Page 24 of Savage Wolf Vow

MIA

Ishould have told them. Ten days ago. And every day since. But especially ten minutes ago when they all wondered if Ramsey had tried recruiting anyone else. I should have come clean then. Told them about the way he sent a message using an old contact only a handful of us knew about back when we were stupid enough to think we could change this city from inside the rot. He didn’t threaten me. Didn’t beg. Just offered me a place at his side like that wasn’t the most insulting thing anyone had ever put in writing.

But telling them meant admitting Ramsey still thought he knew me well enough to tempt me. It meant they might, even for a second, entertain that I could say yes. Not because they’d question my loyalty but because we were all questioning everything after Ramsey’s betrayal. And I hated that for us more than I hated the offer itself. So, I burned the note, buried the guilt, and told myself it didn’t matter because my answer was never going to change.

The meeting breaks with an air of controlled chaos and muted rage. Chairs scrape. Tablets close. Curses are muttered—all of them aimed at Ramsey and involve giving him what he deserves. Donahue and Camila talk in low voices with their heads together as they leave for patrols. Dutch follows Andy into the hall, already asking her what she’s doing for lunch. Crow’s breakfast sandwiches are long gone, and I suspect that’s mostly because Razor stuffed the last two into his pockets on his way out.

I hang back, gathering my notes, and drift toward the window under the pretense of checking the patrol grid on my tablet.

Really, I’m looking for Echo.

It doesn’t take long for me to spot him. He’s in the topiary near the east garden wall, perched on top of what used to be a very dignified hedge sculpture of a wolf—Franco’s, obviously—and is now a slightly lopsided wolf with a raccoon perched between its ears like a furry cap. I glance around to see if anyone else has noticed, but so far, it seems the coast is clear. Elena is going to find him eventually, and when she does, I plan to know absolutely nothing about it.

This morning, when I’d parked and opened the car door, he’d taken one look at the grounds, assessed them with the critical eye of a general surveying a new theater of operations, and launched himself across the lawn before I could say a word about who to hide from or how bad it will be if he’s caught. Which is how Echo has always operated. On his own terms. In his own time.

I relate to this more than I’d like to admit, which is probably why I’ve always felt an affinity for the little monster. But if he puts me in Elena’s crosshairs, I’m going to wring his neck.

Movement behind me catches my eye in the window’s reflection, and my breath catches when I see Nash slowly retreating from the room. He straightens to his full height, and I find my gaze traveling the length of him, appreciating his broad shoulders and thick biceps. Even through the suit, his toned body is evident. Something stirs in my lower stomach.

Hunger. Attraction.

He turns. Through the glass reflection, our eyes meet.

Busted.

My cheeks flush, and I look away, but not before darting one more glance back at his reflection just in time to see his toned ass saunter out.

Then, I go back to watching Echo and will my breath to even out. I’m watching my prodigal raccoon steal what appears to be a decorative stone from the base of the topiary when Dutch materializes at my elbow with the stealth of a large, extremely nosy golden retriever.

“Mia.”

“Dutch.”

“I texted you this morning.”

That’s an understatement. I turn and gather my things. “I saw.”

“You didn't answer.”