Who to wait on.
Disconnecting the link, he moved from his position and began his trek up the mountain. The sheriff’s house was about twenty miles away. An easy run for a Bengal Breed. An easy run for a man racing to save his own soul.
His mate.
? CHAPTER 24 ?
“I don’t want to have to touch you. I know you’ve mated the Bengal and I know that would be painful. So I’m going to ask you to cooperate and walk into the cabin yourself.”
Cassa stared at Patrick Wallace for long moments after he made his request. There was nothing dead about him. He was living, breathing, a man tortured and playing a very dangerous game.
“I hate to see you die for this,” she said softly. “Let me go now. I’ll call Cabal and he’ll come for me. He’ll tear through this mountain like an avenging angel.”
His lips quirked mockingly. “Nothing’s going to stay St. Laurents’s hand at this point.” There was the faintest shrug of his shoulders. “I may as well continue with my plan.”
“And that plan is?” She was curious about this part. She hadn’t figured that out quite yet.
He reached past her and threw the van door open, exposing her to the cold mountain air and the front of a rough log cabin.
“Don’t make me force you inside the cabin,” he requested again. “Neither of us would enjoy your pain.”
Breathing in roughly, she stared at the opened door.
“Are you going to kill me?” She stared into his eyes, eyes that flickered first with ice, then with regret.
“I won’t harm you, Ms. Hawkins,” he told her quietly. “That was never my intention.”
“Then why kidnap me?” she asked.
She hated to admit that she was actually afraid to leave the confines of the van and enter the unfamiliar territory of the cabin waiting just outside its doors.
He sighed deeply as he stared back at her knowingly. “I’ll make a deal with you. Get out of the van and come into the cabin. We’ll discuss it over decaf coffee and chocolate cake.”
She almost smiled. Breeds did love their chocolate. Somehow it almost made it seem less threatening. Not quite, but almost.
He was lethally dangerous. She could see it in his face, in his eyes, in the resignation in his voice. He was a man who didn’t care if he died, and that made him more dangerous than any other.
Hiding the shaking of her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she moved slowly from the van. Gravel crunched beneath the heels of her boots as she moved slowly along the walk to the opened cabin door. Damn, she felt like she was going to the gallows rather than the warm confines of a cabin.
Drawing in courage with a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold and entered a rather homey, spotless kitchen. There was a pot steaming on the stove. Chili if she wasn’t mistaken. A long table sat in the middle of the room, a checkered cloth covering it. The windows were covered with dark blinds, but the modern appliances and well-waxed wood floors assured her it was a well-cared-for room. Most likely a home.
“Come on in, Ms. Hawkins.”
She jumped, startled, as Walt Jameson stepped in from another room, his somber expression heavy as he moved into the kitchen.
“Let me guess, Myron and Sheriff Lacey aren’t far behind?” she asked as she did as he’d suggested and moved into the room.
Behind her, Patrick stepped in as well as the young Breed that had driven the van. The door closed and locked behind them, sealing them into the warmth of a home that suddenly seemed more sinister.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Walt answered as he moved to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, before turning back to her.
Dressed in a checkered shirt, jeans and boots, he looked just as friendly, just as unassuming as he had that morning in Glen Ferris. In his case, looks were definitely deceiving.
“I see you’ve met Patrick.” There was a wealth of affection in his voice as he nodded at her kidnapper. “Behind him is Keith. I trust they took good care of you.”
“Don’t place too much trust in th
