[Decorah Security 17] • Hollow Moon

Did she save his life only to betray him?

Werewolf detective Knox Marshall makes a near-fatal mistake when he tries to get the goods on a drug lab in isolated Western Maryland. Captured and used as a test subject in a diabolical experiment, he manages to escape. After nurse Maggie Leland finds him naked and wounded in the woods, she patches him up; but she’s hardly prepared for the drug flashbacks that spin his mind out of control or the side effects that turn him on. She and Knox get close quickly. He thinks he’s found his lifemate—until it looks like Maggie is working with the drug dealers. When he realizes he’s wrong, is it, too late to save her life?

Outside her tent, Maggie crouched, shivering in the chill early morning air, listening intently as she gripped her gun and surveyed her surroundings. The stone circle where she’d built her campfire was as she left it. Her cooking pan and utensils were undisturbed. And the backpack she’d worn on her trek from the road was still resting against the nearby tree where she’d propped it.

Nothing seemed out of place—until she saw a pale form sprawled on the ground about thirty yards from her tent. She blinked. It looked like a naked human whose body was partially obscured by dead leaves and underbrush. With the gun in a two-handed grip, she approached cautiously, deliberately stepping on a couple of twigs to make a little noise. The figure didn’t stir, and when she reached his side, she saw it was a naked man lying prone. She took in his dark hair, his powerful muscles, the curve of a well-toned ass. He looked to be in top physical shape except that scratches from brambles and twigs marred his skin, and a red circle on his left lower leg oozed blood.

She caught her breath, recognizing a gunshot wound. An entry wound, which meant that he’d been running away when he’d been hit. Someone had clipped him, and she had no idea who or why. Had he fled from the cops? From thugs? Or had he been in an argument that had gotten out of hand?

She doubted there were any cops out here. But there was no way to find out what had happened without asking him—and no way to know if he was a threat to her.

As she stared at the man, she wondered if it was more dangerous to have the gun in her hand when she got closer to him—or put it out of sight. You weren’t supposed to tuck a gun into your waistband, but she didn’t see any alternative as she shoved it into the back of her jeans.

With the weapon concealed, she came down beside the man’s bed of leaves and put a hand on his shoulder. His skin was cold but not icy. She was about to turn him over when he wrenched away. She gasped as he pushed himself up, twisting to face her.

It looked like he was about to lunge, and for a terrified moment, she fumbled behind her for the gun. Then she saw puzzlement in his dark eyes—followed by relief. “You’re not one of them?” he gasped out.

“Who?”

“Drug lab guys.” As he flopped back against the ground, his eyes closing.