Wild (4 page)

 

CHAPTER 5

Broderick had never felt worse. And it was all her fault.

Breakfast, especially the all-day kind served in a greasy spoon where everything was plastic or vinyl, including the menu, wasn't supposed to be arousing. A woman chewing on bacon wasn't supposed to give a guy a hard-on, yet it did.

In his defense, Lulu did it on purpose. What woman popped a crisp piece of bacon into her mouth and closed her eyes while uttering happy sounds? Sounds that should be made only with less clothes and a lot more touching.

Speaking of touching, he'd yet to manage to touch any exposed parts. He'd managed a brush of her arm, covered in her jacket, a brief palm in the middle of her back as he held the door open to the restaurant and guided her in. Yet no actual skin-to-skin contact.

How to manage it short of lunging across the table and—

“What are you doing?”

“Eating bacon.” He held her hand to his lips, the shock of contact almost rendering him speechless. There it was, the zing he'd expected, and he wasn't alone in feeling it. Her breathing grew shallow, a faint pink hued her cheeks, and her scent changed, growing muskier, richer, as arousal claimed her.

He nibbled the tiny bit she held until he reached her fingers. He took the tips in his mouth and licked the salt from her skin. She sucked in a breath and yanked her hand away.

“Eew,” she exclaimed as she scrubbed her hand, and yet she couldn't hide the fact that her cheeks now bloomed, and beneath her long-sleeved T-shirt—which read
PINCH ME AND DIE
—the bra she wore couldn't hope to hide her protruding, erect nipples.

He leaned back in his seat. “Sorry. I couldn't resist getting that last bite.”

“It was mine.”

“Better get used to it, sweetheart. What's yours is mine. What's mine is yours, and…”

“Hold on there, tiger. I am not your sweetheart. And my bacon is mine. Always. Nonnegotiable. Actually, touch any of my food again, and I might seriously hurt you.”

“Really?” Perhaps he shouldn't have sounded so intrigued, but he did really like the fact that Lulu wasn't a shivering rabbit.

She sighed. “You are incorrigible.”

“Thank you. I do my best. Now, I hate to end this delightful lunch, but I didn't just show up at your door this morning—”

“Don't you mean conducted a home invasion?”

“—to get jealous of the way you eat bacon. I was actually looking for you so we could get together at my office and go over some of the financial statements in question.”

“Why aren't you doing this with the bar's accountant? He's the one I send everything to.”

“Ah, but see, he's claiming you're the one submitting false stuff. Inflated receipts, fake ones, too. Employee paychecks for nonexistent folks.”

“What?” Her eyes widened, her indignation real. “I did no such thing.”

“Let's try and prove it then. Come and check the stuff out and let me know what seems familiar or not. Someone, somewhere, is lying.”

“It's not me. I've nothing to hide.”

If only she'd not averted her gaze from his as she said it. Lulu was hiding something. Something she didn't want to come out. He could only hope it wasn't enough to get her in serious trouble with his boss, either of them.

A life on the lam wasn't how he'd pictured his future.

After some arguing, Brody drove, alone, to his office with Lulu following. She refused to get into a car with him. His mate certainly had a solid independent streak. They met up again just outside the main doors of the building where he worked.

“Do you always just wander in to work at any hour you choose?” she asked as they went through the security checkpoint armed with metal detectors.

Taking the visitor badge from the on-duty guard, Brody took it upon himself to pin it to her shirt. He behaved. His fingers didn't brush the swell of her breast. However, her indrawn breath indicated she'd expected him to.

Could he hope she was disappointed he hadn't?

He led the way to the bank of elevators, his access card in hand, before he answered. “Given that some of the businesses I need to audit don't keep regular hours, and I can work from home, my schedule is pretty flexible. So long as I get the job done in a timely manner, my boss isn't too worried about what time I clock in and out.”

“Must be nice. My job requires me to be around before the rush starts to make sure things run smoothly. I often work ten-, twelve-hour days just to keep on top of things.”

“So why do it? Why not find a less stressful job?”

“Says a guy with a degree or two I'll bet under his belt. Not all of us have the benefit of picking and choosing where we'll work. Rent has to be paid. Food has to be bought. Manager of a gentlemen's club might not be considered respectable by some people's standards, but it pays decently.”

“You say you found yourself managing it because the last guy disappeared. Was a police report ever filed?”

She shrugged. “No idea. I mean, in this line of business, people come and go all the time. It's not an industry that keeps people long term.”

“So no foul play is suspected?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Do you know something I don't?”

Actually he did. “Your old boss, Ricky, was found dead a few days ago. Floating in the river, his throat ripped open. The medical examiner's report says he probably died about a month ago, about the time you took over.” He watched her for a reaction. Most people would act surprised at hearing about a death. Except Lulu wasn't shocked at the news, even if she faked it well.

She already knew. But why lie?

“That's awful. Any idea of who did it or why?”

“The cops think it might have something to do with the audit.”

“So he cooked a few books. Why kill him over it? Wait a second, you don't think his murder is related to Fabian Garoux?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Well, because Garoux heads the corporation that owns the bar. If someone was cheating him out of money, it's a safe bet to assume he didn't like it, and given his reputation, did something about it.”

Except Fabian swore up and down, growled a bit, too, that he'd had nothing to do with the murder. His boss was pissed actually that someone had dared to kill one of his employees. If a man cheated him, then Fabian preferred to kill him with his own two hands—or four paws.

The elevator dinged as they arrived at his level. Exiting, Brody and Lulu walked into chaos. Or at least an accountant's version of it. The maze of cubicles hummed with conversation.

He caught snippets as he strode toward his dedicated space.

“… no idea what was taken, but they were looking for something.”

“… Sally from the mailroom said she heard Tammy from the precinct claim there's a bounty on his head.”

“… so are we on after work for that beer?”

The snippets didn't make much sense until he arrived at what was left of his once-tidy cubicle. Papers lay strewn all over it. Some shredded. Some crumpled. Others soaked in … his sensitive nose twitched: urine.

Bear urine.

Not anyone he'd ever met or knew about, which meant they were here clandestinely since Fabian didn't let any of those clannish teddies into his city or pack.

Bears causing shit? His boss needed to know, and he didn't mean the human one in his office. However, notifying Fabian would have to wait. His human employer spotted him and poked his head out the door. Unlike a shape-shifter, who would have bellowed for him to get his hairy ass in his office, Perry, in a modulated voice, said, “Brody, could you please come here for a moment? These officers have questions for you.”

“I can see you're busy. We'll have to do this another time.” Lulu used the scene of the crime to slip away, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.

Except roar silently in his head as her pert butt walked away from him.

You might think you've escaped me, but I'll be back. You won't rid yourself of me that easily, sweetheart.
And the next time they did meet, he'd leave her with something to remember him by.

 

CHAPTER 6

Lulu couldn't leave fast enough. She'd done her best to avoid the glance of the cops in the manager's office, but the last thing she needed was for one of them to inadvertently say something in a show of recognition.

Broderick would surely have even more questions and suspicions if he realized she wasn't a stranger to law enforcement.

Just like she had more questions. It didn't take a genius to figure out the destroyed cubicle belonged to him. Someone was trying to hide something, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was connected to the audit of the club.

What exactly had Ricky done, or hidden? Did his death, which she'd heard about through the grapevine, have anything to do with the problems with the bar's books? Lulu certainly hadn't seen anything suspicious since she'd taken over. In an effort to familiarize herself, she'd pored over the ledgers, but nothing jumped out at her. She'd compared the receipts and payroll numbers since she'd taken over with previous ones and didn't notice any wild swings up or down in dollars. So where was the corruption occurring, and who was behind it?

Wondering if she'd missed anything, she drove straight to work, parking in her usual spot and using her key to get in. She locked the door behind her just in case some patrons decided to ignore the posted hours and pop in.

Immersed in her perusal of the saved documents detailing expenses, she couldn't help but startle when someone cleared their throat in the open doorway to her office. She also had her gun out of its holster bolted underneath her desk and pointed.

Aim first, ask questions later. That was her motto. Especially when someone sneaked up on her.

As she perused the man in her office doorway, she wondered how she'd not heard him approach. Lulu prided herself on having keen senses. She needed them to stay safe in her line of work. But much like Brody, this man, whom she recognized from images, crept about on silent feet and thought nothing of opening locked doors.

Given she couldn't exactly shoot him—unless he gave her just cause—she lay the gun down on her desk. “Mr. Garoux,” she said as she rose from her seat. “This is an unexpected visit.” And a first, too, since she'd taken over. The city's mob lord didn't often deign to visit the bar, or at least he hadn't since she'd begun working here months ago.

“You must be Miss Lamontaine. About time we met since you've been the one managing the club since Ricky's unfortunate disappearance.”

“Don't you mean his death?”

She waited to see if he showed any surprise, but his expression remained smooth. The man himself was the height of slick. In his early forties, he wore an expensive suit the color of steel. He wore his dark hair short, but not short enough to hide the hint of silver at his temples. Broad shouldered, and yet not fat, a man with a face carved from granite and about as much emotion as a rock.

“Poor Ricky. I heard about his demise from some friends at the precinct. And you are his replacement. How …
convenient.
”

“I am.” No point in denying it, even if she didn't like his inflection when he stated it. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” The male, with a slinky grace that raised all the hairs on her body, flowed into the room and settled himself in the chair before her desk. Impeccably attired, down to his polished leather shoes, he was the perfect image of a gentleman. But everyone knew it was but a thin veneer.

The man ruled the city and its underworld with an iron fist. Or so the rumors claimed. Garoux had yet to be caught or charged with anything, and yet the gang problems plaguing other cities didn't crop up here. As soon as any kind of organized group tried to move in, they quickly found a reason to move out. Drug dealers didn't own the streets at night, and hookers didn't flock to the corners.

But they had to be somewhere. Drugs, sex, and other vices were a fact of life. All cities had them, although if this city did, then Garoux kept it where no one could see it.

“So what did you want?” She didn't simper at him but kept true to her belligerent self. This wasn't a man who would respect weakness or false flattery. His flat eyes stared, long enough that Lulu had to force her itching fingers to stay away from the gun she'd placed on the desk.

All her instincts screamed danger, and yet Garoux hadn't done anything threatening. Just a businessman checking in with a few questions, or so it appeared on the surface, but Lulu didn't believe it. One only had to look into the man's eyes to note the cunning and distrust simmering.

Beneath the suave veneer lurked an animal. A man not afraid to get his hands dirty—or bloody.

Tense, she held herself ready, certain at any moment he'd lunge over the desk to grab her in a choke hold or slam her against the wall. Instead, in a mellow voice, he merely asked, “Are you cooking the books?”

“No.” The answer left her lips without hesitation.

“Stealing money from me?”

“Never.” She might skirt the edge of right and wrong sometimes, but she wasn't a thief.

“Do you know who is?”

“No.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“The accountant? Frank the middleman?” She shrugged as she tossed out suggestions. “I really don't know. I didn't even know there was a problem with the books until some city guy showed up claiming he was here to perform an audit.”

“So you've met with Mr. Fredrickson?”

“Yes.”

“Good, I expect you to comply with his demands.”

Not all of them. Work ones yes, but the demands he seemed determined to make of her heart and body? Not happening. “You're not afraid of what he'll find?”