Rogue WolfBy: Heather Long
At the exit for Bristol, Margo Montgomery followed the nava-bitch’s instructions to bear right then continue to bear right. GPS made life as an Enforcer a little simpler, but it didn’t stop her from wishing she could rip nava-bitch’s throat out. Even a moron couldn’t miss the exit since the sanctimonious little prig repeated the instructions at least three times.
Her phone buzzed with a text message three miles out from her destination. 911 where r u? After leaving Westchester County and the Hudson River Pack’s Alpha just after dinner, Margo intended to be as far from Brett Dalton’s territory as she could get before she crashed for the night. A decision she’d made before Cynthia’s first message arrived.
Not answering because her time was better spent covering the intervening miles to reach the woman, Margo tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. Dalton had always struck her as a relatively calm Alpha. She’d met him a few times, liked him well enough, but the mad wolf’s rampage through his pack darkened the Alpha. Scarred, he’d been cold, remote, and downright rude for the majority of her most recent visit to gather information on Hudson River’s missing wolves. After the incident, they’d done a full census and then confirmed their numbers.
Four wolves missing and none found among any of the bodies or known dead. Margo gathered photographs, scent evidence and visited their homes. Brett and his Hunters stayed with her every step of the way. Most Alphas resisted using Enforcers for internal matters. Missing wolves gone from their territory, however, was no longer internal. It could affect the other packs.
Her phone rang and Margo checked the caller I.D. Julian. As Prime, he served as a tacit Alpha for the Enforcers. Though none swore allegiance to him, Margo and the other Enforcers relied on Julian as a central repository for information and wisdom. He’d earned his place through experience and longevity.
After tapping the screen to answer, she said, “I’ve only got a minute, but I can call you back if it’s important.”
“It is. Where are you?”
“Outside of Philadelphia.” The GPS demanded she should take a right at the next light. She followed the instructions.
“How soon can you be in Chicago?” Julian didn’t wait for her answer. “I need you to meet Salvatore Esposito at Midway and escort him to Willow Bend.”
“Who the fuck is Salvatore Esposito, and why can’t Mason send one of his own damn wolves to babysit?” The last place she wanted to visit was home. Her parents would insist she stop by to see them and then her kid brothers would want attention. Margo made a point of not going home so she never had to disappoint her mother. It worked for her.
Julian chuckled. “Call me back in an hour and I’ll tell you more.” With those ominous words, he disconnected. Probably just as well, since she’d arrived at Cynthia Hamilton’s house. Parallel parking the black Dodge Charger at the curb, she studied the two-story Victorian. Cynthia’s family always had money; her lifestyle hadn’t changed after she married. It didn’t seem to matter she’d tied her life to a two-bit piece of shit like David Conklin—a man who abused her. Twice before Margo had rescued her, getting her away from the bastard. She always seemed fine, then she would start to miss him.
Worse, she kept going back to him.
The front door to the house opened and Cynthia raced toward her. Wearing yoga pants and a tank top, she looked the most casual Margo had ever seen her—save for the massive black eye and split lip.
“Oh, thank God you’re here!” While the diminutive blonde possessed a flare for the dramatic, she’d been a damn good friend to Margo when Margo had no one. They’d been roommates her first year at boarding school, far away from her pack. Despite her rather shallow exterior, Cynthia proved to have mettle, but she needed protecting—and Margo needed to be needed.