Lizzie wasn’t sure if contacting Kenna was a great plan, but that was the best she had with five seconds of prep time. Mysterious men drinking tea on her porch hadn’t been covered in her short self-defense class. Or maybe not inviting the prospective thief/murderer/kidnapper to converse and drink tea had been a part of the first fifteen minutes she’d missed. Oops.

John seemed unconcerned. “Okay. I recommend against discussing the book with the police.”

She mentally rolled her eyes. She liked her unmedicated, psych-ward free existence. But no need for him to know it was a bluff, so she tried to keep a straight face.

“So—why are you here?” she said.

“I’ve already told you—the book. I know you have it, and I want to know why you haven’t contacted us.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. Lizzie guessed it was involuntary and probably meant he wasn’t particularly pleased with her. He could go jump in a lake. She didn’t even know who he was.

Although, still big and broad, John appeared less intimidating seated. Equally hot, but less…large and manly. It didn’t hurt that she’d taken the broad, nicely-cushioned swing, leaving him with a delicate wicker chair. She had to remind herself that John’s handsome profile was a charming lie, a façade hiding a rude bully. Only a bully would wedge his foot in the front door like this guy had.

She answered his question with a tight voice. “Not possible, since I don’t know who you are.” It’s not like the thing had come with a return address. What an ass.

When John failed to respond immediately, Lizzie kept talking, her usual good temper fading the longer she interacted with him. “Tell me why you’re here, and what you want. Be specific. Or I skip my friend and call the police directly. Remember, you’re the one who tried to shove his way into my house.”

“And I could stop you before you even reach the phone.”

She narrowed her eyes, giving him a hard look. Condescend much? What a total ass. And she was definitely right—a bully.

While the front of Lizzie’s brain steamed and pointed an accusing finger at John, the Bully, the back of her brain wondered why she was wearing a T-shirt, her fifth best bra, no makeup, and wanted to run a hand over John, the Hot Guy’s, bicep.

***

John had clearly made an error. In his search for, and eventual discovery of the book and Elizabeth Smith, he had failed to uncover an important piece of information. As Alpha of the largest North American pack, he wasn’t accustomed to making mistakes, much less admitting to them—but he did his damnedest to be honest with himself. Elizabeth, Lizzie, had no idea what the book was or what information it contained. Had she attempted to read it, and if she had—had she failed?