So I Married a Werewolf (Entangled Covet) (13 page)

“Gourmet? From your cooking?” He pushed aside his computer, grabbed a paper plate, and started scooping rice. “You shouldn’t be able to say those things in the same sentence.”

“Kind of like the vows ‘love and obey’?”

They laughed together, and for the first time since before they slept together, it felt the way it had before.

“I signed up for a few cooking classes at the senior center,” she said. “It’s mid-session, so I’ll be behind the curve, but they let me join anyway. Wasn’t that nice?”

“Um-hmm. They probably don’t care when you join as long as you pay the full fee.” He plopped chow mein and chicken in foil on his plate and dug in. “Thanks for this.”

“No problem.” After making her own plate, she perched on the edge of the chair across from him. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing.” He waved a fork near the computer screen. “Well, not exactly nothing. I’ll be busy for a few weeks checking into new leads on a cold case.”

She shoved her cheeks full. “What kind of case?”

One where kooky old Jameson Clark might be able to shed some light on what the hell is going on between you and me.

“Dry business stuff.” Time for a subject change before she kept prodding. “How’s your blog?”

Grinning, she stabbed a chunk of pork. “Good. Better than good, actually. If things keep going this way, I might be able to pay for Dawson’s Yale tuition myself.”

“Really?”

“Hell no, but if I say the words enough, maybe they’ll come true. I can hope, right?” She shoved the meat into her mouth. “I joined an affiliate program where I put items on the sidebar that are linked to an online store. Every time someone buys through the link, I get a percentage. I’ve already made a couple hundred dollars! Great, right?”

“That is great.” He dropped his fork. “You’re well on your way.”

She smiled smugly. “I’m still going to need you to help me pay for Dawson’s tuition, but I might be able to pay you back sooner than I thought.”

Carter should’ve been thrilled for her. She was doing something she loved, and experiencing early success with it. Instead, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. As crazy and traditional as it sounded, he wanted to be the one providing for her. He wanted to be her rock, the one she came to when she needed something, anything. He wanted her to have independence and trust in her strength of body and mind, but he wanted her to need him, too.

He was in too deep…

Chapter Eighteen

It’d taken two long weeks for Carter to track down Jameson Clark. Those two weeks had been somewhat of a reprieve. If he hadn’t had such an intense case to dive into, he might’ve obsessed over his wife. Where she went during the day while he worked the road. What appointments she made. And whether or not she was going to wear that red sweater again…

She was about to drive him crazy. Jameson Clark’s case had come at a perfect time.

While Carter had gotten a residence hit from the wolf pack’s computer system, Jameson’s blue-shuttered house was vacant. Weeds had claimed the yard and the oak trees in front were in desperate need of a trim. Carter had gone to the post office and requested to know if a change of address form had been filed.

It hadn’t.

Carter visited the house a second time and checked the mailbox.

Empty.

Either Jameson Clark didn’t get mail or someone was picking it up for him. According to the Seattle Wolf Pack’s system, Clark had lived at this address in the last year. Even if he’d told his friends and family about a sudden move, he’d still be getting junk mail.

Parking in his usual spot down the street from Clark’s residence, Carter killed the engine of his Tahoe and waited for someone to show up.

It’d been nearly two weeks of the same routine, the box was filling up, and he’d yet to see a single person show up to check the mail.

His phone rang.

Faith.

He hated when she called; the fluttering feeling in his gut wouldn’t go away until he drowned himself in his work again. Not to mention she always wanted to talk about trivial, insignificant things.

What color paint did you use on the walls? How do you defrost using the button on the microwave? How long have you been using the same lawn mowing service?

“Hey, Faith.”

“Chicken or fish?”

“Both?”

“I’m not cooking both in one meal. Which do you like best?” Her tone was much too chipper for a Monday morning, but he’d learned over the course of living with her for a few weeks that she was undeniably a morning person…after she had her coffee. Enough French vanilla creamer to drown Seattle. “I was thinking chicken since we had fish a few nights ago.”

“Yeah, chicken sounds good.”

Especially considering she’d burned the salmon to a crisp and the sauce she’d poured over the top had curdled. It’d been seasoned all wrong, with too much lemon pepper. He’d eaten it anyway, chasing each bite with a gulp of water, and had told her it was delicious.

He simply couldn’t bear to watch her face fall when he told her how utterly inedible it was.

“If you’re in the mood for salmon again,” she said, “I’ll make it.”

Since she moved in, Carter found himself in the mood for a lot of things he hadn’t been before. Crispy salmon wasn’t one of them.

A beat-up red pickup truck pulled into Jameson’s driveway.

“Chicken’s fine,” Carter said, memorizing the license plate. “But, ah, are you using a recipe this time or going off the cuff?”

“I don’t know,” she said, drawing the words out. “I’m thinking barbecue. ”

That would work. Even if she seasoned the chicken with something strange, the smoke flavor would still save the meal.

“Sounds great, Faith, thanks. I hate to run, but I’ve got to get to work.”

“Wait, one more thing. I wanted to move a few dog training necessities from my place here so I wouldn’t have to run back and forth on training days, and since Tracy is staying at my cabin, I thought it’d give her more room in back for—”

“Fine,” Carter interrupted. “Move what you need to.”

She should feel comfortable in the place she spent her days and nights. She’d already moved over her bedroom set and bags of clothes, a few dishes, a toaster and blender…why shouldn’t she bring a few dog toys and things to help her with her workday?

“Okay, great!” she said. “Thanks!”

As she ended the call, Carter pocketed the phone and got out of the truck. A short, squatty werewolf with half a head of hair walked down the Clarks’ driveway and popped open the mailbox.

“Excuse me,” Carter said as he approached the shifter who gave off a strong scent of bacon. “Are you Jameson Clark?”

The guy turned and leveled Carter with a pair of haunting green eyes. “Who’s asking?”

“Carter Griffin.” He pulled his badge out of his coat pocket. “I’m from the Enforcement Bureau, and I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Rolling his eyes, the werewolf peered into his mailbox, yanked out a handful of advertisement papers, a couple envelopes, and then slammed the lid closed. “If it’s about the mortgage with Wilder Financial, tell Drake that the check’s in the mail.”

“I’m not here on the Alpha’s business.” Carter followed the wolf back up the drive and stopped on the lawn. “I wanted to ask about your rumored Luminaries.”

“Rumored…” The wolf spun, facing Carter. “Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. I read a few articles about the three Luminaries you reported having in the last hundred years. I wanted to ask you a few questions about how that came to be.”

“You making notes for the pack newspaper? Going to write about how crazy I am? How I’ve become a recluse?”

“I’m not writing a thing.” Carter shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m here for personal reasons.”

“Yet you whip out that badge like it’s bureau business.”

“You are Jameson Clark, correct?”

The wolf nodded, narrowing his eyes. “How long have you been sitting in that truck, waiting for me to show?”

Carter’s lips twisted into a grin. “Not long. Almost two weeks.”

“How long have you been married?” Jameson tossed the mail onto the bench seat in his truck and pointed at Carter’s ring. “Not long enough to make a tan line, yet. I’m guessing a month.”

“Three weeks,” Carter said, spinning the ring with his thumb. “You?”

Jameson smiled, crossing his arms over his chubby chest. “You know how long I’ve been married. You read the articles. You happily married, Officer Griffin?”

“Of course,” Carter fired. “Are you?”

“You didn’t think about the question long enough before you answered, but I sense you gave the right one.” Jameson dusted lint off his shoulder, and Carter got the feeling he liked playing games. “I’ve been happy with every wife I’ve had. I’ve loved each one wholly, with every part of my soul.”

“How did that work, exactly?” Carter felt his face scrunch. “If you’d found your Luminary, what made you think to look for a second or a third?”

Jameson took a giant step forward, until they were standing chest to chest. “You think I killed my first and second Luminary? You think I shot Francine because I was in love with Jenna? You think I waited for Jenna to get cancer and then went and found Cynthia? Of course that’s what you think. That’s what you all think. I’m tired of the bullshit, the lies, the sideways glances that isolate us from the rest of the pack. Let me tell you something. If you do the math, you’ll see the truth.”

Carter squared his shoulders and looked down at the short man in front of him. There was fire in his eyes, and a spark of truth in his words. There’d been something about the dates that caught Carter’s attention from the start, though he couldn’t pinpoint what it was.

“I read that Jenna was born a year after your first wife Francine died,” Carter said. “My wife passed away a few years ago.”

Twenty-five years ago, to be exact—the same year Faith had been born.

Hope sang through Carter’s veins, but he clamped down the emotion. No good came from hoping anything.

Jameson backed against his truck, the anger in his sewage-green eyes simmering down. “There’s more to your story, isn’t there?”

“How did you know Jenna was your second Luminary?”

“That’s a ridiculous question.” Jameson laughed, the choking sound thick and staccato. “How do you know? Because you want to provide for them, protect them, and love them with every fiber of your being. You feel just as strongly about them as you did your first Luminary. The pull is just as strong.”

Or in Faith’s case,
Carter thought,
it was stronger.

“What about your second and third Luminary?” Carter asked. “You had two at the same time. How is that possible?”

“Like I said, do the math.” Jameson glared. “Jenna was born a year after Francine’s death. When it was decided that my first Luminary would be taken from my life too soon, fate must’ve intervened. And the year after my second wife was diagnosed with the rare form of cancer that strikes wolves, Cynthia was born. Jenna and I knew that she’d lose the battle with cancer from the moment I felt the pull to Cynthia. It was a difficult time for us.”

“I can imagine.” Carter’s thoughts whirled as he tried to judge whether or not Jameson was full of shit. Thing was, he looked earnest.

“Once Cynthia came into our lives, Jenna dedicated the rest of hers to setting up a foundation that would take care of wolves who lost their Luminaries, in the case they never found another.”

“I remember reading about that.”

Not every wolf found his Luminary. Ones who never did could never understand the agony of losing one. Starting a foundation to assist with the soul-wrenching grief was an unbelievably thoughtful thing to do.

But what did this mean for Carter? The chemistry he’d had with his wife had waned almost from the start. Immediately after they’d bonded, their connection had started to fade. Would he and Faith end up the same way?

Could he ever be enough for her?

Carter had one last question for Jameson, one thing to ask that would determine if he and Faith could actually have a future or if their chance at a relationship would fail before it began.

“Tell me, Jameson, were the pulls to each of the Luminaries the same?”

“I’m not sure my answer is going to be the one you’re looking for. You might find a more suitable one within you.” Jameson pulled a mint from his coat pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. “But my connection to Francine, my first wife, was by far the strongest of the three. After that, the pull grew weaker. It’s still there, but has diluted down over time.”

Carter’s chest deflated and his knees shook. If Jameson had the strongest pull to his first Luminary, and each one after had been weaker, how could he and Faith ever have a chance to have a lasting relationship?

He left Jameson’s house and drove back to the office, turning up the radio to drown out his thoughts.

Chapter Nineteen

Carter tipped back his oversize mug and drained the last of his coffee. It’d gone cold. He’d been at his desk for the last three hours, organizing files in the wolf pack’s database. He deleted duplicate files submitted by enforcers and backed up critical information on the pack’s hard drive.

Typing fast, Carter merged arrest records from the Seattle Wolf Pack with others in the area: Portland, Sacramento, Lake Tahoe, and San Francisco, to name a few of the larger ones. Each of those packs had its own system, but as wolves moved from one pack to another, their records should’ve moved, too. It was something their captain had been badgering the enforcers about. They’d talked about splitting up the task, but Carter had welcomed the large project.

He’d been working on the merger for weeks. Before his shift. After. Loooong after.

“You still here?” Nate said, peeking his head into Carter’s office. “Thought you left at five.”

“No, I’m about to refill a second cup.” Actually, if he counted, it was his fifth. “Need something?”

Nate folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe. “Nah, I just finished up the report on your little exhibition in front of those tourists. The captain kicked it back, said I needed to explain in more detail why I made a phone call to the zoo shortly after leaving Seward Park.”

“Thanks for taking care of that,” Carter said, opening up the internet. “Did you make contact with the couple again?”

Worry prickled the hairs at the base of his neck, making them stand on end.

“Twice.” Nate picked a piece of lint off his sports jacket. “They’re either happily clueless or I’m better at my job than I thought.”

“Could be both,” Carter said, relief coating his nerves. “You heading home?”

“My
wife
is cooking something special tonight.”

The way Nate said the word, as if he pushed it out as a deep growl, made Carter wonder if he should be envious of what he and Paisely had. He wasn’t. He was, however, slightly jealous of the special meal. Carter hadn’t had a delicious, mouthwatering home-cooked meal since he and Faith got married.

What she lacked in culinary skills, she made up for in cuteness, though. Even when she screwed up, she was laid-back and laughing. Happy that she’d tried.

They now had the number for Chinese food stuck to the fridge door.

“Sorry we missed the wedding,” Carter said, though he really wasn’t. “How was it?”

Nate’s eyes shadowed over to a matte black. “It was perfect. Gourmet food, bold wine, open bar. And you should’ve seen Paisely; she was a vision. Looked like a million-dollar Barbie doll.”

“I bet.”

Nate stared. “The best part was the honeymoon, though. We didn’t leave the suite for days.” He grinned, though his eyes remained dark and unreadable. “But I’m sure I don’t need to tell you—you’ve gone through it twice. Speaking of, I didn’t get the chance to congratulate you, either. How was your wedding in Victoria?”

The wedding had been surprisingly perfect, but the wedding night had been one big horrible bust.

“It was perfect.”
Lie.
“Better than the first time around.”
Absolute truth.

“Mmm,” Nate mumbled, his lips pressing into a tight line. “That’s good to hear.” He tapped the door. “Give Faith my best, would you?”

Carter nodded. “Will do.”

Nate turned to leave, but stopped himself, and then spun back around. “One more thing, Carter. I know that you’re married now, and there’s nothing to worry about, but if I don’t say this, it’ll bother me until I do.”

Carter sighed and shut down his computer. “What is it, Nate?”

“Paisely tells me you two had something special. That she loved you more than she’d ever loved anyone, and you broke her heart.”

They did? He had? And why the devil would she share that info with her new husband?

Shock hammered through his system. He hadn’t loved her. Not even close…
to what he felt for Faith
, he finished.

“I had no idea,” he said. What could he say? “We’ve been over for ages.”

“I know that.” Nate adjusted his skinny black tie. “And I don’t think you have anything going on behind my back. Yet. But I saw the way the two of you were talking at the Owenses’ house, and I saw the disappointment in her face when she heard the news that you got married.”

“Nate,” Carter interrupted, putting up his hand to stop him. “I’m not after your wife.”

“You’re not after her
yet
.” Nate’s body went rigid, nearly filling the doorway. “I’m watching you, Carter. You won’t get the detective position
and
my wife. Mark my words.”

He turned on his heel and left the office, leaving Carter stunned.

What the hell had just happened? He felt reprimanded for doing something prematurely. Something he had no intention of doing in the first place.

It didn’t make sense.

“I’m so tired of this bullshit,” Carter said, and dived into organizing his desk drawers.

…

“Thanks for the help!” Faith yelled to her cooking instructor as she exited the senior center. “See you Wednesday!”

She tucked her casserole dish under her arm and headed to her car. Dinner would be late tonight, but Carter hadn’t been getting home before 8:00 p.m. in weeks anyway. She thought he’d been avoiding her, but when she asked him about it straight up, he’d said that he wasn’t. Instead of getting home early, he’d been putting tireless hours in at the office. Working long and hard to get the detective position, he’d said.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, after her cooking classes, she made Carter plates and left them in the fridge. She waited up in bed, updating Humperdinck’s progress on her blog, writing new posts and answering comments on old ones. As soon as Carter’s key turned in the lock, she listened for the refrigerator door.

Every night, he’d eaten the food she left for him.

She was either getting better at cooking, or he was minding his manners and wolfing down the food anyway.

As she hopped in the car and headed to Carter’s place, her phone buzzed with a reminder.

Enforcement Bureau dinner one week from Sunday.

How could she forget? She’d been planning the menu all this week to prepare for next, and practicing dishes to serve. She’d burned the casserole the first two times around, but this time, with the chef’s help, she’d gotten it right.

She hoped.

Before class, she’d even shopped for a dress to wear—a cute little black one with strappy sandals. The shoes were comfortable and she’d gotten them for a screaming deal at the designer shoe outlet.

After she pulled up to Carter’s, Faith grabbed the casserole dish with one hand so she could grab her things with the other. She slung her purse over her shoulder and reached for the bag with her dress and shoes. All that was left to carry was a $15 bottle of Layer Cake, the perfect red wine pairing for the dish. Carefully, testing the weight of the bag, she slid the bottle inside. Hands full, she backed into the front door, slowly pushing it open.

As she skirted through the foyer and living room, her grip loosened on the glass dish.

Make it to the table. Almost there.

She rounded the corner into the kitchen. Her purse fell to her elbow, knocking her off-balance. The dish twisted, tilted. The bag slid from her fingers.

“No, no, don’t—”

As she raced through the entry into the kitchen, she saw Carter ahead, his back to her, earbuds in, oblivious to her presence. He swung the refrigerator door open, nailing her in the chest. She staggered back, clutching for the casserole. The dish wobbled, slipped, and crashed to the floor. The bag with the clothes and shoes—and, oh God, the wine!—slid out of her grip and landed on the tile with a glass-shattering bang.

“Jesus, Faith, are you all right?” Carter slammed the fridge door closed and tugged out his earbuds. He stared like she’d sprouted three heads. “What are you doing roaring through here like that?”

Cheese and chicken were everywhere: her hair, her clothes, the floor. Good thing the dish hadn’t been hot. From the bottom of the department store bag, a deep red stain pooled like blood.

“There goes dinner,” she said, slapping her hands to her sides.

He knelt and swiped his hands through the mess. “Chicken casserole again?”

She nodded, and although she hated it, tears threatened to fall. She’d worked hard on dinner tonight. It took her an hour to get the right ingredients from the store, another hour of prep, measuring things out
just
right. She was looking forward to seeing if she’d finally nailed it this time.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, shrugging, “I didn’t care for the first two attempts.”

“This one was going to be different. It could’ve been great.”

“It could’ve had class”—he glowered up at her, raising a fist—“it could’ve been a contender.”

“Oh, stop. You’re a horrible Marlon Brando, and the movie wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.” Faith huffed, struggling to hide her frustration, and pushed her hair behind her ears.

“You remember it?”

“Of course I do.” She picked chicken out of her hair and flung it to the floor. “It wasn’t that long ago that you picked it for our movie night.”

He stood, staring. “I thought you’d fallen asleep.”

“I did,
twice
, but I saw enough to know it didn’t deserve an Academy Award.” Ripping a towel off the counter, she bent to her hands and knees and started cleaning up the mess. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Tension coiled through the air like a whip.

“I pay the mortgage.” Carter growled from low in his throat, the way he had when they were tangled in sheets at the Monarch. “I’m pretty sure I can be here whenever I want.”

The temperature in the kitchen skyrocketed as Faith got the feeling he was staring at the back of her head.

“You okay?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” His jaw ticked, clenching and unclenching as he stared at the cabinets above the stove. “Why would you question me being home? I’m here every night, aren’t I?”

“I meant what are you doing home so early?” She continued scrubbing the mess. “You never make it for dinner.”

“Call it a bad day.” He huffed from behind her, the sound short and irritated. “An
epically
bad day.”

“I’d offer you a warm dinner and a glass of wine to take the edge off, but…” She stood to face him. “Unless you want to eat off the floor with Humperdinck, I’m out of options.”

“You know what? That actually sounds like a great idea.” He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the ink lacing his wrist. “Why don’t you go change into something not…smelling like cheesy foul, and I’ll clean up this mess. We’ll eat on the back lawn.”

That sounded amazing.
She’d been eating alone at the kitchen table too many nights with late-night reality television her only companion. Maybe she and Carter could finally break the rut they were in and he’d stop avoiding her like the plague.

“I’m in,” she said, “but what’s on the menu?”

He strode into the kitchen and dug around for a pot. “I’ll cook. You change. Meet me out back in twenty-five.”

Carter cooked? How’d she not know that about him? His kitchen was spacious with stainless steel appliances, glossy black cabinets, and sand-toned granite counters—the perfect setup for someone who enjoyed cooking—but the refrigerator and cabinets were sparse and the counters were barren.

Time to see what the hunk could do.

She saluted him with flimsy fingers. “You got it, chief.”

As she turned into the living room, Faith got the heart-lifting feeling that the storm brewing between them was about to clear. They’d eat on the back lawn, drink wine, and laugh about how stupid they’d been. She’d talk about her cooking classes and how she almost burned down the senior center when she left a batch of cookies in the oven at too high a temp for far too long. He’d talk about work and the case that had him twisted into knots. They’d come inside when it got dark and watch a movie like every other Friday night. She’d even let him watch
On the Waterfront
and pretend to be Marlon Brando again, if he wanted.

This was going to work…they’d finally be friends again.

She scratched her head as the F-word struck her funny. Why’d the word “friends” feel so wrong?

The doorbell rang.

“Got it!” Faith said, and checked her appearance in the mirror on the coatrack before opening the door. She almost laughed at the sight: strings of dried cheese in her hair, wet meat sauce covering her chest and arms, and an embarrassed blush flushing her cheeks marinara red.

She swung open the door.

“Paisely.” The name whooshed out of her. “What are you doing here?”

The model flipped her fine layers of golden hair over her shoulder. “I’m looking for Carter. Is he here?”

“Yes, he’s in the kitchen, but—”

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Paisely interrupted, pushing inside and heading to the kitchen. “Carter, can I talk to you for a second? It’s about the bureau.”

“I guess.” He peeked his head around the corner. “Is Nate with you?”

“No, just me.” Paisely’s voice was so high and sweet, it gave Faith a headache.

“All right.” He disappeared into the kitchen once more. “Watch your step through the entry. Freak casserole accident.”

Pursing her lips, Faith watched Paisely charge toward the sound of Carter’s voice, her size two hips swinging like she was trying to break them off. She’d probably gotten her sexy swagger from years of sashaying down the catwalk and her rail-thin Barbie figure from years of starving herself, no doubt.

“Come in.” Faith mimicked the perfect hostess, playing out how the scene should’ve gone. Smiling wide, she stepped aside to allow the guest to enter, though Paisely was long gone. “Make yourself at home. It’s so great of you to come. May I take your coat?” she said to no one.

Faith stood at the entry to the hallway on the opposite side of the modestly decorated living room, watching Paisely Brooks-Ramsey step over the casserole catastrophe and disappear into the kitchen. Instead of bolting for her bedroom to change into dry clothes—what any normal person would’ve done—Faith leaned against the wall, into the shadows, out of sight, and listened.