How to Run with a Naked Werewolf (Naked Werewolf 3)

“I don’t trust you. I thought I’d made myself clear about that.”

“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”

“I don’t know you,” I shot back.

“Well, you didn’t know me last night when you drove me away from a crime scene and doctored me up. What’s different this morning? I just want to help you the way you helped me.”

“Why is it so important to you to help me? You don’t even know me.”

“Well, you helped me, didn’t you?” he countered. “I mean, I was hurt. It didn’t turn out to be as bad as you thought it was, but without you fixing me up, I would have been pretty bad off . . . right?”

His voice sounded strained, as if it was important that I believed him.

Caleb cleared his throat, interrupting my mental telemarketing tangent. “Look, you need a ride south. I am heading in that direction. I need to make a few stops along the way. I just want to know that you get there OK. In the last twenty-four hours, you’ve dodged a random shooting and slithered through a bathroom window for no reason. You need someone to watch out for you.” I arched an eyebrow, prompting him to add, “And maybe you can watch my back, too.”

I pursed my lips, considering exactly what watching Caleb’s back could entail. I would imagine it involved more than just staring at his jean-clad butt, as tempting as that prospect was. His offer would solve my selling-organs-to-obtain-transportation issue. I liked my organs where they were, so this was a much more attractive option. “What does ‘eventually’ mean?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Just a few stops.”

I brushed the gravel from my jeans, considering. All of the reasons I ran from Caleb at the diner were still very valid. And he clearly knew I didn’t trust him, which had weakened that polite façade we had going for that brief morning interlude. But he was part of Maggie’s pack. Every story I’d ever heard about “Cousin Caleb” had involved his honesty and all-around good-guy-ness. On the other hand, he could still be just as ruthless and cash-hungry as his job self-description implied . . .

Oh, screw it, it’s not like I have a better choice. I was in the middle of nowhere, without transportation, money, or supplies. I was up shit creek without a paddle. I didn’t even have a canoe at this point. But I’d be darned if I was going to admit that.

“Fine.” I sighed, gesturing toward the parking lot.

“Are you going to be this excited about everything?” Caleb asked as he hitched my bag over his shoulder and we ambled toward the truck.

“I can drive, you know,” I told him as he climbed in. “Obviously, not when I’m in exhaustion-related hysterics, but we could switch off, to make it easier on you.”

He leaned across the seat to open my door, informing me solemnly, “No one drives my truck but me.”

“Well, you didn’t seem to mind when I was hauling your ass away from explosions and gunfire,” I muttered, slamming the passenger door.

“Special circumstances.”

I gave him a weak glare while nudging his bag of law-enforcement equipment with my foot. “Do I get to play with your big bag of toys?”

“No, you do not.” I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned, so he added, “But you can keep the baton, as a gesture of good faith.”

“You noticed I took it, huh?”

I would have described the over-the-sunglasses eye roll he sent me as a “bitch, please” gesture, but so far, he didn’t strike me as the type of guy to use that sort of facial-expression language, so . . . I would just stick to being embarrassed at being caught so easily.

Clearly, I needed to brush up on my sleight of hand.

“Someone looking for you?”

“None of your business.”

He rolled his eyes, but continued as if I hadn’t answered. “Do you want them to find you?”

I stared at him, my expression completely flat, prompting another werewolf eye roll.

“OK, then. Well, before my little detour at Flapjack’s, I was on my way to scoop this guy, Jerry Stepanack, up from Flint Creek. That’s about two hours from here, so you didn’t cost me too much time,” he said, ignoring the way I rolled my own eyes at that statement. “Jerry’s none too bright, and there’s a pretty healthy price on him.”

“What did he do?” I asked. “And I am assuming this is not an assignment from legitimate law-enforcement authorities?”

“To answer the first question, you don’t want to know, and to answer the second, you really don’t want to know,” he said. “But a word to the wise, sweetheart. If you borrow lots of money from bad people to buy a couple of tow trucks so you can steal cars and sell them for parts, don’t default on the loan and sell the trucks for parts. It makes those bad people cranky.”