Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(35)

“I thought you just worked in that drug house,” Kirk said, confusion in his voice.

“In Chicago?” Finn asked, tossing her a wicked glare. “Nah. She worked for years undercover before that, changing her hair, changing her name, living where they told her to with no complaints. She thrived. A real chameleon. She made a dent in drug trafficking wherever they assigned her. Cartels, drug lords, dealers…no one even know what hit ’em.” Finn crossed his arms as they came to a stop on the edge of the evening shadows stretching from the trees. “I almost didn’t believe my sources because you don’t make any sense. Too soft spoken. Not the right personality for a cop. No bravado, and for the life of me, I haven’t been able to wrench out a single war story from you.”

“Finn, please stop,” she murmured, feeling naked and exposed.

“But now it makes perfect sense. You’re unassuming. No one would ever guess you’re the Ghost. Quiet, observant, taking notes and names, calculating, always calculating.” Finn’s smile had turned to a grimace. “And then you had your break.”

“Enough,” Kirk said.

“What break?” Clinton asked.

“A psychotic episode, they called it. The Ghost killed a suspect, and with her bare hands.”

“Because he murdered another undercover agent right in front of me.” And because he was going to violate her, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell anyone that part except Kirk.

Finn’s eyes were full of hate now. “She strangled him. She needed him to keep her cover and blow that entire operation right off the map, but she listened to his last, gasping, dying breaths as she choked the life out of—”

“I said enough!” Kirk barked out. He jerked his chin toward Finn’s cruiser. “Get the f*ck out.”

Finn cocked his head and glared at Kirk. “I miss the smog of the city. The noise. The people. The overcrowded sidewalks. It’s too quiet out here, but a woman like Alison Holman can adapt to any environment to get what she wants.” Finn turned and strode off for his cruiser. “Good luck figuring out her intentions, Shifter,” he called. “No one can really know a ghost.”





Chapter Fifteen


Alison clenched her shaking hands at her side as Finn drove away. She was so angry she couldn’t see straight, couldn’t keep her breathing steady. She hated him for what he’d done. She’d been bonding with the shifters here, and now they would never trust her. Never accept her. She would be an outsider, just like the rest of her life.

Ghost. There was a f*cking reason she didn’t share her nickname.

She was tired of being invisible.

And now Harrison, Clinton, and Mason were looking at her with suspicion, and across the road, Bash and Emerson were scanning the others’ faces, confusion pooling in their expressions.

Tears stung her eyes, and flames of embarrassment licked at her cheeks and ears. “I don’t have ulterior motives for being here,” she rasped out as she stared at the ground. “I just like being around Kirk. I like being around all of you. I feel normal here.” A tear streamed down her cheek and angrily, she dashed it away. “I was the Ghost because it was my job. I’m not undercover anymore.” She drew in a deep, shaking breath. “I’m not anything.”

Kirk hugged her tight against his side. “You feel like a lot to me.”

“You’re partner is an *,” Bash called across the street. “I do not like him.”

“I could kill him for you,” Clinton said, a little too hopeful for comfort.

Kirk scrubbed his hands down his face and muttered, “Clinton, he might be an *, but it’s still not polite to kill people.”

Clinton stomped off, shoving his way roughly between Alison and Kirk. “I was just trying to help.”

“Murder isn’t helpful,” Mason called.

Harrison blinked slowly, and his shoulders sagged like he hadn’t slept in a year. “Alison, if you betray us in any way, there will be hell to pay.”

“Hey, Harrison, you’re a poet and you didn’t even know it,” Bash said as he approached. “Ally girl, you don’t look like no ghost to me.” Bash walked around her and poked her arm hard enough that it would probably leave a purple bruise in the morning. “You ain’t even see-through.”

“Just to be transparent,” Kirk told Harrison. “Ally already told me about killing that drug dealer. It was self-defense.”

“But she didn’t tell you the other stuff,” Harrison said, hands on his hips, head cocked, eyes dead. “I could tell by the look on your face.”

“Those are my stories to tell,” Ally said. “Eventually, I want to tell him everything, but no, Kirk doesn’t know every detail about my life yet, like I don’t know about every second of his. The nickname? It wasn’t one I came up with, and I didn’t like it. I want you all to call me Ally and look at me like I’m just another person. I’m trying my damndest to leave my past behind me. Kirk is my future. He’s who I want to share stuff with, but before I came here, there was no one I trusted. I don’t know who Finn talked to about my work, but that shit is classified. I was part of several operations that were covert and never discussed. He was out of line airing that information, but worse than that, he made you all look at me differently—like you’d never seen me before.” She gestured toward the trail in the woods behind them. “The girl you saw at the falls. The one laughing and relaxing? That’s the Ally I want to be. Not some stupid dead personality assigned to me because of the job I used to do. I want to feel”—she shrugged her shoulders up to her ears helplessly—“real.”