Claimed (The Lair of the Wolven 1)

“The woman who studies the wolves.”

“That’s me. And speaking of work—remember how the ATV’s been leaking fuel?” She leaned to the side and picked up her purse. “Here, you can use my car to get the lumber and tools out to where you need them. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got four-wheel drive so it can handle the trail—and no, you can’t use your bike even to go look. Let’s not disturb the wildlife more than we have to. And that little key on my ring opens the Master Locks on the gates.”

As she tossed him her bundle of lock-ups and turn-ons, he caught them in one hand. “Do you want me to try to fix the four-wheeler first? Maybe it’s a loose line connection. Duct tape is a powerful force in this world, I promise you that.”

“Sure. But keep my keys for the gates or if it looks like a long job—”

Outside in the reception area, someone came in through the front door, and Lydia looked past him.

Perfume? he thought as he glanced over his shoulder, too.

Off in the distance, Candy said a few soft words, and then a creaking came down the hallway.

When the older receptionist, who didn’t have pink hair anymore, came into view, her face showed no expression. At all. “C.P. Phalen is here to see you.”

As Candy stepped back and walked away, her eyes dropped to the carpet and stayed there—as a six-foot-tall woman with a sculpted cap of white hair and a sleek black suit stepped into the doorway.

“Ms. Susi,” she said in a smooth, even tone. “I’d like to have a word with you. Alone.”

Daniel looked at Lydia. “I’ll go get to work on the trails. And I’ll bring this map back when I’m done.”

He wasn’t surprised when Lydia just nodded and murmured a thank-you to him. Passing the white-haired woman, he looked her right in the eye as a test.

She ignored him.

Which was good. That was what he wanted.

Out by the waiting area, the receptionist was back at her desk, and on the phone.

“—certainly did not deliver it. No, I was on with you people yesterday getting the ring-a-round. You’re going to put me on with a supervisor or I’m getting in my car and driving to—where are your headquarters?”

As Daniel folded up the map and put it in his back pocket, he found himself hoping, for the sake of whoever the manager was, that there were a lot of miles—or maybe an ocean—between that woman and whatever building she was looking for.

“No, the package has not, and did not, come,” she snapped, “and as I told you, the signature image you sent me was illegible. Everyone here would sign their name properly so I don’t know where you took it or who you thought—”

Daniel went out the front entrance and looked to the left. Over in the parking area, a black Audi A8L looked like a hi-tech defense missile next to some horse and buggies.

He didn’t go check out the ATV. That could wait.

Lydia’s hatchback was unlocked, and he had to put the driver’s seat way back to fit in behind the wheel. Cranking the key, the Matchbox engine flared to anemic life, and as he backed out, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he didn’t hit the building.

He didn’t need the map. He knew the mountain by heart.

Proceeding to the main trailhead, he pulled into the parking area and went to the gate, unlocking it with Lydia’s little key. Easing her car through, he relocked everything and then went forward at just a couple of miles an hour over idle. The going was bumpy, the roots of the trees clawing out of the ground, the trail extending to what felt like oblivion given his snail’s pace—

The scraping noise was so loud he pumped the brakes.

When he tried to ease forward again, the resistance of something critical to functioning staying caught on an immovable object made him growl.

Killing the engine, he got out, fired up his penlight, and laid flat on his back on the packed, damp dirt. Squeezing himself under the car, he assessed the—

Nope, not a root. A rock. That had been hidden under some pine needles.

It was the kind of thing that if he hadn’t been thinking about Lydia, he would have seen a mile away and steered around. As it was, there was such a fucking metaphor going on that he refused to acknowledge any part of—

Daniel stopped the beam as it passed by a nook in the suspension.

“Or is it a cranny,” he muttered to himself. “And what the fuck is that.”

The black box was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. Nothing beeping or blinking on it. Magnetic anchor.

Clearly not a bomb ’cuz he’d have been blown sky high. Or Lydia would have.