Hunting Moon (Decorah Security Series, Book #11): A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel Read Free

I’m just responding to the vibes you’ve been giving off lately. You want some time off?”
    Brand wasn’t surprised that his boss had picked up on his restlessness. “Uh-huh.”
    “How much do you need?”
    Brand lifted one shoulder. “I’m not sure. “He didn’t say his present mood might also have something to do with reaching the age of werewolf bonding.
    “And hopefully you’ll come back ready for duty.”
    Brand nodded.
    “When do you want to leave?”
    “Now. If that’s okay.”
    Frank didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, fine. I can shuffle some assignments around. Where are you going? Off to the Caribbean like Rafe?” he asked, referring to another one of the Decorah agents who had departed for an island vacation and ended up in the middle of a terrorist attack—where he had rescued the woman who became his lifemate.
    Brand was hoping for a much more peaceful hiatus. “I like the north woods.”
    “How far north?”
    “Upstate New York.”
    “Sounds reasonable. Stay out of trouble.”
    Brand tipped his head to the side, studying Frank Decorah, considering the way he’d delivered that last line.
    “You think I’m going to step into something unexpected?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Why?”
    “Just a feeling I have.”
    Brand nodded. Frank was like that. He hired agents who had special powers, but he seemed to have them as well, although Brand had never figured out exactly what psychic talents his boss possessed. He didn’t seem like the shape-shifter type. Did he dream about the future like Wyatt Granger, one of the other Decorah Agents? Know when a client was going to need their special services? Frank had a way of anticipating someone’s next move, and he was rarely wrong. Like at the Hamilton Labs, where he’d had the team stick around instead of leaving when it looked like the emergency was over.
    “Call if you need us,” Frank said.
    “I will,” Brand answered, wondering what, exactly, he was going to need.

Chapter Four
    Tory’s eyes blinked open. Her head felt like little men were inside her skull, pounding on it from the inside with tiny hammers. For a moment she couldn’t figure out where the headache had come from—or where she was, for that matter.
    She lay very still, trying to get her bearings. She seemed to be in some kind of moving vehicle. A car?
    When she tried to rise up and look around, the effort sent a wave of sickness crashing through her, and she fell back against a lumpy surface. Closing her eyes helped. Still she knew she was hanging on to consciousness—or maybe it was sanity—by her fingernails.
    Something bad had happened. But what? The gap in her memory made her heart pound and cold sweat break out on her body. She gasped in air, then struggled for calm.
    Think, she ordered herself. You can’t panic. Think.
    When she did capture a memory, it was like grabbing onto a live electric wire. An image sizzled behind her closed eyes—a man lying on the floor, blood spreading around his head. His name followed the awful picture. Johnny Denato. She’d been in his condo when men had come in and shot him.
    The next part was just as bad. She’d run, bent on getting out of the city before anyone figured out that she’d been there. But it was already too late.
    A goon squad had come after her. And now?
    She choked back the scream welling up in her throat. Maybe if they didn’t realize she was awake, she could get away. And then what? She didn’t even know where she was. But she had to try to escape, because she understood in the part of her brain still capable of rational thinking that the unknown was better than the here and now.
    She took several calming breaths as she assessed her physical situation. Nothing hurt besides her head and the palms of her hands where the roof gravel had dug into them. Or to put it more directly, the men who had captured her hadn’t done anything to harm her after they’d drugged her. At least that was encouraging. On the other hand, her wrists