"Captain Wolfe!" The door to his office slammed into the wall with a metallic thud that hurt his ears as the base commander stormed into the tiny space. Jackson barely managed to keep the snarl from his face. He had disliked Colonel Bronn from the moment they had met. Wolfe rose to standing as the man barreled into his office. Part of him wanted to growl at the breach of his territory, but the colonel outranked him and had every right to barge into the office as if it were his own.
Colonel Conrad Bronn was an intimidating man. Despite the fact that Jackson was a good three inches taller, the Colonel still seemed to look down at him. Everything about the Colonel was hard and demanding. His mouth was a thin line framed by a strong nose and heavy brow with a frown that never budged. His hair was cropped so close to the skin it was impossible to tell what color it might have been; even his camouflage uniform was perfectly pressed and straight.
"What can I do for you, sir?" Captain Wolfe asked calmly, placing his fingertips on the desk in front of him. Jackson wasn't used to being interrupted during his work and he was doing his best to stay calm. There would be nothing gained by being angry and possibly releasing the wolf inside of him.
"I was told you were here when the break-in occurred?" the Colonel asked, striding to the front of Jackson's desk and placing his big hands on the shiny surface. The veins on Bronn's neck bulged and pulsated out of his uniform.
"I was. I'm afraid I didn't see anything." Jackson sat down, making sure that the chair didn't buckle underneath him. He wasn't going to be baited into anger by this man.
"Bullshit. The guards said they found you by the door." Bronn's pale blue eyes flashed with hostility.
"When the alarm went off, I went to investigate. My office is just down the hall from the Records Room," Jackson replied smoothly, stacking several papers on his desk into a neat pile. "So of course the guards found me by the room, sir."
The Colonel growled with frustration. "And you didn't see anything?"
"No, sir."
The Colonel removed his hands from Jackson's desk, leaving dirty fingerprints on the once clean surface, and carefully folded them behind his back. "I want to know how someone got on my base and stole from me."
"As far as I know, sir, the perpetrator slid through a hole in the fence. That the guards even noticed that someone had walked through the airfield and left footprints that didn't belong speaks volumes to their training," Jackson replied. "In addition, nothing in the Records Room is classified information. Most of the files are medical records that need to be put into the system."
Colonel Bronn's eyes narrowed to blue icy shards. "I'm sure the soldier or soldiers whose information was stolen wouldn't be pleased to hear your lack of concern."
Jackson's jaw hardened. There was something about this man that he didn't like. Perhaps it was the perfect uniform, the strict observance of protocol even when unnecessary, or the lack of compassion in those cold eyes. It could have even been the man's history of violence and the savage tactics he used in the Middle East that had almost cost the Colonel his rank. Whatever it was, something about the man set Jackson's teeth on edge. It took restraint not to get up and pace the room growling.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I am busy. Base security is not my forte, but I would be happy to assist your men however I can." Jackson smiled in what he hoped was a helpful, friendly smile and not a wolfish grin.
"No, you're right. It appears as though you don't know anything." The Colonel shrugged and turned to step out of the office. Jackson bristled with the implied insult, but he let it slide. Talking back to a superior officer was a good way to just get in trouble. "If you think of anything you might have seen from last night, please let base security know. Oh, and shave by the next time I see you. Just because you just got here doesn't mean you get a free pass. You're supposed to be an example to the other men."
With that, the Colonel walked out of Captain Wolfe's office. Jackson waited until the footsteps were faint echoes in the hall before standing and stomping to close the door. He slammed the door shut, glad to release a little frustration at an inanimate object. Colonel Bronn made Jackson's hackles rise. The Colonel was obviously not happy running a tiny base in the middle of nowhere and wanted that to change. There was too much hunger for power in the man's eyes and Jackson wanted nothing to do with him.
Jackson turned, the pile of paperwork on his desk offering him only a boring excuse to fill his time. What he wanted was to find that girl, and smell that wonderful, relaxing and yet stimulating scent again.
He eased himself into the rickety chair, and pulled a beat-up laptop from a case on the floor. It wasn't a pretty computer, but it had been modified by his squad during the last tour and he knew he would never get another one like it. The computer could search more databases and crack security codes faster than Jackson had even thought possible. He could practically perform magic with the upgrades his squad had given him.
It booted quickly and as he waited for the search engine screen to show, he closed his eyes and tried to remember any details about the woman in the Records Room that would tell him who she was. Nothing came to mind except her age and that there was a local college nearby. It was as good a place to start as any, and he navigated to the Hudson University student directory.
His fingers flew across the laptop, searching through possible candidates and names until he finally stumbled across her picture. It was almost more luck than skill. She was photographed next to a microscope on the homepage for the Genetics Department.
Chloe Madison. PhD Candidate for Human Genetics.
The corner of his mouth twitched up at seeing her face before dropping into a frown. What was a genetics student doing breaking into a secure military facility to steal some old medical files? Perhaps she needed something for her research? But if that were the case, there were official channels to go through that would legitimize her work.
He looked down at the stack of paperwork next to his computer. It was only nine in the morning. Coffee at the student coffee shop suddenly sounded like a much better use of his time than going through old intelligence reports.
Chapter 8
Jackson sat next to the corner window overlooking the main quad. From his position he had a clear line of sight to the library, the science building, the student center entrance, as well as the rest of the coffee shop. The coffee was warm in his hands and he had surprised himself by ordering it with cream and sugar; he usually liked it black.
He didn't look out of place among the students. Slightly older, perhaps, at twenty-eight years old, but there were enough graduate students that he didn't stand out. Watching the freshmen working feverishly on their projects at the table next to him reminded him that he had gone a very different path. West Point with a degree in Psychology was not the easiest course load through college, but he had done it. It was how he had gotten to where he was now.
The door chimed and he turned from the window to have his world flooded with golden warmth. She was here. Chloe walked up to the counter to order a coffee to go. He tried not to stare, but he wanted to take in every detail about her. He took it all in: her purple scarf tucked neatly into the gray wool coat, the damp snow clinging to the bottom of her jeans, the knitted black hat she had over her ears, even the snow melting on her shoulders. She was so beautiful he was surprised that no one else in the coffee shop was staring.
Her voice sung in his ears as she ordered a coffee, pausing to decide if she wanted cream and sugar. She decided to go with yes, but only one of each. Her laugh was like tiny bells as she giggled at the comment by the barista that her coffee was actually starting to look like coffee rather than caffeinated milk. She dropped her change in the jar by the register and stepped out into the main quad.
Jackson had to count his heartbeats in order to still them. Blood was rushing through his ears and he was sure his eyes were golden. He couldn't control the effect she seemed to have on him, but he didn't want it to stop either. She was barely half-way across the quad when he stood from his seat and tried his best to nonchalantly follow her into the library.
She waved to a librarian on her way in and promptly headed up the main staircase to the second level. There were enough students that he was able to follow her without attracting any attention. She turned at the top of the stairs and walked down a short hallway with study room doors on either side. She glanced about before closing the door to room number three behind her.
He found an overstuffed chair by the window that he could sit in and watch the door. He pulled a random book from the nearest shelf, opening it on his lap to give him the appearance of studying. The title was something about the history of Romulus and Remus and the building of Rome.
His fingers gripped at the edges of the pages, but he didn't see the words. What am I doing here? He asked himself, unable to come up with a reasonable answer. Somehow, tracking a beautiful girl because her scent is intoxicating seemed too stalker-ish, even for him. Scenarios played out in his head of him entering the study room, pretending to be a student and starting up a conversation. Her imaginary laugh as he said something witty made him smile before he realized he was daydreaming about something he should never have.
He was dangerous. He had killed people. He should have been dead himself. There was a wolf living inside of him, threatening to emerge and destroy everything. Memories of the terror he had wrought in Afghanistan at the destruction of his squad flashed like grenades across his vision. The damage he had caused. The crackle of the fire he had set to cover it up. He was a creature of nightmares.
He cursed quietly. There was no way a beautiful, intelligent woman like Chloe would ever chose to be with someone like him. Yes, he had military rank, but the drive to climb higher had been killed with Wolf Squad. He was broken and battered. Some people in previous wars had called it Shell Shock, or the Thousand Yard Stare, but now they called it something else. PTSD. Hell, he still had to report to a physical therapist and a psychologist once a week. The physical therapist was amazed at his near miraculous recovery and he lied through his teeth to the shrink. No, she deserved someone better than him.
He set the book down on the armrest of the chair, telling himself that leaving and forgetting she had ever existed was the best thing for both of them. He would only end up hurting her, possibly even killing her. If he wanted to do right by her, he needed to leave and never think of her again. His hand trembled against the book as he stood. Somehow leaving a woman he had barely met was breaking his heart.
He carefully replaced the book back to its original position on the bookshelf, closing his eyes for a moment to say goodbye. With a deep breath he turned to find the stairs, but the scent that hit him made his hackles rise.
A well-built man in his late fifties had ascended the stairs and was walking straight for Chloe's study room. Jackson didn't know how he knew it, but he could smell a wolf.
The hair on the back of Jackson's neck stood upright as he watched to make sure this new werewolf really was going into Chloe's room. The man entered study room three without a pause. Jackson growled softly, fear for her safety flooding through him. She was trapped in a room with someone like him. The fact that there was even another like him was barely registering against the concern that she was alone with him.