By Rhys Ford
SFPD Lieutenant Joseph Zanetti has spent years protecting his city, and from the looks of St. Connal’s Pub and its bad-boy owner, Levi Keller, the place is a hotspot for trouble and violence. Joe’s problem? Levi is delectably hot, with secrets Joe can’t wait to dig into.
As a Peacekeeper for paranormals, wolf shifter Levi doesn’t need the complication of a hot cop sniffing around his pub when he’s just sent his teen son off to summer camp. He’s busy brokering a peace agreement between two warring factions. When Joe stumbles into Levi’s world, both plunge into a situation neither one of them was ready for—falling in love.
To everyone who loves things that go bump in the night…
OH, TO the Five… always. And to Bru, who jumped in on this ride. As well as to Elizabeth, Liz, Naomi, Gin, and everyone else at DSP for letting us go crazy with this
.
“GOD, I hate you.”
It was a muttered refrain Levi had heard more than a couple of times since he first brought home his squalling red larva from the hospital, only his son’s face visible from the swaddling blankets wrapped around his squirming body. There’d been a few long, drawn-out fights when Declan entered adolescence and was conflicted by the rise of hormones every young boy faced. There was anger and a bit of self-doubt, mostly from grappling with the loss of a mother who’d checked herself out of the hospital and disappeared, practically right after they cleaned the afterbirth off the thin, pale newborn.
Then there was also the first time he shifted into his wolf form—a long-legged, gangly thing with too-big paws, no sense of direction or grace, and an overwhelming appetite for pizza and cheeseburgers.
Levi dealt with Declan’s little act of verbal aggression with an arched eyebrow, followed by an ice-cold shot back, “Really?”
At fifteen, his son was gaining on him in height but had years to go before he’d reach Levi’s muscle mass… if he ever did. Ashley passed on not only her beauty, blue eyes, and long lashes to their son, but also her compact dancer body—a lithe, sleek contrast to Levi’s brawler build. To be fair, Levi also spent many evenings tossing out drunks and staring down tipsy supernaturals with enough strength to tear down a streetlamp even in their human forms, so Levi knew he could bank on just a hard look to push his son’s bravado back down a few notches.
The really was an extra cherry on top of the Levi-takes-no-shit sundae.
Levi waited, holding his tongue in the tense silence. Declan glanced to the side, making the briefest of eye contact, then dropped his gaze down to the living room floor, where his half-packed duffels sat next to piles of folded summer clothes. If he’d been one to buy into the wolf lore some older packs whispered about, building up their own arrogance and need to feel superior over the next guy, Levi could have said Declan’s submissive drop of his head and gaze was lupine in nature, an instinctual reaction to Levi’s alpha status. Calling bullshit on that type of thing was exactly why the Keller family was split—one side clinging to the old myths and structure while the ones who had a lick of common sense formed a healthier splinter group.
Levi wasn’t alpha so much as he was Dad.
The silence simmered, bubbling between them until Declan finally broke.
“Sorry,” he muttered, a bit louder than before. “You didn’t deserve that crap from me. I just want—”
“You want to stay here and hang out at the pub,” Levi finished for his son, picking up one of the duffels. He’d heard enough of Declan’s varied arguments over the past few days, his objections ramping up as the date got closer. “And you’re not. You know why. It’s not up for discussion. You can’t spend your entire life only surrounded by your own kin. It doesn’t work that way in the human world, and it sure as hell doesn’t work that way in ours. Only way you’re going to learn about other kinds of people is if you’re around them. And don’t start telling me St. Con’s got lots of people you can learn from. That’s not the kind of crowd that needs to be teaching you.”
Declan flopped down on the living room couch, a heavy overpadded affair Levi was glad he’d paid through the nose for when the kid was younger. His son was hard on furniture, especially as he was growing into his enormous feet and hands. Puberty was rough, and there’d been times when Declan’s body ached from sprouting up an inch or two, seemingly overnight. The soft, comfortable sectional, with its wide cushions, made a great nest for him to curl up in. If he’d been thinking, Levi probably wouldn’t have chosen to have it upholstered in bloodred chenille, but he liked the color and didn’t realize eventually there’d be two wolves in the house and double the fur all over the place once Declan began to shift.
“Dad—”
“Michelle will be here when you come back,” Levi said, cutting through the heart of the bramble growing up around Declan’s objections. “You’re fifteen, and it might seem like she’s the love of your life right now, but the truth is, you’re barely a blink in the universe at the moment, kiddo. Yes, she’s pretty and she giggles when you tell a joke, but if she’s serious about you, she’ll wait. It’s only two and a half weeks at summer camp. There’s people you haven’t seen in a year, other kids you like and still talk to. Hell, some of them have even squatted in our house for a weekend or two.”
“It’s just….” Declan laid his head down to stare up at the ceiling, not even glancing at his father when Levi sat down next to him. “It’s not like I don’t like the place… or the things we do. Some of it’s really cool. It’s just that when I go out there, I feel like I’m a freak. At least at home, I feel normal. Like I could almost be normal.”
“You are normal, Deck.” Levi shifted over, hooking his arm around his son’s slender shoulders. Pulling his son close, Levi kissed the top of Declan’s head, wondering when the hell the little boy who’d fit in his lap only a few years ago was suddenly this handsome young man with a storm of confusion in his blue eyes and troubles in his heart. “We’re normal. Are we different than the people you go to school with? Yeah, you are. But not just because we’re shifters. We’re different in experiences and culture. There’s people out there with centuries of social burdens holding them down, and they’ve got to carry all of that crap on their shoulders, wondering if something shitty’s going to happen to them because of it or if it’s going to stop them from getting ahead.
“You’ve got other burdens, other troubles, and I’m not saying you’ve got it easy, but you’re not alone. I’m here. Your grandparents and some of the other family members are too,” he assured softly, wrapping his other arm around his kid to give Declan a tight hug. “I told you a long time ago, we’re making this shit up as we go along, and the only thing I have to guide you with is what I’ve learned myself and what everyone around me has to say.”
“Because you’re going to listen to Uncle Gibson?” Declan pulled back a bit to wrinkle his nose at his father. “He writes romance books and lives in a cabin out in the middle of nowhere. What’s he going to teach me?”
“Probably that having romance in your life is a damned good thing to have,” Levi shot back, unwrapping his arms so he could tweak Declan’s nose. “I’m not saying I’m perfect. God knows I’ve fucked up, and I’m always going to adult up and apologize if I’m wrong, but in this, I know it’s the right thing for you. Everyone there’s got something to teach you about how to be you, and they’re people other than me. Because sometimes you’re going to need to hear truths that aren’t mine, and maybe you’ve got something to say to someone else to help them figure things out. Just… go up there, have a good time, and for God’s sake, don’t blow anything up this year.”
“Shit, blow up one toilet—”
“You blew up three toilets, and the year before that, you guys were caught making a still out in the canoe shed, which also exploded.” Levi sighed. “Seriously, dude, can you just not set anything on fire or bring down hellfire and brimstone for three weeks? Between you and your cousin Dino, I think our family’s replaced most of the buildings up there. Go, have fun, and this time, no makey with the boom-boom. My bank account can either feed you or buy a new roof for a cafeteria. Your choice, kiddo.”
JUDGING BY the weight of the duffel in his hand, Levi figured Declan shoveled all of his belongings—and possibly the pub’s huge kitchen sink—into the two soft-sided totes. Waiting outside for the camp van to come by to grab his kid was a summer ritual, one he’d participated in at least fourteen times himself. Now, on the other side of the pickup, Levi wondered if his own parents worried about making sure he’d been ready to take on the world once he stepped off the curb.
Talking seemed to push back the anxiety of watching his son take another leap forward, and even though he knew in his gut Declan needed to hear others’ stories and maybe discover a bit about himself without his old man looming over him, it was still hard to let go.
“Now, remember what I’ve told you, Deck?” Scuffing his boots on the gritty sidewalk outside of the building where he lived and worked, Levi peered down the street, then clarified, “Other than the no-exploding-things bit.”
“No means no. If someone doesn’t listen to me saying no, then….” Declan snarled, shifting his canines into wolf-form to make snick-snick noises with his elongated teeth. “Make them listen with a bit of bitey-bitey?”
“You’re fifteen now. We don’t call it bitey-bitey.” He covered his son’s mouth, looking around to see if anyone was near. “And don’t let Grandma see you do that. She’ll tear me a new asshole for teaching you that. Bad enough Pops taught me. She’ll start saying you look like a chihuahua. And yeah, no means no, but I was thinking more of the whole… keep it wrapped, or better yet, keep it tucked?”
“Dad, anything I can do there, I can do here, just in a bed that doesn’t smell like mold and maybe snakeskin,” Declan groaned, rolling his eyes. “I love you, but man, I don’t want to have a kid before I’m twenty. Maybe not even before I’m thirty. I want to be old when I have crotch goblins.”
“Great, now I’m old,” Levi chuckled, mocking Declan’s eye roll with one of his own. “And that’s going to be your new nickname—Crotch Goblin. That’s how I’m going to introduce you to everyone. Hey, have you met Crotch Goblin Declan? I made him myself.”
“Swear to God, the main reason I’m sorry I’m an only child is because someone else should share the shame of having you as a dad.” Declan dug into his jeans pocket, probably looking for something to bind his long brown hair with. The wind picked up a few strands, carrying a hot kiss on it, the heavy mugginess of summer lingering in the afternoon air. “I’m okay. I haven’t bitten anyone in years, and to flip things around, if you do decide to bring someone home, make sure they don’t wear the same size shoes I do. Unless you want to replace all my Converse again.”
“Have you looked at the boats on your feet?” He snorted. “I could just buy you those inflatable Zodiacs and put them on you. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”
“Yeah, yeah, so funny.” Declan narrowed his eyes and peered around his father, pushing Levi’s firm shoulder out of the way. “Van’s coming.”
“Okay, give me a hug before anyone can see you,” Levi murmured, drawing his kid into a smothering embrace. “Can’t let them see we love each other.”
“You are so fucking weird, Dad,” Declan grumbled into Levi’s chest, but his arms came up, wrapping around his father’s back. “Gonna miss you anyway.”
Levi closed his eyes, holding on to the moment as tightly as he did his son. They’d come a long way together, battling the world and pushing back anyone who said Levi could only raise hell and not a kid. It’d been a battle with temptations along the way, sins dark and deep enough to pull him off the path he’d set for himself, but he’d overcome them, focused on being the kind of father he’d had instead of the man he’d become. He and his father, Davis, were too much alike, his mother always said, destined to butt heads because they always had to be right. In some ways, Levi hoped she was right, because if anyone deserved the kind of stand-by-you father Davis was to his kids, it was Declan.
“Man, I love you, kiddo.” He squeezed tighter. “I would recognize your foul stench anywhere.”
“Okay, Dad… um, the van’s almost here.” Declan squirmed. “You can let go now.”
“No, no. Let me have this moment,” Levi sighed, rocking Declan back and forth in as dramatic of a roll as he could. “Seeing my little boy off—”
“Dad, do you want me living with you for the rest of your life?” his son mumbled, unable to pull away from Levi’s strong hold. “Because this is how that happens. This is becoming a ‘Hot For Teacher Sweet, Sweet Waldo’ thing, and dying a virgin wasn’t on my life plan. Let go before I have to live under my bed.”
“Okay, go get into the van, and good luck with the bears.” Levi released Declan, then steadied him with a firm hand, clenching his son’s shoulder affectionately. “And well, whatever other shifter is up there this year. Send me an email or something if they ever unchain you from the basket-weaving bench, and no—”
“Biting or exploding stuff.” Declan picked up his duffels, his shoulder muscles bulging under his thin T-shirt. “Yeah, I know. Same goes for you.”
There was a bit of the same old catch-up small talk with Brandon, the camp’s head counselor, as Declan loaded his things and climbed into the van, already mostly full with other teenagers in various stages of funk and sullenness. Stepping back onto the curb, Levi watched the van take off, cruising down the road toward the woodland site nestled in the hills. It would be a long drive ahead, or at least long enough for the kids to get caught up on old friendships. A part of him missed those days.
He’d bought the St. Connal’s Pub off of his uncle, moving into the large apartment over the bar with an inquisitive five-year-old boy, both of them ready to take on the world. Or at least that’s what he told Declan. The truth was he needed to settle down, and the two-story brick building in an old, established neighborhood was just where he felt they belonged. The St. Con was a piece of Keller history, belonging to the family since the 1930s, and now more than ever, Levi felt the weight of its legacy on his shoulders.
“You know, for a pile of bricks and wood, you’re not too bad-looking, old man,” he said to the building sitting on the corner, the pub’s intersection-facing door open in welcome to anyone passing by. The afternoon shift sounded like it was doing well—a bit of laughter tumbling out onto the street and the delicious scent of beef pies beginning to fight its way through the afternoon air. Cocking his head, Levi turned toward the garage attached to the back of the building and smiled. “Been a while since I’ve seen you on two feet, cousin. Should have come out and said hey to the kid. About time he met you again.”
He caught Ellis’s scent as soon as they came out the security door. At first, he didn’t quite believe his cousin was lurking about. The last he’d heard from the family was Ellis was no longer curled up inside of his wolf form. But making his way out into the world wasn’t something Levi expected Ellis to do, not so soon. Not after… everything he’d gone through.
“Last thing the kid needed,” Ellis growled. His voice sounded rough, torn around the edges and lacking the lightness of humor Levi always associated with his older cousin. “Came begging for favors. Didn’t want to… muddy things up.”
“Okay, I can see that.” A reunion would have meant catching up and then Declan again not wanting to leave. Levi nodded, then jerked his head toward the apartment’s entrance. “You hungry? I can toss together a dinner. Not on the job tonight.”
Ellis studied the wrought iron security gate guarding the place’s front steps and stoop as if it were an oracle and he could only ask it one question. His gaze shifted, settling on the mudroom and its chaos beyond the open front door, then a quick glance at the curved stairs beyond that, the warm honey-oak steps leading up into the apartment. Something flickered across Ellis’s strong face, turning any softness in his features to stone, and for a moment, Levi wondered if his cousin was even aware he was there.
Like most of the Keller men, they shared a strong genetic stamp. Broad-shouldered and lean-hipped, Ellis had at least twenty pounds of muscle on Levi’s honed brawn, and his gaze was just as heavy—an ice-flecked cold sweep of constant movement, catching on any changes in his environment with each turn. When they were kids, Levi and Ellis’s younger brother, Gibson, haunted Ellis’s heels, barely hiding their hero worship for him and some of the other Keller clan.
Ellis coming home, broken and caught in his wolf form, shattered the clan into pieces. Some suggested putting the eldest of the cousin pack down like a dog infected with rampant distemper, while others spat at the suggestion. The schism happened in ripples, the divide between families and kin growing as angry words and resentment over Ellis’s treatment made the rounds. Levi landed on the side of letting Ellis be who he needed to be, refusing the family space at St. Con’s to discuss the issue on the pub’s neutral grounds. He’d taken a stand against his kin, refusing to fall prey to traditions instead of honoring blood and family. In the end, sides were taken and lines were drawn. He distanced himself from men and women he admired and loved, feeling the loss of their presence in his life keenly during the holidays or during times when he felt alone.
Now the furred wedge himself had shown up at Levi’s front door, asking for a favor.
The raspy cough of an ill-timed motorcycle turned both their heads, and Levi’s hackles rose despite being hidden deep inside his human form. If Ellis was a hauntingly familiar and welcome scent, the scruffy man in road-rashed leathers and denim cutting around the pub’s corner turned the air foul. Ellis’s wariness rose, his face closing up once again, a granite hardness shaping his expression into solemn disapproval. Levi didn’t blame him one bit. Even if Ellis didn’t know Charlie Granger was a low-ranking go-between for the Los Lobos MC and probably would stab his own mother for a can of piss-water beer, Charlie’s odor of desperate neediness was strong enough to turn a man’s stomach. He tried masking it with bravado and tough words, barely hiding his rage at the world behind violent threats and intimidating stares, but Granger wasn’t the first bootlicker he’d dealt with and probably wouldn’t be the last.
All part and parcel of being the owner of the St. Con’s and a Peacekeeper.
The rattling bike came to rest facing the wrong direction, a tiny aggressive flip-of-the-finger Granger seemed to get a kick out of. Planting his feet down on the asphalt, he made a great show of taking off his aviators and giving Ellis the once-over. Up close, he actually smelled, more sweat and soil with an after-tang of grease and stale booze. A fringe of stringy blond hair poked out from under his black turtle-shell helmet—the barest concession to California’s riding laws—and his eyebrows were a crawling mess of coarse hair, battling one another for the bridge of his flat, broad nose. Dirt held a firm grip on the large pores dotting Charlie’s fleshy cheeks, and a straggle of hairs dotted his chin in a vague attempt at a goatee.
Curling his lip, Charlie finally spat out, “You should move along, asshole. Keller and I have to talk some business.”
“Which asshole?” Ellis cocked his head, looking around. It was good to see Ellis’s arrogant smirk form, and Levi chuckled, shaking his head when Charlie’s face flushed red. “Which Keller? Looks like at least one asshole and two Kellers.”
Before Charlie could bristle up into his best bantam flourish, Levi cut him off. “What do you want, Granger? The meet’s not until this weekend, and I’ve already laid out for both clubs about what’s going to happen and when. Is Reilly balking and he couldn’t come down here himself to talk to me?”
At the mention of his club’s leader, Charlie turned even redder, swallowing hard before speaking. “No, I just figured I was in the area, so I’d come by and make sure Paolo got what he wanted in the deal. Because you know, I’m his right-hand guy, so I’m here to take a look around. It’s my business to—”
“So, Reilly didn’t send you?” Levi glanced up at the sky briefly, as if pleading with the heavens. “Deal is, none of you come around until Friday night when the meet happens. And even then, there’s only going to be three of you on each side. That’s the rules, Granger. Always have been. What you guys do until then isn’t any of my business, but come seven o’clock Friday night, you’ll be under my roof, under my rules. Showing up here only pisses on what’s already been agreed on. So if Reilly thinks otherwise, I can call—”
“How about if I punch the asshole next to you in the face, and we can see what I’ve got to think?” Charlie leaned forward, his meaty hand clenched into a tight fist. “Then I’ll start in on you.”
Levi had to give Charlie points for bravery, or maybe just the depth of his stupidity. He was about to respond when Ellis bent slightly forward and bared his teeth, growing out his canines just like Declan had a little while before. Controlling the shifting of their forms was a sign of strength in their kind, and the delicate, gentle manipulation of growing vicious fangs in a human jaw made Charlie suck in his breath.
Snapping his teeth at the rider, Ellis said quite clearly, “Go ahead. Try it. When I’m done, I’ll leave your hands so they can figure out who you were from your fingerprints.”
The struggle in Ellis’s voice lacquered his threat with a deep menace, his throaty growl more like a fighting wolf than an angry man. Levi braced himself, instincts warning him a member of his family was in danger, but he held himself back and let Charlie sift through his options before stepping in.
“Go away, Granger,” Levi finally said, letting Charlie off the hook. “I won’t tell Reilly you came by and nearly fucked this all up, and you get to keep your nose. Because Ellis here likes cartilage the best. And spinal cords. Bones are just something to bite through to get to the good stuff.”
Ellis gave another wicked-wolf grin and nearly purred at Charlie when he pulled the bike away. They watched the motorcycle jerk and sway up the street, nearly hitting the curb as he took the far corner too tightly.
“Grandpa teach you that? Or your dad?” Levi asked, rocking back on his heels.
“Your dad. Then Grandpa came around all hush-hush, telling me not to tell Grandma.” Ellis shrugged. “Haven’t yet.”
“Who do you think taught Grandpa?” Levi smirked at Ellis’s rough laugh. “Sorry about that. Sometimes people with the smallest dicks have to flex them to make sure they’re still there.”
“Los Lobos? Kind of… stupidly obvious.”
“Yeah,” Levi replied. “They’re not the most imaginative people.”
“Who was that asshole? And why?” Ellis grumbled. “You’re doing a meet for him and who?”
“Not him. Paolo Reilly from Los Lobos and the Vikings’ leader, Tom Wheeler,” Levi answered. “Lobos are moving into the Yosemite area, and the Vikings are already there. Reilly says he just wants to homestead, but no one believes him. Wheeler’s already gone after a couple of the LL riders and Paolo’s retaliated. I guess they figured they’d give St. Con’s a shot before they try to wipe each other off the face of the Earth. Meet’s on Friday. After that, they’re on their own. Now, if you’re not hungry and aren’t looking for a place to crash, what can I do you for, cousin?”
“Looking for a bike.” Ellis shuffled back away from the curb and moved closer to the building. Levi didn’t like the shadows in Ellis’s warm eyes or the strain in his voice. Freed of his wolf form, his cousin was running from something, maybe even himself. His next words confirmed it. “I need to get far from here. Gibson’s… great, but I need to run. For a bit. At least. Hoping you can help, but I don’t have—”
“If you’re going to say you don’t got the money for a bike, I’m going to give you that punch in the face Charlie couldn’t pull off. Your coin’s no good here, El. You’ve done enough for me in the past. Least I can do for you now.” Levi slapped his broad cousin on the shoulder and pushed him toward the double-wide garage attached to the back of the pub. “Come on and let me show you what I’ve got, including a Softail Deluxe I just finished bringing back up. Asshole who owned it laid it down in front of an old pickup, so I got it cheap. She ain’t pretty, mostly primer, but she runs like she’s got a fire under her. And I’m thinking she’s just about your size.”
IF THERE was anything Lieutenant Joseph Zanetti knew about, it was coffee and violence.
As a cop for nearly twenty years, he’d downed at least a million cups of coffee, both good and bad, and as for violence, seen more than his share of death, sorrow, and plain stupidity. He’d waded through the remains of bloodbaths, stepped over dead bikers dressed in full club gear and clutching weapons that did them no good in the end. He held on to the images of every child who’d had their light snuffed out way too early and stood over mummified corpses discovered in odd places, murder clearly evident even on their dry, desiccated flesh.
Death he could deal with. Violence could wash over Joe, and he’d barely blink. He’d been in the game too long to expect to see anything new delivered up on a bloody platter for him to be all that surprised about what humans could do to one another and themselves.
But as he steeled himself for yet another sip from the battered paper cup he’d rested on his SUV’s middle console, sucking down the sticky film off the top of a cold coffee was perhaps the greatest crime he’d ever have to face.
“If you brought one of those steel tumblers Ma keeps buying for you, you wouldn’t be complaining about it, Joe,” he scolded himself after scraping his tongue against his front teeth. “And why the hell am I sitting here on my day off?”
He knew the answer, and it lay in the by-chance spotting of a biker sporting a full patch on his back from a motorcycle club he’d thought long gone from the city. The roar of the Harley caught Joe’s attention first, rumbling around in the tight Chinatown street, filling the long stretch with its throaty, choppy purr. Thinking nothing other than the bike sounded good, Joe was about to make a right turn when the man sitting back on the bike’s long seat wove between the lines of traffic to sit between two small imports to wait for a red light to change. That’s when the rider’s colors popped out at Joe, its Viking-helmet-wearing bear’s head and rocker patches confirming what his brain nearly refused to accept.
Because ten years after being driven out of the city by Joe and the rest of the cops on SFPD’s Gang Task Force, the Vikings were possibly coming home to roost.
It’d been years since he’d been on the Task Force but he remembered all of the heavy hitters from when he’d led his team back then. The Vikings weren’t a club anyone wanted to mess with, and it’d taken a few years to break their hold on the drug supply lines they’d set up in Chinatown’s underground markets. He wanted to verify what he’d seen before he contacted the current GTF’s leader, Sgt. John Yang.
“No sense going to Yang with only a whisper of information and a half-verified patch,” Joe murmured, taking another sip of his hideously cold coffee. “Quick stakeout. How can that hurt?”
As stakeouts went, this one was unofficial but a hell of a lot more comfortable than any of the others he’d been on. Parked under a shady tree in the parking lot of an evenings-only sushi place across the street from the pub, his SUV was air-conditioned with padded seats and space for a cooler filled with ice and soda. It had been a spontaneous decision, driven more by the niggling suspicion of gang activity than anything else. Or, Joe supposed, he was purposely avoiding heading to his parents’ house, where a family gathering awaited him, complete with somebody his mother invited as one of her many matchmaking attempts.
“If it wasn’t for her marrying Dad,” Joe grumbled, “I would have serious doubts about Ma’s taste in men.”
He was about to call it a day after an hour when a door on the side of the pub opened up and a lanky teenaged boy ambled out, followed by one of the hottest men Joe’d ever seen. The kid obviously was his or at least related, judging by their similar strong features and dark hair. Their body language was familial, a bit of teasing and murmuring banter Joe couldn’t make out even as he rolled down his window. Dad was a few inches shorter than Joe, but his compact muscular body and long legs tickled a desire Joe thought he’d buried a long time ago. He didn’t have time for sex, much less relationships, but the sexy, scruffy man in torn blue jeans and an old gray T-shirt stretched tight over his sculpted torso brought a wet need to Joe’s dry mouth.
They talked, murmuring in low tones, and the kid turned toward his father and snapped his teeth at him playfully, probably showing off a lack of braces or something, because the boy looked about the age Joe was when his own steel gear came off. The dad’s words took on a bit of a warning tone—not quite a scolding but mostly cautious, and the kid grinned up at him, easily falling into their banter again.
The man turned, giving Joe a good look at the tight ass beneath those battered jeans. Then he surprisingly pulled his son into a fierce hug. It was hard to watch, mostly because Joe could count on one hand the times his father ever embraced him. There’d been a few slaps across his shoulder and a thousand hair ruffles but never anything as unadulteratedly affectionate as the slightly grubby father fiercely hugging his son out in the open. The boy’s arms came up, returning the embrace, but then something changed between them when the boy struggled a bit and the father’s deep laughter rolled over the street, a teasing lilt in his undistinguishable words. The teen pushed at the man’s shoulder when they separated, and a sleek white van half-filled with teens and driven by a harried-looking middle-aged man with a full beard and a broad smile pulled up.
“Joey, unlock the door and let your grandma inside. It’s hot out here. Do you want me to die of heatstroke?” His grandmother’s raspy muted voice shook Joe out of his reverie, and he peered toward the passenger-side window, where her heavily ringed, petite hand rapped at the tinted glass. “Are you deaf, Joey? Can you hear me over that horrible music you listen to?”
“Hold on, Nana.” The doors unlocked with a flick of a switch, and Joe leaned over to open the door, then held his hand out for his grandmother to take as she fought with a couple of plastic bags, lifting them up into the cab. “Wait, let me get out and….”
Getting out would mean blowing his surveillance, and a quick glance over at the sidewalk gave him not only a good look at the hot guy but at a second one, stepping up to the curb from the shadowy overhang of what looked like a garage next to the alley behind the pub.
Still, it was his grandmother, and she barely kissed five feet tall on a good day.
“I’ve got it. Thank God someone thought to put a step thing when they made it. Who are they designing for? The Jolly Green Giant? Take the bags. There’s food in there for you.” She heaved herself up, a trim eightysomething-year-old woman with a froth of impossibly blond-caramel hair and vivid red lipstick wrapped over and around her thin lips. “I was coming home with some of the girls and I saw your car, and I thought, look, there’s Joey and he probably didn’t bring himself something to eat. You’re going to waste away. You, without a wife. Not that you need a wife, being the gay, but still, you should eat more. There’s tacos in there. And some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I didn’t know what you were hungry for. A couple of apples, but I tucked a banana in there for me. I need the potassium, you know.”
She was a slice of the East Coast Italian family Joe and his brothers went to visit during the summer when they were kids, and by the time he was ten, Antonina Zanetti decided Tina, her daughter-in-law and Joe’s mother, wasn’t doing enough to keep her family alive, well, and happy. Mike, Joe’s father, wisely decided to stay out of it and built himself a shed in the backyard, filling it with old cast-off recliners and an enormous television—a proto-mancave before they were a thing. The family braced themselves for outright battles, but Tina and Joe’s Nana kept to sniping instead, knowing it was better not to make anyone choose a side. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t take cheap shots at each other.
“Nana, how did you get here?” Joe sighed, resigned to his grandmother settling into the SUV. “And hold on, let me get you something cold to drink. It’s hot as hell out there.”
“I walked from home. It’s not far. What?” she exclaimed, placing a hand over her pink paisley shirt. “Two miles. Maybe. It’ll be time to tuck me into the ground next to your sainted grandfather the day I can’t walk two miles to bring my favorite grandson something to eat while he’s… working.” Peering out the windshield, she gave Joe a sly smile. “Or are you working? You’ve got something going with the Keller boy? Huh?”
She was a tiny powerhouse of a woman who was the first one he came out to as a shaky-voiced fifteen-year-old kid, afraid God would hate him and the family would toss him out on his ear. Nana was his first warrior, the woman who battled his demons when they overwhelmed him and encouraged him to pursue painting even as he chased after his SFPD star. She’d held his secrets and stood by his mother when he got shot at the age of twenty-five in a drug bust gone wrong, putting aside years of acrimony and backbiting Joe wasn’t so sure actually existed, especially when his mom nearly broke down and reached for Nana instead of his dad.
There wasn’t a bright color in existence that Nana Zanetti didn’t love or wear at some point in her life, and the more something sparkled, the better. She had firm opinions on pasta, family, and beer, with a special hatred for the Los Angeles Dodgers and a deep, abiding love for the Chicago Cubs, despite being from New Jersey. Her showing up at one of his stakeouts shouldn’t have surprised him, but her knowing the guy on the curb did. Joe leaned back in his seat, keeping one eye on the two guys across the street from them and the other on the tiny dynamo dressed in blinding pink paisley separates nesting herself in his SUV after shoving a pair of rhinestone-embellished sunglasses on top of her head.
“You know the shorter guy? Keller, you said?” It felt weird grilling his grandmother, but Joe knew she’d shrug it off like water beading on a duck’s shoulders. If ducks had shoulders. “How do you know him?”
A motorcycle engine cut through his words, and Joe glanced back to the street and swore when he spotted a greasy-looking guy on a bike pull up to the curb to engage in what sounded like a heated conversation with the men. The rattle of the bike drowned out their words even more so than the ambient street noise had between the guy and his kid, and not for the first time in his life, Joe wished he had superhearing… or a listening device stuck on the outer wall of the pub so he could hear what was being said. It looked like something big or at least heated, especially when the bigger guy on the sidewalk leaned toward the bike rider and said something to make the patched club member flinch.
“Los Lobos,” Joe murmured, writing the name down on the notepad he’d left on his console. Sketching the biker’s patch as quickly as he could, capturing as much detail as he could, he left off when he was mostly satisfied with it and used his phone to catch a zoomed-in photo, hoping it would hold up. “I need a better phone. Been a long time since I sat doing surveillance. You’ve seen that guy before, Nana? On the bike? Actually, what the hell would you be doing down here? At a biker bar?”
“It’s not a biker bar.” She sniffed imperiously. “It’s a nice place, and one I’ve been going to for years. We come here after we’re done playing canasta. Levi took the pub from his uncle when that man went to Florida to chase after that blond hussy he fell for. She led him a merry chase, let me tell you. Last I heard, they were living on a houseboat, lying naked in the sun, and getting their bits all browned up. Can’t be good for you. There’s some things that God meant to be left untanned.”
“Levi?” Joe studied the man.
“His parents are hippies. Or were hippies. I think he’s got an older brother named Hendrix. He’s named after the blue-jean guy. Guess he should have been happy his dad didn’t like Dickies.” She chortled, snapping off the end of her banana. “Get your nana a water, Joey. It’s hot outside. Can’t believe you do this for a living. Anyway, Levi’s a good boy. Raises his son right.
“The mother skipped out before the kid was even dried off, but Levi’s done right by him. Very polite. Helps out around the pub sometimes but not behind the bar. Kitchen work’s for him. Buses tables once in a while.” Nana didn’t skip a beat as she finished peeling the banana and took the opened bottle of water Joe handed her from the cooler. “I try to give him a good tip, and he’s always there to help us get Fran into the cab when it’s time to go. You know how she gets after a couple of Long Island iced teas. Thinks she’s Ethel Merman or Barbra once she gets liquored up. Wouldn’t be so bad if she could sing, but the woman sounds more like Biz Markie than Streisand.”
From the outside, St. Connal’s looked like a typical Irish pub—a bit of polished wood, white paint, and brick walls wrapped around the building with a welcoming, propped-open double door. Signs hung from the outer walls on either side of the front entrance, done up as old-country in swinging placards with a wolf wearing a halo staring out under the pub’s name in gold letters above it. The place looked solid, and if the paint on the front door was to be believed, it’d been sitting on that corner, welcoming people into its doors since the early 1930s.
But he’d seen a Vikings club member outside its door only a couple of days ago, and that meant it wasn’t a place Nana needed to be.
“How often do you go in there?” he ventured carefully, knowing the older woman was fiercely independent and any move by a family member to curtail her would be met with nearly lethal results. There was talk about his uncle Paul once telling his nana she needed to go into the kitchen where she belonged during the beginning of the ERA movement, and from everything Joe heard about that afternoon, Uncle Paul was lucky he escaped with his life. The old man still flinched whenever someone sharpened a knife near him, and the sound of an oven door apparently made him pass out like a fainting goat. “I mean, once a week? A month? How well do you know this Levi guy?”
“Sometimes twice a week.” Her shrug was the same one she gave when discussing world events she had no impact on, as if going to St. Connal’s was simply a part of life, like rain and ants. “Sometimes once. Depending on how it goes. If Mass runs late, then we stop by. Especially if Father Greer is doing the sermon. Nothing like a good chocolate stout to wash the taste of someone else’s sin from your mouth. Levi’s been there for years now. That’s the second motorcycle guy I’ve seen here. I don’t think he likes them, but I heard him tell the other one that Friday was good to go.”
“This Friday? Or when?” Joe looked up sharply, watching the men carefully, noting the bike’s license plate as the guy recoiled again, then drove off. “How many times have you seen bikers there?”
“Just that one time. And, well, that one that just left. The other one was there wanting to do a private party in the back room that night, but Levi told him he couldn’t have all the people he wanted.” She bit into the banana with relish, chewing carefully between sips of water. “Levi was by the kitchen door, and the bunch of us were at our normal table. The other guy was big, but Levi wasn’t going to budge. Couldn’t really. The back room fits maybe fifteen people. I know, we did Margie’s birthday party back there. Levi let us use it for free, didn’t even charge us for bringing our own food in. Some places do that. He’s a good boy. Rolled out a small fridge so we could put our cold salads in there beforehand and heated up the hot food in his ovens.
“You know, you could do worse than Levi,” Nana murmured, dropping a bombshell into Joe’s lap. “He likes both sides of the sheets, if you know what I mean. He’s a good-looking guy, and I’ve met his family. Good people, if a little weird, but really, who isn’t. I mean, look at your mother. I mean, I understand her wanting to name your brother Michael, because it’s not only your father’s name but her father’s name, but that at least left my Joseph’s name for you. Not that it’s weird. Just odd she didn’t call him Joseph Michael. Or even Michael Joseph. You do better with the name anyway. You’re a spitting image of my Joey. Handsome man. Couldn’t hold his liquor, so he lived like a nun on water and juice, but still sainted.”
“Nana, everyone you love is sainted,” Joe replied softly, kissing his grandmother’s temple. “I’m just not so sure Levi Keller is.”
“Like I said, you could do worse,” she reiterated, wagging a stiff finger under his nose. “And you might not do any better. I’ll introduce you, but right now, we need to go to your parents’ house and try to choke down some of that slop your mother calls lasagna. I swear, I don’t know what your grandma Penny was thinking, teaching her to cook her noodles halfway before putting them in the pan, but the woman—God as I love her—should be shot just for that.”
A PHONE call at eight in the morning normally didn’t jerk most men out of bed into a blind panic, but Levi not only owned a pub where odd things happened, but being a father of a teenaged boy, any phone call was a potential cry for help or heralding of disaster. It took him a moment to sit up and find the chirruping device he’d put on a wireless charger when he finally collapsed into bed at three in the morning. Having one bartender call in sick was bad enough, but when the serving staff fell victim to the same flu on a Monday night filled with blue-haired ladies intent on partying hard after a rousing bingo session at the nearby Catholic church, Levi really missed having Declan to pinch-hit.
“Okay, I’m coming,” Levi snapped at his phone. “I can’t even find my eyes yet. Hold on.”
“Mr. Keller? This is Stacy at Forest Break,” a chipper woman said before Levi could say hello. “I’m hoping—”
“It’s only Tuesday. He’s not even been there three whole days and there’s already a problem?” Sitting up, Levi rubbed at his face, trying to scrape the sleep out of his eyes. His sheets felt rough, and he pondered why until he realized he’d fallen asleep in his jeans, his T-shirt flung over the boxy nightstand Declan made in woodshop a few years back. “Okay, lay it on me. What did Deck blow up this time and how much is it going to cost me?”
“Actually, Mr. Keller,” Stacy burbled. “It’s not anything he’s done so much as… well, we don’t normally allow our campers to reach out to home so early in the excursion, but Declan sounded very distressed, so the senior counselors decided to make an exception. Are you okay with him setting up a video call with you in five minutes?”
“Yeah, five would be great.” The sleep wasn’t shaking off, but Levi didn’t think that mattered. “Just tell me he’s okay. And I don’t owe you guys my left kidney for something he’s done.”
“He’s fine, sir, and no, so far the camp’s how it was before Declan arrived. I’m sure this year will be without incident. He’s grown so much.” Her perkiness went up, and not for the first time in his life when faced with a red-cheeked, bright-eyed supernatural, he wondered if squirrel shifters were actually a thing. “He just insists on speaking with you, and we thought it best to agree, since he’s not normally anxious.”
Five minutes gave Levi enough time to hit the bathroom, brush his teeth, make a steaming cup of Vinacafe coffee, then boot up his laptop to wait for Declan’s call. He’d just gotten his first sip when Declan rang in.
“Hey, kiddo, what’s up?” Levi toasted his son with his mug. “Long night. Just getting up, so if I sound rough, it’s ’cause I haven’t woken up yet. Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Hey, Dad.” The boy had only been gone a couple of days, but the expression on his face was one of a madman caught stuffing a dormouse into a teapot. “I’m… don’t laugh, okay? ’Cause I need some help.”
“Why would I laugh? What’s going on?” There was nothing like the worry of a kid falling into trouble they couldn’t get out of, and Levi’s guts burbled up as much sour as Stacy chirping was sweet. Leaning forward, he set his coffee cup down and gave his kid every bit of attention he had. “Deck, you know you can tell me anything. What happened? Do you need to come home? Do I need to go up there and rip someone’s head off?”
“Hold on.” Declan shuddered, his luminous eyes growing unfocused as he stepped back from the screen. Shedding his clothes, Declan sighed. “It’s better if I show you.”
Declan’s shift was still rough around the edges—a lengthy stretch of bones adjusting from rapid growth and changing hormones. Levi’s shoulder blades ached in memory of his puberty changes, the rush of blood to places he didn’t need it, and the instinctive urges to embrace his wolf form when he saw someone attractive. Nothing said uncontrolled teenager like lust and hunger, and it was hell on shifter adolescence. Trying to be comfortable in two skins was never easy, and having both forms growing at the same time was frequently miserable.
“You having problems shifting?” Levi rubbed at the back of his neck, a problematic spot for him when he’d been Declan’s age. He’d grown quickly, too fast for his spine to adjust to, and bringing his head up hurt for an entire summer until the rest of him finally caught up. “Does something hurt? And not like…. Holy fucking shit. Deck, what happened?”
Their family line ran to black wolves, sometimes tipped with sable or cream, but the majority were a rich midnight ebony. There were some outliers and even a cousin who shifted to pure silver, much to the disgust of his father. But their bloodline was an old, fierce warrior stock with muscular wolf forms and strong aggressive stances. Declan pulled the Keller Black, glossy-coated even in his young-pup form, and at times he could slip into the shadows without being seen so he could pounce on his relatives as they went by.
The fluffy jet-black canid with its pom-pom cut and rounded ears looked nothing like his son except for his size. Even his tail had been shaped, trimmed up tight around the base to a pouf at the end, its feathery swoop lying softly against Declan’s flank, exactly like their great-aunt Myrtle’s Pomeranian looked after coming home from the groomer.
All that was missing was a rhinestone collar and a pair of pink bows tied jauntily in the hair on either side of his ears.
Levi bit at his cheek, tasting blood, but he was able to choke down the laughter boiling up from his belly. Schooling his face into the most serious expression he could muster, Levi nodded, not trusting himself to say anything while Declan shifted back. His son grabbed at his discarded clothes as soon as he had skin, pulling on his jeans in a jumping hop toward the office chair he’d been sitting in.
The time it took Declan to reabsorb his wolf gave Levi a moment to compose himself, but there definitely was a high-pitched squeak to his voice when Levi finally asked, “What the hell happened to you?”
“Naomi happened to me,” Declan groaned, burying his face in his hands. “She’s cute, and Dad, she smells like strawberry cheesecake—”
“God help you, a young woman that smells like dessert,” Levi drawled, assuming his somber face when his son peeked out at him from between his fingers. “Sorry. Go on. Tell me how Naomi Strawberry Cheesecake held you down and took electric clippers to you until you looked like Aunt Myrtle’s overgrown hamster?”
“It seemed like… the girls in the next cabin were screaming last night about a possum getting into their place, so I went over to help. It was just a small baby one, and I shooed it out.” Another soft moan escaped Declan, muffled by his hands. “We got to talking—”
“You and Naomi or you and all of the girls?” Levi reached for his coffee again, needing a hit of caffeine to listen to the rest of his son’s story. “Because—”
“Just talking. About school and stuff. What it’s like being a shifter or Other around humans.” Declan dropped his hands and glared at his father in mild offense. “It wasn’t anything.”
“So tell me how you went from nothing happening to… that,” Levi said, cocking his head. “Because the dots aren’t connecting for me, kid.”
“Naomi and her sister are puma, and they were curious if the shift was the same. We were mostly talking about that kind of stuff. So I kind of showed them.”
“You’ve got to get naked to show them, Deck.” Levi sat forward, putting his cup down on the table. “Where the hell were the camp people?”
“This was before lights-out, and I was wearing basketball shorts,” he protested. “Wasn’t naked. I shifted and then kicked them off. I figured I’d turn back in the bathroom and get dressed again. Nothing—”
“Yeah, yeah. Nothing happened.” He rolled his eyes. “I love you, kiddo, but I’m not liking this nothing you’re getting up to over there.”
“Have you seen me? You think I like it?” Declan snorted. “So I shifted, and they were… none of the four girls are wolf so….”
“You were playing big dog on campus.”
“Like you haven’t?” Declan lifted one eyebrow, something he’d learned from every Keller male he’d ever known. Levi returned the look, rumbling a soft throaty growl at his son. “I swear, I wasn’t talking them up like that, Dad. Remember? I’ve got Michelle.”
“Right. Michelle,” Levi murmured.
“Naomi’s mom’s a groomer—”
“Ah, here we go.”
“Dad, can you just let me get this out?” Declan sighed heavily. “And be serious. This is some hard-core crap for me. Naomi wondered how I’d look if I were trimmed up a bit, and the next thing I know, I’m standing there while she’s clipping away at me with some really freaking sharp scissors. I figured I’d let her because they—the girls—were into it, and that the next time I shifted, I’d just be back to normal. But… did you see me? I mean, Dad. I’ve got a howl coming up in a couple of days. I can’t show up looking like this. I mean, shit. Bad enough I’m one of the youngest here. You’ve got to do something.”
“Yeah, doesn’t work that way, Deck,” Levi interrupted his son. “It’s like everything else. Scars, haircuts, the common cold. All of that. You’ve got to wait it out. Nothing I can do about it. Same thing happened to me with bleach, hair dye, and a pair of hot jaguar twins when I was sixteen. Took the whole summer to grow that out. Your grandpa used to try to get me to shift so everyone could see it, ’cause he thought I looked like I’d been dipped in polka-dot tie-dye.”
“You’re serious? About the waiting, not the tie-dye. I can see Grandpa doing that.” Flopping his head down on the desk, Declan mumbled, “What am I going to do?”
“I’d say you should go to the howl, shift, and have fun, but that’s up to you,” Levi said softly, resting his elbows on his thighs and waiting for his son to look up at him. When he got a peek of Declan’s mournful gaze, he continued, “Look, kid, we all do stupid things in our lives. Some we can spin into something awesome when we tell the story later, and some we just have to suck up and buy our friends a drink when they bring it up so we can laugh together. It’s up to you on how you’re going to deal with this. So you fell for a pretty girl with a pair of scissors.
“I’m more concerned about you being in that cabin with four girls late at night, but that’s on me. That’s society shit I’m carrying, because we’re always told to sexualize relationships. I know it, and it’s hard, but I’m trying.” He knew he wasn’t awake enough to do hard-core parenting, and fighting against his instinct to tear apart the camp counselors wasn’t going to do Declan any good. “I trust you when you say it was just talking. If it were me at your age in a cabin with four guys or four girls—or a mix—your grandpa would have had to trust me to keep my brain on right, so I’ve got no room to talk. Still, if you take anything out of this, it’s that you can’t just drop trou when a pretty girl wants to see how sleekit you are.”
“Suppose the guys laugh?” His son sat up, worry souring his handsome features. “Or the girls? Dad… I just thought it would go back to how it was once I shifted.”
“Do you want to go to the howl?”
“Yeah.” Declan shrugged. “It’s always just kind of nice to hang out as… who we are without worrying about that kind of shit.”
“So, tell a couple of friends Naomi gave you a haircut and seed the field before you go. Make it a thing,” Levi suggested with a grin. “Dude, rock the lemon you were given. Own it. Be fearless. Be cute. I mean, you’re freaking adorable, and I might be too old to sport the whole manga-puppy look, but you aren’t. Go have fun, kiddo, and don’t let anyone else tell you that you’re anything but fantastic. Okay?”
“Okay,” his son murmured, giving Levi a small smile. “Were you telling me the truth about the spots… well, the colors? Or were you pulling my leg to make me feel better.”
“Oh, so much the truth,” he laughed, shaking his head. “When you get back, I’ll show you the pictures. And be safe and have a good time. But kid, do me a favor, and maybe you should just go back to thinking about blowing things up again. One more pass with those clippers and I’m going to have to explain to your grandmother why she’s got a Xoloitzcuintli for a grandson.”
“Dude, not cool. Do not tell Grandma I did this.” The look of horror on Declan’s face was comical—nearly as funny as when he discovered eggs came out of chickens’ butts, or so his five-year-old brain thought at the time. “Dad, promise me—”
“Kid, the last thing I’m going to do is tell anyone. Okay, I might have to tell your uncle Kawika, but come on, you know he’ll be cool about it.” Levi crossed his heart with his finger. “Promise. This is yours to tell if you want to share it. Just remember, cat’s already out of the bag. Literally. You’ve got four girls who already know you’re sporting a puffball haircut, and word like that’s going to spread like wildfire. Do yourself a favor and own it before someone owns you with it.”
“You really think so?” His son shook his head. “I dunno about that, Dad. Did you take a really good look at me? I mean, I look like I’m on Fangster hoping to be someone’s purse dog.”
“Yeah, I think so.” Levi leaned back, giving his son a stern look. “Now tell me how the hell you know about Fangster.”
“ZANETTI, I know what you’re saying, but I don’t have the guys to put on that place right now,” Yang admitted, stirring a lump of sugar into his pungent black tea. “That’s the problem with you all clearing out all of those assholes before me. Brass looks over at my guys and tells me to focus on drugs and trafficking. Biker stuff is way down the list of priorities for the city right now. Bigger fish to sushi, my friend.”
Joe sat on the edge of Yang’s desk, using the relatively clean corner to park his hip against. Like most inspectors, Yang’s workspace was piled high with paper, despite having most communication and reports filed through the department’s computer system. There was something about staring at a stack of evidence and making notes that appeased the inquisitive mind, and Yang was no exception.
Of course, Joe also wasn’t sure what the top of his own desk looked like most of the time, and suspected the cop across of him had an egg salad sandwich buried under a stack of requisition slips from two years ago.
“Not like I have something solid about anything going down over there,” he confessed to Yang. His main informant on the biker presence at the pub was an older Italian woman who used to change his diapers and his random spotting of a single club member a few days ago. “Supposedly something’s happening Friday, but I don’t know what. Looked back at any activity at the property for the past five years, and it’s really clean. Suspiciously clean.”
“You think someone’s wiping off arrests to cover something?” Yang looked up from his nearly ritualistic squeezing of his tea bag against the back of a spoon and paused in midtwist. “How clean is clean?”
“A couple of drunk-and-disorderlies called in by the pub, but nothing else. Kind of strange for a bar in that area. Most other places average two of those calls a week.” He scrolled through the reports he’d pulled up earlier that day. “There’s four other bars within a ten-block radius from this place, and they rack up a hell of a lot more police activity than this one does. So either the clientele here is very well behaved or something’s going on over there.”
“Well, from what you told me, it is someplace your granny hangs out,” the sergeant shot back, returning to his tea bag. “Did you run the owner?”
“Yeah, one Levi Keller. He’s as clean as a whistle on paper too. Pays his taxes. Sends his kid to school. Even the kid’s record is sparkling clean. Keller does a small side business of restoring motorcycles and runs food drives through his pub.” Joe frowned. “Once again, too clean. Nana says he’s a good guy, but then we’re talking about a woman who grew up in Jersey. Her idea of a good guy is someone who keeps his feuds to the person he’s mad at and doesn’t go after the guy’s family.”
“What’d the captain tell you?”
“That I should keep my eye on it and not bug you for a guy to watch the place, because you’re stretched thin as it is. Something about drugs and trafficking.” Joe chuckled at Yang’s snorting laugh. “I’m probably just being paranoid. So what if one biker comes back to the city? Probably just visiting someone he knew.”
“And the other guy? The Los Lobos one? That’s an unknown to me. Another MC, huh?” The other cop picked up the printout Joe left on his desk and examined the photo taken of the biker’s back patch. “Notice them and the Vikings are from the same locale? Or at least that’s what their lower rocker says. Think maybe they’re going to join up together?”
“Yeah, I noticed that. Haven’t ever heard of Los Lobos either, so that makes me wonder if there’s new activity.” Pondering the two clubs showing up at the same pub within a few days of each other puzzled Joe. Most gangs had firm alliances, but the Vikings were always aloof, apart from most other groups, and they’d gotten no hits at all on Los Lobos. “It’s weird. I don’t like weird in our city.”
“You do know you live in San Francisco, right?” Yang peered at him over the piece of paper. “Pretty sure we invented weird. But yeah, something’s up. I just wish I could spare someone. Maybe next week, but not now.”
“I’m thinking of swinging by tonight to see if anything’s happening there. Friday’s only a few days away, and maybe I can keep an eye out in the meantime. If the place is full of Vikings, I’ll see if I recognize anyone and get back to you.” Joe floated his idea across to Yang. “Told the captain I was thinking about it, and he said it wouldn’t be a bad idea but to make sure I had some backup, at least in the area, but I don’t think I’ll need it.”
“Other than your grandmother,” Yang teased, handing Joe back the photo. “For backup, I mean.”
“Hey, you haven’t met the woman,” he retorted, gathering up his papers. “I’ll take her over the wall with me any day. If they don’t pass out from her garlic bread, they die waiting to get a word in edgewise.”
LEVI SENSED the shift in St. Con’s the moment he walked through the door.
The air changed, tingling with something bordering on excitement and a little bit of fear. In a pub full of predators and wild cards, something—someone—caught their collective interest, and for a brief moment, every person in the place held their breath.
Working the bar on a Wednesday night in normal pubs would be an exercise in finding something to pass the time. St. Con’s was a different story. Mass getting out at the nearby Catholic church kicked in an eight o’clock rush, and every second Wednesday brought in a gathering of two lifelong rival hedge-witch families whose elders kept their feud up with rounds of darts and beers. Between the Catholics, the various shifters, a few orcs struggling to pass as human, and two handfuls of witches, Levi and Kawika were kept hopping while the kitchen fought against a wave of food tickets and special requests.
So the lull in the constant hum around him brought Levi’s head up from a pair of mojitos, and his heart dropped down to his knees.
He never went for the strong, silent type, and sure as hell not the rough-around-the-edges cop type either, because there was no mistaking this guy for anything other than a bleeds-blue cop. Levi’s tastes ran to pretty younger men with vacant smiles and no ambition to be in a relationship.
But then, so did his taste in women.
He wasn’t looking for anything other than a good time he could have in between raising his kid and running his pub while riding herd as a Peacekeeper for supernatural squabbles. Levi couldn’t remember the last time he had a moment to spare for anything other than a quick flirt, much less a round of hot sex, but the guy walking into his place made him want to kick everyone out, clear off a table, wrestle the lean, tanned cop down onto the flat surface, and dig his teeth into him.
The cop wasn’t handsome in a way that Hollywood would draw a frame around. His nose had definitely met something it didn’t like much, or maybe that was just the genetics he’d been handed, but Levi doubted it. There was a bit of a scrapper about him—a cunning tilt to his lush mouth and a challenge built into his strong jawline. His dark brown hair grew thick, touched with a bit of silver in places. But other than the crow’s-feet around his long-lashed eyes, he wasn’t wearing a lot of years on him. Enough to make him interesting, Levi decided as he studied the man, and possibly cynical but with manners, judging by him stepping back to hold the door open for a couple of elderly women tottering out into the cool evening air.
There was muscle on the cop’s frame, enough of it to give him shoulders broad enough to hang on to or hold down against a mattress, and his hips were narrow below a taut stomach. He’d dressed down in a loose black leather jacket, a slightly dingy white T-shirt, and faded jeans, but his body language was anything but relaxed. It was a bit too warm for the jacket, but the cop vibe was strong enough, Levi would have laid money down the guy was carrying a concealed weapon. If there was one thing Levi recognized, it was a predator who’d come to hunt, and while he didn’t know the cop’s prey, he’d come into Levi’s place with something in mind.
And it sure as hell wasn’t to have a good time with an Irish scrub dog who made his living polishing glasses and slinging drinks behind an old pub bar.
The cop’s eyes skimmed over the crowd, picking out the likely threats. Levi watched his attention settle on a few of the larger customers, his burnished-gold eyes gleaming as he probably calculated the threats around him. That warm honey gaze picked out and settled on the obvious physically threatening customers, pausing every few seconds on a pair of broad shoulders or a grumpy countenance. Levi ducked his head to hide a shit-eating grin when the cop’s attention skimmed over a table of petite elderly women in full cackle, the monthly gathering of spotted-hyena matriarchs chatting over a plate of fully loaded tater tots and apple cider.
Even from across the pub, Levi smelled human on him, graceful but not with the liquid movements of a shifter. If he packed anything other than a gun and a star, Levi wouldn’t know until the guy pulled a rabbit out of his hat. But since his eyes didn’t seem to notice the string of protection wards carved into the wood mantle above the liquor bottles, it was a fair guess he wasn’t one of them.
“Eh, that one looks like trouble, brother,” Kawika rumbled, his Hawaiian Island accent rolling deep through his words. “You go take care of that one. You know me. I can’t lie to cops. Too much like lying to my dad. This one’s on you.”
“You’re a fucking elemental mage and, like, seven feet tall. You could squish his head like a grape, and you’re scared to talk to him?” Levi groused softly, setting the mojitos on the bar for one of the servers to grab and deliver. “You know, for a Pele-worshipping kahuna, you sure as hell tap out of shit a lot.”
“I keep telling you, you don’t worship Pele. She’s not like that.” His friend and fellow Peacekeeper shook his head, sending a ripple through the waves of thick black hair he’d tied back for the evening. “She’s more of a ‘leave presents on her porch so she don’t come by and knock on your door’ kind of god. Not someone you invite into your heart, but man, the sex is good, and I can set rocks on fire. I just can’t lie to cops.”
“Yeah, I don’t have that problem,” Levi countered. “Let’s wait him out, because sooner or later, cops always come up to talk to the bartender.”
JOE NEVER got up to the bar. Never spoke to the bartenders, although he knew he should.
He’d meant to. God knew, there were parts of his body aching to stroll up to the long stretch of polished wood and gleaming spigots, but none of that had to do with why he’d come into St. Connal’s. “Focus on the job, Zanetti” became a mantra throughout the night, but his attention kept drifting off of the crowd and back to the pretty-faced brawler slinging drinks across the bar.
Choosing a corner table near the door seemed like a good idea at the time, but as one hour passed, then the second, Joe realized it’d probably been a mistake. Most pub layouts kept the door clear of people, and St. Con’s, as the server called the place, definitely didn’t buck the trend. With his back to the wall, Joe had a good view of the entire place, except for the cordoned-off private area past a pair of closed doors to the left of the bar, but it also gave him a ringside seat for every wicked, sexy grin Levi Keller threw to anyone interested in picking one up.
For some stupid reason, it not only took everything Joe had in him to keep his ass firmly planted on the chair, it took even more to muster up every glimmer of self-control he had to not punch every single person Keller smiled at.
Then Keller met Joe’s gaze and winked at him.
“Cocky son of a bitch,” he muttered, sipping at his Diet Coke only to catch a piece of lemon pulp on his tongue from the slice caught below the ice chips bobbing about against the glass. “What the hell was that?”
“You need anything else, love?” His server sashayed up to him, a wide-hipped older black woman named Debbie, who’d kept his drink filled all night and swapped out his fries for a salad when they got too cold. “Last call’s about a minute off, and the bar will be rushed. Might as well get a refill before we shut down in ten minutes.”
“Thanks,” Joe murmured, flashing her a smile. “I can pay out the tab now if you want.”
“Nah, St. Con’s doesn’t take money from cops, firemen — sorry firefighters —, or paramedics. Usually you’ve got to be in uniform, but since it’s your first time here, I’ll comp it out. And before you say anything, don’t tell me you’re not a cop or I’m going to lose ten bucks to Sherry in the kitchen. She says you’re a lawyer.” Debbie glanced behind her, following Joe’s attention. “Oh, that’s Levi. He owns the place. Want me to ask him to come by? If you need to lodge a complaint or something else with the management….”
“No, I’m okay. It’s fine,” he protested quickly. “A refill would be good, though, and how’d you know I was a cop?”
“’Cause Toni Zanetti comes in here, and if there’s one thing that woman likes to do, it’s brag about her grandbabies. I spotted you as soon as you came through the door and recognized you from all the photos she’s flashed at me. Easiest ten bucks I’ve made in my life without me taking off my clothes.” She chortled at Joe’s flushed cheeks. “She was in here yesterday. Said she went on a stakeout with you.”
“She climbed into my car while I was trying to coordinate something with another division, so no, not really a stakeout,” Joe lied as smoothly as he could, making a mental note to stem his grandmother’s gossip. The sane part of his brain laughed hilariously at him and wandered back up front to drool over Levi’s strong arms and body-hugging T-shirt. “Nana’s… eccentric.”
“That’s a word. I’ll be right back with your Diet Coke.” Debbie nodded down at the mostly eaten salad. “And you either finish that up or pick the mushrooms and olives out of it. No sense wasting the best parts.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Joe said, saluting her with his fork. “I’ll get right on it.”
“You’re going to be hiding those mushrooms under your lettuce as soon as I turn my back,” she scoffed, tapping the table with one long pink fingernail. “Your nana told me all of Tina’s kids hate raw mushrooms, and that’s the last time you’re lying to me, mister. Just eat the olives. I’ll be back with your drink.”
He let himself get one last peek at Levi Keller, then scanned the pub’s customers again. The private room was a concern, mainly because he didn’t know if there was a back door. Debbie probably would answer him if he asked, and there wasn’t any way Joe could trust she wouldn’t bring it up to Keller. There were too many clean spots for a busy pub this size, he thought, looking around carefully. Sure, the mountain serving drinks next to Keller probably could bust a few heads open just by lifting his pinkie finger, but tossing drunks usually meant a couple of cop calls a month. Keller looked like he could hold his own, judging by the powerful flex of his arms as he stretched, but Joe wasn’t sure if either man could hold their own against a gang of bikers, especially if they came knocking on the pub’s door armed to the teeth and ready to tear apart a rival club.
“Hey, never mind about the soda,” Joe called out to Debbie before she rounded back to the bar. “I’ve got to head out.”
“You leaving a tip?” She cocked one eyebrow, first at Joe, then at Levi, who cleared his throat and turned away quickly to find something else to do instead of battling Debbie’s glare. “Because this one might give away the farm, but my chickens still have to eat.”
“Tip being left, ma’am,” he said, shooting her a grin as he laid down a few bills. “I’ll be back soon, and when I do, I’m paying.”
Once outside, Joe leaned into the slight chill outside of the St. Con’s heavy door. The day’s stickiness surrendered to a nip in the air, a bit of salt-scented breeze carrying up over the lip of the Bay, and Joe shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, warming them up after a couple of hours of cradling an icy glass. The building’s buttery-golden brick walls held a bit of the day’s heat, but they probably would be cold by morning. The traffic lights at the corner flashed through their colors, flickering a short-spectrum rainbow on the road where Joe first caught sight of Levi Keller speaking to the biker.
“Okay, let’s check out how many back entrances there are to this place. Then it’s home for you, Zanetti.” Joe glanced up and down the street, looking for any activity, but despite being on the early side, the neighborhood seemed to have rolled up, with the exception of a few lights coming from apartments and lofts. “Might as well cut through the alley. Car’s parked on the next street over, anyway.”
The pass-through cut through the storefronts right behind the garage attached to the pub. While the entrance was too tight for a vehicle to drive through, farther down the way, it opened up, creating a few parking spaces probably reserved for anyone working or living in the street-facing properties. Pacing off the small garage, Joe reconstructed the pub’s layout in his head, figuring the garage was long enough to run the span of the front room.
“Okay, so the main room was about that deep,” he murmured softly, examining the pair of heavy doors behind the garage. A pair of small dumpsters sat to the left of the doors, their green painted steel exteriors gleaming in the faint light coming from the streetlight behind Joe. There were a few lights dotting the backs of the other buildings, and when he drew closer to the dumpster, his movement triggered a motion-activated flood nearly strong enough to push the night back a few notches. “The first one is probably the emergency exit I saw at the end of the pub. So that means this one goes… where?
“Kitchen had its own swinging door, and the private room was next to that with its own entrance, but nothing says that room isn’t connected to the kitchen,” he pondered. “They could potentially slip people in from the back, and with that tighter opening by the garage, no one would even notice. Definitely will need to have someone cover the back door if—”
“Hey, asshole,” a man called out, his voice booming down the tight stretch between the street and the two back doors. “Thought I’d come back and settle some business with you. Mostly me kicking your scrawny fucking ass.”
Joe turned, but all he saw was a silhouette—a slightly overweight, shorter man cast into deep shadow from the garage’s jutting overhang. But he was moving fast, quicker than Joe could react. Reaching for his gun, Joe had enough time to skim his fingers along his service weapon’s grip when the dark shape moving toward him began to crackle and shake. His attacker started to twist inside of his clothing, shedding his shirt with a wiggling motion, kicking off his loose jeans before launching up toward Joe.
THE SOUNDS coming from the man’s body were horrific—soft shifting bones breaking and twisting beneath convulsing flesh. He’d come close enough to be lit up from the edge of the floodlights, but that didn’t make identifying his attacker any easier. The man fell to his hands and knees, but that didn’t seem to slow him down. A few jumping hops brought the man closer, his palms and joints striking the hard ground with such impact that Joe swallowed hard, nearly gulping down his tongue in surprise. Some part of his mind thought to stare at the attacker’s features, hoping to memorize them so he could identify him later, but that proved to be impossible.
The man’s face was gone, folded into an elongated meld of meat and bone before he crossed into the light, his skin peeling and fraying off into long shreds as his body changed in front of Joe’s eyes. The gun was forgotten. Transfixed by what was happening in front of him, Joe’s brain fought to make sense of what he was seeing, unable to fully accept the jut of shoulder blades pushing up from the man’s bowed torso. A creaking rattle was the only warning Joe got as the man’s spine ripped clear of his skin, lengthening out from the small of his back. Bits of gray-brown fur rippled, seeming to grow or perhaps push out of the peeks of raw flesh flashing quickly before Joe’s eyes. Then, as quickly as it began, it all came to a whispering end.
Leaving one of the largest, fattest, mangiest coyotes Joe’d ever seen standing in front of him.
The beast was huge—much larger than any other he’d come across—but it was definitely a coyote. San Francisco had its share of wildlife, and the long-legged creatures were expert scavengers, often coming down from the wooded areas nearby to help themselves to whatever they could pull out of the garbage at edges of the city. But the pub was way too inland for one, or at least too firmly in the middle of an urban neighborhood for a coyote to dare the streets and dangers simply for an uneaten plate of onion rings, no matter how damned good they looked.
Growling, the creature stepped closer, his head down and teeth bared. But it blinked furiously, staring up at Joe’s face. It was enormous, easily the size of a large hound. One paw inched forward, and Joe finally found his gun beneath his jacket to draw it. He stepped closer in the hopes his looming presence would push the coyote back. His SIG Sauer held steady before him, he advanced slowly, easing closer to the kitchen door. Banging on it probably wouldn’t bring anyone to answer it. He knew from working at his uncle’s restaurant as a kid practically nothing could penetrate a fire door, and his only hope would be to ring the service bell. But he couldn’t spare a moment to glance and find it.
After taking a deep breath, Joe said quietly, “Okay, I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but—”
The heavy steel kitchen door opened suddenly, slamming Joe in the shoulder. Startled, he stumbled to the side, processing the developing situation as the events began to pile up on top of each other. His trigger finger pressed down, but he stiffened his joints before he accidentally let off a shot. Too off-balance to do anything other than sidestep the swinging door, Joe nearly tumbled into the enormous coyote’s path. He caught himself before he plowed into the beast, but as he turned, he caught sight of Levi Keller standing at the open kitchen door, hefting a full garbage bag up, a shocked expression working its way across his handsome features.
“Stay back! Hold the door and get back in!” Joe warned, pulling his gun up to aim at the beast as he tried to back away, giving himself some distance. Keller let the kitchen door slam behind him, shutting off their egress. Dropping the trash bag, Keller seemed to sigh heavily, and resignation took over where shock had momentarily been. “Damn it, Keller. We need to—”
If the coyote had been a long shocking moment, Keller stripping off his shirt and unbuckling his jeans broke Joe’s thoughts. The man was mouthwatering, and in the confusion of everything happening around him, Joe couldn’t spare any more than a glance at Keller before shifting his attention back to the corpulent coyote.
The crackling noises were back, but this time it was Keller’s tightly muscled body shifting, his skin splitting apart and drying in long spirals from his sides. Slack-jawed, Joe couldn’t move, or at least he didn’t dare to. The change to Keller’s form went smoother, or perhaps Joe was too overwhelmed, but the creaking bones soon gave way to rippling flesh and darkening skin. Then a wave of black fur covered the man Joe’d lusted after only minutes before.
The emerging beast was broader, leaner in places, and sleek. Powerful muscles bunched and released as he moved away from the pile of clothes he’d shaken off with a disdainful flick of his back legs. His eyes reflected the light, as dark blue as the Mediterranean but flecked with gold and moonlight. If the coyote was large, the ebony wolf standing where Keller once stood was beyond enormous—a prime dire wolf with sharp teeth and a growl deep enough to send tremors through Joe’s teeth. He was both magnificent and terrifying. Then he stepped in between Joe and the coyote, and Joe braced himself for what was coming.
There was no way anyone—any beast—was getting out of the situation without spilling blood, and he hesitated to shoot, uncertain if his bullets would even do any good against the transformed men. Still, his SIG was all he had on him, and he wasn’t going to let Keller—wolf or man—die defending him. Lifting his gun, Joe aimed at the coyote’s flank.
“I’m going to assume you can understand me,” he warned, dropping his voice into a command. “Drop down and… stay in place. I don’t want to have to hurt you.” Joe wasn’t exactly sure what he could threaten a coyote with, but he’d been willing to give it his best go. “These may not be silver, but I’m guessing they’ll at least punch a hole in—”
He hadn’t even finished his warning when the alleyway exploded in a cascade of stars and the back of his head began to throb. His words caught on his tongue, and Joe blinked, his eyes refusing to focus. The world tilted around him, and with a stumbling protest, he hit the ground. Joe groaned, sure his head had been split open, but his protests died when the black creeping over him rose up suddenly, and he passed out, all the while hoping Keller kicked the coyote’s ass.