Page 9 of Burning Secrets

“Send me the pin and I’ll take a look,” JoJo said, stepping up behind her.

Peyton turned, her mouth a grim line. “She’s without her alpha mate. That’s going to be a problem. The pups are probablythree months old, which means they still need her protection, and they might even be nursing, although they’re probably eating solid food too. They might even be leaving the pack.”

Jojo nodded. “And without the alpha there, they could be in trouble from an outsider who might want to come in and take over. He could kill the cubs, try and get Cleo to go into heat earlier to sire his own offspring.”

Crew had walked to the board, studying it. Now he glanced at her, an eyebrow up.

“The pack has a pretty strong beta named Caesar. He might jump in as alpha,” Peyton said. She turned back to her computer. Made a noise.

“What?” JoJo asked.

“Caesar and the others in the pack seem to have separated themselves from Cleo and the pups. They could just be hunting, but they’ve moved downstream, toward the main river.”

She turned back to JoJo. “I’ll keep an eye on the pack and Cleo and let you know what we find out from the autopsy.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll get Hank to help me retrieve the carcass and bring it over to the vet.”

JoJo looked at Crew. He stood, his hands in the pockets of his grimy jacket, dark hair curling out of the back of a gimme cap, unshaven, looking at her through thick eyelashes, and she had the sense that there was more, much more, to this man than just a guy who’d saved her life. So, “Can I buy you a pizza?”

“Depends on the kind of pizza.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “Pepperoni?”

“Add some onions and green peppers and I’m all yours.”

“Wow, you’re easy.”

“I’m hungry.” But he winked again and headed for the door.

And suddenly, she was too. Maybe not for pizza.

They walked across the street to Northstar Pizza, all lit up with outdoor lights around a patio deck with picnic tables and music from a guy seated on a stool, strumming a guitar. They sat at a yellow-painted table, and she looked at the standup menu. “Today’s special is Hawaiian.”

“I’d rather be dragged behind stampeding caribou.”

She looked up at him.

He shrugged. “Just sayin’ that pizza shouldn’t come with fruit.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

He grinned then and shed his jacket. Underneath, he wore a brown thermal shirt, formfitting over his shoulders, his chest.

She put him about her age, maybe, youth in his face despite whatever years he wore in his eyes.

“So how do you know so much about wolves? Are you a biologist or something?” he asked.

“Hoping to be. Working on my master’s thesis on the mating and long-term monogamy of wolves.”

A waitress came over. Blonde, maybe early college age. “Hey. I’m Parker. Have you decided?”

“Large deep-dish pepperoni, onions, green peppers. A pitcher of lemonade. And it’s on me,” Crew said.

JoJo stared at him. “That wasn’t—” She looked at Parker. “It’s on me.”

“I’ll let you two wrestle that out.” She walked away, and JoJo gave Crew a look.

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