Page 36 of Bad Blood Wolf

Men with secrets, men who left their women out of everything important.

Men who left their cell phones on the table.

She eyed his phone. It was wrong to read other people’s messages. A violation of privacy. Of trust.

But Brody was into something he almost certainly shouldn’t be. Secrets were dangerous. Secrets could kill.

Secrets could lead to people being captured and sent to experimental labs, scarred, broken and tortured.

She picked up the phone and checked the last message. There was no contact name—just a number—and the message was nothing but an address and time. 1303 Sycamore. 6:30.

She put the phone down.

Brody came back to the table laden down with bags of leftovers. After many double-cheeked kisses and effusions, they left, Toni waving from the door.

“He liked you,” Brody said as they drove away.

She liked Toni, too. “He’s a sweet old man,” she said. “And a good chef.” A really good chef. She didn’t know if Brody had any idea just how good he was.

“He really is looking for help,” Brody said. “Maybe when your jag settles down?”

She looked at the restaurant disappearing in the rearview mirror. She’d give a lot to work in a place like that. But she had the feeling that if she and Brody had a smackdown over whatever he was doing tonight, Toni wouldn’t like her quite so much.

“Maybe,” she said. She looked at the bags. “He gave you enough food to keep you going for a week.”

“It’s for the crew,” Brody said. “I’m going to bribe them to make them like me.”

Good luck with that. If he didn’t come clean with her, she was going to use the leftovers to bribe the crew to bleed him until he talked. They’d see who won.

By the time they picked up the truck and made it back to the compound, the day was already turning to dusk. Brody knew he was going to have to go soon.

He hated to see this day end. It had been a bright spot in the dismalness of his life for the past year—the one thing that had given him a sliver of hope for the future.

If only the past wasn’t rearing its ugly head, dragging him down with its sticky tentacles.

They only thing that might—might—make things right was if his contact came through for him tonight. If he had what Brody needed. If it worked the way it was supposed to.

If Jasmin didn’t try to get involved.

He couldn’t drag her into this. Not after everything she’d been through. It was too dangerous. He just didn’t know if she’d understand that.

The crew dove on the leftovers like a horde of ravening locusts. He didn’t know if it made them like him any better, but hell, it couldn’t hurt.

“Idiots,” Jasmin said to them. “Dinner’s going to be ready in an hour.” She checked the crockpot, adjusting the temperature.

“What’s your point?” Sloan asked, mouth full of reheated fried meat pastry. “This is awesome.”

“You staying for dinner, Brody?” Xander asked. “You should. We’re going to play the Deprived Childhood Game after.”

The rest of the crew groaned.

“It’s fun,” Xander said, ignoring them. “It’s a drinking game. You go around the table, and each person says something normal and ordinary they’ve never done, like going fishing, or flying in a plane. Then everyone who’s done it has to drink.”

Lissa said, “I don’t know why you want to play that all the time. You had the most normal childhood of any of us. You have to drink practically every time.”

Xander grinned at her. “Exactly.” Lissa rolled her eyes.

“Gosh, watching you get sloppy drunk sounds so fun,” Brody said. “But I have to go. Duty calls.”