“I’m not really much of a phone girl. Come by my office and we’ll finish this chat,” she said.

  The voice chuckled. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t be very good company. The only way I know how to communicate is with my fists. You be a good little girl-cop and forget about the fights.” The voice turned hard as it added, “Or you’ll wish you had.”

  The line went dead and Rachel’s response died with it.

  She huffed in agitation, pacing the small space while she forced aside the strange call and tried to focus on her interrogation. Grayden Larchmont was on the other side of that door and she had to figure out what the hell to do with him.

  An errant image flashed through her mind of her straddling him, naked, in that cold metal chair. That was one thing she could most definitely NOT do with him. She mentally shook herself. Get it together, girl. She could not be having sexual fantasies about a criminal. Especially a Bad News Bear shifter like Grayden Larchmont. He was the last thing she needed in her life and absolutely opposite of anything resembling her type.

  No, she wouldn’t be doing anything like that with him ever.

  She’d go in there and be a hardass cop. She’d take his statement for the night and charge him with everything she could. Just to show she was immune to the likes of him, she’d throw the book at him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GRAYDEN

  Grayden tracked Rachel’s footsteps with hooded eyes. Every swish of her hips sent a jolt into his groin and it was all he could do to pretend otherwise as he sat cuffed to the metal table. He felt exposed. Like any second, she was going to look down and see what her presence did to him. He didn’t like it any more than he liked the idea of being charged and carted off to a cell with a bunch of human criminals. Hunt was right—he needed to fix this.

  “Do you know what this is?” Rachel asked, setting a pile of paperwork on the table in front of him.

  He caught her scent before she could pull away. Roses and lemon-water. God, she smelled good.

  “This,” she said when he didn’t answer, “is the list of charges against you. All of which will be brought to bear if you can’t give us the name of the organizer of this fight ring.”

  Grayden pressed his lips together as he read the list of charges. Assault, conspiracy⁠—

  “Gambling?” Grayden echoed, finally looked up at her with wide eyes. “Who said I was gambling?”

  “Was there something at stake if you won or lost?” Rachel asked, arms folded as she stared down at him.

  “Bragging rights. Status within the club,” he said with a shrug.

  “So you admit you do get something out of it,” she said quickly. Grayden opened his mouth to argue but Rachel snatched the papers away and cut him off. “A monetary exchange isn’t necessary for it to be considered gambling.”

  Grayden narrowed his eyes at the hint of a self-satisfied smirk playing at her mouth. A delicious-looking mouth if he were being honest. And there came that scent again.

  “You smell really good,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself.

  Rachel went still. Rigid, actually, and when she blinked a moment later, composing herself, a sort of curtain came down over her expression. Shuttered and closed, but for the split second before that, she’d been terrified, he saw. “How I smell won’t save you from this, Mr. Larchmont,” she said stiffly, backing away a healthy distance.

  “You can call me Grayden,” he said, careful to speak gently. Shit. Hadn’t he told Hunt he’d fix this?

  Rachel’s eyes flashed first to him and then to the plate glass window behind him. Someone was watching, listening. Was that why she’d looked like a damn deer in headlights at a simple compliment? Grayden didn’t know but he suddenly wanted to find out.

  Rachel cleared her throat and began again, this time careful not to look at either him or the glass. “Mr. Larchmont, we’ve made it clear that if you can’t deliver the name, you’ll be charged with the full force of the law for your crimes. I will give you one final chance to share that name with me now before I’ll be forced to hand you over for booking and processing.

  Rachel crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him now, while she waited. Grayden met her stare, his breath hitching when her uniform pulled taut across her breasts as she put her hands on her hips.

  His bear stirred with a desire unlike anything he’d ever known. Honey eyes, luscious curves, soft skin… for a suspended moment, this woman was all that existed for Grayden’s bear. He would have her. He vowed it.

  Desire and agitation mixed with a sudden determination that made Grayden’s bones ache for her. “Rachel, the only name I have is mine,” he said, surprising herself as he spoke the words he knew would get him into so much trouble. But he didn’t give a damn.

  He needed her to know what he was feeling. Just like all those fights, he had to let it out. Leaving it all pent up inside was suffocating him. And from the brief glimpses he’d seen in her, she was holding back something too. So he lowered his voice, leaned forward and said, “And I plan to give it to you. I plan to make you scream it out before this is over.”

  Rachel’s face flushed and he was rewarded with the scent of her arousal filling the space between them. He sat back, satisfied, as Rachel huffed. She dropped her hands to her sides and fisted them and for a moment Grayden wondered if she was actually going to march over and hit him. He wondered if it would turn him on any more than he already was. At the last second, she seemed to change her mind. She turned on her heel and stalked out without a backward glance.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RACHEL

  Rachel gulped her Mimosa generously as she waited for Patrice to show up to brunch Saturday morning. The sidewalk was busy with morning shoppers, yard sale hunters, and dog walkers, but Rachel ignored them all. She was off-duty after a hella long week and she planned to spend her day as she pleased—day drinking until she’d put the events of this week firmly behind her.

  Rachel downed the last of her cocktail and ordered another, opting to sip on her friend’s glass while she waited. A few minutes later, Rachel was halfway to emptying that one too as she finally caught sight of her friend rounding the corner of the little breakfast café.

  Rachel waved as Patrice rushed up and dropped her bag, sliding into her chair in a flurry of energy and smiles. “Sorry I’m late. Hunt was… helping me with something,” she said with a sheepish smile and Rachel shook her head, relaxed now that the champagne was working its way through her veins.

  “I’ll be he was,” Rachel said with a wink. She lifted her glass in salute and emptied it.

  Patrice’s brow went up. “To what do I owe the pleasure of a day-drinking Rachel Hawkins?”

  Rachel scowled and considered diverting her friend’s questions to a safer topic but the alcohol and empty stomach had already worked its magic and her tongue felt looser. Besides, this was Patrice. The woman had grown up on some rough streets with some even rougher people. She was probably beyond being shocked about anything. Including a day-drunk cop with a crush on a criminal werebear.

  “This double round of Mimosas is brought to you by Grayden Larchmont,” she said, raising her empty glass in a mock toast before setting it down again with a clink against the table.

  Patrice half-smiled. “I heard about the arrest. Want to talk about it?”

  Rachel shook her head. “Official police business. Can’t,” she said, hiccupping. “Besides, his arrest isn’t the problem.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. It’s my perfume,” she said and Patrice’s brows crinkled together.

  “Your perfume is a problem for Grayden?” Patrice asked.

  “No, Grayden loves my perfume. That’s the problem,” Rachel said, frowning. Already, her pulse was thudding as she remembered what he’d said to her before she’d walked out. Vowing to make her scream his name. As he sat there, his chest all hard angles and muscled lines right down to that sexy little V that disappeared inside his jeans. The memory alone was enough to send a shudder through her most important parts. She’d never had a man speak to her so dirty before. Nor had she expected to like it so much.

  Patrice shook her head, her brown hair shaking with it. “Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about here?” she asked.

  Rachel sighed. “He said I smell good and that’s the problem. Or maybe the problem was there before he smelled me.”

  Patrice’s narrowed eyes suddenly went wide and she leaned in. “Oh my god, you like him! You have a crush on Grayden!”

  “Sshh,” Rachel hissed, looking around like they might be under surveillance but Patrice giggled.

  “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you crush on someone. This is epic.”

  “This is not epic,” Rachel corrected, frowning. “This is awful.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s a criminal.”

  “Whose fault is that?” Patrice shot back and Rachel drew up her shoulders with indignation, opening her mouth to blast her friend. But Patrice laughed and held up a hand. “Kidding, it’s his obviously. But come one, you can’t tell me the idea of handcuffs and a bad boy don’t turn you on.”

  Rachel’s mouth went dry at the thought but then the idea of being held down washed over her like a bucket of water and she shivered. “No, it doesn’t,” she said quietly and Patrice’s laughter died.

  “I’m sorry,” Patrice said and the silence turned uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean⁠—”

  “It’s fine,” Rachel said even though it wasn’t. But it wasn’t Patrice’s fault and she hated that their lunch date had already taken such an awkward turn. “It’s just a harmless crush. It doesn’t mean anything. It can’t. Grayden’s just not my type,” she finished lamely.

  Patrice didn’t argue but Rachel felt the lie into the tips of her toes. If he wasn’t her type, she would be able to think about what he’d said to her without almost hyperventilating. Her reaction was partly out of attraction and partly because the idea of being that way with a man still terrified her.

  “For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good guy,” Patrice said and Rachel whipped her gaze up to her friend’s. Of course Patrice could hear her pulse pounding. She could probably smell Rachel’s fear too.

  “Is this a ‘shifters stick together’ kind of speech?” Rachel asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Patrice was a cougar shifter, but more than that, she’d recently become part of the Bad News’ Bears crew when she’d claimed Hunt as her mate.

  “No,” Patrice said but she averted her eyes and focused instead on her own drink.

  “What is it?” Rachel asked, sobering quickly as she honed in on Patrice’s hesitance. “You want something?”

  “I wanted to ask you a favor,” Patrice began. “About the charges against Grayden.”

  Rachel groaned. “Hunt said he wasn’t going to ask for special favors,” she pointed out.

  “He doesn’t know I’m asking,” Patrice admitted. That surprised Rachel and made her slightly more willing to listen.

  “All right, go on,” she said, sitting back in her chair.

  “I know Grayden is guilty of participating in that fighting ring. I know you charged him with assault and trespassing and gambling.”

  “How do you know what he’s charged with?” Rachel demanded.

  “There was a blog post on the Timber Falls Gazette online edition,” Patrice said and Rachel rolled her eyes.

  “Anyway, I get it, he deserves to be in trouble for what he did. But if he has to serve any kind of time for it, the city council could pull the work permits for the whole crew. If they lose their lumberjack business, they lose everything. I’d hate to see that happen to the entire crew over Grayden’s one stupid mistake.”

  Rachel decided not to point out that Grayden had made much more than one mistake. Just a couple of weeks ago, he’d almost been hauled in on assault charges for a bar fight. The only reason he got off was because the man he’d beat up ended up being a psycho anti-shifter activist who tried to kill Patrice on Rachel’s watch. Grayden got a pass for that one.

  She realized Patrice was still talking and tuned in to hear Patrice saying, “But there are things about him you don’t know and—well, I don’t want to make excuses for him.”

  “What things?” she asked.

  “About his past. He’s—well, he’s had it rough.”

  Rachel opened her mouth, ready with some catty response like “haven’t we all?” But she stopped herself. She knew better than anyone what those words could mean. The level of trauma. Of pain. She swallowed her comment, changing the subject. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “A compromise,” Patrice said. “The charges stick in exchange for probation. Community service.”

  “Community service?” Rachel repeated. “Grayden?” She snorted at the thought of it.

  “I know, it would be a stretch for him, but it would get him out into the community which is what he needs. It’s what they all need if they’re going to improve their public image. It’s the only way to fix their reputation with this town and save their lumber business, their homes. My home if I give into what Hunt keeps asking me about moving in with them.” Patrice’s expression wilted and her eyes turned pleading. She reached across the table for Rachel’s hand. “Please?”

  Rachel jolted at the contact but forced her hand still under the pressure of her friend’s fingers. How long had it been since someone had held her hand? Anyone? Even in a friendly gesture? Obviously, too long if this is how her body reacted. Hopefully Patrice hadn’t noticed it.

  That night…well, it was the one thing no one else knew about her.

  Rachel took a deep breath. “I’ll agree the guys all have a pretty bad rap with the people of this town. And I’ll admit they might not be as bad as they once seemed. Most of them anyway,” she added and Patrice nodded eagerly. “But he’s already been charged. He’s out on bail waiting for his hearing. I don’t even know if I have the pull to do what you’re asking.”

  “I’m only asking that you try,” Patrice said quickly and Rachel hated the way Patrice was watching her. Like she didn’t have any doubt Rachel could help. Patrice had never once asked her for anything. Not in all the years they’d been friends. Not even back when they’d first met and Rachel had become Patrice’s handler under the Witness Program. Even after they’d become friends and shared girl talk and the conversation veered toward men. Rachel always clammed up, too uncomfortable to share what had happened to her, but Patrice never pressed it.

  How could she refuse this favor when it was all Patrice had ever asked for?

  Rachel sighed. “All right,” she told Patrice. “I’ll talk to the judge about community service.” Patrice squealed and Rachel put up a cautioning hand. “No promises, all right?”

  “All right,” Patrice agreed but she looked way too pleased to be believed.

  Rachel flagged the waitress. If she was going to get through this lunch, she needed another Mimosa.

  *.*.*

  Rachel strode to her car with sure steps. She’d spent the entire day in town with Patrice, being sure to lay off the drinks and sober up as they’d window shopped together before she attempted to drive home. Finally, with the sun dipping behind the shops and the shadows lengthening into the late afternoon, she’d said goodbye to Patrice and headed for her car parked in the lot behind the craft store. She was so ready to get home and change into pajamas, maybe even catch some Netflix before bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to relax so fully even on a day off.

  She smiled to herself as she pulled out her keys, hitting the automatic unlock as she got close. A small white scrap of paper caught her eye, trapped between her windshield and wiper blade. She leaned over and snatched it up, reading the words scrawled in black ink.

  An eye for an eye, bitch. You watch me. I watch you.

  Rachel turned the paper over and over, looking for some other clue as to where it had come from. A sense of unease crept over her, the feeling of being watched sending a ripple down her spine. Hurrying now, she climbed into her car, locked the doors, and started the engine. She crumpled the paper in her fist, suddenly furious with whoever this was.

  Anger was much easier to function alongside than abject terror. Hadn’t her college therapist told her that? She thought back over the strange phone call she’d gotten the night she’d arrested Grayden. She hadn’t mentioned it to anyone because it hadn’t seemed important compared to everything else going on. And then she’d forgotten it, distracted by Grayden’s crass promise to have her screaming his name someday. The desire and fear she felt when she thought of that happening between them.

  But this note… and the rasping voice of the caller the other night… this was fear at its fullest. Her hands shook as she put the paper aside and checked her blind spot for traffic. But there was no one here. Angry at the weakness of her own fear, she threw the car into reverse and peeled out of the lot.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  GRAYDEN

  Grayden pressed his lips together, bearing down on the saw as it cut through the thick trunk of the tree next in line to fall. He grunted under the effort of holding the massive blade steady but years’ of muscle and training assured the blade didn’t waver from its line. Sweat trickled down his back and neck, catching in the thick flannel of his work shirt.

  He took his hand away long enough to swipe his forehead with his sleeve. Holy hell it was hot today. Like the wrath of Hunt’s anger, the sun seemed to burn brighter and closer these last few days since he’d posted bail and been released from the county jail. Maybe this was what hell was like. Having your alpha scathing mad at you and being made to work double shifts to make up for your two-day incarceration and various pending charges. Not to mention he still couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel’s face when he’d told her she’d scream his name someday.