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  Dreaming of the Wolf

  ( Heart of the Wolf - 8 )

  Terry Spear

  A FIERCE HUNTER...

  Alicia Greiston is a no-nonsense bounty hunter determined to bring a ring of mobsters to justice. Her dogged pursuit of the crime family has forced her to avoid relationships- any man would only become a target for retribution. Luckily, Jake Silver is more than a man, and his instincts are telling him to stop at nothing to protect her.

  Dreaming of the Wolf

  Heart of the Wolf - 8

  by

  Terry Spear

  I dedicate this book to my new daughter-in-law, Malinie Pisharodi Spear, who loves fantasy as much as I do and who shares my appreciation of computer role-playing games.

  My son, Air Force officer Blaine Spear, swore he’d never marry. He just had to find the right woman!

  The perfect romantic tale— the heroine and hero meeting at martial arts in the Heart of Texas— and that was only the beginning.

  Chapter 1

  Annoyance welling up inside him, Jake Silver stared at the closed sign taped prominently to the glass door as he parked in front of the Cliffside Art Gallery in Breckenridge, Colorado, his framed photography neatly stacked in the backseat of his pickup truck.

  Hell, he didn’t want to be here in the first place. But now this?

  The Victorian charm of the place reminded him of his own hometown of Silver Town, where he should have stayed!

  The sign pronounced: Closed until 11 a.m. due to unforeseen family emergency.

  With so much work to do managing the leather-goods factory and running the town and pack as his older brother’s sub-leader, Jake had only intended to drop off his photography and then drive the three hours back home. He hadn’t originally planned to display his photography at all. But his brother’s mate had finally persuaded him, despite him having balked at the notion.

  And Jake had to admit sales of his photographs in a Denver art gallery had exceeded expectations. Still, he had half a mind to forget the whole damn thing and return home. But he knew Lelandi would be upset if he didn’t go through with this, and in her pregnant state, she easily shed a bundle of tears with the least provocation. He really didn’t want to see her break down again.

  Hell, he would have eaten breakfast with the family first, had he known of the delay. A ll business all the time, Jake glanced around the town, wondering what else to do with himself until the place opened up. He hated wasting time like this.

  Then a woman caught his eye as she stopped briefly to surreptitiously take a picture of the license plate on a black Mercedes parked across the street at a restaurant.

  Dressed in a businesslike, short-waisted suit jacket, a modest-length skirt, and three-inch heels, she was a real looker with her thick, dark brown curls piled on top of her head in an elegant twist. Her actions, combined with her appearance, grabbed his attention. He photographed wildflowers as a break from work, while she was photographing a license plate for work? Undercover job maybe?

  He wondered what color her eyes would be: smoky gray, chocolate brown to match her rich thick hair, misty green, oceanic blue—or something in between.

  The wolfish side of his curious nature was piqued. She didn’t look like the type he’d picture working undercover.

  And he wondered who her target was. Maybe she was a private investigator checking on a wayward wealthy husband, not a cop after a criminal.

  Then the woman slipped her small camera into a little black purse and entered the restaurant, her high heels clicking on the pavement.

  As soon as the door shut behind her, Jake considered the place, a burgundy-red Victorian house with white gingerbread millwork fitted into gables and dormers, ornately carved corbels clinging beneath beams, and lacy fretwork running across the length of the house. The restaurant looked a lot classier than those where he was used to eating. The meals probably cost a fortune.

  But he couldn’t quit thinking about the slip of a woman and what she was up to. He didn’t really want to eat at such a high-class joint and waste a lot of money on a breakfast that he was sure he could eat for a fraction of the cost somewhere else. But he still headed across the street to the restaurant, telling himself it had nothing to do with the woman, that it was just a way to kill time and that the restaurant was the closest one to the gallery. He tried to ignore the steak-and-eggs place just down the street, which was more like what he was accustomed to and where the meals were most likely much more at his price. Not that he couldn’t afford the higher prices. He just wasn’t inclined to pay them if he didn’t have to.

  When he entered the restaurant, he found it filled with talkative customers seated at lace-covered tables or tucked into booths where the tables were bare, which suited him better. But the woman who had garnered his interest was nowhere to be seen. Tiffany light fixtures hung over the tables, while large windows faced out onto the street, their lace curtains tied back to permit the view of the snow-tipped mountain in the distance. Royal-blue velvet swags hung above them, fringed in gold. Feminine and floral. Nothing that appealed to him.

  He preferred Silver Town Tavern’s more rough-and-

  tumble, old silver-mining town appearance. But then he considered the floral landscapes hanging on the walls and thought his work would fit here nicely.

  A young woman wearing a Victorian gown and a lace-

  trimmed apron quickly showed him to a booth with too bright a smile and a wayward perusal of his physique.

  But the overly tanned blond didn’t garner his attention like the woman with the dark hair and creamy skin had.

  The sway of her hips in the fitted, black pin-striped skirt, the way her hands had lovingly held the camera when she quickly took the picture she needed, and the way her full peach lips had parted as she concentrated on getting a good shot still lingered in his thoughts. He had to admit part of his interest was because she carried a camera, the way he often did, even if she didn’t use hers in the pursuit of a hobby. Maybe when she wasn’t working, she did.

  “Sir, is this booth all right?” the woman asked, breaking into his ruminations.

  “This will be fine.”

  He wanted to ask if the hostess had seen the woman who had entered before him and could seat him where he could further observe her. He normally photographed strictly wildflowers, but in her case, he would have made an exception and taken her portrait. But not in a sterile studio environment. On a high, sloping field at the foot of the mountains with soft natural lighting. Wearing faded blue-jean short shorts and a skimpy tank top, barefoot and braless, the object of his fascination would sit in a field of pale purple daisies with their gold-button centers facing upward and lacy towering firs providing a backdrop. That’s the portrait he wanted to take of her.

  A waitress, dressed in a Victorian gown and apron similar to the hostess’s, hurried over with a menu and a glass of water. She was just as friendly and just as unabashedly bold about giving him the once-over. But he was sure it had more to do with feminine interest than with a bigger tip since he was the only male around the age of thirty who was seated alone in the establishment.

  Then again, maybe she was sizing him up to see if he fit the usual clientele—rich resort visitor—or if he was an off-season ski bum who had mistakenly found his way into this place.

  He’d dressed up a little more than usual because he would be meeting with the art gallery owner, although he probably could have worn anything and the gallery staff wouldn’t have cared. Artists were artists, after all.

  But he wore a vest with his stonewashed jeans and a pin-striped dress shirt, although he’d rolled the sleeves up to his elbows and left a couple of the buttons down the front of the shirt undone
. And he hadn’t bothered to shave for a couple of days, giving him more of a rugged appearance. Dressy just didn’t suit him much.

  Light fluffy music played overhead, while the aroma of coffee brewing and steak sizzling on a grill wafted through the air. His stomach rumbled in anticipation as he considered the menu, narrowed his eyes to study the prices, and nearly had a stroke.

  “Highway robbery,” he muttered under his breath. He would have walked out, but he still wanted to see the woman again and learn what she was up to. Then he waved to the waitress, told himself he only lived once—if paying exorbitant prices meant he was living—and placed his order.

  When the waitress left, Jake saw her—the woman who’d caught his eye outside the restaurant—now sitting at a booth across from his. His heartbeat quickened, and he sat up a little taller. She was observing a man in his mid-fifties who was seated at a nearby table and wearing a fitted dark-gray suit. He was swarthy, fat faced, and fat lipped, with a bulbous nose, receding black hair, and dark cold eyes. Something about the man warned Jake that he was a threat, not someone to anger. Not just a man having an affair on his wife.

  The fact she was watching the man bothered Jake. He saw it as a case of her flaunting danger. She was maybe five-five in stocking feet with a small build and tendrils of curls spilling from her upswept hair to tickle the back of her neck. She was not nearly big enough or mean-

  looking enough to take on whomever the man was and win the confrontation. Now Jake could see her eyes—the color of rich chocolate, just like her hair. Her eyes were narrowed a hint and her brows knit into a small frown.

  She pursed her full glossy lips, a shimmering shade of peach, as she wrote something on a notepad. Her gaze returned to the man. Her lips garnered another look as she worried the bottom one a little, and Jake had the urge to coax her mouth into a smile with his, to take away the frown, to give her something positive to think about. Like him.

  She glanced toward the door as a man walked into the restaurant. Wearing an expensive black suit, he was similar in build to the first: stocky and dark-haired, swarthy and all business as he glanced around the place with a wolf’s wary manner. The woman quickly averted her eyes.

  Surveillance. Jake bet she was working some kind of surveillance. But who were the men she was watching?

  And who did she work for?

  The waitress returned to the table, delivered his steak and eggs, and asked, “Is there anything else you’d like?”

  She favored him again with a way too intimate pass, the connotation in her sugar-coated voice suggesting she could be on the menu if he was the least bit interested.

  With a quick smile to indicate he’d gotten her message, but just as quick a shake of his head to show he wasn’t interested, he said, “No, thanks. I have everything I need, right here.” He glanced back at the woman in the suit as if emphasizing he meant that included the woman who continued to be the object of his fascination.

  The waitress’s smile quickly faded. “Oh, you’re interested in her.” She paused, as if she was thinking of saying something more about the woman. But then she shook her head and said, “I’ll check back with you in a bit, then.” She gave the woman in the suit a derisive look, but before the waitress could hurry off, Jake seized her scrawny wrist.

  When she stopped and turned to face him, her pale hazel eyes wide, he released her wrist and asked, “Do you know the woman?”

  She gave a soft snort. “Oh, yeah, she and her mother have been coming here for years. Skiing, ice skating, hiking, you name it.” Then the waitress leaned down lower and said conspiratorially, “She’s mixed up with some bad types, and nobody but nobody wants to associate with them—or her. Let’s just say it can lead to a dead end.” She gave a little shrug.

  “Bad types?”

  The waitress rolled her eyes. “Mob ties.”

  “She’s in with the Mob?” Jake asked, sounding incredulous. The guys she was observing looked like they might have connections, but…

  “Her mother was dating one of them.”

  That put a totally new spin on the situation. “And the daughter?”

  The waitress’s lips curved up in a menacing grin. “Sure, like mother, like daughter. She gave up an honest-to-

  goodness decent sort to consort with a bunch of criminals.”

  He had the sneaking suspicion the daughter wasn’t seeing someone like that. If anything, she was watching the two men in a way that made him think of a police sting operation, not as though she was friends with them. If she had been, she would have joined them.

  But the waitress’s words still gave him pause. “Thanks.”

  “Anytime.” The waitress flipped around and hurried off, swaying her hips in an exaggerated fashion.

  He sliced into his juicy steak, the aroma of the T-bone making his stomach rumble again, but the food still didn’t interest him as much as the woman. Taking a bite of the tender meat, which was seasoned to perfection and melted in his mouth, he sat back and observed her further. She looked to be all work, no play, just like he was normally.

  For some inconceivable reason, he wanted to gain her attention. Maybe because she’d hooked his to such a degree. On the other hand, he enjoyed watching her, studying her, and taking pleasure in her without her knowledge, without the anxiety-ridden pretension that often existed between two people meeting for the first time.

  He looked again at her jacket. She could be an undercover cop. Maybe. Aslight bulge under her jacket on one side could indicate she was packing a gun.

  He raised his brows. She could be armed and deadly.

  Even more intriguing. Although the waitress’s words still lingered in his thoughts: she could be dating a mobster like her mother was. She could be armed because she was one of the criminal element. Yet he couldn’t help but feel she was working as an undercover cop. But if she was, he thought she was in way over her head on this case.

  He glanced around the room. None of the other diners seemed to be watching the men or her. Why didn’t she have backup if she was a cop?

  Getting involved in human affairs that didn’t pertain to the good citizens of Silver Town was not a good idea. Yet if she encountered any trouble, he’d be in the thick of it, rescuing her without thought of reward. Well, maybe a little reward. A heartfelt hug from that sweet body of hers would do for starters. A kiss from those lips would be welcome.

  He sat back and finished his steak and eggs, while she sipped more of her tea. She’d taken a bite of a cinnamon roll, but nothing more. Was she as frugal as he? Or just not a big breakfast eater? Or was ordering the breakfast just as a ruse while she conducted her surveillance?

  He wondered what it would be like to pull the pins from her hair, release it over her shoulders, and comb his fingers through the lush, silky strands. To disarm her—to see her wearing something softer, something that would reveal her womanly curves even more, or wearing nothing at all. And to taste her lips, sweetened by sugary cinnamon.

  Turning his attention to the two men she was observing, he listened, trying to hear their exchange. The men spoke in low tones, but with the murmur of conversations in the busy restaurant and the distance Jake was from the men’s table, he couldn’t make out their words, even with his enhanced wolf’s hearing. The men didn’t seem to take any notice of the woman, either feigning ignorance or showing her that her effort to rattle them was in vain.

  Jake glanced at one of the plate-glass windows and the pin-striped awning stretched over the top to shade customers when the sun rose in the sky. Two men sat out front in a darkened Mercedes—the one bearing the license plate that his mystery woman had photographed earlier. Bodyguard, driver, he assumed. And parked in front of that vehicle was another: similar make and model, same setup—two men.

  Inside the restaurant, the two men under surveillance shook hands. One smiled, the look pure evil. The other nodded.

  Jake glanced back at the woman to see her take on the matter, and his blood instantly heated with ire
. A bruiser of a man wearing a dark gray suit towered over her as he motioned for her to leave. When the hell had he entered the restaurant and approached her?

  She remained seated, not budging, looking up at the man with loathing as he loomed over her. Jake could see that the man was wearing the hardware to back up his threatening posture, hidden under his jacket and pressed slightly into the fabric as a show of force. He had one hand inserted underneath the jacket, holding the gun.

  Like a wolf ready to take down its prey, Jake rose from his booth with a cautious, predatory stalking motion. The man waved the gun underneath his suit jacket again in a sweeping motion toward the door. Defiantly, the woman continued to balk, glaring at him, not moving an inch, not saying a word. Jake admired her stalwart nerve. But he didn’t believe she’d win this argument. Not without a little wolfish backup.

  Wishing he had at least asked the waitress the woman’s name before playing his cards, since the waitress seemed to know a good deal about her, Jake stalked across the floor to join her before the beast forced the issue. The woman’s gaze shifted to Jake, eyes widening like pools of melted dark chocolate and drawing him in.

  The bulky beast of a man turned to face Jake and narrowed his already beady eyes in confrontation. Jake conveyed a real threat of his own in his posture, just like a wolf would, from his steely gaze to his taut muscles and rigid back. Even the hair on his arms was standing erect, just as his fur would be if he were wearing his wolf coat—another form of intimidation that made him appear bigger, more of a threat.

  If anyone could deal with a tyrant like the armed guy in the suit, Jake was the man for the job, with or without a weapon. But fighting the man wasn’t what he had in mind, unless there was no other way around it.

  Jake shifted his attention to the lady, offered a friendly smile, spread his hands a little as if in greeting, and said to her, “Julia Roberts!”