The man’s body in the pictures had been mutilated beyond recognition. The only other thing in the envelope had been a short typewritten note saying, “Watch your step unless you want your fate to match Duncan Crawford’s.”
It took Mitch until Monday afternoon to figure out who Duncan Crawford was. In the meantime, he’d burned the entire envelope—pictures, note and all—and spoken not a word about his plight. What choice did he have?
He hadn’t slept well in the past week. Some nights not at all. And it was taking its toll, especially on his sanity. He was fucked. And the shit kept getting deeper. Serena was concerned about him. She’d sensed his mood. There was no way to hide his agitation from his mate. But he’d managed to convince her the stress of the weird happenings at the building site were making him tense. He’d never had to block his thoughts from her before now.
He’d hoped to steer Keegan in another direction and convince him the issues with the site revolved around the earthquake and not some shoddy construction prior to its occurrence. He’d cleared the office of as much data to support any wrongdoing as he could—files, backups, everything. Apparently he hadn’t been thorough enough. And now he was in over his head. He feared the worst. It was obvious whoever had killed Nolan Friedmont and Duncan Crawford, and was now controlling Mitch like a fucking puppet, would stop at nothing to save Templeton Construction.
A week after receiving the threatening message, Mitch was clear on more things than he’d thought possible.
After seven days of struggling to keep his head on straight, he still had no idea who he was dealing with, but he knew they meant business, and if he didn’t do as they said, he would indeed end up as dead as Crawford. But how many other people had to die?
And then there were the phone calls. All hours of the day and night. He had no idea who they came from. The number was unlisted. The person never introduced himself. They gave brief, sharp instructions, asked quick questions, and hung up within a few seconds.
To say Mitch feared for his life was an understatement. Hell, he feared for Keegan’s life too.
But he’d never thought things would go this far. He’d been under the impression his job was to keep everyone quiet and alive. His primary failure had been Keegan. The man was too nosy. Nothing Mitch did stopped him from digging deeper into things better left buried.
And now he heaved a deep breath as the man answered his call. “This better be good.”
Mitch hesitated before he spoke. “No. Keegan is expected to make a full recovery. He’s resting at home.”
“Fuck,” the man on the other line growled. “Is he talking?”
“Not yet. He doesn’t seem to remember much.” That was a stretch, but it wasn’t as if Mitch could tell his unknown blackmailer Keegan couldn’t speak because he’d shifted into lupine form to recover quickly from his intense injuries.
“Shit.” The man hung up as quickly as he’d answered.
Mitch sat in his car on the side of the road for over half an hour before he could stop trembling enough to start the engine. What did the man intend to do? Had he caused the accident with the scaffolding? It seemed likely since he was so angry Keegan survived. Or maybe it had been dumb luck and the guy had hoped Keegan would die.
Whatever the case, Mitch felt as though he’d nailed Keegan’s coffin with his own hands.
Mitch’s stomach roiled, and the way he’d been vomiting this week, it was a wonder he had any of his stomach lining left. He had no idea he had such a sensitive constitution.
But he’d also never been an accomplice to…what? Murder?
He shuddered as he pulled into his driveway. All he could do now was join his wife for dinner and pray he was overreacting.
•●•
It was late when Melinda bolted upright from where she had fallen asleep on the couch, her head in Trace’s lap. She knew instinctively Keegan was awake.
Trace twisted his head around to face the hall. “He up?”
“Yeah.”
They both stood and padded to the bedroom where they found a groggy Keegan in the middle of the bed, naked and human.
Melinda almost melted as he smiled. She took a quick look up and down his body to assess his level of recovery, and then she bounded onto the bed and tucked herself into his side, her arm across his chest, her lips landing on his.
“Easy, tiger,” he teased as she pulled back.
She swatted at him. “Don’t give me that, you fool. You had me scared to death for days on end. Now you’re back, alive, awake, and naked. If I want to pounce, I will.”
Keegan chuckled, holding both hands up at his sides. “I would never stop a pouncing woman.”