CHAPTER 2

The barkeep clinked some glasses, his gaze taking her in like a crafty old wolf's. He was probably on the younger side of middle age, but due to the beard, he seemed older. The smile still percolated on his lips. Trying to figure her out? Or did he realize what a phony she was? Hunting in the wild was nothing new, but hunting like this…

She twisted the cap off her bottled water and glanced down at her watch again. Only four twenty-five

"Waiting for someone?" Sam asked, one dark brow cocked.

She shook her head. Her hat jiggled, her glasses slipped, and the annoying earrings danced.

Two men appeared in front of one of the dingy tavern windows, and then the door jerked open. Her heart skittered.

"Hey, Sam! Bring us a pitcher of beer," one of them called.

About six feet tall—as tall as her brother—with windswept shoulder-length dark hair and a newly started beard, his amber eyes hinted at cheerfulness and good humor, which rang in his words. Both men wore leather jackets, plaid shirts, denim, cowboy hats, and boots, and they appeared to be twins. Multiple births abound among lupus garous, so no surprise there. They looked like they were in their mid- to late-twenties and walked into the place like they owned the joint. "Jake, Tom." Sam glanced in her direction, alerting

Them to the presence of a stranger.

She stiffened her back and gripped her glass tighter. Tom—his hair the lighter of the two, longer, curling around his broad shoulders, his face smooth as silk— fastened his gaze on her and raised his brows, tipped

He backed up his stetson and grinned.

Self-conscious, her whole body heated, and alarm bells rang. Keep a low profile!

Tom took a deep breath as if he were love-struck. "The place looks a little better tonight, Sam. Done some nice redecorating."

The bearded one furrowed his dark brows. "Didn't you tell her it's a private club, and no matter what, that table is reserved?"

"We're bending the rules today. First come, first served." Sam grinned and winked at Lelandi.

Damn. Was this where Darien normally sat? She thought he'd sit in the center, so everyone could see their leader. That's the way Bruce did it back home.

Now what? Move? To where? If she moved to the table across from Darien's, she feared she'd draw too much attention. Not that she expected anyone to hurt her here, but she had thought she'd be able to keep a low profile. The tables situated on the other side of the bar sat in front of the restrooms. Anywhere else was too near the front door or in the middle of the floor, and no matter what, she wanted to have her back to the wall. She wasn't leaving until she'd had a chance to observe the leader and as many of his pack members as she could, any one of whom might have murdered Larissa.

Tom grabbed the pitcher of beer and a glass. "Come on, Jake. Change is good for the soul." He stalked over to the table opposite her and sat where he could see both the front door and, most of all, her.

Immersed in a goldfish bowl, she wondered what had made her think she could enter the wolves' lair without arousing suspicion.

Jake sat with his back to the wall to have a better view of the door. If he wanted to look her over, he'd have to turn his head and be pretty obvious about it. He did. The expression on his face was dark and foreboding. Gone was the humor his features held when he first walked into the place.

Laughing and boisterous, three more men barged into the tavern, glanced toward where Jake and Tom sat, then shifted their attention to Lelandi. Which meant what? That Jake and Tom normally sat with Darien at the table where she was now sitting?

Terrific!

"Howdy, boys," the older bearded man of the group said, nodding a greeting. The other two were nearly as old, gray streaking their brown beards, their gazes pinned on her. "Bring us the usual, Sam." He turned to Jake and pointed his head at her. "What does he know about this?"

"You're still giving orders at the factory, Mason," Tom said.

The bearded man grumbled, "Fourth of July's coming for a second time this year."

Figuring she'd be better off sitting next to the restrooms to lessen the chance of creating fireworks, Lelandi grabbed her purse.

The door banged open again. The chatter died.

As soon as she saw him, she knew it was him—not only because silence instantly cloaked the room and every eye in the place watched Darien Silver's reaction. His sable hair curled at the top edge of his collar. Brooding dark eyes, grim lips, and features that were handsomely rugged but definitely hard defined him. Wearing a leather jacket, a western shirt, jeans, and boots, everything was as black as his somber mood. He looked so much like Tom and

Jake, she figured they must be triplets, and he was the leader of the gray lupus garou in the area. Had to be, the way everyone watched him, waiting for the fireworks.

Something about him stirred her blood, something akin to recognition, yet she'd never seen him before in her life. It wasn't his face, or clothes, or body, that stimulated some deep memory—but the way he moved— commanding, powerful, with an effortless grace.

He glanced at the barkeep and gave a nod of greeting—sullen, silent, still in mourning for his mate? If he discovered why Lelandi was here, he'd be pissed. A shiver trickled down her spine. She released her purse and kept her seat for the moment. Everyone was acting so oddly, she imagined that was the reason he quickly surveyed the current seating arrangement. When

His eyes lit on her, and incredulity registered.

Crap! He recognized her; she just knew it. It didn't matter that she had dyed her hair this horrible color that didn't do anything for her fair skin or that her eyes were now blue. It didn't matter that the heavy padded leather jacket gave her broader shoulders and made her appear heavier or that she wore her hair straight as blades of uncut grass, compliments of a hair straightening iron, when her sister's and hers were naturally curly. She couldn't hide the shape of her face, her eyes, or her mouth. All of them mirrored her sister's looks.