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Yet she did manage it. It weighed heavily on her slender shoulders, pulled at her arm, yet she went out the door and slammed it behind her.
His eyes narrowed.
Turning back to the room, Lawe took his time and finished dressing. There was no gear to pack or collect. It was all stored in the back of the SUV Rule had left in the parking lot before heading out to Window Rock with all but one of the team members who had driven out with them.
He pulled on the sleeveless black shirt that matched the same-color mission pants, then the long-sleeved light shirt that buttoned over it. He laced his protective black ankle boots snugly and clipped the holster that held the laser-powered handgun. Finally, he tucked the sheathed knife he carried at the small of his back.
He moved unhurriedly to the door, opened it and left the room. Stepping out onto the covered walkway and glancing down at the parking lot where the SUV and the feline Breed Enforcer waited.
With his mate and her second-in-command.
Diane leaned against the front of the vehicle, and even across the distance he could smell the complete fury raging through her and spilling out to scent the air with the smell of sweetened heat and flaming ambrosia.
Damn, his dick was steel hard.
He’d gone from semi-hard to a full, engorged erection in about a quarter of a second. The glands beneath his tongue began filling with the mating hormone, the spice and sweet taste flooding his senses as he gave a resigned sigh.
She was pissed as hell and the knowledge of it sent adrenaline rushing through him as she stared back at him in challenge.
And it was definitely a challenge.
The soldier was facing him. The hardened expression,
the flattened line of her lips, the stance as she saw him. She straightened, her hip cocking, one hand resting against it, her fingers outspread.
She wasn’t tapping her foot. She wasn’t tapping anything. She was standing still, her gaze locked on him, her eyes burning into him.
The expression was all soldier, but that gaze, that was the woman’s gaze. It was filled with anger, with unrealized dreams, with a woman’s emotions. A mate’s battle for independence.
Mating and life with a Breed was hell on an independent woman. It was hell too on Breed women who were independence, strength and reliance personified.
Diane could have been a Breed female. She had trained from an early age, but rather than being abused or treated cruelly, her uncle had instead fought to teach her to protect herself and her sister. To react with instinct as well as years of training. To strategize and foresee all possible angles and problems that could arise.
She had killed to keep from being killed. She had fought in the darkest, deepest hellholes and in the concrete jungles where civilization should have ruled. She had moved in to take command of four of the meanest bastards in the independent military communities and she’d ensured all their bank accounts were well-padded and drawing excellent interest.
She wasn’t just a soldier and a commander either. She was a hell of an investor.
Breaking his gaze from hers, he turned and moved along the third-story walk to the metal stairwell in the middle of the long building.
He could feel the hairs at the back of his neck tingling. He almost paused to search out the cause, but it wasn’t a feeling of imminent danger as much as it was of being watched, studied.
If he paused to search out the cause, then he would be allowing his unknown enemy to know he was aware of him. Far better to surprise Gideon should he decide to attempt to catch Lawe off guard.
For now, he had his mate to deal with, along with a trip to Window Rock.
As he stepped to the concrete walk the sat phone at his side vibrated demandingly. His senses alert, his gaze still on his mate, Lawe pulled it free and brought it to his ear.
“Enforcer Justice,” he answered.
“We have a problem.” Rule’s voice was strained. That in and of itself was unusual.
Lawe picked up his pace to the SUV.
“Report,” Lawe ordered, his tone declaring his full attention to his brother.
“We had a situation here,” Rule stated. “Malachi mated a Martinez. Our little cousin, Isabelle, and her mate had a stalker. The stalker shot our favorite little Coyote, Lawe, Ashley Truing. They don’t know if she’s going to make it.”
Ashley Truing. She had colored, highlighted and streaked blond hair; perfectly manicured, painted and decorated nails—nails as false as the color of her hair. She had so many pairs of shoes it was said her entire room was lined with shelves to hold them. Not that he believed it. She gave the impression of self-interest, conceit and laziness, but she was one of the most dangerous female Breeds ever created.
