Page 57 of Wolf Desired
Alyssa raced down the stairs and wove her way out of the industrial park to where she’d left the clunker she’d driven to the small town of Greenville. An agency vehicle. A twenty-year-old white Ford Explorer with rust eating away at the door frames and tire wells. She could go back to the training facility for backup, but she doubted Graves or anyone else there would return with her since this was supposed to be an easy exercise to test their abilities. And wasting time could endanger Maddox, Tiernan, and Rafe, assuming they were still alive.
Alyssa let her hair down, removed her jacket, and hid her side holster in the SUV. For added effect, she knotted the bottom of her pink t-shirt to flash a little skin. After loosening the tension on the timing belt under the hood, she drove into the industrial park, got out of the car, and slammed the door.
“Hello. Anyone here?” she called out, both hands cupped to her mouth as she walked down the main street of the industrial park, past the warehouse. “I need some help or a phone to call for a tow.”
Boots crunched in the dirt somewhere behind her, but she walked a few more feet before putting her hands on her hips. “Damn place is completely abandoned,” she mumbled out loud. “But there are phone lines.”
A hand gripped her arm from behind and she jumped intentionally.
“What are you doing here?” asked a young guy wearing jeans and a black t-shirt. Aside from the jeans and hiking boots, he didn’t look like he belonged out here among the tall, majestic trees and the fresh air. He had greasy dark-blond hair pulled back in a low, loose ponytail and tattoos up and down both arms. A garish accumulation of everything from quotes and fish to a naked lady.
“You scared the hell out of me,” she snapped, acting startled and relieved.
“You don’t belong here,” the man groused.
“No argument there. My car had other ideas. It’s been making funny noises for the past ten minutes. I didn’t think I’d make it to the lake, so I followed the signs to the industrial park. I figured there’d be someone here who might know how to fix a car or let me use their phone so I could call for a tow.”
“Why were you heading to the lake this time of year? It’s getting cold up here.”
“It’s not winter, silly. Besides, I’m only hooking up with friends for ah. . .”
“What, sweet cheeks? For some fun?” he pulled her arm to look at the inside of her elbows.
“I don’t use,” she said, pulling her arm away. “Just a joint every now and then. Or maybe a pill or two, to take the edge off. Nothing major.”
The greaseball grinned as he flexed his biceps, making the tattoo of a wolf with barbed wire strangling it jump. “I don’t know much about cars, but I have a phone inside.”
She looked both ways. “Can you call a garage for me?”
“They’ll want your information. Charge card probably if they have to come all the way up here from Greenville.”
“I thought this was Greenville.”
“You’re in Astonia.”
“Damn Larry. I should have known not to rely on him for directions.”
“Come on, sweet cheeks.”
“My name’s Artemis.”
“Isn’t that a guy’s name?’ he asked as he led her through the door of the warehouse. The place was open, nothing hidden. The drug operations was on the left, with plastic bags neatly stacked on tables to the right. But no sign of her team.
“My dad wanted a boy. Most of my friends call me Missy or Melissa.”
“I’ll be your friend,” he said as his hand moved down her back and landed on her ass.
She used the opportunity to turn toward him and surveil the operation. “That depends. I’ve had a stressful week. I was looking to relax with something. But I don’t like needles. They scare me.”
His grin widened. “I got something special in the office. Don’t move.”
“And don’t forget to call a garage for me,” she called after him as she picked up a glass jar with screws in it from the table. “From a landline. There’s no damn reception in these mountains.”
A man with a scruffy beard entered from the back, from behind a wall of product. A door she hadn’t seen. He drew his gun and point it at her. She dropped the jar which shattered over the concrete floor, spilling the screws.
“Who are you?” the man demanded.
“M-Missy.”
