DYLAN LAY staring at the ceiling, hardly able to believe what he’d just said.
It was true, though. So true. Rey was his mate. Just…. Wow.
Mick was going to kill him.
Not only because of the whole “It’s been less than twenty-four hours” thing, but because of the whole “Good Lord, he’s a client” thing.
And a fox.
Dylan always figured he had two strikes against him finding a mate. He was gay, and he was a gay wolf. The pack had to accept anyone he would find, and back when he’d been a rookie cop, those strikes kept him from even looking for anyone.
Luckily, his pack these days had a bear, two cats, and a Mick.
He watched Rey rest, the dark auburn hair just barely tipped with white. The man’s features were sharp—nose and chin, cheekbones.
So lovely.
All he could do was smile and stroke Rey’s hair until the knock came at his office door.
He rolled away, padded to the outer office, and let in Mick.
“Hey, boss. How’d it go?” Mick didn’t look murderous, so it had to have gone okay with the crocs as well as the cops.
“They got away.”
“Shit. I mean, what else was gonna happen. No one wants to take on a croc.” Not even him. Those things scared the fuck out of him.
“This room smells like sex, Dylan.” Mick stared at him, then at the back office.
“Yep.” He, in turn, stared Mick down, willing him to drop it.
“Huh. We’re going to have a long talk once this job is done, buddy.”
Of that he had no doubt, but he could take what Mick dished out. The guy had a lot of bluster, but he cared.
“Got it. Look, I have no idea—”
Mick cut him off. “Rey was telling me there was a business guy. High mucky-muck from India.”
“India? Who?”
“Ask your guy,” Mick snapped.
“He’s sleeping.”
“Goddamn it, Dylan—”
“Look, we can all sit and hash this shit out together. James can do on the moment research. But we need rest, and we need to figure out how to keep Rey safe. Okay?”
“How the fuck did the crocs find him? They weren’t at the safe house, right?” Mick crossed his arms over his chest.
“No. His car is here, though. I think they were playing averages. Does James have eyes on the car?”
“He does. He snuck it in when the cops were distracting everyone, including anyone who might be watching.” Mick looked utterly satisfied by that. “I did a good thing, hiring the kitty.”
“About that.”
“We’ll see about the fox, man. Are you hungry?” Mick’s dark eyes flashed with deep want for food.
“Oh my God, starving.”
“Come on. Burgers downstairs.” Mick opened the door, pointing out with his chin.
“I need shoes.” Dylan headed back to his mate, not wanting Rey to freak out waking up alone. “Honey, I’m going downstairs to get some food. Do you want anything?”
Rey murmured something unintelligible, then curled up, gone soft and fuzzy.
Okay. He kissed his nose, then headed back out to Mick. “Burgers.”
“Burgers.” He went down with Mick, his belly growling loud enough to hear. It was all the sex, all the shifting, all the damn crocs were enough to make him feel like he was starving.
All the time.
Mick hadn’t had sex, he reckoned, but the adrenaline was real. Kit was probably eating the whole office.
“Is your fox okay? I grabbed him pretty hard.” Speaking of Kit, the question was soft, worried, their bear so gentle.
“He’s small.” Dylan winked. “He’s worn out. Sleeping. But he’s okay.”
“Crocs.” Brock spat out the word, his grumpy kitty face on in full force. “What the fuck?”
“Right? Who did he piss off?” James shook his blond head. “Those things move fast.”
“He was saying something about an Indian businessman. Bad business practices.” Mick was stuck on that, repeating it to all and sundry.
“Yeah?” James perked up from his boneless kitty slump in the corner. “I might could dig something up on that angle.”
“I bet you could. We just need to know who,” Mick grumbled. “Dylan won’t ask.”
“Well, he’s asleep.” Dylan snapped it out, and all his guys looked right at him, eyebrows raised.
It was Kit that started sniffing, big head tilting.
“Stop it.” Dylan glared at Kit, who raised both hands in a clear gesture of surrender.
“Right. Nose off.” Kit’s smile never turned the least bit mocking.
“Thank you. All of you keep your noses to yourselves.” The last thing he needed was his colleagues all weighing in on his thing with Rey.
He and Rey needed to figure out what exactly was going on first. Then he might entertain the guys’ remarks. But probably not.
“He’s a client, Dylan. That’s all I’ll say.” Mick gave him an impartial glare.
“I know. I’m not sorry.” He wasn’t about to apologize for his mate. No way.
Rey was everything to him already. Such a short time, but he knew for sure he would protect Rey with every ounce of strength in him. Even from his team, his pack.
“Okay, as long as we’re all clear.” Mick’s answer surprised him.
Brock’s “Really, Wolfy? A fox?” didn’t.
“I’m not sure what you have against foxes,” Dylan said. “But leave mine out of it.”
“Yours. Meu Deus.” Brock rolled his eyes. “Okay, well, we’re kind of at a dead end until you let us talk to him.”
“I doubt it. James?”
“Huh?” James started, then shook his head. “Well, no facial recognition on the crocs. I mean, no one expected there to be, right? Dire crocs are few and far between, though, so I did some searching. There was a murder two months ago. The one eyewitness swore the killer was a crocodile. Cops were plain old humans and didn’t buy it. They thought their witness was on drugs.”
Hell, Dylan would bet the witness thought he was on drugs too.
James’s faint grin said he was thinking the same thing. “Anyway,” James went on, “the best I can do is follow the po-po investigation, but you guys know how productive that is.”
“He told me some info on his other jobs—something about a software company being bought out by a company in India.”
“Are you talking about WiseEyes?” James perked up. “You didn’t say that before. You just said Indian CEO.”
“I just remembered. And he didn’t give me any names.” Dylan spread his hands, knowing getting defensive did him no good.
“Yeah, but that one was a big deal.” James pursed his lips, that brain just working almost visibly. Sometimes James was like the computers he loved so much. “I’m surprised that someone low-level would get that job.”
“Maybe that was the point,” Mick said. “Someone thought Rey could fly under the radar?”
“Yeah.” James tapped his fingers on the table as if he was typing. “Man, let me do a little research, but… this may be bigger than we thought.”
“Shit.” Mick waggled a brow. “It feels pretty big now. Where’s my burgers?”
Dylan grinned. Food was their way of coming together.
“We’re all secure in here,” Kit said with a shudder. “They can’t get in, right?” Their bear was so sensitive to smell, the crocs had really gotten to him.
“Not now, no. We’re locked down, certo.” Brock said it with such surety that no one questioned him. The guy was former black ops. They all trusted his judgment.
“Good. We’ll just stick together, get to the bottom of this.” Dylan nodded sharply.
“Yep.” Kit started handing out burgers. “Mmm.”
They all fell on the food—this was comfort, safety, abundance that soothed the frightened animal inside. They were all apex predators, but a croc could tear them apart and they all knew it.
A bask of them? They had no chance whatsoever.
Maybe if they had a hippo shifter….
Dylan began to laugh, the sound rusty even to him.
Mick looked over to him. “Maybe for Christmas?”
He always thought Mick was a little psychic, knowing what Dylan was thinking with no hint of any kind of mate bond at all. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Quê?” Brock scowled. “Stop it. I’m trying to eat. No wolfpack in-jokes.”
“I like hippos. Can I have a burger, please? I’ll pitch in.” Rey stood in the doorway to the lounge, hair standing up in copper tufts.
Dylan smiled at Rey, who was a little blinky but smiling back at him.
“Sure, man. Come on and sit.” Kit waved Rey to a chair, then assembled another burger. “You get some rest? That adrenaline rush is killer.”
“Yes. Thank you. I was disconcerted, I guess.” Disconcerted and well-loved.
“Uh-huh.” Brock curled his upper lip.
“Don’t make me beat you, kitty,” Mick said. “Be nice.”
Brock batted his long black lashes. “But it’s been so long, patrão.”
Rey looked between them, snorted. “Promises, promises.”
“Oh ho!” James slapped the table. “He does have teeth.”
Rey snapped his teeth together like he had at Dylan early on. “People are often surprised.”
Dylan reached for Rey, wanting to make sure he wasn’t worried. As soon as he touched, he felt the waves of amusement coming off his lover.
He gasped, his eyes crossing. Was this real? This… connection? Damn. Could he really feel that, or was it wishful thinking?
“Hey, earth to Dylan. Here’s your burger.” Kit handed him a plate.
“Thanks. We can share, Rey. Then get another one.”
“Someone else will have to take a turn cooking,” Kit said. “Soon.”
“Do you cook, Rey?” Dylan asked. He was curious to know everything about Rey. Every weird fact.
“I do okay. I can follow a recipe.”
“Cool.” Kit grinned. “You can man the pan after you eat.”
“Kit!” Dylan glared.
“What? If you can cross the client line….” Kit winked at Rey, though, inviting him to share the joke, so Dylan didn’t snarl.
“At this point we’re all targets, and I’m so sorry.” Rey pulled in, hands in his lap, shoulders rounded.
“Bah.” Mick waved a hand. “Most excitement we’ve had since that gazelle was being hunted by the African lion. Remember that, guys? Very Disney villain.”
“Ah yes. There was much chewing of the scenery.” Kit laughed softly. “I got to work that one.”
“You did great, kiddo.” Mick grabbed Kit for a hug, then took a burger. “Let me eat, and I’ll cook the next round.”
“Thanks, boss.” The look Kit gave Mick was pure hero worship, and Dylan felt a pang for the guy. Mick was so oblivious sometimes, seeing Kit only as a kid brother.
Rey looked between the two, and Dylan felt the curiosity, the wicked little buzz of wonder.
He winked, and Rey ducked his head, chuckling.
“Deus, does everyone have ESP but me?” Brock snarled, and for a moment his jaguar face was transposed over his human one. “I’m going to my office.”
Rey looked at Brock, then beamed over. “God, you’re lovely.”
Brock blinked, his human face evincing shock. “Uh. Thanks.”
“Combat makes Brock grumpy,” Kit said.
“Everything makes Brock grumpy,” James countered. “Stay and eat, dummy. We love you too.”
“Shut up, pussy cat.” Brock sat, though, and Dylan thought their resident grumpy cat looked pleased.
Silly man. They were a team. Brock was just—well, he was having a long dry spell.
A long dry spell and a bad experience.
When one of their own got hurt, none of them forgot it.
Rey hummed, a weird, foxy little sound, before getting up to give Brock a hug. The expression on Brock’s face was just like a cat that had been picked up and hugged tight.
Okay, that was adorable. Possibly the cutest thing ever.
“It’s okay,” Rey said. “I should make fries. Do you like fries, Brock? Are there potatoes, Kit?” Rey had typed up a recipe on his phone. So quick to do things no one noticed.
“Always. I love fries. Make bunches.” Kit flipped more meat patties.
“I will!” Rey pulled out the potatoes Kit showed him, then sliced them with the slotted chopper thing Mick had bought just for fries. They were all about the salty potato. All of them, no matter what breed.
Dylan leaned back, then tried for casual. “Rey, you know the job you were talking about, the software company? What did they want?”
“There’s a man trying to buy them out. Daksh Patel. WiseEyes wanted information on him—they wanted dirt.”
“Did you come up with anything?” Mick took his lead, kept the tone easy.
“Not really. I mean, I’m not a private detective like you guys. I deal in information you can mine off the net, from people that want to talk. He’s not a very nice man. Lots of rumors sliding on the web about how he does sketchy business, destroys little companies for fun.” Rey was concentrating on potatoes, the words offered easily.
“So, did you contact anyone who might have proof?” That was James.
“Yes. A young man named Victor Mills. He had a file on Patel, but I never received it.” Rey looked up from his potatoes. “At least, not yet.”
“Where do you get your mail?” That was Brock, leaning back so he could see Rey.
“A locked box at my apartment. I have some in my car. There was a lot that day and I just shoved it in.”
“Brock?” Mick looked at their resident badass, the request clear.
“On it, patrão. Be right back.”
“Be careful. They might be out there,” Rey cautioned.
“I know.” Brock was up and out before anyone could say anything else. The man would get the job done.
“Wow. He’s… intense. I like him.” Rey headed to the pot Kit had heated for him.
Dylan grinned at Rey. His mate had a generous heart. “He’s a good man. He’s just….”
“Complex.” All of them said it at once.
“Right on.” Rey started frying.
“God, that smells good.” Kit’s nose worked like crazy.
“I have to fry them twice, it says. It’ll be a few minutes.”
“That’s okay. Mick is about to make burgers so I can start eating.” Kit had loaded a burger or two on a plate.
“Trade off!” Mick stood, taking the spatula from Kit.
It was fascinating, to watch his team and his fox work together, move around each other like they were dancing. Rey fit right in.
Dylan had to wonder academically if that was because Rey was his mate, or if Rey was just…. Rey.
Brock was back with a handful of mail and some clothes. “I put two loads of your stuff down in the office. I wasn’t sure if you needed it.”
“Oh, thank you!” Rey just smiled like sunrise.
“Thanks, Brock. So, what have you got?” Dylan asked.
“Bills, bills, junk mail, package from ThinkGeek, postcard from a Bobby in Hawaii. Two packages and a box of… tea?”
“Catnip. It was a gift.”
“Catnip?” James peered at the box, eyes wide. “Ooooh.”
“You’re welcome to it. There are four packets.”
“Oh.” James looked at Brock. Brock looked at James. They set the catnip aside on the counter.
“So, do we open your mail, Rey?” Dylan asked.
“There’s nothing scary in there. Go ahead.” Oh, that easy agreement made him want to bounce with pride. Rey had nothing to hide from them.
“Okay, so, James, log this, huh?” Mick grabbed the ThinkGeek box.
“On it.”
Kit did bounce, which was hilarious on such a big guy. “I love ThinkGeek. Love it.”
“So, we have a ThinkGeek box with… a Doctor Who Tardis teapot.” Brock set the package aside.
“And matching teacup?” Kit was bouncing harder. Such a nerd.
“Oh, do you have them too?” Rey asked.
“Yes! Oh my God!”
Dylan shared a long-suffering look with Mick.
“Really? A Whovian?” Mick muttered.
“Man, you just said ‘Whovian.’ You lose all cred.” Dylan shook his head sorrowfully.
“What?” Mick chuckled. “Okay, so I like Doctor Nine.”
“Ten is best,” Kit and Rey said together.
Oh, those two were going to be fast friends, Dylan could tell.
“Second package—pens and a packet of white buttons?” Brock’s brow furrowed.
“Yes. I go through a lot of both.”
“Why the buttons?” Dylan asked, that curiosity about Rey raising its head again.
“I shift, a lot, and my fox chews off shirt buttons to decorate the den. I can’t help myself.” Rey gave him a wry smile.
Oh God. That was hysterical. Dylan loved it. He winked. “My wolf likes shoes. Usually Brock’s, since they’re so fancy.”
Brock growled, the sound very much a jaguar cough. “Canids.”
“Oh, like you aren’t the world’s biggest laser light whore.” James rolled his eyes.
“What’s your weakness, James?” Rey asked.
Kit laughed. “Catnip, so beware.”
“Well, you are welcome to mine, like I said. What’s in the other box?”
James opened this one up. “A SIM card wrapped up in about thirty thousand pounds of bubble wrap.”
Everyone stopped, staring. “SIM card,” Dylan repeated. “Did you buy one?”
Rey shook his head, pulling fries out of the fryer so they didn’t burn, maybe. “No. Why would I? Mine works perfectly well.”
“Is there a receipt?” Mick asked. “A note?”
“Just a postmark from here. Postmarked five days ago.” James shook the box.
Rey blinked over his shoulder. “Is there a place to put it in a phone so we might see what’s on it?”
“I have a SIM card reader upstairs,” James said.
“Of course you do.” Kit rolled his eyes. “Fries first?” He looked so hopeful, his nose twitching again. Even as a human, that big nose gave away everything.
“The crocs can wait ten minutes,” Brock agreed with a fond smile.
“Maybe even twenty,” Mick murmured.
“Oh good. I would hate to have fried these for nothing.” Rey set a bowl of fries on the table. They were golden and gorgeous and smelled like heaven.
“Oh Lord, for this potato-cooking fox may we be truly thankful,” Mick intoned.
“Amen,” they all replied.