Page 121 of Her Wolf

Christmas in November

“They’re here,” Kane said, pushing to his feet. He dropped his cigarette to the porch’s wooden floor and ground it out under his feel.

Finn didn’t respond. The man had sank into one of the porch’s two chairs — his a rocking chair — but he’d remained unmoving for the past forty minutes.

Kane was almost out of smokes. He had more in the Jeep, but it felt…wrong…leaving Finn alone on the porch.

Like he’d come back and find the man armed with an ax, chopping up furniture inside the farm.

It was his silence. The complete lack of expression on Finn’s face. Kane had seen a lot in his years on the force, but this? It was like the man had shut down.

A car’s lamps illuminated the two ruts that served as a road leading to the farmhouse. They drove almost right up to the porch; no need for stealth if they knew the place was empty.

Lars had been driving. He slammed the door as he came around the front of the car.

Bailey let out a low, “Lars, wait—” as he climbed out of the car, stretching an imploring hand towards the tall, blond headed guy.

Lars ignored him. He stormed up the stairs and hauled Milo up by the front of his shirt. “So that’s it? We’re just giving up?” he yelled in Milo’s face.

Milo peeled Lars’s fingers off his clothes, and then pushed the man aside with the back of his hand. “You got a better idea?”

“Yeah!” Lars called after him as Milo headed for the SUV. Let’s fucking go find her!”

“How?” Milo pivoted on his heel, head at an angle. His voice was low, dangerous. “Tell me how, Lars.” He stepped closer to Lars. “Because if you know some way to track her? To find out where the fuck Zachary’s taken her? Anything!” Milo took the two steps up the porch and shoved Lars with the flat of his hand. “Then you’d better fucking tell me.”

“Guys, come on!”

Kane looked toward the SUV. Ana, the pretty blond from the party, slid out of the back of the car.

Bailey, meanwhile, had gone around the back and looked to be wrestling with something.

No, someone.

“Who’s that?” Kane called, lighting himself a fresh cigarette as he trotted down the stairs and headed for the SUV.

“This fucker?” Bailey said, hauling a slim Mexican out of the SUV by his hair. “This is supposed to be Cora’s partner.”

Kane stopped in his tracks. The hand holding his cigarette fell limply to his side.

ECV’s second capo.

Hoofuckingrah; Christmas in November.

He drew deep on his cigarette, stepping aside as Bailey dragged the Mexican up the porch steps. He was handsome, clean cut — not even a tattoo in sight.

Maybe that was the DEA’s problem these days. They assumed cartel leaders were all criminals who’d slowly worked their way up the hierarchy, accumulating scars, criminal records, and tattoos as the years passed.

But Eleodora Rivera was nothing but a girl; she could have easily posed as a socialite and no one would have been the wiser. This guy? Despite his slightly creased clothes, he wouldn’t have raised a single eyebrow at any gala or fundraiser.

“You!” came Milo’s bellow as soon as the man spotted the Mexican. He lunged forward, pushing past Lars when the man tried to keep him back, and threw a punch that knocked the Mexican right from Bailey’s grip.

Dust swirled in the SUV’s headlamps as Neo tried to push himself to his feet. His hands and feet had been bound, so he hadn’t made any progress by the time Milo reached him again.

A boot landed squarely in the Neo’s stomach. He rolled over twice before coming to a groaning stop by the second headlamp.

His clothes were dusty now, his face contorted in agony. He lifted bounds hands, but Milo didn’t seem to give a shit. He hauled the man up by the front of his shirt and struck him so hard that his head snapped to the side.

“Milo! You’re going to kill him!” Lars yelled as he hurried down the porch.

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