Savage Retribution Page 4

  Get your head out of the gutter. “Lady, I don’t know anything about a—”

  “Where’s my lizard, you goddamn freak?”

  Her roar split the room and sharp pain pounded through Declan’s head. Hell, he liked it better when she thought he was a wolf. “I haven’t seen your bloody lizard,” he growled, staggering to his feet. He squinted at her, relief flooding through him when she appeared sharp. In focus. “Praise Mary, I thought you’d buggered up my sight for good!”

  She stared at him, gloriously naked, her lithe, toned and very perfect body shaking with what he assumed was rage. Her hands were clenched into rock-hard fists beside her thighs, her legs spread, knees bent slightly. Her hair tumbled across her straight, tensed shoulders in a shaggy curtain of rich-chocolate waves, falling to her nipples, drawing his gaze to her heaving breasts. She looked ready to attack. To rip him limb from limb. Such a different creature to the one only moments earlier smoothing her soft, gentle hands over said limbs in an attempt to find any injuries. What a contradiction.

  What a—

  “Where. Is. My. Lizard?”

  Hands raised, he took a step forward. “Listen, love. I don’t know anything about a lizard, I haven’t seen a lizard, I haven’t even smelt a lizard.” He stared at her, saw confusion shimmer in her ice-green eyes, saw her muscles tense with each word he said. He returned his eyes to her face, needing to keep his attention away from her body. It was too flawless. Too distracting. “Now, you need to listen to me because while you did a very brave and noble thing breaking into Epoc’s lab, you also did a very stupid thing.”

  Her jaw clenched, and those striking eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  Declan didn’t miss the caustic insinuation. He was a journalist, after all. Well, had been a journalist back in Dublin. Who knows what he’d call himself now? Lone wolf? He cringed at the cliché. And the black look of murder on the woman’s face. “I’m going to say this as plainly as possible,” he went on, risking another step closer, “and I don’t want you to start screaming about your bloody lizard again. We have to get out of here. You have to come with me. Right now.”

  She straightened, and he swore he heard her spine snap straight. The fact she was stark naked seemed to have completely slipped her mind. She glared at him, bunched fists on hips too smooth and curved for Declan’s peace of mind. “One kiss and you think I’m ready to elope?” She cocked a dark, arched eyebrow. “You had more chance when you were a wolf.”

  Declan raised one of his own eyebrows. “Yeah, I noticed.”

  Cool eyes bored into him. “What are you?”

  “It’s usual practice to ask ‘who’ are you, the answer to which, is the man you just kissed.”

  The woman crossed her arms, stare flat and decidedly icy. “Put it down to temporary insanity. I’m not in the habit of kissing strange men.”

  Declan’s lips twitched. “And yet…”

  A dusky pink blush painted the woman’s cheeks, a vision so innocent and beguiling a swelling wave of heat rolled through him and pooled low in his gut.

  “I don’t know who or what you are. But it’s time for you to go.”

  The desire to step forward, curl his fingers around her arms and pull her to his body crashed over him. Christ, it had been so long since a female affected him like this. The search for Maggie’s killer had consumed him. Nothing but finding his sister’s murderer had existed—or mattered. Yet here he was, in—based on the accents he’d heard since being captured—Australia, the other side of the world, and he was horny.

  And stupid. You think Epoc hasn’t tracked you both down yet? Stop standing around thinking with your dick and start using your head. Her life depends on you now. Whether she likes it or not.

  “You’re right. It is time to go.” He destroyed the distance between them, closed his hands around her arms and fixed her with a level stare. “Both of us.”

  Her reaction was swift and immediate. She kicked him.

  The ball of her foot rammed straight into his shin. Bright pain shot up his leg, making his balls shrink. He bit back a shout, sinking his fingers harder into her biceps and glaring down at her. “Stop it. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  Green eyes flashed fury and—goddamn it—fear. “Let me go.”

  “I—”

  She struck out before he finished, jerking her knee up fast and hard, and it was only the grace of God—and his preternatural reflexes—that saved his balls being mashed up into the base of his spine. He twisted his body, right thigh taking the blow, the awkward action making the bullet wound in his side erupt with fresh, blistering pain. Jesus Christ!

  Declan’s patience snapped. In one fluid move he spun about, flung the woman onto the cushions of the sofa he’d been lying on only minutes earlier and followed the path of her body with his own, pinning her to the piece of furniture with his hands, hips and legs. A growl burst from his throat and, temper boiling, he bared his teeth. “Listen to me, love. We don’t have time for this. Nathan Epoc’s mongrels will be here any second and if they find us, they’ll kill you.” He tightened his grip on her wrists, staring hard at her. “After they rape you. As men and then as wolves.”

  The blood drained from the woman’s face and she froze, body stiller than a statue. “Wolves…” The word fell from her lips in a stunned breath. “My God, what the hell is going on?”

  Declan clenched his jaw. “Unfortunately, more than you ever wanted to know.” He relaxed his hold on her wrists. A little. “Now you have exactly sixty seconds to pull on some clothes and get ready to leave. After that we’re out of here, dressed or not.”

  The woman tensed and he saw rage ignite in her eyes again. “I’m not going anywhere with you. My lizard… The cops…”

  Declan shook his head. “Epoc owns the cops. Perhaps you didn’t hear me earlier when I said rape and murder. I wasn’t kidding. They will do things to you no human mind could imagine. Unless you come with me.” He shifted his weight, tight impatience eating at him. “Trust me, I’ll explain everything I can later, but we have to go. Now.”

  He rose to his feet, hoping to God he’d made his point. His heart hammered and his blood roared. He tried to tell himself it was adrenaline making his body behave so, but he knew otherwise. Lust scorched through his veins—and at that very moment, lust was almost more dangerous than Epoc.

  The woman stared up at him, naked body vulnerable, sharp eyes defiant. A second passed before, with fluid grace, she leapt to her feet, sprinting across the room to disappear through a far door, the flexing muscles of her toned ass playing merry hell with his senses. He studied the door she’d passed through, listening to what was happening in the room. The sound of drawers opening and clothes rustling satisfied him and, dragging his hands through his hair, he turned and surveyed the room around him. She didn’t trust him, yet—and really, was there any wonder? But maybe if he found this missing lizard of hers…

  A very faint click sounded in his ear and he flicked his head slightly to the left, tuning into the noises emanating from her room. His eyes narrowed. Damn it, she’d picked up a phone.

  He crossed the room to her bedroom in two leaps, the urge to transform like a weight on his chest. Flinging open the door, he stepped in, fists balled, nostrils flaring. “Not sure we have time for a phone call, love.”

  She spun about, staring at him with wide eyes, looking for all the world like a small animal frozen in the lights of a speeding truck. A small animal holding the handset of a cordless phone, that was. “How did you—?”

  He ignored her question. She’d figure the answer out in due course. If she was what he thought she was—an animal expert of some kind—it wouldn’t take long for the penny to drop. No matter what form he was in, his hearing was phenomenal. It came with the whole werewolf package. He stormed across the room, taking in the short running shorts and black tank top she now wore with a surreal mix of disappointment and relief. “I’m full of surprises.”

  The wo
man’s muscles flexed and her grip on the handset tightened. “So am I.”

  Declan gave her a bleak scowl. The low, almost inaudible beep beep of a dial tone spilled from the phone in her hand and his scowl turned to a frustrated snarl. Shit. She’d called someone. “As much as I’m enjoying this whole tête-à-tête,” he said, reaching for the handset, “there are more important things we have to be doing. Like…”

  He didn’t finish. The low sound of an engine thrummed into his head, vibrated through his body into his gut. He sucked in a swift breath and the scent of wolf assaulted his sinuses. Bad wolf. He spun about, staring through the door across the woman’s living room, watching as a large, black van slowed to a complete stop by the curb out the front of her house. Fuck. Spinning back to the woman, he shook his head. “Time’s up.”

  “Time’s up?” Her forehead creased. “What does that mean?”

  Declan gave her a level look. “It means this. Sorry.” And he smashed his fist against her jaw.

  Stunned rage filled her eyes—a heartbeat before her body went limp and she slumped forward. The phone fell from her hand, hitting the floor with a soft thud.

  He grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder, her unconscious frame like pliable rubber. “This is not how I wanted to do this,” he growled, hitching her weight closer to his head and anchoring his arm snugly around her waist. He shot a look over his shoulder, blood hot with the need to transform. He stared at the van on the street through the gauzy length of curtain hanging over the living room window. Watched its doors swing open. Watched a hulking shape he knew all too well climb out of the passenger side seat. Watched the man with flaming red hair and muscles on muscles bend his short, wide neck to the side in an action designed to intimidate. McCoy.

  He bared his teeth and turned back to the woman’s bedroom. In time to see a greenish-grey lizard roughly the size of a small dog, go skittering across the floor and disappear under the far wardrobe. A short, sharp snort escaped Declan. “You’re on your own, lizard.”

  And without further adieu, he crossed the room, kicked out the fly-screen of the main window, leapt through it and took off across the woman’s small backyard. The sound of the van door slamming shut behind him thumped at his senses as he cleared the dividing fence in a single bound, sprinting across the neighbor’s lawn. Just a naked Irishman with a bleeding side, running through the early-morning streets with an unconscious, animal liberationist slung over his shoulder. Nothing unusual about that.

  Nothing unusual at all.

  Chapter 3

  Peter frowned at the phone in his hand. What the bloody hell was going on? “Hello?”

  Nothing.

  His frown pulled deeper. The caller ID display told him it was his baby sister on the other end, but since when did Reggie think it was funny to call and not say anything?

  She wouldn’t.

  Unease twisted in Peter’s gut—cold and tight. She’d pulled a lab raid last night. She hadn’t told him which lab she was hitting in their last conversation but he knew when she was going in and when she’d planned to be out. He made it his business to know when she went on one of her freedom missions. No one else in the family knew what she got up to in the wee hours of the morning. Dad would kill her, even if he did agree with her motives, and Mum would chain her to the sofa, but someone had to be there for her if she was ever—God forbid—arrested, or worse yet, shot. She didn’t like it, but too bloody bad. It’s what big brothers did; they pissed off their little sisters, even if it was for their own good.

  Peter placed the phone back to his ear. “Reggie? Can you hear me?”

  Still nothing. Well, nothing except the irritating scratch and hum of the connection. His gut twisted again. Damn it. What if she was in trouble?

  In trouble? Reggie’s always in trouble.

  Peter shook his head. She’d been after someone big last night. He’d seen it in her eyes. Someone she considered the enemy. Perhaps she’d finally been caught. Goddamn it, what if she was—

  “You’re on your own, lizard.”

  The muffled words, almost inaudible, fell from the phone. Male? Irish? Peter snapped straight in his chair. Lizard? Shit. Rex. “Hey?” His sharp shout lifted the heads of quite a few people surrounding him but he ignored their curious stares. They were in a cop shop, for Christ sake. Someone shouted down a phone just about every other minute. “Hey? Regan?”

  Nothing.

  Cold worry gnawed at him, joining the tension squirming in his gut. Fuck.

  For a terrible moment, he didn’t know what to do. His gut, as churned as it was, told him to get over to Regan’s house now, but to do so meant hanging up the phone in his hand and what if his little sister was in her home, was on the other end trying to talk to him, needing his help?

  “Thomas?”

  Peter stared at the far window, the blue, cloudless sky outside seeming to mock him. Goddamn it, what the hell should he do? Was Reggie—

  “Thomas!”

  A gruff and very belligerent voice barking his name yanked Peter’s attention away from the window and the ominous thought of his sister’s silent phone. He stared up into his boss’s bloodshot eyes, unable to miss the sour expression on his round, unshaven face. “Yeah, Inspector?”

  “Your wife’s been tryin’ to call you for the last ten minutes.” Tony Muriciano glared at him, leathery skin yellow and dry from far too many cigarettes.

  “Ex-wife, Inspector,” Peter corrected, his grip on his phone curling tight.

  Fat, nicotine-stained fingers jerked on the waistline of wrinkled chinos and Muriciano’s ample gut wobbled under his white shirt. “Whatever. Tell her next time she’s tryin’ to get hold of you to call the switch. I’m too busy to deal with her shit.”

  Peter looked up at his boss, suppressing a snarl of frustration. Reggie. What was going on with Reggie?

  Muriciano managed to look annoyed. “How the fuck she get my number anyhow?”

  Maybe it was when you hit on her last Christmas party, you fat fuck. “I don’t know, Inspector.”

  Muriciano’s lips pulled away from yellow teeth in a snide smile. “Of course.” His red-rimmed eyes glinted. “So, was that your sister’s name I heard you shoutin’ out a second ago? She okay?” He swiped a hand over his pate, licking his lips. “You can give her my number anytime. I’d hate for such a pretty young thing to be in trouble.” He snorted, mouth stretching into a wide leer. “Unless it’s trouble with me.”

  Peter’s fist clenched and he shoved aside the urge to pull his own gun from its holster and shoot his captain in the head. “She’s fine, Inspector.” He held up the phone still clenched in his grip. “Just a lousy connection.”

  Muriciano gave his head a nod. “Hmmm. Well, if she needs a hand…” He chuckled, the sound both low and crude, and Peter had to sink his nails into his palm to keep his hand from wrapping around his Glock.

  The Inspector turned and began weaving his way back to his office on the other side of the room, barking orders and insults at various detectives and uniformed officers as he went. “Your wife’s on line ten, Thomas,” he shot back over his shoulder. “She sounds pissed.”

  “Ex-wife,” Peter growled, returning the phone in his hand to his ear. How the hell the man ever made detective, let alone Insp—

  “Fuck! She’s not here!”

  The harsh shout spat from the handset and Peter jumped.

  “The bitch isn’t here! They’re not here! Where the fuck is O’Connell?”

  “McCoy, look! Near the bed. On the floor. Why’s that red light blinking on the phone?”

  There was a scuffle, the distinctive sound of cotton sheets being disturbed followed by a guttural male voice with a broad Scottish accent saying, “Hello?”

  The phone creaked as Peter’s grip curled harder. “Who’s this? Where’s my sister?”

  “Now? Or after I fuck her?”

  Peter’s blood ran cold. “You touch my sister and you’re—”

  A sharp clun
k stabbed at Peter’s ear, followed by the drilling beep of a disconnect tone. Shit! He leapt to his feet, chair tumbling over. Shit!

  It would take approximately forty-five minutes to get to Reggie’s house, thirty with the blue and reds on. Too long. He’d have to call in a Bondi unit.

  Snatching up his wallet and badge, he grabbed his jacket from under his chair and took off across the room. Blood roared in his ears. Christ, what had Reggie got herself into now?

  “Thomas! What the fuck you think you’re doin’?”

  Muriciano’s bellow bounced around the room, and more cops lifted their heads from their paperwork.

  Hot impatience tore through Peter and he slowed down, scowling at his boss. “Gotta go, Inspector.”

  “Detective Thomas!”

  Grinding his teeth, Peter stopped, turning to watch Muriciano lumber toward him. “Sorry, Inspector. I’ve got to—”

  “Just received a call from HQ, Thomas.” Muriciano gave him a smug grin and for a second Peter saw utter belligerence flare in the man’s eyes. “Williams broke his shoulder. Ya getting a new partner. They’ll be here within the hour. Unless someone’s dying, you’re not going anywhere.” The grin stretched wider and Muriciano chuckled, flabby gut wobbling like jello. “Understand?”

  Jaw clenched, Peter nodded. “Understand, Inspector.” And, before rational thought took over, he punched his superior in the nose and sent the fat fuck to the floor. “But as I said before, I’ve got to go.”

  * * * *

  Regan’s house was a shambles. More than a shambles. When Peter crossed the threshold, he felt as though he’d stepped into a scene from a cliché-ridden movie—one of those where a house is ransacked by a crazed criminal looking for something highly important and highly illegal. A crazed criminal who smelt like a filthy animal. Jesus! What was that stench?

  A chill ran up his spine and, nose creasing at the pungent smell, his hand moved toward his gun.

  “There was no one here when we arrived, Detective. Just the mess and the smell.”