The Road to Redemption (6 page)

“Sorry to keep
you waiting.”

He glanced at
a cuckoo clock on the wall and gave a negligent shrug; he never
seemed to be in a hurry. “Barely past the hour. Nothing to worry
about.”

Sam disagreed
with him but kept the comment to herself. “You sold the bookshelf?”
She mentally crossed her fingers hoping Mr. Marcello’s expertise at
getting the best deal possible had worked once again.

“I did. It was
a fine piece of furniture in excellent condition. I’m sure you’ll
be pleased with the price I was able to get for it.” Mr. Marcello
removed the bill of sale from his ledger and showed it to her.

It was an
impressive sum, far more than she’d expected and the heavy weight
that had settled in her stomach for the past week disappeared as
she contemplated all the bills she could pay; there’d even be a
tidy sum left over. She didn’t let her relief show, of course. The
pack’s finances were a private matter. “Thanks. I appreciate you
handling this matter discreetly for me.”

“Not a
problem. The selling of family heirlooms can be a touchy subject in
the best of circumstances and given your grandfather’s
temperament…” He shook his head and made a face. “I recall about
ten years ago…” Mr. Marcello launched into a recount of some
incident and she nodded politely, not really listening.

The money from
the sale meant she wouldn’t have to touch the principal of their
remaining investments. And if she could reinvest the interest and
if the stock market would cooperate…

“— and so, I
will write you a cheque and we are done for today, correct?” Mr.
Marcello must have finished his tale for he was preparing to hand
over payment.

“Cash. No
cheques.”

He smiled and
inclined his head. “Oh course, how could I forget?” He put the
cheque book away. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Sam nodded and
waited as the older man went to the rear of the store to where his
safe was located. He wouldn’t keep that much cash in the till. Too
dangerous in this neighbourhood. Some might say it was also too
dangerous for her to be walking down the street with that much
money in her pocket, but she wasn’t worried. Protecting herself
wasn’t an issue. Keeping her transactions secret was. Cash was
harder to trace.

‘Leave as few
trails behind you as possible’ her grandfather had always said. Not
that it really mattered in this instance, but you never knew when a
seemingly innocent act could become significant. At the moment,
selling a few pieces of furniture wasn’t a problem. No one noticed
or cared that they were missing—no one except Damien, that is.

She frowned.
The man hadn’t even been in the house for twenty-four hours and
he’d picked up on the missing bookshelf. She’d never noticed how
the floor had faded, but he’d immediately homed in on it. Making a
mental note to rearrange the furniture to hide the mark on the
floor, she erased the worried lines from her face as Mr. Marcello
reappeared.

He handed her
a thick envelope and she opened it to count the money within.

“It’s all
there, Miss Samantha. After years of doing business together, you
should know you can trust me.” The shopkeeper tutted as if
offended. He wasn’t, of course, but he liked to pretend to be.

“I do trust
you, Mr. Marcello, but I was born cautious.” Sam turned her back
towards the door in case anyone happened to come in and took out a
few bills to examine. Counterfeit money wouldn’t do her any
good.

“You were not
born cautious, Miss. Samantha. That is your grandfather’s
doing.”

“Perhaps.” She
gave the man a half smile and slid the money back into the
envelope. “All there and in order.” Lifting her shirt, she tucked
the envelope into the front of her pants and then pulled her shirt
down over top of it. A quick glance in a nearby mirror revealed the
envelope was unnoticeable. “Until next time.” Giving Mr. Marcello’s
hand a firm shake, she strolled out of the shop and into the hot,
steamy street.

A late summer
heat wave had settled over the city and refused to leave despite
the fact that it was September. The envelope tucked in her clothing
stuck to her skin and crinkled softly as she walked. Not loud
enough for anyone nearby to hear, but she was aware of it. She
resisted the urge to readjust the package and continued on her way,
pushing between the pedestrians, waiting impatiently for the
traffic light to change so she could cross the street.

For some
reason she felt twitchy today; that weird sensation that something
was off, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. She wondered
if someone was following her—a mugger with a death wish perhaps—and
ducked into a store, making a show of looking at a stack of used
books, while surreptitiously looking out the window. Several
pedestrians walked by, then a cop. A large man with a scar on his
cheek caught her attention, but he didn’t linger. Just to be on the
safe side, she slipped out the back door and cut through the
alleyway to the next street over.

It was a tough
neighbourhood, but her determined walk and don’t-mess-with-me face
usually meant she was never bothered by any of the locals. In her
boots, jeans and t-shirt, she looked like she belonged, and she
did.

She’d grown up
prowling the streets, getting into fights, making a name for
herself with a certain segment of society. Her reputation was well
known by the human population in this corner of the city. In her
late teens, some had viewed her as being akin to a gang leader but
she’d mellowed since then. Those who lived in the neighbourhood
knew she wasn’t interested in controlling the drug dealers,
prostitutes or petty thieves. Indeed, she’d been known to step in
when the criminal element was causing someone grief. Yet she wasn’t
a vigilante, either. Sam Harper was no Lone Ranger or Robin
Hood.

Well, the
humans could puzzle over her, but she knew her purpose. It was
caring for her pack; ensuring the members were safe, fed and had a
roof over their head. That’s what an Alpha did and that’s what she
intended to keep on doing.

The twitchy
feeling faded, so it had likely been nothing. Or maybe it had been
the result of Damien messing with her that morning. Damned rogue;
she hoped he wasn’t going to be more trouble than he was worth.

Taking a final
look around, she grasped the handle of the large door that gave
entrance to the bank and stepped into the cool interior.

When he’d arrived in Chicago the previous day,
Damien had taken some time to explore the area around Sam’s pack
house. The exhaust fumes and masses of humanity present in a big
city made it easier to move about undetected. Still, he hadn’t
lingered any longer than necessary, merely getting a basic lay of
the land and locating his quarry. He’d been able to pick her out
based on Kane’s description of her, though he’d been surprised to
see her mount a motorcycle and roar away from the pack house. It
hadn’t matched the mental image he’d formed of her and his interest
had been piqued.

Originally,
his plan had been to keep her under surveillance for a few days
before attempting to make contact. Instead, he’d impulsively
followed her last night and now found himself living in the pack
house. Had anything ever fallen in to place easier than this?

Too
easy
, his wolf complained.
We need a challenge—a chase over
rough terrain, perhaps—something to stimulate our mind and
body
. The bland nothingness of their present existence was
making the beast restless.
Last night’s fight was
interesting…

Damien shook
his head, sorry to disappoint the animal, but from what Sam had
said, his job was simply to look strong and impressive; that didn’t
require much effort.

His wolf
grumbled its discontent before lying down, resting its chin on its
paws with a heavy sigh.

Damien
concurred. The spark of interest he’d felt earlier in the day when
talking to Sam had faded, leaving him with the flat dead feeling
that so often permeated his life. Sitting down on a park bench, he
popped open the soda he’d purchased and took a desultory drink,
idly wondering how long it would take to get the information Kane
needed.

It was almost
noon and the sun beat down with unrelenting strength causing the
air to shimmer above the pavement and the smell of pollution to
hang in the air. The shade from the trees provided some relief from
the heat, but sweat still trickled down his back and water
condensed on the sides of the can he was holding.

The block of
natural habitat he found himself in was surrounded by parked cars,
brick buildings and the incessant hum that accompanied humanity.
Cars and air-conditioners, conversations and sirens, a train
rattled along a distant set of tracks. Not many wolves would have
the tenacity to handle the constant noise of living in a large
city. It was a far cry from the wilderness where song birds and the
gentle stirring of leaves in the breeze were the norm.

For himself,
it didn’t matter one way or the other what his surroundings were.
He’d kicked around the country enough that he could make any place
home for as long or as short a period of time as needed. And right
now, Chicago was where he’d hang his hat. He tried to spark some
enthusiasm by recalling there was even the added bonus that he had
an actual bed, rather than sleeping rough. That point didn’t really
cut it though.

After Sam had
left, he’d finished exploring the house. It hadn’t taken long,
especially given the fact that it had been strangely empty save the
sounds of life coming from the north wing on the second floor. Sam
had told him to stay away and he’d decided to follow her orders…for
now. That didn’t mean that he hadn’t done some intelligence
gathering. Using the scents and sounds he’d determined two Lycans
had been in that wing. One male and a female. Her grandfather
and…his caretaker?

Carefully
opening the doors of the other rooms he’d discovered there were six
occupied bedrooms in the south wing of the second floor. And he
seemed to be the only occupant on the third. Sam was being
cautious, keeping him away from her family until she knew him
better. Smart girl.

The walk
around the neighbourhood had been uneventful as well. As he’d noted
yesterday, most of the homes were older and had been turned into
multi-family units. Some sat vacant, their windows boarded up and
lawns overgrown. At the far end of the street, a few of the
buildings were being restored; no doubt by developers hoping the
area might transition into a chic, upscale location once more.
Other than that, a corner store, a pool hall and bar, a pizza place
and few other miscellaneous businesses were all he’d discovered.
None seemed to house Lycans, though. That distinctive scent was
only concentrated around the pack house.

The lack of
pack members was definitely something he’d have to investigate
further, but for now, he’d contact Kane while Sam wasn’t
around.

It only took
two rings for Kane to pick up.

“Sinclair
here.”

“Kane, it’s
me.” Damien relaxed, stretching out his legs and hooking one arm
over the backrest of the bench. It was only around his old friends
that he felt anything that even resembled a spark of life inside.
Part of him craved that connection; the sense of belonging, of
knowing that someone actually cared. It was rather like holding
one’s hands in front of a fire after being out in the cold; warm
and comforting as the heat seeped in, causing nerve endings to
prickle with returning awareness. Of course, if you lingered too
long or got too close, you’d get burned and he couldn’t risk that.
His world might be cold, but he wouldn’t get hurt. Blocks of ice
didn’t feel.

No, he warmed
himself on the fringes of friendship, making mild enquiries about
their lives, watching with interest and then withdrawing to safety
if he felt himself getting too close. He wasn’t hiding from life,
merely keeping it at a strategically safe distance.

“How did
Ryne’s bonding ceremony go?”

“He was
disappointingly cooperative.” The discontent in Kane’s voice was
easy to hear.

“Really?”
Damien laughed softly, knowing Kane had probably hoped to gloat
over his brother as he finally bowed to tradition. Ryne had been
unofficially mated to Melody Greene for some time but had never
gone through a formal bonding ceremony. Upon learning this, Elise
had quickly set out to remedy the situation and in less than
twenty-four hours had managed to get Ryne to agree to tie the knot
with Mel.

“Yes. From the
way he was acting, you’d have thought it was his own idea.”

“Typical.”
Damien smiled as memories of their younger escapades came to mind.
“Ryne always did know how to turn the tables in his own
favour.”

Kane grunted
in agreement. “So, what have you learned about the Chicago pack? I
assume that’s why you called.”

Damien easily
shifted into work mode, once again cool and unfeeling. “Not much
new to report since last night. Sam is accepting me as the rogue
she intended to hire and—”

“She?” Kane
figuratively jumped on the word. “Harper is still hiding behind
that girl?”

“Yes…and
no.”

“Explain.”

“It seems that
Sam Harper, Sr., has been incapacitated for some time and
Samantha
Harper is the acting Alpha.”

“Acting Alpha?
What the hell does that mean?”

“Exactly what
it sounds like, I suppose. From what she’s told me, she’s calling
the shots, running the whole place. Old man Harper just hasn’t
officially abdicated yet.”

“That’s
ridiculous. A territory that size can’t be run by a slip of a
girl.”

“Hardly a
girl. Early twenties with a pretty good right hook.” Damien wiggled
his jaw. It was still tender from where Sam had slugged him the
previous evening.