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

“And you’re with that big guy who’s been sniffing around town for me?”

I blanched at the use of the word sniffing. But I continued, using my firm bedside-manner voice. “I don’t want to tell you your business, but your brother is sick. Really sick. I understand that can make people desperate, but I still don’t think that’s an excuse to shanghai somebody into nonconsensual surgery.”

“What’s your point?” Mort huffed.

I snagged a Sharpie out of my jacket pocket and grabbed the first item I saw from the shelves, which happened to be a bag of peanut butter Combos. I scribbled the name of the airfield where Merl had kept a private jet waiting for the last week, just in case we tracked Mort down. “There is a plane waiting for you here. They can be ready to take off within an hour if you show up.”

“You have to buy those,” he told me, nodding toward the Combos.

“I will, I will.” I shook my head at him.

“It’s just that I own the station, and every little bit counts.”

“OK, I will throw in the jerky and one of those little car air-freshener trees if you will pay attention to what I’m saying.” I put the bag in his hand and placed my palms on either side of his face so I knew he was looking me right in the eye. “Merl needs your help. The chances of him lasting more than a few months without a transplant aren’t good. You need to decide whether you can live with that or if you can find it in your heart to forgive your brother and give him what he needs to survive. Personally, I think you should be given the chance to make that decision on your own terms. So what I’m telling you is that you need to haul ass out of that back door and run for it, so you have time to make that decision on your own terms before my friend sees you and makes this whole situation a lot more . . . intense. Now, do you have your car keys on you?”

“He’s really sick?” Mort asked.

I nodded. “He’s got very little time left.”

Mort’s watery blue eyes narrowed at me. “Is this a trick?”

“Yes, I’m trying to trick you into escaping,” I deadpanned.

“I need some time to think this over.”

“Which is what I’m trying to give you!” I threw my hands up. “It’s like we’re not even having the same conversation.”

Behind me, I heard the station’s front door swing open. Mort’s eyes went wide, and I turned to see Caleb walking in with an anxious expression. That expression shifted from anxious to shocked and then even more confused in just a few seconds.

Shit.

“Go!” I grunted, shoving Mort toward the back door. Of course, Mort left his Combos bag behind, so I had to chase after him and throw the marked snack bag at his head while he ducked out the door. Caleb charged after him. Against all bounds of logic, I hooked my arm through his and dug my heels into the slick tile floor. This, of course, did not work, because he had about seventy pounds and a whole lot of werewolf strength on his side.

“Good Lord, you’re strong,” I groaned as he dragged me across the floor to the exit.

Just then, I heard the roar of an engine. Caleb turned, taking me with him as we watched a beat-up Chevy four-by-four peel out of the station parking lot and onto the road.

“What did you do?” Caleb exclaimed as I climbed off of him and settled on unsteady feet.

I winced. “I let him go.”

“Why would you do that?” he cried, throwing his arms up and making me flinch, which pissed me off.

“Don’t you yell at me!” I shouted, catching the attention of the irritable clerk behind the counter.

“You need to clear out if you’re going to carry on like that,” she said, pointing at the door.

And now I was getting kicked out of a gas station. Classy.

Caleb caught my arm and pulled me out the front door. He wasn’t hurting me, but the trapped, panicked feeling the sensation evoked had me clawing at his hands. He caught sight of my face and dropped his hands from my arms. But the momentum had me skidding toward the truck, bumping into the side panel with an ooof.

“We’ve spent the better part of a week looking for this guy, and you helped him escape? What the hell is wrong with you? Have I not explained to you how my job works?” Caleb was towering over me, his face livid.

“I wanted him to make the decision for himself!” I exclaimed. “If nothing else, it helps us avoid pesky kidnapping charges. I gave him all of the information for the airfield. He has time to think about it, and I truly, truly believe that he’s going to do the right thing and show up for that flight. Everybody wins. His brother gets a kidney. Mort’s kids get the back child support. And maybe, Mort and Merl can be closer.”

“You don’t get to make those decisions!” he exclaimed. “You don’t get to just decide which cases are OK to pursue and which ones aren’t. You don’t get to interfere with how I make my living, which is how I support the both of us, by the way.”

“I do have an issue with how you make your living. And I never asked you to support me. You just scooped me up and put me in your pocket. You didn’t ask me what I wanted. You just insisted that you knew what was best for me.”