Книга - Alaskan Wolf

Alaskan Wolf
Linda O. Johnston


The shimmering winter landscape hides the darkest passions When Mariah travels to the remote Alaska glacier region, she’s seduced by the stark beauty of the landscape – and the powerful appeal of her rugged new guide, Patrick Worley. For Patrick, the beautiful nature writer is an unwelcome distraction.His job at the Great Glacier Ranch is only a cover for his classified work with Alpha Force. He is on a mission to uncover the truth behind a series of deadly explosions, and her presence hinders his ability to shape-shift and to hunt – as only a werewolf can. Even if he, too, feels an animal lust hot enough to melt the Alaskan ice, he knows their desire cannot be satisfied. But can it truly be denied?










“You tell me. What don’t you want me to know? And I’m not going to give up until you tell me what—”

Suddenly, he grabbed her, pulled her tightly against him, and shut her up—by lowering his mouth firmly onto hers.

She resisted only for an instant, then threw herself into the kiss. Was this what she’d wanted all along?

One of his hands held her so firmly against him that she felt his hardness, pushed herself even closer. His other hand stroked first her back, her buttocks. She moaned as it moved forward to cup one breast, tease her nipple …

“You want to know my secrets?” he rasped against her mouth. “Then come upstairs with me, Mariah.”

What could she do but comply?


Dear Reader,

Alaskan Wolf is the second full-length novel about Alpha Force—a highly covert military unit comprised of shapeshifters. It features Lt Patrick Worley, who is a sexy medical doctor, an Alpha Force member, and—of course!—a shapeshifter. Patrick is entrusted with a special mission to Alaska. That’s where he meets magazine writer Mariah Garver.

It was great fun writing about the tension between a strong military type with amazing and inviolable secrets—like shifting into a wolf—and a curious writer who asks lots of questions and stops at nothing to learn about her specialty, wildlife. Conflict? You bet! Not to mention a romance that keeps them simmering.

I hope you enjoy it! Please come visit me at my website: www.LindaOJohnston.com and at my blog: http://KillerHobbies.blogspot.com.

Linda O. Johnston




About the Author


LINDA O. JOHNSTON loves to write. More than one genre at a time? That’s part of the fun. While honing her fiction, she started working in advertising and public relations, then became a lawyer … and still enjoys writing contracts. Linda’s first published fiction appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and won the Robert L. Fish Memorial Award for “Best First Mystery Short Story of the Year.” It was the beginning of her versatile fiction-writing career, starting with more short stories and novellas, as well as time-travel romance and romantic suspense novels. Linda now spends most of her time creating memorable tales of paranormal romance and mystery.

As an animal aficionado, Linda enjoys writing stories in which pets and other creatures play important roles. including shapeshifters. Linda lives in the Hollywood Hills with her husband and two cavalier King Charles spaniels. Visit her at her website: www.LindaOJohnston.com.




Alaskan Wolf

Linda O. Johnston

















www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To Alaska, where I’ve enjoyed some delightful journeys, including some of the best cruises ever. And to Fred, who’s always there with me.




Prologue


“Destruction of the Northern Hemisphere?” Lt. Patrick Worley didn’t even try to keep the disbelief from his voice. “Maybe the world?”

“Okay, could be an exaggeration,” responded his superior, Major Drew Connell. His gold-colored eyes that looked so much like those of his wolf side, even when he was in human form, stared sternly at Patrick. “But it might be a real threat. One that could at least destroy parts of Alaska if it isn’t stopped.”

They were in Drew’s office at Ft. Lukman on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. It was small, but he had furnished it well with government-issue gear. Patrick just wished the chairs were more comfortable. Or maybe his discomfort today was more a result of the mission he was just offered.

One he probably couldn’t refuse, even if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. But he needed a better understanding of what was expected of him. “You’re sure this isn’t just straight global warming?” he asked. “Assuming you believe in it.”

“Oh, I believe in it,” Drew said. “Maybe some of this is part of a natural global cycle, maybe not. But in any case, the current annihilation of one good-sized glacier park the way it’s been happening … We don’t know where it could lead. There’s no underground volcano, like in Iceland. If it’s the result of some kind of terrorist plot, we need to know it.” Drew leaned back in his seat, but his shoulders remained rigid under his standard camouflage uniform that matched Patrick’s, except for the symbols of rank.

“So Alpha Force has been chosen to figure it out. Why? And why send me?” The way Patrick heard it, he was going to be pretty much on his own in Alaska, except that his aide, Sgt. Shaun Bethune, would have his back.

“Some scientists are already up there, studying and doing whatever scientists do,” Drew said. “We need to know what they know, and more. To accomplish our mission, we need someone good. Smart. Someone who’s been part of Alpha Force since its inception, and knows how to utilize his assets—all of them, including our brand of brew.”

Patrick laughed. “Love that stuff.”

“We all do,” Drew agreed drily. He was the one who’d first concocted the elixir that was so important to this highly covert special ops unit. Patrick, also a medical doctor, had helped to refine it.

“In other words, a super shapeshifter who knows his stuff.”

“You got it.” Drew smiled for the first time. “And why Alpha Force? Because word is quietly getting out, in the right circles, that despite being relatively new, we’re damn good. We can undertake assignments no other military unit could possibly hope to succeed at—not the way we do it, as fast or as well. We can approach them from more angles than anyone. So … you willing?”

“Sure am,” Patrick said with no hesitation.

“Okay, then. Number one priority is to find out why those glaciers are coming apart so devastatingly and so fast. But while you’re at it, you’ve got to maintain the secrecy of Alpha Force, and who and what we are, at all costs. Mingle with people, maintain your cover—and we’ve got a great one for you. Above all, study the glaciers, using everything you’ve got. Study everyone you meet, too—learn what they know, but without letting them get to know you and your mission. And report in to me often. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Patrick said, giving his superior officer a mocking, yet genuine, salute.

His grin quickly faded as he turned to leave. Drew had made his point. This mission was serious.

The future of Alaska—and maybe even Alpha Force—could be riding on his success.




Chapter 1


Trying not to let her frozen breath get in her way, Mariah Garver smiled as she watched the playful huskies on the screen of her digital camera and pushed the button over and over to capture their pictures. The dogs’ barks and growls filled the icy early morning air.

She panned around, from the fenced area beside her toward the house at the end of the driveway on which she stood—and stopped fast as male legs clad in jeans and boots appeared on her screen.

Lowering the camera, she looked up into the scowling face of one of the most attractive men she had ever seen—and there were plenty of great-looking men in Alaska. Sharp, handsome features were etched into a long face with a charmingly cleft chin. There was a decided sensuality to him that made her insides grow incongruously warm. But with the way he was frowning, his light brown eyes looked almost feral. In fact, she had a sense of something wild and untamed about this man.

Her sudden unease was exacerbated when he demanded harshly, “What do you want?”

“A dogsled ride.” She hated how hesitant she sounded. That wasn’t like her at all.

She turned off her camera and slipped it into the tote bag that she had remembered to take out of her four-wheel-drive SUV after parking at the street edge of the driveway. Squaring her shoulders beneath her all-weather vest, she strode toward the man, hearing her boots crunch over the icy surface of the driveway. Why hadn’t she heard him arrive? Probably because she’d been concentrating on her photography and the noisy dogs.

She’d shot a lot of pictures of the dozens of gorgeous silvery, black-and-brown huskies cavorting playfully in the snow behind the wooden fence. They weren’t wild animals. In fact, she assumed they were well domesticated, perfectly trained. But they would make a fantastic contrast with the rest of the creatures she intended to photograph around here.

“I’m Mariah Garver,” she said. “I’m here to do an article on local wildlife for Alaskan Nature Magazine, and I want to hire a dogsled team and musher to take me onto the ice at Great Glaciers National Park tomorrow. And you are …?”

“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll get Toby Dawes. He’s the owner of Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch. I only work here.”

The man turned his back and strode toward the large chalet-style home behind him, at the top of the driveway.

Not exactly the way to encourage tourists and dogsledding customers, Mariah thought.

But she was nevertheless intrigued by him. He was definitely photogenic. And he somehow seemed as wild as the animals she would feature in her article.

He’d said he worked here. Maybe she could hire him to take her onto the glaciers.

The house smelled of the pungency of last night’s pizza as well as the freshness of today’s dog food as Patrick Worley strode inside to get his supposed boss, Toby. Patrick was steaming. Not because of the warmer temperature in the residence, and not at the woman who’d suddenly shown up on the driveway. Well, not entirely at her.

He was mostly mad at himself for overreacting, and for showing his irritation. But having someone arrive unannounced, taking pictures—for a magazine article, yet—while he was on this top-secret assignment for Alpha Force … well, it had angered him.

Justifiably, sure. He definitely didn’t want anyone whose job involved curiosity—and photography—looking over his shoulder while he was going about the ordinary business of the job that was his cover.

Even someone—especially someone—as gorgeous and hot as that black-haired, curvaceous beauty, Mariah Garver. Her scent was spicy beneath her heavy clothing. Appealing, sure. But no one he needed to be near.

“Hey, Toby,” Patrick yelled from the doorway. “There’s a possible customer outside. She wants to talk to you.”

Hearing a soft mutter from the direction of the kitchen, he headed there. Toby was at the sink, pouring warm, filtered water into a bucket of the high-calorie working-dog chow he bought by huge bagfuls for his energetic huskies. “Tell whoever it is to wait a minute,” he said as Patrick walked in.

Toby Dawes was in his sixties, clearly fit and obstinately muscular. When he wasn’t working his sled dogs, he was working himself.

“No need. She won’t leave till she talks to you.” The sexy woman writer had struck Patrick immediately as being determined. Persistent. Most likely too curious for her own good—and his. “A magazine writer,” Patrick continued scornfully. “Taking pictures for a nature article she’s writing.”

That got Toby’s attention. “Interesting. We could get a lot of publicity from that.” He hefted the obviously heavy bucket and headed outside.

“Want me to carry that, boss?” Patrick asked.

He received a scornful glare. “I’ll carry it, but you come feed our teams while I talk to the lady.”

Patrick opened his mouth to object, then shut it again. He was here undercover, after all. Toby had no idea who and what he was. He had hired Patrick as a favor to a friend of his son Wes’s. Wes was former Special Ops and still had a lot of military contacts, but not even he knew the truth about Patrick or his assignment. Or about Alpha Force.

Toby put the bucket down on the counter just long enough to grab his gray parka from a hook on the wall and shrug it on. Then he motioned to Patrick to follow.

The woman—Mariah—was still taking pictures. She even aimed the camera in their direction as they approached down the driveway. Patrick resisted the urge to turn in the other direction.

There were worse things than having his picture taken at this moment.

She smiled as they got closer. “Mr. Dawes? I’m really glad to meet you.” She gave the same introduction as she had with Patrick.

“An article for Alaskan Nature? That’s one of my favorite ‘zines.” Toby’s grin lit his grizzled face as he put down the bucket he’d carried as easily as if it was filled with popcorn. “Patrick said you want to schedule a dogsled ride on the glaciers.”

“That’s right, tomorrow.”

“Damn. I’ve got a meeting in Nome I can’t miss, about the Iditarod. Catching a plane first thing in the morning, and won’t be back till after dark.” Which came earlier every day as the Alaskan winter approached.

Toby turned toward Patrick, who suddenly knew what was coming.

“How about Wes taking her?” Patrick asked. But he knew the answer. Wes was already scheduled to take a group of tourists out that day.

“Can’t. But you can. Great sledding skills,” he said, turning toward Mariah. “And practically a native.”

If someone who’d only been here a couple of weeks could be a native, Patrick thought scornfully. He’d been trained, sure. But Toby and Wes were the best mushers around, and he’d only taken a team out on his own once.

Yet his cover required that he go along with his employer, who obviously wanted Mariah Garver’s business. So, all he said was “Thanks, boss,” keeping any sarcasm out of his tone.

“Looks like you hired yourself a musher,” Toby said to Mariah, “long as you can meet the terms.” He spouted off the cost per hour and for the extras she could choose.

Mariah didn’t bat even one of those long, sexy eyelashes before saying, “That works for me.” And then she aimed a gaze at Patrick that made him stand up straighter. “If Patrick is okay with it.”

“Patrick is fine with it,” he growled, knowing that, despite any good sense he had, he meant it.

It would mean another visit to the glaciers. That was part of what he was here for. But he would not be in the form most likely to teach him anything.

And the wariness he would have to maintain, there on the ice with this woman, would intrude on the keen observation he was capable of, even without shifting.

But, hell. He wasn’t about to wait till then to visit the glaciers anyway … alone.

She had gotten her wish, Mariah thought as she drove the short distance toward the small town that was Tagoga. That hot guy—Patrick—was going to take her on her dogsled tour of the nearby glaciers.

Be careful what you wish for. The old saying flashed through her mind. Would it be a mistake to have Patrick as her tour guide? Patrick Worley—she had asked and been told his last name. She wasn’t certain why she was so concerned. Maybe because Patrick appeared less than thrilled with the assignment.

Well, she still had till tomorrow morning to change her mind.

But knew she wouldn’t.

Right now, it was time to return to her room at the bed-and-breakfast to get ready for the research outing scheduled for that afternoon—a boat ride into Tagoga Bay to observe and photograph Great Glaciers National Park from the water.

She smiled as she pulled into the parking lot behind her B and B.

She wouldn’t worry, for now, about her upcoming dogsled tour. At the moment, she was definitely looking forward to what she would experience later today.

Twilight on Kaley Glacier.

He had visited Great Glaciers National Park half a dozen times since coming to Alaska. So far, he had seen, heard, smelled nothing beyond the ordinary. The cold had a tight, biting scent. The few birds that flew quickly by overhead smelled comfortably warmer. The brine of the waters below was tangy, hinting of fish.

The frigid cold clutching the bareness of the toughened skin of his feet was almost unbearable. At least his thick pelt of fur kept the rest of him warm.

It was early nightfall, nearly, but not quite, dark. He would remain here, opening his senses further, waiting for anything to happen this evening. Another step in the decimation of Great Glaciers National Park?

Mounds of snow and crags of ice on this glacier provided little cover from the

whistling wind. He continued to patrol, watching, waiting.

And then—he inhaled deeply. The distant scent was suddenly hot. Fiery … here? Almost metallic, yet underlain with the ozone of melting ice.

The sound was odd, like the shrill, pulsing cries of orcas. Yet he scented no killer whales in the water below. Were some there nevertheless, trumpeting fear because they, too, smelled that odor? Knew what it meant? A sharp, abrupt explosive noise. And then—What was the low rumbling beneath the orcas’ calls? It grew louder. Sharp. Angry. A huge roar that made the ice tremble beneath his feet.

No! The surface wasn’t merely trembling. It was separating. The glacier was calving, right where he stood.

He pivoted, ran inland on all fours. Heard the cracking behind him. Felt the vibration of the surface below his paws. Would he be tossed into the frigid waters by separating ice?

An enormous splash resounded behind him. The movement lessened. He turned … and watched.

Most of the ice that was once behind him was gone. Warily, he approached the new craggy edge. He saw the separated mass slide beneath the gray-blue surface of the bay below, no longer part of the glacier but an ice floe.

He waited in wonder. This was what he was here to investigate, but he had no answers. If something beyond nature caused this, he still had no clue. Except, perhaps, what he had heard and smelled. But what did that mean?

He heard an engine. He looked into the sea beneath the reddening twilight sky and saw a boat approach. The new ice floe was invisible beneath the water, and would harm anything in its path as it surfaced. But though the boat was pitching, it did not appear to be in danger. Not that he could help them. He saw the new iceberg leap from the water, then settle back in the roiling bay.

Then he turned and paced the newly formed

edge of the glacier, a lone wolf prowling the ice.

And watching that boat.

In the orange glow reflected from the gleaming sunset, Mariah stared at the remainder of the glacier as the huge new iceberg erupted from the water and sank again. Quickly, she darted her eyes to her camera screen and back to the incredible sight.

With her other hand, she clutched the rail at the edge of the fishing boat’s deck. Never mind that the hood on her navy Windbreaker had blown off and left her hair flying in the rush of air caused by the boat’s heaving, her ears suddenly freezing. She had to watch. Record it all in movie mode. And keep from plunging overboard.

She’d thought, when she’d hired this fishing boat and its captain, that the craft was substantial enough to do well in all but the worst weather.

But the weather was fine. It was the water that heaved, tossing the boat as perilously as if it was a toy in a wading pool being slapped by a gleeful child.

No matter. Despite her shivering from uneasiness and cold, she had to record every moment. She’d be able to cull some still pictures when she was done, and upload them onto her computer. Use them for the article she was researching.

The ice floe settled into the water, calm now, as if it hadn’t just torn away from the mass above. Then, a few dead fish floated to the surface near the ice. Poor things, Mariah thought.

A short distance away, Mariah saw a pair of sea otters floating on top of the water, not in the path of the ice floe, fortunately. They didn’t appear particularly impressed by the calving as they swam slowly in circles. Mariah snapped some pictures for her article. The poor creatures appeared sluggish. Were they in shock? At least they were alive.

Mariah looked back at the jagged glacier surface—and thought she saw a movement at the top. An animal? Unlikely, but she aimed her camera in that direction.

Using the strongest telephoto setting, she saw clearly in the camera screen that it was a wolf, its deep gray coat silhouetted against the whiteness of the glacial surface. It was pacing uneasily. Majestic. Gorgeous. She filmed it despite knowing that the creature was too far away to obtain a really good photo. Was it looking at the boat? Her?

What an odd impression!

Maybe she would see the wolf again, closer, when she took her dogsled ride onto the glaciers with Patrick Worley.

Patrick. His face suddenly filled her mind, as if he were somewhere around here.

She almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous turns her imagination had taken.

“Getting what you need?” Nathan Kugan’s voice startled her.

The captain had come from the bridge of his boat to join her on deck. Half a foot taller than her five-two, he was a local, of Aleutian descent, and the crispness of the fall air whipping across the deck apparently didn’t bother him. He wore only a light sweater over his jeans and boots.

“I think so,” Mariah said, glad for the interruption to her absurd thoughts. She lowered her camera at his approach. “I’m recording what’s happening, at least. Now I need to look more into what’s causing it.”

“Did you get the whales?”

She frowned. “I haven’t seen any whales. The only living sea animals I glimpsed were those otters.” She pointed.

His turn to frown, deepening the creases in his weathered face. Mariah had guessed him to be mid-fifties, but he looked ageless and could have been a lot older. “I had my acoustical equipment turned on—sonar, and the microphones I use to listen for fish. Before the noise from the glacier calving, I heard what sounded like orca calls. You didn’t see any?”

Odd term, calving. She knew it, of course, since she had lived in Alaska for three years now, but she would have to explain it in her article for nonlocal readers. It described the tearing away of huge chunks of ice from the edges of glaciers nearest the water. As if the ice fields were happily producing bouncing, enormous babies which, if large enough, were icebergs.

“No. I wish I had.” She took her camera and panned the bay, still using her telephoto setting in case something appeared in the distance. The sun had slid beneath the horizon, and the remaining light of day was following in its wake. Even in the growing darkness, the black-and-white irregular stripes found on killer whales would still be visible, giving away their location.

But she saw no orcas anywhere. Nathan squinted and looked at the darkening water. “Strange. They sounded close. Should be surfacing by now to breathe.”

“Maybe they were heading out the mouth of the bay,” Mariah suggested.

“Could be. They’re smart animals. They might have sensed the calving would occur and warned one another to leave.”

Mariah knew enough about orcas, members of the dolphin family, to accept their intelligence. What Nathan suggested was within the realm of possibility.

“You saw the glacier calving, didn’t you?” she asked. The water was settling down, and Mariah let go of the ship’s rail, though she still leaned against it for balance.

“Yes. It’s maybe the eighth major calving I’ve seen in Tagoga Bay this week. Too many.”

“I’m surprised none of the scientists visiting the town are here now.”

Government, university and even private studies were being conducted in this area, in an attempt to determine the cause of the growing destruction of these glaciers. Was global warming acting this fast in Alaska?

That wasn’t Mariah’s focus, of course. The area’s nature, including its wildlife, was what she would write about. Like the sluggish otters. And that solitary wolf, obviously upset by the glacier’s tearing. But if she learned something else of interest, she would include it, too.

She thought again, incongruously, of Patrick Worley. What might he have thought about this particular glacier’s calving? And why had she gotten that absurd sense of his presence?

“Thing is,” Nathan said, staring off toward the glacier field, “there’s always calving. Small pieces, sometimes larger ones, every day. Cruise ships even entertain their passengers on occasion by blowing their whistles and getting ice to break off. But I’ve never seen anything on this scale before.”

“Any idea why?” Mariah asked.

He shook his head. “Nope. It’s sad, though. You ready to go back to town?”

“Yes, thanks.” She had plans for the evening. She’d scheduled an interview that night with some of the visiting scientists conducting research.

Time to focus even more on her article. And get good-looking dogsled mushers out of her mind until it was time for her ride.




Chapter 2


Fiske’s Hangout was an amazing place. Mariah had thought so when she had first come in here the previous afternoon. This evening, it still made one heck of an impression. It also had a convenience store and post office attached—truly an all-purpose place to serve this small town.

She stood in the crowded bar/restaurant doorway now, hearing the roar of voices, looking for people she recognized—like anyone she had seen at the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.

Finding no one she had met there, she felt a small pang of disappointment, which was ludicrous. Her sled dog ride would take place tomorrow. She could get her fix of seeing Patrick Worley then.

She nearly laughed at herself—especially after that silly notion of his presence somewhere nearby while she was on the boat, watching the glacier, the otters and the wolf.

She stepped farther in. It was time for her meeting with Dr. Emil Charteris, a noted glaciologist who had studied the melting of the ice in Antarctica and Greenland, and who now had a federal grant to study the glacial changes here. With him was his research team: his son-in-law, Jeremy Thaxton, a zoologist, and his daughter, Carrie Thaxton, a computer expert. Mariah was curious to hear Dr. Charteris’s ideas of why the glaciers in this area were falling apart so quickly, but she particularly wanted to focus on Jeremy Thaxton’s perspective of the possible climate change’s effect on local wildlife.

Fiske’s Hangout was the best location to meet anyone in this town. Mariah especially liked the charming wooden bar in its middle—a tall, hand-carved box, with winged maidens resembling figureheads at its corners. Gargoyles and pixies peered from center shelves holding bottles and glasses. Supposedly, the bar’s first owner got bored during his first dark, cold Alaskan winter and spent otherwise idle hours carving this masterpiece. True or not, the place was incredible.

As she continued scanning the crowd, she recognized the people she sought from their online photos. Unlike most Hangout patrons, Dr. Charteris and his family members did not mill around the bar. Instead, they sat at one of the white spruce tables scattered haphazardly along the rest of the wood floor that was all but obscured by peanut shells. Mariah crunched her way toward them.

“Hello, Dr. Charteris.” She extended her hand. “I’m Mariah Garver.”

“Ah, yes. The nature writer.” His rising apparently signaled his daughter and son-in-law, who also stood. Emil Charteris was over six feet tall, and there was a well-worn cragginess to his long face. His deep brown hair was silvered at the temples. “Please join us,” he said, “and tell us more about the article you’re researching. I’m not sure we can add much exciting information, but we’ll certainly try.”

“I’d appreciate it.” Mariah smiled.

Carrie and Jeremy also introduced themselves as they resumed their seats. Carrie, known as a computer whiz and statistician, was willowy and tall, like her dad—attractive, and maybe a few years older than Mariah’s age of thirty-one. Her snug red sweater hugged her slight bustline, making Mariah aware of her own, more substantial curviness.

Jeremy was about his wife’s height, and he wore glasses. His forehead puckered in what appeared to be perpetual concern. Mariah particularly focused on him, since he would have the most information pertinent to her article.

Almost immediately, a short, stocky woman wearing a heavy, patterned sweater and buck-toothed grin stood beside them, a pad and pen poised in her hands. “Okay, I know the professor, Carrie and Jeremy,” she said. “And you are …?” She looked expectantly at Mariah, who gave her name. “Case you can’t guess,” the woman said, “I’m Thea Fiske. Fiske’s Hangout is mine. You’re welcome as long as you eat, drink and cause no trouble.” She winked beneath the crown of silvery braids that wrapped her head. “Got it?”

“Uh-oh.” Mariah pretended concern. “Okay, I’ll have a mug of hot, spiked cider and … what would you recommend to eat?”

The choices unsurprisingly turned out to be mostly Alaskan style—primarily salmon and other seafood, and even moose steak. Mariah, who had fallen hard for Alaskan fare when she moved to Juneau a few years earlier, opted for the salmon, as did most of the others.

As soon as Thea left, Mariah explained that her article would be about local wildlife, especially on and around the glaciers, focusing on whether changes to the ice fields affected the animals. Then she started asking questions. “How long have you been in Tagoga?” She looked expectantly at Emil, to her right.

The bar/restaurant’s acoustics were surprisingly good. Despite the low roar of conversations from the large crowd and the background music played with zeal by a piano player in one corner, Mariah had no trouble hearing his response. She had, with consent, put a recorder on the table, but it wasn’t the latest technology and she feared it wouldn’t pick up everything.

“About six weeks. Jeremy and Carrie joined me a month ago.” He waited while Thea plunked bread in front of them, then explained what he hoped to accomplish: collect as much data as he could on the extent of global warming’s effects in this area, and on whether something else could be causing the extreme acceleration of the melting of the glaciers.

Definitely interesting, but Mariah wanted to learn more about effects than causes.

She was pleased when Jeremy dived into the conversation. “I’ve barely scratched the surface of researching native wildlife at Great Glaciers, and whether the glacial changes affect various species.” He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread. “But I’ll be looking into it.”

“I was at the park earlier this evening on a boat,” Mariah said, “and saw a glacier calving. A huge piece broke off, and the captain says that’s been happening a lot more than normal even just this week. He described some orca sounds, though I didn’t hear them. But I saw a couple of otters in the bay, and a wolf on the remaining part of the glacier.”

The scientists had been there, too, earlier that day, and hadn’t seen that particular calving of Kaley Glacier, but they all compared notes. Mariah showed the photos on her digital camera, including the otters and wolf, and Jeremy expressed particular interest in following up on the creatures.

Learning that Carrie was compiling statistics on the calving and related issues, Mariah promised to provide any information she gathered, and was delighted when Carrie agreed to give her copies of her spreadsheets.

Mariah had just taken a sip of cider when the piano music in the corner stopped suddenly. So did most of the talking in the bar. Everyone seemed to glance in one direction—toward the door.

So did Mariah.

Just inside stood three tall men. Mariah didn’t understand why there’d been such a reaction in Fiske’s Hangout. They certainly weren’t the only people to have entered the place since she had arrived.

And surely she was the only one around here whose heart momentarily stopped on seeing Patrick Worley, the one in the middle.

They all wore heavy jackets, but his was unzipped, revealing a deep blue sweater. His eyes played around the room … and stopped when he saw her.

He didn’t smile. In fact, he looked a little … displeased to see her. She wondered why. Well, better that way. She seemed to be reacting all out of proportion to this man who clearly wanted nothing to do with her. She wasn’t a fool. She needed his dogsledding services, and once he had fulfilled that purpose she would never need to see, or think about, him again.

A few loud chords sounded from the piano, and the musician began playing the old, appropriate song, “North to Alaska,” singing loudly. A few patrons joined in as the place seemed to relax, and people returned to their drinks. Mariah’s tablemates resumed eating their dinners.

“You want another of those?” Thea hovered over their table as she did so often that evening. She pointed toward Mariah’s almost empty glass of cider.

“Sure,” she said. “Thanks.” Her gaze automatically returned to the newcomers, who had found bar stools near the table where Mariah sat with her interviewees.

Thea leaned down and said conspiratorially in Mariah’s ear, “Real hotties, aren’t they?” She shrugged a hefty shoulder in the direction of the new arrivals. “They all work at the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.”

Not surprisingly, Mariah thought, although she hadn’t met the other two.

“Why did everything go quiet when they came in?” she couldn’t help asking.

Thea looked puzzled. “It did, didn’t it?” Her round face scrunched into a pensive frown. “Coincidence, probably. No one planned it. But.” Her voice tapered off.

“But what?” Mariah asked curiously.

“It’s the kind of thing that my mother used to say meant that even if no one realized it, they all heard an angel whispering and had to stop talking to listen … an angel of death.”

Mariah laughed uneasily. “My grandfather was superstitious and came up with things like that for nearly every occasion.”

“Don’t just laugh it off,” Thea warned. She walked away and, watching her, Mariah found herself looking toward the bar.

Patrick stared right back.

And despite how far he was from her, and the fact the piano music blared again over loud conversations, she had the oddest sense that he had heard every word.

“Is that the lady you were talking about?” Shaun asked Patrick as they stood in the crowd at the bar. Sgt. Shaun Bethune of the U.S. military’s very special Ops unit Alpha Force, was assigned as chief aide to Lt. Patrick Worley, and both held jobs at the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch as part of their cover.

“Yeah, I saw her at the ranch talking to my dad and Patrick,” Wes Dawes said. “Too bad I’m not available to take her out for that ride she booked, you lucky SOB. She’s hot.” Wes, a former marine, once had top security clearance. He didn’t know exactly what Patrick and Shaun’s mission was but was aware they were performing a covert operation for the military and was happy to assist by providing jobs for the two men.

Patrick bristled at Wes’s description of Mariah. Sure, she was hot. He just didn’t like to hear Wes say so, though he didn’t know why he gave a damn. “Yeah, sure, I’m lucky. I’m taking her out on the glaciers. That’s all.”

It wasn’t all, though. She had been on that fishing boat in the bay, Patrick was certain. He had sensed her presence, even from that distance. And the people she was talking to now were of real interest to Patrick in fulfilling his assignment here. He hadn’t yet found a way to get together with them and initiate a conversation. Until, perhaps, tonight.

And right now, he could continue eavesdropping on their answers to her questions about the glaciers.

“Your bad luck,” Shaun said. “So, bro, you’re drinking beer tonight?” He elbowed Patrick gently in the ribs as they reached the bar. “I thought you were on the wagon.” Of course, Shaun knew what was what. A few hours earlier, with Shaun keeping watch nearby, Patrick had drunk some of the highly classified and extremely potent Alpha Force elixir.

Combined with an artificial light he traveled with, the elixir allowed beings like him to shapeshift at will, not just under the full moon. Plus, it ensured that he kept all his human awareness and thinking abilities. Invaluable.

It had all but worn off now, but major alcohol consumption so close to that elixir wasn’t a great idea.

Still, a bottle of beer could be nursed for a while. And part of Patrick’s cover was to act like the itinerant drifter he was supposed to be. Someone in his position wouldn’t hesitate to have a beer. Or two.

And maybe get a little outspoken as a result …

“Aw, leave him alone,” Wes said. He had no knowledge of what Patrick really was. To him, Patrick was to be treated mostly as another hired musher, despite being on an undisclosed military mission.

Major Drew Connell had been right. Patrick did have a great cover here. He liked working for Wes and his dad, Toby. Even more, he enjoyed working with dogs and had brought his own—well, his cover dog, since theoretically Duke, one hell of a great shepherd-wolfhound mix and trained as a scent and security dog, belonged to Uncle Sam.

Once they had their beers, the guys elbowed their way from the bar again, Shaun in the lead. He was a good guy whose hobby happened to be wrestling, and he had the beefy, muscular physique of a winner.

They stopped at the edge of the crowd. Patrick took a stiff drink while pretending to look for an empty table—a useless task in this mass of people.

Instead, he was still listening. His senses, while he was in human form, were nearly as good as while he was wolfen, especially this soon after he’d changed. Despite the clinkety-clink piano music, the irritating yet soft sound of people stepping on peanut shells, the offkey singing, all the other background noise, he heard everything being said at Mariah’s table. Nothing especially useful yet, but he would continue to listen. And to keep an eye on her. Not a hardship.

It grew easier to hear when the music stopped. He glanced toward the piano and saw that the other woman from the table, Carrie Thaxton—daughter of the man who was Patrick’s objective tonight—approached the musician, handed him a tip. “Play ‘Jingle Bells’ for me,” she said.

“Gladly.” Soon an enthusiastic rendition of that song reverberated throughout the bar, sung not only by the pianist but by patrons in various stages of inebriation.

Great. This way, Patrick wouldn’t learn anything much since conversations wouldn’t flourish.

But he had an idea. As soon as the song was over, he picked up his beer bottle and went to the pianist himself.

The piano was an upright that had seen better days. Its light wood was scuffed. But it sounded all right. “Hey, your music is great,” he said to the guy who sat there. “I’m Patrick Worley. I’m new around here, work at the Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch. What’s your name?”

“Andy Lemon.” He was pale, maybe late forties, and obviously pretty nearsighted, judging by the thickness of his small, black-framed glasses.

“You been playing here long?” Patrick asked.

“Not very, but it’s a great place.”

“Sure is. And right now, Andy Lemon, I’d love for you to play some nice, soft, romantic songs for the next ten minutes.” Patrick whipped out a twenty-dollar bill in emphasis. “There’s a woman here I really want to get to know, and I’d like to put her in the mood to get to know me, too. Okay?” He nudged the guy, who grinned, revealing a set of yellow teeth.

“You got it, Patrick. Good luck.” He played a few melodic riffs, then began a schmaltzy, low instrumental rendition of Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”

Motioning for Shaun and Wes to follow, Patrick approached the table where Mariah Garver sat with Emil Charteris and his family members.

“Hi,” he said, looking down at her. “Mind if we join you?”

“There’s not a lot of room,” she said, “but if you can find some chairs …” She looked around at the others she sat with, and none, fortunately, objected.

Shaun and Wes had already fulfilled the assignment she’d given, although Patrick wouldn’t ask how they’d managed to liberate three chairs so quickly. Soon, they were all seated at the table.

“This is Patrick Worley,” Mariah said, introducing him to the others. Lord, did she make him feel warm and uncomfortable in his sweater and jeans, just by looking at him with her luscious, luminous—and incisive—blue eyes. “Dr. Emil Charteris and the Thaxtons. I’m interviewing them for the article for Alaskan Nature Magazine I’m writing—the one I also need the dogsled ride for as research.”

She explained the scientific backgrounds of the three scientists.

Patrick in turn, introduced Mariah and her friends to his dogsled ranch companions.

“So what’s the scoop about the glaciers?” Patrick hoped his tone sounded entirely conversational. His ploy to finally talk to Emil Charteris seemed to be working, even though these people generally kept to themselves. “We got here only recently, Shaun and I, but from what we heard we may not be able to take people out on dogsled rides much longer, the way they’re melting.”

“Wish I knew what to tell you,” Emil Charteris said. “But that’s part of why we’re here—to see if there’s something even worse going on than global warming, which is usually bad enough.”

“I’m most concerned about how this trend may harm the wildlife around here,” Mariah said. “That’s Jeremy’s expertise.”

Patrick’s interest was focused almost entirely on the glaciers, not the wildlife. Still, he found himself listening to Mariah’s melodic voice, inhaling the surprisingly spicy scent she wore considering her down-to-earth demeanor… . Hell, he had to stop this. He had come over here hoping for information helpful to his investigation, and she was turning the discussion in a different direction.

“Do you know, Mariah said she saw a wolf on top of Kaley Glacier right after it calved?” interjected Carrie Thaxton. She gave Patrick the impression she didn’t like anyone else to be the center of attention, especially another woman. “I think that’s wild, don’t you?”

“Wolves do tend to be wild,” her husband said drily. The look Jeremy gave his wife was both condescending and caring. His scent suggested he used a lot of antiseptic hand cleanser.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She gave him a gentle shove.

“One interesting thing about the wolf was that it appeared to be alone,” Mariah said. Patrick had the impression she was trying to keep the peace at the table as much as get the discussion back on the topic of her interest.

“They’re usually pack animals, of course,” Jeremy confirmed, “but you only glimpsed that one. Could be the rest of his pack was somewhere you couldn’t see from the water.”

“We’ll check that out tomorrow when we take the dogsled onto the glaciers, right, Patrick?” Mariah asked.

She sounded so enthusiastic that he could do little but agree with her. “Absolutely,” he said.

Mariah wasn’t sure how much she should look forward to her outing with Patrick Worley. He would be a real distraction to her research, if she weren’t careful. He was tall. Broad shouldered beneath his blue sweater—good thing he’d taken off the jacket that obscured that delicious view. Sharp, handsome features etched into a long face.

And why had he sat down here? She’d had the initial impression he wasn’t happy to see her.

“How’s your salmon?” Thea Fiske had come over to the table, bringing a basket of fresh rolls.

“A little dry,” Carrie said. “Otherwise, it’s okay.”

“Not just okay,” Mariah contradicted after noticing Thea’s hurt look. “Mine’s delicious.”

Their hostess gave her a broad grin, then leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Hey, those mushers—they’re good company on cold Alaskan nights, honey. And that new guy, Patrick—looks like he wants to get to know you. I can tell.”

Mariah felt herself flush. “I doubt it,” she responded softly right back. “And if so, he can hope all he wants.”

Thea just straightened and winked. Which only made Mariah feel all the more uncomfortable—especially since, when she glanced again at Patrick, he was watching her. She had the unnerving impression that he knew exactly what Thea had said.

But his attention wasn’t entirely focused on her. Unlike his two friends, engaged in a muted conversation together, Patrick seemed interested in her companions at the table.

“So tell me your theory so far on the melting of the glaciers, Emil,” he said to Dr. Charteris, who had just taken the last bite of his meal. “Still working on it,” he said. “Of course,” Patrick agreed. “But—” “We’ve got a big day tomorrow, Dad,” Carrie Thaxton interrupted. “You finished eating?

We’d better run.”

Her husband was still chewing, but Emil agreed with Carrie and motioned toward Thea for the check.

“Oh, no, this is on me,” Mariah said. “I appreciate your talking to me, and hope I can schedule another interview with you soon—maybe after I’ve gotten my dogsled ride on the glaciers and had a chance to observe any wildlife on the ice. Okay?”

“Of course,” Emil said. “Anytime.” Mariah had the impression that his daughter and son-in-law were less enthused by the idea, but neither objected. Of course, she’d have to see if they’d actually agree on a time and place for a follow-up interview.

Thea Fiske came over with the bill, and Mariah pulled out her credit card.

“See you soon,” Mariah said as Emil and the others left. She turned back toward those remaining at the table to find Patrick watching Emil and his family wend their way through the crowd. There was an expression on Patrick’s face that she couldn’t quite understand—as if he was angry at their departure.

He must have sensed she was watching. He turned back toward her and smiled. “Dessert? Something else to drink? My treat.”

She was getting tired. And a bit uncomfortable after Thea’s observation and her own much too substantial interest in Patrick. He was not her type—no matter how sexy he was. After past bad experience, she had no interest in men who weren’t focused on genuine careers.

Stable.

“No, thanks,” she said. “I’ll be leaving now, too. See you around, everyone. And, Patrick, I’ll definitely see you at the dogsled ranch tomorrow for my ride.”

“I was just thinking of heading out, too,” he said. “I’ll walk with you.”

Not a good idea, Mariah thought, but didn’t immediately come up with a tactful way to tell him to get lost.

She didn’t need to be tactful with him, she realized. Even so, she didn’t want to tell him to stay away—not if she wanted him to remain available for her dogsled ride.

“You up for another beer?” Shaun said to Wes. He nodded, and they stood. She wasn’t even going to get the comfort of having a crowd come along as she left.

She rose. “Why don’t you join your friends?” she asked Patrick.

“I’ve had enough.” He helped her maneuver through the crowd to the door, and walked outside with her.

In a moment, he looked down at her in the light from the streetlamp. The shivers that swept up and down her spine like the fingers of the musician on the piano inside were not entirely from the chilliness of the night air.

Something in Patrick’s light brown eyes looked … well, feral—but most definitely sensual.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“Oh, just down the street, but no need to—”

“I’ll walk you there,” he said.

Opening her mouth to protest, she was amazed to hear herself say, “I’d enjoy the company.”




Chapter 3


The sounds of bar conversation accented by piano music receded quickly into the background as Mariah walked beside Patrick along the sidewalk toward her B and B. In the chilly late fall air in this small Alaskan town, there were few night sounds—a car or two driving by, the buzz from other gathering places—and her concentration was engulfed by Patrick’s presence.

Despite her heavy jacket and boots lined in faux fur, she felt the cold and wondered briefly what it would be like to walk closer to Patrick, sharing his warmth.

And nearly laughed aloud at her foolishness.

Especially since the silence between them seemed to expand exponentially. Why had she agreed to allow him to accompany her at all?

“So you live in Juneau?” he asked, obviously attempting to relieve the strained discomfort.

“That’s right.” For the same reason, she kept talking. She briefly explained her background: growing up in Chicago, a degree from Purdue in Natural Resources and Environmental Science. A love of wildlife enhanced by working summers at a state park.

No need to go into more personal history, like coming from a wealthy family that lost it all by risky—and worse—investments in bad economic times. Or how that affected a recent relationship she had briefly and painfully thought to be true love.

Nor would she mention her last job writing incisive articles on people, not animals—sometimes amounting to near sensationalism. That was in the past.

“A job as a staff writer for Alaskan Nature Magazine is a dream come true,” she finished. “There’s no place else in the U.S. with so much unique wildlife in an unexplored and pristine habitat. And how about you? How did you decide to work on a dogsled ranch?”

His turn to break the silence.

“I needed a different direction for my life, and Alaska seemed like a good place to start.”

She waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. All she heard was the sound of their footsteps crunching on the salt strewn on the sidewalks to melt ice. Their way along the town’s main street, Tagoga Avenue, was illuminated by the occasional streetlight as they walked by closed businesses that sold everything from the heavy clothing needed for the upcoming winter, to hunting gear—which made Mariah shiver. She was not a vegetarian, but her love of wildlife caused her to cringe at the thought of killing the beautiful and majestic creatures in Alaska’s wilderness. As a resident of this glorious state, though, she had come to terms with it, as long as hunting was done for food and not simply for trophies or fur. And the culling of predatory animals like wolves to protect game, like caribou—not something she could buy into.

The silence grew uncomfortable again. Mariah wondered why Patrick wasn’t saying more about his background, especially after all she had spewed out to him about herself.

Was he hiding something?

She was a magazine writer, not an investigative journalist—or even a paparazzo—now, but she still enjoyed tossing controversy into her stories where appropriate. She reveled in her curiosity and cultivated the knack of prying out of people details of their interest in, and treatment of, wildlife—good and bad.

She wasn’t about to allow Patrick to get away with his reticence.

“So what did you do before that required a change?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“This and that.” Hearing amusement in his voice, she looked up to find him smiling at her. And what a smile. Despite the wary ruefulness she read in it and his body language—hands stuffed stiffly into the pockets at the side of his rustic jacket—the guy was gorgeous. Sexy. Intriguing.

She wanted to know more. A lot more.

But they had just turned the corner onto Kaley Street. Her B and B was on this block, and Patrick apparently knew that. He picked up his pace.

“What this and what that?” She tried to make her demand sound like idle chitchat, but she wanted answers.

“Isn’t this where you’re staying?” Patrick had stopped in front of a three-story redbrick building that was, in fact, Mariah’s B and B—Inez’s Inn. A bright yellow light illuminated the large, closed white door with a stylized, smiling moose face hung at the top.

“Well, yes,” she said. “But I’d really like to know—”

Before she could insist any further, he leaned down. Grasped her arms.

And lowered his face toward hers.

Quite unexpectedly, the thought that crossed her mind earlier, sharing his warmth, turned into reality as he melded his body against hers. He covered her lips with his, expertly insisting on her kissing him back. His kiss was fiery in the briskness of the surrounding air, his tongue searching, suggestive of even more sensual delights.

She shivered, leaning against him, her body suddenly and sensitively primed for more.

A sound of voices erupted from inside the building, and in moments Patrick stood several feet away. He looked bemused, then another expression—anger?—washed over his face.

He looked into her eyes almost challengingly. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Garver.”

He strode away into the night as the door opened behind her.

It was ten o’clock the next morning. The time Mariah Garver was scheduled to appear at Great Glaciers Dogsled Ranch.

Toby Dawes was off to his meeting in Nome. Wes was out with the tour group. Most of the ranch’s other employees were also already hosting tourists, except for Shaun.

Patrick stood inside the main house, keeping an eye on the antics of the dogs in the fenced-in area below, including his own dog, Duke.

Mostly, he watched the driveway, certain Mariah wouldn’t appear. He hoped fervently that he’d chased her away with that kiss last night, not that it had been his intention at the time.

At this point, he wasn’t sure what he had intended. Oh, sure, he’d wanted to keep her from asking more questions about his background. He had a cover story, of course—one that Shaun and he had developed, with input from others on Alpha Force. Wes Dawes, with his military background, knew one version—some unspecified covert assignment. But the rest of the world was to be fed quite a different story.

One Patrick feared that inquisitive Mariah might see right through.

But, hell, he couldn’t change it. It was the background Toby knew. So did other ranch employees. If necessary, he would feed it to Mariah, too, then shut up about it. Let her wonder without being sure.

Better yet, he wouldn’t have to see her again, ever, if she didn’t come for her sled ride. Although … some part of him didn’t like that idea, either. He was attracted to her. Had been even before that spontaneous kiss. And after? Hell, he wanted her. All of her. In bed, where they would create their own uninhibited heat in a fiery bout of mind-blowing sex, and—

Dream on, Worley. That was one bad idea. First and foremost, Mariah was a nosy writer. One who was into wildlife. If she ever learned just how close he was to nature, his secret would be out. Worse, so would Alpha Force’s secrets.

That could not happen.

Patrick glanced at the waterproof watch on his wrist. Ten-fifteen. Good. Maybe she actually had decided to stay far away. He’d wait another couple of minutes, then go back to the building where the ranch hands had tiny apartments, check on Shaun and his online research, and—

An SUV pulled in at the bottom of the driveway. The one he had seen here yesterday. Mariah’s.

Damn. Time for the show to begin.

But first he’d have to erase the big, inappropriate grin from his face.

So far, the outing hadn’t been too awkward, Mariah thought with relief as Patrick showed her how to sit on the sled to which he had already harnessed the team of dogs—nine, all unique-looking Alaskan huskies, which he had explained were a combination of diverse breeds, chosen more for their intelligence and performance than their bloodlines.

After a restless night, with that kiss replaying over and over in her mind, she had considered postponing her ride to another day—like the fifteenth of never.

But she was here to research her article. She could ignore her discomfort in Patrick’s company to accomplish what she needed to. She hoped.

Besides, she had a strong suspicion that the kiss was an attempt by Patrick to get her to stop asking questions. Which meant he had something to hide. If so, she was even more intrigued to learn all she could about him.

Now, they were in a small, ice-covered area between the main road and the glacier park. They had driven here in a sturdy van with carpeting in the rear for the dogs, the ride crammed full of instructions from Patrick on what to expect on the sled and how to stay safe.

No time to ask him more about himself.

In a short while, they were ready to mush off. “Let’s go!” he called to the huskies. They all rose, including the lead dog, Mac—short for McKinley, Patrick told her—and soon ran out over the crushed ice surface of the glacier, towing the sled.

It was exhilarating! The frigid air pelted Mariah’s cheeks, and she was glad she had bundled up with a knit hat and scarf as well as her warm jacket, slacks and boots.

She couldn’t easily turn to ask Patrick questions, but they’d also discussed her expectations on the ride here. When they spotted a bald eagle circling the first glacier on their expedition, he signaled to the dogs to slow down by calling “Whoa” and pulling back on the tug line attached to the gang line hooked to each dog’s harness. She grabbed her camera from the bag slung over her shoulder, hoping to shoot the photos she wanted without freezing her hands, since she had to remove her thick gloves.

She wished she had come here before the changes to the glaciers, to be able to compare then and now herself. That would make her article more intriguing than simply focusing on the animals she saw on this trip. She hoped to at least get insight, from Jeremy Thaxton or other biologists studying the area, on the kinds and numbers of creatures who’d previously been plentiful here, and whether the numbers seemed to have changed.

And how many wolves there were.

The glacier’s surface was irregular—eroded, abounding with ice mounds and cracks. Eventually, near the far edge of the ice that created a cliff overlooking the bay, they stopped. Patrick helped Mariah off the sled and directed the dogs to lie down on the snowy crust.

“Won’t they freeze there?” Mariah asked, concerned about the work animals.

“They’re used to it. And they’ll huddle together if it becomes too difficult.”

“Like a nine-dog day,” Mariah quipped. She knew that the old vocal group Three Dog Night had taken its name from the way people who spent a lot of time in climates like this described the degree of a night’s coldness by the number of dogs they needed to snuggle with to stay warm.

“Exactly.” His look at her seemed—well, not just kind, but almost amused. Caring. Where did that come from?

It warmed her from the inside. And made her wonder whether one of those kisses from last night might make her even warmer way out here.

They were soon off again. In the distance, on an ice-covered mountainside, Mariah made out a pair of Dall sheep. She shot a lot of photos, though the majestic animals were too far away to see well.

At one point, a small flock of black-legged kittiwakes flew by. The gull-like birds cried out shrilly as they passed. Again, Mariah took pictures. They also saw cormorants, but no puffins, although Mariah would have loved to have viewed some.

Maybe she would come back here on her own someday. She loved cross-country skiing and had become even better at it since moving to Alaska. The glaciers would make a wonderful landscape for skiing.

Patrick and she spent nearly three hours visiting quite a few glaciers in Great Glaciers National Park. They ran into no one on the ice, not even any of the scientists researching what was happening here. They also observed no calving that day, a good thing for their safety but not necessarily good for the research Mariah hoped to accomplish.

Among the glaciers they visited was Kaley Glacier, the one Mariah had observed calving yesterday. When they stopped near its edge, she got out and looked in all directions, including the surface of the ice—hoping to see paw prints. But there were none.

“See any signs of a wolf around here?” she asked Patrick.

“No,” he responded curtly, staring into the distance as if he was looking for … what? The wolf? Somehow, Mariah didn’t think so.

“I saw one up here,” she insisted. “There was probably a lot of wind last night, and maybe some snow fell, so I’m not surprised I didn’t see any tracks, but I’d really love to find a sign, anything I can photograph, to use in my article.”

“I don’t see anything,” he insisted. Mariah wondered at his adamant tone, as if he wanted to deny everything she said.

“But I—”

“Look. There are some sea otters, down in the water.” He pointed to a spot in the bay way below them. The creatures were tiny, but Mariah’s camera had an excellent telephoto lens, and she got some good photos of them reclining on their backs in the water eating whatever seafood they had caught. They seemed more energetic than the ones she had seen yesterday.

But despite Patrick’s obvious attempt to help her garner wildlife photos, she wondered about his earlier attitude about the wolf she’d seen.

Eventually, they returned to the van. Patrick unlocked it and let Mariah into the cab, while he unhitched the dogs and ordered them inside. Soon, the sled had also been loaded.

“That was fantastic!” Mariah exclaimed as Patrick joined her in the truck. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad.” He actually sounded as if he meant it. “It was a good day for an outing like this—no precipitation.”

“I hope it’s just as good next time.” She watched for his reaction. His relaxed features hardened but he said nothing. “I’d love to go again in a few days. I only scratched the surface of investigating local wildlife and any effect by the changing glaciers. I want to do some additional research online, talk to the scientists around here some more, then go out on the ice again.”

“Fine.” His tone suggested it was anything but. He looked from left to right out the windshield, then turned onto the main road. “I’ll let Toby know you’re interested in another expedition and have him line up someone to take you.”

Mariah felt incongruously hurt that he didn’t offer to take her himself. “Thanks.” She remained silent for most of the ride back to the ranch, except to call to the dogs and thank them, too. And to insist that Patrick stop when she spotted a moose in the woods beside the road that she wanted to photograph.

They soon arrived at their starting point. Wes Dawes was outside with some other dogs, his sledding that day apparently over. Mariah popped out of the van as soon as it stopped, though Patrick came toward her side to help her out.

“Thank you,” she said again, looking into those hot light brown eyes with their unfathomable expression. “See you around.”

Did a hint of sorrow at her brush-off momentarily cross his face? No, she was just projecting. She turned, arranged her tote bag on her shoulder, and crunched her way over the driveway to say hi to Wes.

That evening, Patrick invited Wes and Shaun to join him in town for a drink. Toby, too. He had already returned from his meeting in Nome. He had flown there and back in a small, private plane—a major way of getting around in Alaska, where towns were spaced so far apart.

They drove in separate vehicles. Shaun had told Patrick that his online research on backgrounds of glaciers, and investigations of them by some scientists who had previously visited Tagoga or who were now in town, seemed to be yielding interesting results. Very interesting, in fact, but he refused to elaborate until he had followed some threads to their ends. He wanted to return to his research as soon as possible, since he would have little time with it the next day, when he was scheduled to take some tourists on a sled.

Plus, they had already decided that Patrick would spend the next evening on the glaciers in wolf form. His daytime visits as a musher hadn’t yielded much information so far. Shaun would need to be there as his backup.

They wound up at Fiske’s Hangout, supposedly the best place in town for a drink and dinner despite the existence of similar nearby bars.

But Patrick wasn’t really fooling himself. He hoped that Emil Charteris would be there for him to try to question again. But mostly, he hoped that Mariah would be there talking with Emil. Or even on her own.

When he spotted her, his insides leaped. She wasn’t with Emil, though, but hanging out with another scientist Patrick had met before, one only too happy to share the fruit of his investigations—not that Patrick could rely on them. Flynn Shulster seemed more of a pseudo-scientist than a real one. His television show on the Science Channel featured all kinds of unusual nature events.

Patrick wondered if Mariah’s articles were ever similar to Shulster’s Alaskan tales. He wanted to read one. More likely, they were not like Shulster’s at all. From her attitude, he had a sense that Mariah would go out of her way to ensure accuracy in her articles, but Shulster seemed all about sensationalism.

Which was undoubtedly why he was here looking into the untimely retreat of the glaciers.

Since that was why Patrick was here, too, he led his group toward the area of the ornate bar where Shulster held court, Mariah sitting next to him.

“Hi, mushers,” Shulster called over the piano music when he spotted them. He had obviously been drinking. He was dressed in a snazzy blue-and-black sweater over snug black slacks. Patrick supposed he was decent-looking, in a show-biz kind of way, with his light brown hair short and styled, his face bright-eyed and smiling. Which was what he was: more appearance than substance. “You didn’t bring your dogs.”

“I suspect Thea Fiske wouldn’t be too happy if I did,” Patrick responded.

Shulster returned to the tale he had been spinning to his rapt audience of local drinkers and tourists, all about his experiences in the Himalayas looking for yetis. Nothing about his examination of the local glaciers, though. So nothing interesting to Patrick.

He edged over to Mariah. “Hi,” he said in a low voice.

“Hello, Patrick.” Her tone sounded welcoming—a surprise, considering the less than amiable way they had parted earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.” He heard the drollness in her voice and smiled.

“I could say the same. Have you eaten yet?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. Was he going to invite her to join them, like he wanted to turn this chance—well, not so chance—meeting into a date?

“Yes, I have,” she said. “I stuck around because I’m interested in hearing what Flynn has to say.”

So was Patrick, eventually, after he’d eaten a barbecue sandwich and drunk a couple of beers with Shaun and the Daweses. Shaun headed off to talk to some other bar patrons as Shulster started describing what he had seen so far on the local glaciers.

Which meant Patrick had to hang out longer as the conversation segued into discussions of what others had seen and experienced. He stayed when the Daweses left because Toby was exhausted after his day traveling to Nome and back—and when Shaun excused himself, to resume his online research.

And when Flynn Shulster left, as well as some of the waitstaff and even the piano player. Patrick told himself he was staying to listen to other patrons’ tales of glacier experiences. Some stories weren’t as interesting as he had hoped. The bar customers, in various states of inebriation, seemed to want to outdo one another in their descriptions—not only of the calving, but of things they had seen regarding the effects on wildlife—and were urged to focus on the facts by Mariah.

But when Mariah decided it was time to leave, though the place was still far from empty, Patrick figured he’d heard enough, too.

Outside in the cold, Mariah turned to him. “Are you walking me back to my B and B tonight?” It sounded like a challenge, not a request, and the look she turned on him with her glowing blue eyes appeared anything but welcoming.

“Sure,” he said. “Just want to make certain you arrive safely. With all those guys having a good time in there, you never know when one’ll try to follow you home.”

“Like you.” She smiled briefly and started walking in the direction of her inn. “So, are you going to tell me more about your background tonight—stuff you wouldn’t talk about yesterday?”

“No,” he said.

“I’m going to keep asking.”

“And I’m going to keep avoiding the question.”

She laughed. “I figured.” Instead of pressing him, she asked more detailed questions about things they had seen on the glaciers that day, and the care and training of sled dogs.

When they reached her B and B, Patrick hesitated. Lord, how he wanted to grab her and kiss her again. Turn it into a habit.

But that made no sense, given this woman’s professional curiosity and his need for secrecy.

“See you around,” he said.

Which was when she grabbed his arm, reached up to pull his head down, and planted one hell of a quick but sexy kiss on his lips. And then she disappeared inside the inn.

Patrick had driven to town in the sedan the military had supplied him with. He took the roads back to the dogsled ranch as fast as possible without killing himself or anyone else.

Why had he decided, in some split second of chivalry and self-preservation, not to kiss Mariah?

And why had she kissed him anyway?

The touch of her lips had driven him nearly wild. Her scent intoxicated him more than all the beer he had drunk in Alaska. He felt as if he had engulfed a small swallow of the elixir that allowed him to turn wolfen on demand, had turned instantly into the wild animal within him.

Had wanted to claim her, take her to a secluded place and make love to her all night.

It was a good thing she had fled inside—wasn’t it?

Somehow, fortunately, he made it to the ranch without swerving off the road. He pulled into the parking area behind the main house. The Daweses’ car was there, and so was Shaun’s crossover. Lights were on in both the house and the large building behind it where the hands’ small apartments were located—his destination.

Inside, Patrick ran up the steps to his second-floor unit without seeing any of the other guys. Not surprising. It was late. And most of the time, if he saw them at all here, it was when they gathered downstairs in the small kitchen for coffee or a beer.

He felt too wired to sleep. To even stay in one place.

Good thing Duke would require a short walk before bed.

Patrick used a key to open the door to his apartment. Duke was waiting right inside the door, having obviously heard his arrival.

“Hi, boy,” Patrick said, stooping to give his large, gray friend a rough hug. “How ya doing?” He considered Duke much more than a friend. The dog was part of his cover, so that if anyone happened to see Patrick in wolf form he could laugh and say they must have spotted Duke. But Duke was also his companion, apartment mate and buddy. Not to mention a trained canine military partner.

Now, Duke didn’t hold still long enough for Patrick to do more than touch his thick fur. He ran into the hall and barked.

“Hush!” Patrick said. He didn’t want the dog to wake the other guys this late, or he’d never hear the end of it.

Duke stopped outside Shaun’s unit, woofing softly and leaping against the door.

“What’s wrong, boy?” Patrick knocked on Shaun’s door. Hearing nothing from inside, he turned the knob.

The door opened. Odd. Though guys around here often failed to lock up during the day or night, that didn’t include Shaun.

Not with his valuable, government-issue computer equipment.

The sharp, ugly smells assaulted Patrick immediately. “Hey, Shaun,” he called warily into the darkness, even as Duke sped by and started making strange, keening noises.

With an eerie, sick sensation crawling up his back, Patrick turned on the light.

Shaun was at the small table at the side of the compact room that passed as multipurpose kitchenette, office and living room. Slumped over. Head on the table.

Blood pooled around him on the floor. Duke sat, howling softly nearby.

“Hell!” Patrick exclaimed. “Shaun?” He crossed the room, touched the neck of his friend and backup, hunting for a pulse. There was none. Shaun was dead.

And Patrick realized that the laptop computer that Shaun always worked on at that table was missing.




Chapter 4


Shaun hadn’t changed clothes from their outing at Fiske’s and still had on his blue cotton shirt. He’d obviously been in a hurry to get back to work, since he usually wore only ratty jeans and T- shirts while on the computer. What had gotten him so jazzed?

Carefully, Patrick repositioned Shaun just a little so he could view his body, assess the wound that killed him.

Only then did Patrick realize how much blood now covered his own hand that had sought a pulse.

Shaun’s throat had been cut.

“Damn it, Shaun,” Patrick whispered angrily. “How could anyone have done that to you?”

Shaun had been a large, muscular guy. Trained in military hand-to-hand combat. He wouldn’t have gotten his throat slit easily.

Except by complete surprise.

Duke would have barked at the intruder. But Duke barked often when mushers entered the building, so Shaun wouldn’t have been concerned. Could it have been a fellow musher who killed him?

Almost wishing he was in wolf form so he could howl with Duke—who now sat near the door of the small room issuing low, plaintive keens—Patrick carefully inhaled, and realized he had all but held his breath after that first assault on his senses.

Which might have been a good idea to continue. The odor was horrible, and not just the usual scents involved with the death of a human being.

Something pungently sharp and bleachlike, overlain with the sweetness of some cleaning potion, filled the air. As if the killer had known there would be those with extraordinary senses of smell who might enter the crime scene.

Unsurprising, though, on a ranch where more than thirty dogs lived.

But that could also indicate that the dogs would otherwise have been able to recognize the killer from his—or her—scent.

Patrick needed to report this immediately to Alpha Force. A member of his unit—his pack—had been slain. But he couldn’t do anything that appeared suspicious, like making phone calls before notifying the authorities, or he could be accused of Shaun’s murder. Knowledge of his affiliation with the military couldn’t go any further than it already had, with Wes Dawes aware of it—although Wes knew nothing specific about Alpha Force.

So, first thing, Patrick called 9–1–1, after gingerly removing his cell phone from his pocket with his left hand, not wanting to smear any more blood on himself than he already had.

He explained the situation briefly to the operator, giving his location. Then he called the Daweses. They would need to know that the cops were coming. And why. And what had happened to one of their supposed employees.





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