“You men and your war terms,” I said with a wave of my hand. “In English, please?”

“We’re just window-shopping. How’s that for women’s terms?”

“Brilliant.”

“How did you get involved in wolf business?” he asked. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Moreland, I’m going to cut right to the chase because I’m not a woman who censors herself. I’m in love with the man we’re looking for.”

“Wheeler? Never met him, but I’ve heard stories about him. The one with the tattoos, right?”

“Yes.” I pushed open my door. “The one with the beautiful tattoos.”

After a fifteen-minute walk through the woods, Moreland slowed his pace. The road was pitch-black without a moon to guide our way. We had kept to the woods, but as we drew closer to the property, I suggested we move onto the road so we wouldn’t announce our presence with snapping twigs and rustling leaves. Not to mention the mosquitoes were having a banquet all over my legs.

We’d all agreed upon a set time to call Austin with an update. Anyone who didn’t call, he’d consider captured, which meant that the rest of the group would abandon their location and rush to their aid.

I’d never known how organized wolf packs were until now. I tried to let my predator instincts take over, but the rational side of my brain kept saying I was just a dancer who didn’t like dirt on her upholstery and should have stayed home. It had never occurred to me I’d one day be traversing through a forest to rescue a wolf.

Suddenly I sneezed with a loud gasp. Before I knew what happened, Moreland’s hand flew over my mouth. I sneezed quietly into his hand a second time—the dirt and pollen from the woods tickling my nose.

“Don’t do that again,” he murmured against my ear. He waited for a few moments and then we continued.

In the distance, voices overlapped and grew louder. I gripped Moreland’s arm when his pace quickened. Pale lights shone through the thicket of trees, and my eyes were wide and alert to our surroundings.

We hurried into the woods and moved far from the road to conceal our approach. A house began to take shape—a large house. The drapes were drawn, and what tremendous windows! They stretched from the first floor to the second on one side of the house, but the inside light created moving silhouettes on the lower level.

“Looks like a party,” he whispered, pointing to our right. A row of cars lined the private road.

A sharp prick touched my neck, and I slapped at the pesky mosquito. Instead, my fingers found something long and strange. Moreland turned to look at me and I lost all sensation in my legs. Was I falling? It seemed like he was going to catch me, but then a silver object appeared and pierced his throat. Something that looked like a dart.

***

Wheeler had spent hours examining the chain attached to the cuff on his wrist. He went through every link, hoping these idiots had reused old equipment that might have been damaged by the prisoner before him, scraping it on the floor or pounding it against a hard surface. He couldn’t find anything. Wheeler’s objective wasn’t just to escape; he wanted to find Delgado and bury him in the ground with a spade as his grave marker. The chain spanned five feet and connected to a metal ring secured in the floor near the wall.