They rose from the couch. Jack called whoever this Delta person was, and Grant grabbed the sheets from his bed. When he returned, she helped him. She couldn’t bring herself to touch her mother’s corpse. Instead, with utmost respect, Jack lifted Karen into his arms and gently laid the bloodied woman onto her makeshift shroud. Together, they wrapped her mom up tight and, as she tucked the final corner underneath her mother’s body, Roxie felt tears well.
“She killed that part of me—the part that could love her, forgive her.” Roxie wiped away the evidence of her grief. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”
“She was your mother,” offered Grant tenderly. “You’re entitled.”
“Delta’s on the way,” said Jack.
Roxie looked around. Blood soaked the carpet and her robe. “C’mon, sweetheart,” said Jack. “Let’s get you into the bath.”
Jack ushered her into his bathroom and ran her a hot bath. Silently, Roxie handed him her bloodstained robe, and then stepped into the jet tub, sinking into the steaming, burbling water.
“You’ll be all right, sweetheart,” reassured Jack.
Roxie offered him a tired smile and closed her eyes.
* * *
“WHO’S DEAD?” ASKED Delta as she sailed into the room followed by several people holding various bags, implements, and electronics.
“The Blood Pack alpha,” said Jack.
“Shit. Did you kill her?”
“Her son did. Crawl.”
Delta’s dark eyebrow winged upward. “Did he kill her in this room?”
“No. She came here and died.”
Delta assessed the body wrapped in hotel room sheets. “That makes things slightly easier. My people will keep the body on ice until you’re ready to retrieve it. We’ll need to clean the room. Who else knows about this?”
“Just her daughter, Roxie.”
“And where’s Roxie?”
“Taking a bath.”
“Ah.” Delta canvased the room. “Any bloody clothing?”
“Only what Karen was wearing,” said Grant.
“And this,” added Jack, holding up the bloodied terrycloth robe.
“Tobias,” called Delta.
A young man strode toward them, snapped open a plastic bag, and held it under the robe. Jack dropped it inside. Tobias sealed the bag and took it out into the hallway.
“We’ll need the room for the next couple of hours. We’ll go over everything with a fine-toothed comb. No one will know what happened here.” Delta’s painted red lips curved into feral smile. “Silence is not cheap, my dears.”
“Whatever it takes,” said Grant. “You know we’re good for it.”
“Of course, I do. Otherwise, I would not be standing here.” Delta whirled and clapped her hands. “I expect perfection in ninety minutes, people. Let’s go!”
* * *
THE GREAT THING about Las Vegas was the availability of everything twenty-four hours a day. Wedding chapels. Hotels. Grocery stores.
After Delta had finished her cleanup and whisked away the body of the Blood Pack alpha, Jack, Grant, and Roxie vacated the room.
Actually, they vacated the Drift Resort and the Las Vegas Strip.
Delta recommended a boutique hotel less than a mile from Fremont Street, which she stated had “security tighter than a nun’s vagina.” The tiny hotel belonged to Virginia Pearson, whose grown sons owned and operated Pearson Security. The well-respected agency run by the three brothers had a stellar reputation for protection services. The Pearsons were also bear shifters, which made them ideal bodyguards.
The downtown area of Las Vegas was like the Strip’s aging sister—cheap pearls, stale candies, and toothless smiles. Desperation clung to the older hotels especially those framed by the Fremont Street Experience, a canopy of sound and noise that gurgled like a group of college cheerleaders on acid.
Virginia made arrangements for a local shifter shaman to meet Jack, Grant, and Roxie in their room.
* * *
“WE’LL DO A PROPER wedding celebration when we get home,” promised Jack. He’d dressed first—a blue striped suit with a silver tie and Italian leather shoes. Handsome didn’t begin to cover it—he had an angular face, full lips, hazel eyes, and rocking body. Jack’s blonde hair brushed his broad shoulders, shining like spun gold.
Then there was Grant with his short, dark hair, GQ looks, and the tight, square body of a boxer. He wore black, eschewing a tie for a white shirt with an unbuttoned collar, and he wore black loafers. Roxie had Delta to thank for the ivory knee-length dress and nude kitten heels. In fact, Delta had provided all the wedding clothing with the same scary efficiency she’d sterilized their hotel room and whisked away a dead werewolf.
Jack, Roxie, and Grant stood in the living room of the luxury suite, all three of them feeling uncomfortable. The ties between Roxie and the alphas, however tenuous, seemed stretched as taunt as wires about to snap.
“What constitutes a proper Earth Pack wedding celebration?” asked Roxie. Her voice shook, and she cleared her throat.
“Three-day party,” said Grant. “The whole community gets together. Food. Singing. Dancing. It’s amazing.”
Roxie offered a slight smile. “I can’t wait.”