Living with the Dead

HOPE





Robyn’s laptop was in her apartment, which was one place she definitely couldn’t go. But Hope was fine with that . . . because Robyn really didn’t need to see how easily they could get past a police stakeout.

She’d already seemed suspicious about how Karl had found her. Good thing her scent trail had been recent enough for him to follow or Karl would have needed to return at night and change into a wolf. And if she’d accidentally seen that it would take some real explaining.

At least she hadn’t questioned the lies about a witness hearing Portia arguing about a photo and a picture.

Now Hope was off on another chaos-promising mission, one she could enjoy guilt-free. She’d planned to stay at the motel while Karl retrieved the laptop, but Robyn had argued that Karl needed backup. Hope suspected she wanted to be alone, so she went with Karl, which would have been her choice anyway.

A break-in was always good for a chaos snack. Karl wouldn’t let her accompany him on a real theft. But one for a legitimate cause was fair game, though this time, there wasn’t any actual breaking in to be done. Robyn had given them the keys.

Night had fallen, making it easy to avoid the two cops in the unmarked car. A quick trip alongside the neighboring building, climb the dividing wall, sprint to the back door and break in. There weren’t any more cops inside. For a professional thief, it didn’t get much easier than that.

Still, the danger had Hope’s pulse racing and the steady strum of low-level chaos kept it going. Any adventure with Karl was worth-while, not only for the chaos vibes he gave off, but for the thrill of getting into trouble together, feeding off one another’s excitement.

They made it into the apartment without incident. There was no sign that the police had searched the place yet.

Karl scouted the apartment, hunting for any sign of a nonofficial search by someone looking for Robyn or that photograph. Hope could see the computer through the kitchen doorway, on the dining table, but instead of just grabbing it she just stood there, looking around.

“Hope?” Karl stuck his head in. “What is it? A vision?”

“Imagine this was my apartment. If I’d been here for months and it looked like this—” She opened cupboards, letting them shut behind her as she circled the room. “What would you think? How long am I in a hotel room before I’m unpacked, drinks and food in the fridge, my stuff all set out . . .”

“Furniture rearranged . . .”

“Robyn’s the same way. Worse. Last time she moved, she took a week off to settle in and decorate—and she hardly ever takes vacation time. But she’s been here three months and has—” Hope opened a cupboard. “—two plates, two bowls and three glasses. The furniture looks like it came with the apartment.”

“Perhaps that only means she doesn’t plan to stay in L.A. That’s good, isn’t it?”

While she would have been disappointed to discover the apartment totally decorated, suggesting a permanent relocation, she would have been happy to see Robyn moving on, making a fresh start. But seeing this, she knew Robyn hadn’t come to L.A. to start over. She was here to hide.

It was hard for Karl to see the significance. Hope had visited his old apartment once. He’d filled the closets and the fridge and nothing more. At least in his condo, he’d seemed gung-ho furnishing it—the two of them scouring Philly and making weekend trips into New York. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Proof he planned to stick around?

“Hope?”

Karl lifted the laptop. She stuffed it into the backpack.

“Now we need to grab her backup keys and emergency cash, then some clothes—”

He cut her short with a raised hand as his gaze flew toward the front hall. He grabbed the half-zipped backpack in one hand, her arm in the other, dragging her into the living room as the front door lock clicked.

“I don’t think I should be doing this,” a heavily accented voice said. “Miz Peltier is a good tenant. A very nice woman.”

“I have a warrant.” A second man’s voice, lower pitched with a drawl.

Karl swung Hope in front of him as he hustled to the patio door. The sliding door was ajar, the curtain pulled across, as if he’d prepped for an escape while scouting earlier.

“I’m just looking for anything that might help me find her. Phone numbers of friends, family. An address book, PDA, laptop . . .”

Karl slid the patio door closed behind them. Hope walked to the far side and looked over the railing.

“Four floors,” she whispered. “That’s not too bad if we—”

“No.” He touched her cheek, so light it sent a shiver through her. “Don’t look so disappointed. If he doesn’t leave in fifteen minutes, we’ll consider a more chaotic solution. In the meantime, just keep quiet.” His hands moved to her hips, mouth lowering to her ear. “It’s still a rather dangerous situation to be in, police just inside the door, more below.”

Hope’s shiver turned to a shudder . . . and not from fear. She pressed against him, her lips moving to the V of his collar, his sweat tangy, as delicious as the chaos vibes circling them.

“None of that,” he growled. “Dangerous situation, remember?”

“Mmmm.”

He shifted, ostensibly nudging her farther from the window, hands tightening around her hips, fingers splaying over her rear. She undid the top button of his shirt and tickled circles with the tip of her tongue.

“Hope . . .”

“You could move away.”

“And leave you exposed?”

“Hmm, there’s a thought.” She arched up to nibble his throat.

He wrapped the hem of her shirt around his fist, as if considering. Then he straightened, his werewolf hearing picking up the voices inside. His thoughts gave nothing away. He’d learned to block them from her. But whatever he was hearing, he didn’t like it, the chaos flowing off him coming in short bursts of worry.

Hope struggled to keep still, but the vibes were so exquisite that she couldn’t help squirming and shivering. A silent laugh vibrated through him and pulled his attention from the patio door. He made the chaos surge, the waves rocking her.

His chin lifted again, gaze returning to the patio door as he tried to listen.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, running her fingertips along his throat. “Someone has a birthday coming up, which, I believe coincides with our one-year anniversary. A special celebration is in order. Perhaps a fantasy fulfilled. A cabin in the woods . . .”

His eyes glinted. He shook it off and glanced at the door. “We really should—”

“You’re right. We should. In fact, I’m making the reservation as soon as we get home. One deep-woods cabin. One very willing girlfriend at your service all weekend, to fulfill your most uncivilized wolf urges—”

The sound of a voice inside stopped her like a bucket of ice water.

“Shit,” she whispered, giving her head a sharp shake as she stepped aside. “Okay, that was stupid. Forget I said anything.”

“Not a chance.” He rubbed her hip before moving back. “We’re going to revisit that one . . . just at a more appropriate time.”

She smiled. “Agreed.”