Buried and Shadowed (Branded Packs #3) (23 page)

“We have to get to him first,” he rasped.

With a firm nod of her head, Mira was moving to pull open the door.

“Let’s go.”

Sinclair rolled his eyes as he followed behind her. This morning hadn’t gone at all like he’d been expecting. And he sensed that this was only the start.

After all, he was a dominant wolf, and she was a sexy, sassy, stubborn human.

What was it the Chinese said…may you live in interesting times?

He had a feeling that life with Mira was always going to be interesting.

“This is why men lose their hair,” he said.

****

Mira didn’t try to break the heavy silence as they drove down the back roads at a break-neck speed.

She understood that Sinclair was fighting against his natural instincts. Not only was he a shifter, but he was also an Alpha. Which meant he had an overwhelming need to protect the people he considered a part of his Pack.

But she knew that she had to stand her ground. If she allowed Sinclair to believe he knew what was best for her and start making unilateral decisions for her own good, she would eventually snap.

He had to accept that she was an intelligent woman, who was perfectly capable of choosing where she wanted to go, and how she wanted to get there.

If he wanted a submissive female, who would obey his every command…well, he needed to keep looking.

Not that she wasn’t afraid.

She knew better than anyone just what the SAU was capable of. Hell, she still had the bruises to prove it. But she was determined to see this through to the end.

After eighteen months of hard, sometimes terrifying work, she would never forgive herself if she hid in a cave while Sinclair finished their mission.

It was mid-afternoon when Sinclair pulled into a large parking lot. Halting behind a dumpster, they studied their surroundings.

It’d been over twenty minutes since they’d last seen any hint of civilization, which made the large brick building in front of them more mysterious.

Why would anyone choose to open a business in the middle of nowhere?

The obvious answer was that the people inside the building didn’t want to be bothered by society.

Her gaze moved over the flat roof and the tall, arched windows. She could see a high hedge at the back of the structure that she assumed enclosed the hospital’s private gardens. There were also balconies that ran the length of the front of the building with fluted columns.

The place might have been built in the boonies, but no expense had been spared.

There was a large sign near the edge of the manicured lawn at the front of the building that was painted with gold letters.

“Great Plains Home of Tranquility,” she read aloud. “I think this is the place.”

Unbuckling his seatbelt, Sinclair reached to shove open his door.

“I want you to stay here,” he commanded.

If she had any sense, she’d let him go. She could see the wolf in his eyes, which meant that he was at the edge of his patience.

But, she couldn’t let him put himself in danger when she had the means to prevent it.

“I can help,” she said.

He turned in his seat, reaching out to brush the back of his fingers over her cheek.

“You already have, sweetheart,” he said. “Now let me take care of this.”

She swallowed a sigh. It was going to be a fight. A shame. But she intended to make him listen to reason.

“Look around, Sinclair,” she insisted.

His brows drew together as his gaze skimmed over the half-empty lot before moving toward the sprawling brick building.

“Look at what?” he demanded.

“This is clearly a private institute,” she said.

“And?”

“They’ll have strict security.” She nodded toward the heavy double doors. “You won’t get past the front guard.”

Blue eyes flared with offended male pride. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that I can be stopped by one human guard?”

She felt a small burst of annoyance. Did all men have the same oversized ego?

Yeesh.

“First.” She held up a finger. “You don’t know that there’s just one guard.” She put up another finger. “And second,” she continued. “I thought you were trying to avoid attracting the attention of the authorities.”

He scowled, refusing to acknowledge that she was right. “I can sneak past any security.”

She gave a lift of her shoulder. “Okay, say that you sneak past security. How will you find the room you’re looking for?”

There was a tense moment as he wavered between following the urgings of his heart, or accepting the logic of her argument.

“Dammit,” he at last said. “What’s your plan?”

“I need your phone,” she said, holding out her hand.

“Why?” he asked, even as he pulled out his phone.

“Do you trust me?” she demanded, using the same words that he’d used the night before.

Releasing a resigned sigh, he placed the phone in the palm of her hand.

“I thought I was good at manipulating people,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m an amateur compared to you.”

Ignoring his grumbling, Mira used his internet to connect to her private cloud. A few minutes later, she was pulling up the file she’d been searching for.

“This should get us past the front guard,” she said, turning the phone so he could see the I.D. badge that filled the screen. “And hopefully to Lowman’s room.”

He leaned forward, studying the officially CDC document with a furrowed brow.

“Who is Dr. Rachel Miller?” he demanded, reading the name listed beneath a picture of her.

“She’s me,” Mira said.

His gaze lifted to study her guarded expression. “I don’t understand.”

She cleared her throat, suddenly realizing that Sinclair wasn’t going to be happy when she confessed why she’d made the badge.

“When I was running searches through the CDC system, I occasionally needed a clearance beyond my pay grade so I invented a new employee who had the credentials to open the most sensitive files,” she said, keeping her voice light, as if it were a common habit to create imaginary employees. “Unfortunately, we both know any information related to the Verona Virus and the shifters’ blood that created the vaccine had already been purged from the archives.”

He stiffened, his nose flaring as he visibly struggled to maintain control of his temper.

“Christ, Mira,” he snarled. “You were supposed to be running background searches on any connection between the SAU and the Verona Clinic. I had no idea you were taking risks that could have gotten you thrown in jail.” His eyes glowed with the power of his inner animal. “Or dead.”

She was instantly on the defensive. “You asked for my help.”

His growl rumbled through the truck, making the seats vibrate.

“When this is all over, I’m locking you in my lair,” he snapped. “I don’t care how much you bitch.”

She ignored his threat. They both knew he wasn’t going to lock her away. Although, she wouldn’t entirely mind spending some quality time alone with the male…

Giving a sharp shake of her head, Mira forced herself to focus on a plan.

Unlike Sinclair, she didn’t have fangs and claws that could rip a man in half. She needed her brainpower if she was going to get them to Dr. Lowman’s room.

“I can use this ID to get us inside without setting off any alarms,” she assured her companion.

His jaw tightened. He clearly wanted to tell her no. It was etched on his face and showed in the tension of his lean body.

Thankfully, he was still capable of realizing that she was offering the best chance of them accomplishing their goal.

“Shit,” he said in resignation.

Releasing a silent sigh of relief, she reached out to lightly touch his arm. She wanted him to know that she appreciated his faith in her. 

“I need something to wear,” she told him, knowing he needed to channel his frustration into some sort of physical action.

He sucked in a slow, deep breath, clearly hanging on to his temper by a thread.

“What?”

She glanced toward the building. This was a place that would put a high value on privacy. She would have to come in with the big guns if she intended to get past the front door.

“A nice pantsuit or a dress,” she said. “Oh. And a lab coat if you can find one.”

Without warning, he leaned across the seat to press an aggravated kiss against her parted lips.

“Don’t. Move,” he commanded.

It took Sinclair less than half an hour to return with a black pantsuit that hugged her curvaceous body to perfection, along with a lab coat that hit her mid-thigh and a pair of sensible heels.

She didn’t ask where he’d found them. Or how he’d known her precise sizes, she simply wiggled out of her sweats and into the new clothing.

Then, slipping on her lab coat, she led Sinclair across the parking lot and into the front foyer of the building. Behind her, she could feel the pulse of Sinclair’s power beating against her back. It never failed to amaze her that he could pass as human. She’d only been in his company for a few minutes when she’d suspected that he was something more.

“Let me talk,” she said, touching her braid to make sure the stiff breeze hadn’t allowed any curls to escape.

His fingers brushed down her back, as much a warning as a gesture of comfort.

“First sign of trouble and we’re out of here,” he warned in a low voice. “Got it?”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yeah, I got it.”

Entering the small foyer, Mira blinked. White walls, white tile, and a chrome desk where a uniformed guard was seated.

It was blinding.

Moving forward, she pretended to ignore the guard until he scrambled from the desk to stand directly in her path.

“If you’re here to visit a patient, you need to make an appointment,” the man said, puffing out his chest as if to draw attention to the shiny badge on his shirt pocket. “No one is allowed in without a doctor’s approval.”

Mira arched a brow, allowing her gaze to dismissively flick over the man’s pudgy body and scuffed shoes before returning to meet his pale gaze.

“I’m here to speak with a patient, but I can assure you that I have no need of an appointment,” she said, holding out the phone to reveal her electronic badge. “I’m Dr. Miller with the CDC.”

The man frowned, glancing warily toward Sinclair before returning his attention to Mira.

“What do you want?”

“As I said, I need to speak with a patient,” she said, her voice sharp as she lowered her arm.

“Which one?”

She felt Sinclair lightly touch her back. A silent reminder that the person they were looking for was using a fake identity. Or at least they hoped it was fake.

Otherwise, they’d driven a very long way for nothing.

“Gerald Medlen,” she said, using the name that she’d found during her search for Dr. Lowman’s wife, Jessica.

The man jerked, clearly caught off guard. “That’s impossible.”

Sinclair released a low growl, but Mira took a step to the side, keeping herself firmly between the two men.

“Why?” she demanded.

The guard frowned, lifting his hand to rub the back of his neck. Clearly he sensed the danger prickling in the air, even if he didn’t recognize that it came from Sinclair.

“He’s in isolation.”

Isolation? Hmm. Clearly someone didn’t want Gerald Medlen to be bothered with casual visitors.

“I don’t care where he is,” she countered. “I was sent here to speak with him.” She lifted the phone, pretending to punch in a series of numbers. “If I need to make a call to the SAU, I will.”

The guard’s face paled. “The SAU?”

She shrugged. “They are the ones who asked me to conduct this interview.”

Licking his lips, the guard glanced over his shoulder, obviously more scared of the SAU than his boss at the hospital.

“Don’t call,” he said at last. “I’ll take you to the ward.” Grabbing a walkie-talkie, he lifted it to his mouth. “Jenson, take over for me,” he ordered. Then, with a jerky motion, he turned to lead them across the tile floor. “Follow me.”

In silence, they moved toward the door, pausing for the guard to punch a combination of buttons on the electronic lock before they entered the main part of the hospital.

There was another lobby, although this one had comfortable suede furniture and large plants to add a hint of hominess. The front desk was empty, but she could hear the sound of approaching voices.

The guard thankfully headed directly toward another door, this one leading to a stairwell.

Quickly moving forward, she breathed a silent sigh of relief as the door shut behind them.

Climbing the stairs, Sinclair remained close behind her. She savored the heat of his body that wrapped around her. It helped to ease the fear that was a hard knot in her belly. She’d never done anything so daring in her life.

It was nerve-wracking.

“I always knew it was a matter of time before the authorities showed up,” the guard said as he led them up yet another flight of stairs.

“Why do you say that?” Mira asked, depending on Sinclair to keep a watch for danger while she concentrated on pumping their companion for information.

The guard glanced over his shoulder. “They can say the patient is in isolation because he suffered from some sort of mental trauma, but we all suspect that it’s something else.”

Ah, good. A man who liked to gossip.

“What do you suspect?”

He lowered his voice, not seeming to notice that it still echoed through the stairwell.

“The return of the virus.”

“Do you have any evidence?”

“We have a lot of crazies,” the guard told her. “Most of them are locked in the east wing. Why wouldn’t Medlen be with the other loons?”

She squashed her instinctive distaste. Now wasn’t the time to inform the man that he had no business working in an institution that cared for the most vulnerable people if he didn’t have any compassion.

“Have you ever seen him?” she instead demanded.

“No. And that just proves my point,” the man said, beginning to huff and puff as they reached the fourth floor. “All the other patients are taken out onto the grounds during the day. Even those who are in wheelchairs. All of them except Medlen.”