A reluctant smile tugs at Jackson's lips. "How would it go?"
"I'd be like, oh, you're a werewolf. That's cool. Don't forget the condom."
A shadow descends over his face, perhaps at the reminder of the condom mishap. "I'm bad for you," he says tightly. "This... can't work."
Something tightens in my solar plexus. I want to grab him and tell him I'm not afraid, but he snatches me first, stamps his lips over mine, twisting over my mouth with an intensity I find dizzying.
I sense the desperation in the kiss.
The goodbye.
"Don't message me. I don't want anyone to trace you through me. I'll be back tonight. As soon as I can. Do you want me to send Sam up to check on you?"
I shake my head, swallowing down my disappointment. "No, I'm solid. I will keep working on the malware. Jackson?"
"Yeah?"
"Why haven't they contacted me if my grandmother's still alive?"
He frowns. "Maybe they're hanging onto her in case they need more leverage on you?"
I shake my head. "No, they leaked my history to the press. This was definitely a frame."
He touches my shoulder, and I swear I feel his strength transferring into me, warming me. "I don't know, but my gut says she's alive, too."
He kisses me again and shucks the jeans. His cock is still hard, mouth-wateringly impressive.
I watch this time as he transforms. There's a shimmer in the air and then he drops to all fours, a huge, beautiful wolf. I dare to stretch a hand out to touch his fur, and he licks it then licks the wound on my knee clean. It tingles. I remember a doctor in Mexico recommending I get a dog to lick a cut on my hand to make it heal faster. My dad and I had laughed at Third World medicine, but, of course, I'd researched it later, and there is something to it. I wonder if a werewolf's saliva is even better?
I stroke his silky ears. I want to bury my hands in his fur, but he spins and trots toward the kitchen. I hear the swing of what must be a dog door and he's gone.
So. Jackson King is a werewolf.
Now I know.
I'm surprised at how protective I feel over his secret. I will work even harder to straighten everything out at SeCure now that I know the company's brilliant CEO is as vulnerable to being exposed as I was.
~.~
Jacqueline
Jacqueline opens her gritty eyes, blinking against the morning sun. Still in the desert. Still in human form. She drags herself to her feet and checks out the angle of the sun. It is rising over the far mountain range, which means the Catalinas. So she's in the Tucson Mountains on the west side. Probably out in Marana somewhere, where the crackheads cook their meth.
She isn't the only one who knows how to research things online. Her Minette thinks she's only capable of making soup…
Minette.
She starts walking east. Her gait is clumsy at first, but after a dozen steps, her coordination returns. Her sensitive hearing detects the sound of cars in the distance. Dieu merci. Too bad she's covered in blood. It will make it hard to explain if she flags down a car.
If only she could shift.
She drops to all fours and closes her eyes, willing herself to shift. The trouble is, she hasn't shifted often enough in recent years. To stay nimble, shifters must shift back and forth as nature calls. A shifter who stays too long in beast form, will forget how to become human again, and vice versa. Living with Minette, her halfling granddaughter who never manifested as a shifter, she wasn't able to run wild as often as she'd like. Especially when they were hiding in cities. Now, weak, hungry, and injured, it is even harder to call up the magic.
Remember. Remember what it's like. She thinks about her first shift at puberty, the joy of chasing her sister through the French countryside. There.
The magic shimmers around her. She stops to pull off her bloodied clothes so she won't have to fight them after the shift and transformation. Now, to stay hidden from human eyes as she runs downtown. At least she remembers the way.
Garrett showed her a map of their territory on the west side once. His pack runs in Saguaro National Park West. Close to downtown and his headquarters. All she has to do is follow the Santa Cruz riverbed south.
~.~
Jackson
I walk into the office like a fucking gladiator. Every employee who sees me takes one look and averts their eyes. Even humans know to submit when the dominant is out for blood.
"The FBI is in with Mr. Anderson, sir," Vanessa says, pointing toward my CFO's office. Luis is in there, too. I already knew this from the fifteen phone conversations on my drive in, but I give her a curt nod.
No one from SeCure has admitted to leaking the information about Kylie, which could mean she's right, it came from her blackmailers. Although the blackmailers could be on the inside, too.
I can't stop the prickly awareness that there's still more to this attack we haven't seen. Would a hacker go to the trouble of kidnapping an old lady and framing someone for less than a million account numbers? Maybe. But it was risky. I don't know how much money they managed to divert, but their window was short. We closed it on them yesterday.
I march into Anderson's office and take a chair. My executive team is sweating. This is more pressure than I've ever put them through, and it's not nearly over yet.
Luis has given the feds Kylie's file and is bobbing his head up and down, agreeing with something they're saying.
He looks over. "Mr. King, the FBI have their own infosec team they'd like to deploy on our system."
I nod. "Good. Show them the breach and everything we've done to shore it up."
One of the agents stands and hold out his hand. "Special Agent Douglas."
I shake it. "Jackson King."