Black Magic (Alpha Pack #1.5)(2)
"Oh, sure." Digging in his front jeans pocket, he brought out a ring and tossed it to Kalen. "Where exactly are you going?"
He caught and palmed the ring, considering his answer. In the end, he settled for a half-truth. "The Grizzly. Mackenzie's in town. I thought I'd catch up with her, have a drink."
Jax stared at him a long moment, as though trying to detect any deception. Then his lips curved upward. "Good luck if you hope to get a piece of that. Her daddy will eat your liver for dinner."
"Whatever, man." He rolled his eyes, reaching for a calm he didn't feel.
"Bring the Escalade back in one piece or it's my ass."
"You bet, and thanks. See ya."
Kalen took off before Jax could form more questions about why he was in such a hurry, and to do nothing more than have a beer with Mackenzie in Nowheresville, Wyoming, on the edge of the Shoshone National Forest, no less. Jax sensed something more was going on than what he'd said, and Kalen didn't want to get everyone excited over what might turn out to be nothing.
As he jogged outside and headed for the ginormous hangar that housed all of their various methods of transportation, he wondered why he hadn't simply come clean about all his reasons for going in to town.
Because he didn't want the others to get wind of his infatuation with a woman who couldn't possibly want a tramp like him? Maybe.
Because after nearly half a lifetime of surviving alone, he didn't trust anyone else to come to his aid if there was trouble? Probably.
Because he didn't want any of his new friends' deaths on his conscience if things went south? Definitely.
Oh, that doesn't bode well for succeeding on this team, does it? What would Nick say or do if he knew you were going off half-cocked with a bad feeling and no backup? Maybe he knows already.
Well, if Nick with his PreCog abilities did know, he hadn't tried to stop Kalen from leaving or suggest anyone else accompany him. That would have to be good enough to soothe his inner doubt. Besides, he'd handled trouble alone since he was a kid. He wasn't used to relying on others, on trusting anyone to have his back. For a loner, learning to be part of a team wasn't easy
Damn, he wasn't used to worrying about other people or what they thought. And it sucked.
That didn't stop him from making tracks into town as fast as he dared. He didn't want to get pulled over-he'd had a run-in with the sheriff when he first arrived in the area and didn't care for a heartfelt reunion. The cops hadn't helped him long ago when he'd needed them, and nothing had changed.
Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled up in the parking lot of the Crosseyed Grizzly, the local hangout that was just about as classy as it sounded. Fine by him; he didn't do fancy. The people were nice and down to earth-mostly-and the drinks were cheap.
Best of all, Mackenzie was here. Mac to her friends, and he absolutely hated that nickname. Mac sounded like a truck driver with a belt buckle overlap. But Mackenzie was beautiful, kind, and funny. As great as the team had been to him so far, she was one of the first people besides Nick to actually approach and welcome him to the fold, to treat him like a person who mattered. And her smile . . . God, that wide smile and the way her blue eyes lit up as she spoke to him had been like a kick to the balls.
Anxious, he searched for a parking spot and finally found one toward the back, close to the edge of the woods. It was dark back here and he didn't like it. He liked it even less when he saw that Mackenzie's car was only a couple of spaces away. The thought of her walking back here in the dark with no protection set his teeth on edge. Well, he was here now and he'd make sure she got back to the compound safely.
And soon. A chill slithered through his body, and a sense of urgency quickened his steps. Something nasty was on the prowl, and it would be best not to linger.
Pushing inside, he steeled himself against the twangy country music-what the f**k else would they play in a place named after a drunk bear?-and scanned the room for the doc. He didn't have to search for long. She was at the long bar between two other women, carrying on an animated conversation. He stood still for a moment, just drinking her in.
She was of medium height, though it was hard to tell with her sitting. Her build was lithe, arms and thighs toned as though she worked out in the compound's gym, but not enough to get too much muscle. He made a mental note to try to catch her in action, sweating away.
That particular thought made his dick perk up with interest. He'd like to make her sweat during a hard workout, all right. And not in the gym.
An astounding thought for a man who usually went out of his way to avoid sex, or any form of intimacy whatsoever.
Automatically, his gaze went to where her tight, jeans-encased ass was perched on the barstool, looking like a firm apple he'd love to take a bite of. His scan moved upward to her narrow waist and on to the fitted red tank top with the spaghetti straps that hugged her br**sts nicely. Curly dark brown hair fell in waves to her shoulders and framed the loveliest face he'd ever seen. Her profile was an amazing mix of delicacy and strength. Her cheek bones were fine, eyes large and framed by long lashes, her smile easy on a mouth that some might think too big. Too friendly.
But he'd seen how she was strong when she needed to be, especially when it involved a patient. She was perfectly capable of standing her ground with the men of the Pack, and did so frequently. He'd heard that her father, General Jarrod Grant, was Nick's contact in the military, and he figured she came by the "tough gene" honest.