Sam's face sags and, for a moment, he looks thirty years older, weary from whatever happened in his young life. "I was wandering in the Santa Cruz mountains, lost, and he found me."
"What were you doing in the mountains?" I picture a lost Boy Scout, but it doesn't fit.
"I was a runaway. Figured I could survive there on my own. But I was starving. Half-crazy-I'd been alone so long."
"How long?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. A few months, maybe. Jackson saw me, and I ran. He chased me down. I fought him. I didn't want to return to civilization, but he forced me to come back with him. Promised not to tell anyone he'd found me."
A rush of sympathy floods my chest. Sam's been in hiding, like me. Someone out there wants something from him. An abusive family, probably. He's right. We all have secrets.
"How long ago was that?"
"Seven years. I was fourteen."
"I'm glad he found you. And I won't tell anyone."
"I'm not worried anymore," he says. "But, thanks." A reluctant smile tugs at his lips, and he steps toward me, holding out his fist. I bump it and follow him out of the room, glad to have unearthed another small piece of the Jackson puzzle.
~.~
Jackson
When I get home, I find Kylie crashed out on the sofa, her open laptop tilted against her chest.
Sam's in the kitchen, eating a stack of ten hamburgers. I pick one up and take a bite. "How long has she been like that?"
"Couple hours," Sam says with his mouth full. "I found her snooping in your bedroom. She said she wanted to know your secrets."
A niggling sense of worry tickles me. What if I'm still being played by this girl? But that didn't make sense-what more could she want or need? She'd already done enough damage to bring me down.
No, hackers have boundary issues. They get an inflated sense of power. They can spy on anyone and anything. Read emails, cancel credit cards. Check high school grades. Kylie's snooping around my room was an extension of that. She hasn't been able to hack me personally because there's nothing to find. She's not the only one who knows how to create or erase an identity.
"What's your plan with her? You can't keep her here forever."
I stab my fingers through my hair. "I don't know," I answer honestly.
"You can't. Keep her here," Sam repeats.
"Why the fuck not?" I snap, even though I know he's right.
He raises his brows. "You planning to mate her?"
I scowl. We both know that's not possible. A werewolf bite to a human could kill her. Would cause serious scarring and damage, at the least. And that's assuming Kylie's willing. Which would mean telling her-a clear violation of pack rules. And if I tell her and we don't mate, she'll have to be eliminated. Pack rules. Or have her mind erased by a vampire. I can't risk either of those things happening to her.
So, yeah. Sam's right. I can't keep her here.
But I sure as fuck can't let her go, either.
"Just until this blows over," I promise.
Sam's pursed lips tell me he knows it's a lie. "You know what happens to a wolf who ignores his mating instinct?"
Nausea twists in the pit of my stomach. Moon sickness. "That's not what's happening here. She can't be my fated mate-she's human."
Sam shrugs. "I realize that, but you're acting like a male ready to mark. And the moon is full tomorrow."
"I have the situation under control." And pigs fly.
Sam polishes off his fifth hamburger and shoves the plate of remaining burgers my way. "I'll see you. I'm working at the club tonight." He sometimes works as a bouncer at Eclipse, Garrett's nightclub.
Don't rush home.
My wolf wants Kylie alone. Which is probably the worst idea ever.
~.~
Kylie
I wake to the sound of Sam's motorcycle pulling away and Jackson's angry voice from the kitchen. "Who leaked it to the press? I will have their ass. Well, find out and terminate them before I get my hands on them. Understand? Good."
Damn. Jackson's shit storm just got worse if one of his employees leaked the situation to the press. I wonder if that means I've been named as the perpetrator? How long before the FBI is involved? I climb off the couch. The windows are dark, which means I must've slept all afternoon. I check the time on my laptop. Seven p. m.
Jackson's starts up again-he must be making phone calls. "Get me Sarah, in PR."
I jog upstairs, determined to take a shower and make myself presentable before he sees me. I fail miserably, because he walks out to the living room and watches me ascend the stairs while he yells at his public relations director.
I wince and give him a wave of surrender, mouthing the word shower.
He nods and continues with his tirade.
When the FBI gets involved, will he turn me in? I slip into his guest bathroom and the memory of what we did in there two nights ago comes rushing back.
I strip and climb into the shower, letting my fingers slide between my legs like last time.
I have another punishment coming.
I'm suddenly desperate for it. My time here may be limited. If the FBI is looking for me, I may have to leave in a hurry. And my business with Jackson feels unfinished.
I want his touch, his mastery, one more time.
Right, and he's downstairs in crisis-control mode.
But maybe a little distraction is exactly what he needs, too. I could give him that blow job I didn't get to start last time. It could be my penance for what I've done.