It was the bed that was making it so difficult-it made her feel vulnerable, made it harder to force herself nearer. Asil had said that Charles didn't like to touch, either. She wondered why not. He didn't seem to mind when she touched him, quite the opposite.

She inched her hand forward until she could feel the sheets warm from his body heat. She rested her fingers on him and her body froze in panic. She was glad he was asleep, so he couldn't see her pull her hand back and tuck her knees over her vulnerable stomach. She tried not to shake because she didn't want him to see her like this: a coward.

She wondered that hope was so much harder than despair.

Chapter FIVE

Anna methodically rummaged through the cupboards; Charles was going to wake up hungry. Happily, the man had his house stocked for a siege. She thought about Italian- she'd gotten rather good at cooking Italian food-but she didn't know if Charles liked it. Stew seemed a safer choice.

The chest freezer in the basement was full of meat wrapped in white freezer paper, neatly labeled. She brought up a package proclaiming itself to be elk stew meat to begin thawing on the counter. She'd never eaten elk before but assumed that stew meat was stew meat.

In the fridge she found carrots, onions, and celery. Now all she needed were potatoes. They weren't in the fridge or on the counters; they weren't on top of the fridge or under the sink.

Anyone as well stocked as Charles was bound to have potatoes somewhere-unless he hated potatoes. She was bent over with her head in a lower cupboard singing softly, "Where oh where have my little potatoes gone," when the sound of a cell phone made her jerk her head up and clunk it on the edge of the countertop.

The phone was in the bedroom, so she rubbed her head and waited for Charles to get it, but it just kept ringing.

Mentally shrugging, she tried scenting the potatoes; Charles had told her she didn't use her nose enough. But if there were any around, their scent was camouflaged by the spices and fruit Charles kept in his kitchen.

The phone on the wall began ringing. It was an old rotary phone, made half a century before caller ID. She stared in mounting frustration. This wasn't her home. After ten rings she finally picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Anna? Get Charles for me, please." No mistaking his voice, it was Bran.

She glanced at the closed door to the bedroom and frowned. If all that noise hadn't woken him up, then he needed to sleep. "He's asleep. Can I take a message?"

"I'm afraid that won't do. Please wake him up and tell him I need to talk to him."

The "please," she thought, sounded like a courtesy only. It was an order.

So she set the handset down and went to wake Charles up. Before she got to the door, it opened. He'd pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Is it Da?" he asked.

When she nodded, he strode past her and picked up the phone. "What did you need?"

"We have a problem," Anna heard Bran say. "I need you...and why don't you bring Anna, too. As soon as you can get here."

Bran needed Charles. Charles was his enforcer, his assassin. He regularly put his life on the line for his father, and she was just going to have to get used to it.

Anna was pulling on her jacket by the time Charles hung up the phone. He retreated to the bedroom and came back with socks and boots in one hand.

"Can you help me with my boots?" he asked. "Bending over is still a problem."

* * * *

She drove like someone who'd never driven over icy roads before. Maybe she hadn't. But she'd driven better this morning, and he didn't think the roads were any worse.

Evidently whatever had been bothering her was still at it. He could smell her anxiety, but he didn't know what he could do about it.

If his ribs had been in better shape, he'd have taken over for her, but he contented himself with giving her directions. When she fishtailed the truck getting into his da's driveway and he tightened his grip on the door, she slowed down to a crawl. A chalky green SUV with government plates sat right next to the doorway: Forest Service. Whatever his father called about must have something to do with their rogue in the Cabinets, he thought. Maybe there had been another body.

Anna pulled in behind the SUV and parked.

"Do you smell that?" he asked Anna, as she came around the truck to where he waited.

She tilted her head and considered what she smelled. "Is it blood?"

"Fresh," he said. "Does it bother you?"

"No. Should it?"

"If you were like any other wolf, Omega, you'd be getting hungry about now."

She frowned up at him, and he answered her look. "Yes, me, too. But I'm old enough it doesn't bother me much."

He didn't bother knocking on the door; his father would have heard them drive up. He followed the scent of blood into the spare bedroom.

Samuel had been here. He recognized the neat wrapping of the bandages, even if he didn't recognize the middle-aged man who lay on the bed. The man was as human as Heather Morrell, who sat in the chair beside the bed holding his hand.

Heather looked up. He saw the flash of fear on her face but didn't do anything to mitigate it. Frightening people was part of what made him an efficient enforcer for his father. Besides, until he talked to his father and found out what was going on, there wasn't anything he could say to reassure her.

"Where's the Marrok?" he asked.

"He's waiting for you in his study," she told him.

He took a step back and started to leave when she said his name softly.

He stopped.

"Jack's a good man," she whispered.

He looked over his shoulder to find her staring at him intently. He could have asked her what she meant-but he needed to talk to his father first.

Anna didn't say anything at all, but he could tell from her rising tension that she had caught some of the undercurrents. Unless he missed his guess, Heather's friend Jack's continued existence was a matter of some doubt.

So he nodded and headed for the study, Anna trailing behind him.

The fire was lit-a bad sign, he knew. Da only lit the fire in here when he was worried. His father was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it, staring into the flames.

Charles stopped just inside the door, but Anna slipped by him and put her hands out to the flames. None of them spoke for a while.

Finally, Bran sighed and stood up. He walked slowly around Charles. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he came around front.