Head Hunter Read online

  Chapter 1

  Percy

  At first I figured the address had to be wrong. The neighborhood was still in the city and not nearly rich enough to justify the kind of rates I charged. The neighborhood didn’t need a habitat specialist and ecological engineer, they needed a wrecking ball and a hell of a lot of investment dollars.

  But the caller had been rather odd, so the odd location suited. He’d claimed he had a dire need for my specialty and was willing to pay over my regular fee for an initial consultation. All I had to do was show up to the address provided, listen to his problem, and provide some recommendations. All things considered, it seemed more like the set-up of some awful horror movie than a job opportunity.

  Beggars can’t be choosers, typically, and though I wasn’t a beggar, I had student loans that demanded payment every month. So I drove to the euphemistically described ‘up and coming’ neighborhood. It had previously been one of the hoity-toity parts of the city. I’d done some research the night before, just after getting the call, in order to better understand what the client might want. The house in front of me, after I parked on the curb, was an old Victorian-style monstrosity – the kind of domicile that old money called a ‘townhouse’ while they slummed it in town before going back to their mansion in the country.

  I adjusted my blazer and pretended to search my folio for something as I gathered my courage and put on my professional armor. Most people didn’t expect me to show up when they hired Percy Lawson. I had to prepare to face the disappointment, disgust, confusion, condescension... any number of things that high power, rich men felt when a young woman showed up instead of the architect they’d expected.

  Exactly the reason I didn’t put my picture on my website or social media profile. Well, that and I didn’t want to get calls for jobs based strictly on my face. A girl learns that lesson fast in business, or she doesn’t last long.

  I squared my shoulders and made my way up the sidewalk – a little cracked in places but otherwise well-weeded and maintained – to the front porch. Lounge furniture, no doubt made of teak and a few hundred years old, crowded the length of the wraparound porch. A massive cat with a floofy tail and a curious expression lingered on the rail as I approached. He purred as loudly as the engine in my shitty sedan, and tilted his head to beg for head scritches.

  I acquiesced, since he was too cute to simply bypass, and even rubbed under his chin and down his massive back. “Aren’t you a handsome devil.”

  He blinked slow and long, in perfect agreement. I started to smile as petting the feline totally distracted me from why I was actually at the address. Maybe taking a job there wouldn’t be such a trial. I leaned down to kiss his head, still rubbing his chin with my knuckles. “Maybe they want a special place for you, handsome? Is that what this is?”

  Some of the tension and nerves melted away. I tried not to prejudge people, since I was usually on the receiving end of that kind of judgment, but generally people who loved animals were good folks. And that cat was damn well-loved, based on his girth and pleasant demeanor.

  I took a deep breath and gave him one more pat, then strode over to ring the bell. When in doubt, act like you own the space you’re in and that you have as much right to be there as anyone else.

  But no one answered. I waited a few seconds, an odd feeling of unease taking root in my chest. The place was remarkably still for the middle of the day, and no cars drove down the street outside. I looked around, distracted once more as the cat hopped down to twine around my legs. I rang the bell a second time and checked my phone. I was right on time, not a minute early or late.

  Maybe it was a prank call or the gruff man on the phone decided he didn’t want a habitat specialist. I clenched my jaw in irritation; nothing like wasting half the morning away from real work to indulge some rich asshole’s whim. I raised my fist to pound on the door, so maybe their damn butler would hear, but got no further as the door whipped open and an absolutely enormous dude strode out.

  Or tried to, since he stopped short before he mowed me down. I stared at him as I stumbled back, too intimidated by his size and the iron line of his jaw to hold my ground, and my feet tangled as the cat lingered and purred and rubbed against my ankles. I felt myself falling, felt the rising horror of making an ass of myself in front of a client, and braced to land hard and ruin the most expensive suit I owned.

  Chapter 2

  Dodge

  Dodge moved into the witch’s house shortly after the incident with the sorcerer and Henry’s mate ended with Silas getting stuck in a monstrous half-wolf, half-man form. He could have stayed in the packhouse downtown in the old factory, but he preferred to be close enough to keep an eye on Silas. The poor bastard still paced and growled in the storm-cellar in the fancy house that the alpha’s mate owned. It had become the central residence for Evershaw, the alpha, and a few other senior wolves in the pack. Only Todd Evershaw, the alpha’s cousin, stayed at the place downtown to keep an eye on the rest of their misfit pack.

  He still wasn’t entirely comfortable in the big ass mansion that Deirdre, the alpha’s mate, had inherited from her family. It was an old house, creaky and full of history, and it reminded him way too much of where he came from: where his grandparents lived and how much they fucking judged people. How much they’d judged his mother.

  So he couldn’t relax much in the house unless he was chilling in the storm cellar with Silas, his feet propped up, smoking cigars and drinking whiskey. At least the crazy wolfman had settled down somewhat, at least when Dodge was around, and Dodge could doze down there without fear of getting his throat ripped out.

  Otherwise he paced through the house and along the porch, or went outside to do the same when Deirdre finally got too irritated with the noise and yelled at him to stop making such a racket. She’d gotten more irritable after the confrontation with the sorcerer and not being able to figure out what kind of fucked up magic lingered on Silas. Dodge had his own theories on why the witch was hard to be around, but it wasn’t his business and he wasn’t about to offer an opinion on the alpha’s mate.

  He shook his head and headed for the front door, trying to escape another of Evershaw’s rampages about finding the sorcerer and making him pay for attacking the pack. Dodge missed Henry’s steadying presence; the pack’s third-in-command had retreated to Montana after his familial pack asked for his help, but the son of a bitch left a hole in the SilverLine pack that they apparently expected Dodge to fill. He clenched his jaw and whipped the door open. No way. Not his thing. He’d had enough of being in command, being responsible for other people’s lives. He just wanted a quiet life, no responsibility, no more threats or death or blood.

  Dodge nearly steamrolled right through a tall young woman in a stuffy business suit who stood right outside the door. He slammed on the brakes so he didn’t knock her ass down, and gripped the door to keep from growling out of sheer irritation and shock. Her dark eyes widened considerably when she saw him, so he must have scared the shit out of her. She scrambled back, or tried to – Cricket, the witch’s damn mountain lion of a house-cat, had made himself a nuisance like usual and tangled up her feet.

  Or maybe it was the fancy high heels she wore that threw off her balance. Either way, her arms windmilled and she threw a leather-bound folio at him as she pitched backward.

  Dodge could have let her fall, since she was the one who’d been hanging around on the wrong side of someone else’s door, but he wasn’t usually a dick to women. So he leaned forward and caught the front of her shirt in his fist, hauling her back upright.

  She blinked, breathing hard, and stared at him.

  He stared right back, unmindful that he still held onto her pretty blouse and no doubt wrinkled the shit out of it with his grip. At least he hadn�
�t caught her bra by accident. Or torn something off completely. He arched his eyebrows. “Can I help you?”

  Her face turned red, as did every visible inch of skin across her chest and throat. She cleared her throat a few times, then brushed at the front of her shirt – dislodging his hand. She wobbled a bit on her heels, then bent to retrieve the folio that had nearly dented Dodge’s chest. Her voice, low and throaty, didn’t match the prim and proper exterior. “I’m the architect. Mr. Evershaw called about a habitat to be built. We had an appointment at ten.”

  Her voice was meant for dirty jokes over a poker table, maybe dirtier talk fucking on a pool table. She had the body for it, too, and it was even more intriguing because she hid it with the charcoal gray suit and pretty pearls and subtle diamond earrings. Trying to wear a uniform so shitheads like him didn’t leer at her as she was trying to do her job. He tilted his head at the interior of the house and held the door open wider, stepping back to invite her in. “I’ll get him. Come in. Watch out for the cat.”

  She eyed him with clear distrust, but apparently Cricket approved of her, because the cat trotted inside and hopped onto his favorite loveseat to lash his tail and knead the pillows into pin-pricked, down-spilling wrecks. The girl swallowed and maneuvered through the open door, brushing past him without a second glance. He closed his eyes briefly as the scent of her perfume drifted past him – subtle and understated elegance, perfectly matched to the pearls and the demure click-click of her heels.

  He shook himself and slammed the door harder than he meant, making her jump. He turned away, too unnerved by the girl to remain in the room with her. “Take a seat if you’ve a mind to. I’ll get the boss.”

  Her lips parted to say something – maybe ask a question, maybe reprimand him for his bad manners... He wouldn’t have minded the reprimand, not if she could add some glasses and a naughty librarian kind of vibe. He felt like a dirty old bastard for thinking it, but she could whip down her hair and give him a hell of a lecture, and it would have been the sexiest thing he’d seen in years. But Dodge went over to the stairs and shouted up them, “Boss! Got a, er… architect here.”

  He’d almost said ‘human,’ which would have required all kinds of explanation. Dodge waited until he heard Evershaw’s tell-tale grumble and cursing, and figured the old man was on his way. Dodge turned to catch the visitor still staring at him, her cheeks flushed, and that pretty perfume wasn’t quite enough to hide the hint of interest in the air.

  He swallowed a grin. Maybe she wasn’t so prim and proper after all.

  Chapter 3

  Percy

  It took a long time to process what the hell happened. The guy just reached out and… plucked me out of thin air. Like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t some weird ass impossible superhuman feat. He just reached out and caught the front of my shirt and tugged me upright. And then didn’t release me. It sent shivers all the way through me to feel the easy strength in his grip, holding onto my too-expensive but still second-hand blouse. I couldn’t think straight as he asked what I wanted, and finally managed to brush his hand away.

  I missed it, though, when it was gone and he retreated still farther away.

  I put aside the regret and instead focused on work. I was a talented architect and a hell of a habitat specialist. I couldn’t afford to be dazzled by a client or whatever strange men lived in their houses. When he invited me into the house, I nearly refused on principle. I didn’t know if I could maintain my self-control in close quarters with the big dude, who was absolutely the worst kind of guy to be interested in. He looked unkempt and rough, bearded and wild-haired, and wore battered clothes that had clearly seen better days. Tattoos marked almost every inch of visible skin on his arms and chest. Even the backs of his hands had something inked on them. He was too handsome to be believed – all rough edges and a few scars and a hard jaw under the beard.

  His forearms... made me thirsty. He gripped the back of a chair after shouting up the stairs, flexing until the muscles popped in his forearms. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. God help me. Other women might lust after a tight tush or broad shoulders or whatever, but all I needed were some muscular forearms. I cleared my throat and tried to focus on something safe, something mundane and completely non-sexual, so I wouldn’t be so tempted by the glint of trouble in his hazel eyes. “The, uh... cat. Does he live here? Is the job for him?”

  “The cat?” The big dude snorted and shook his head, leaning a bit around me so he could glare at the cat – sitting contentedly in a pile of feathers that he’d kneaded out of some battered pillows. “Cricket has the run of the house and gardens. He doesn’t need anything else.”

  “Oh.” I fished for any other topic and came up empty. Asking about his tattoos probably wasn’t a good idea, just in case he offered to show me more, so I just stood there and frowned at him. I suddenly regretted not wearing something a little lower-cut. I tried to present the most professional demeanor during an initial consultation, which translated to conservative suits and blouses, minimal jewelry. I clutched the folio like a shield as I caught his attention drifting down to my pearls and cleavage.

  Luckily, heavy footsteps came down the stairs before the big dude had a chance to speak, and I turned to confront... yet another enormous man. This one’s attitude screamed entitlement and business, so he was obviously the homeowner and client. He eyed me from head to toe before shaking his head and brushing his light hair back off his forehead. “I hired the architect, not an assistant. Tell Lawson to come himself if he expects to get the job.”

  A familiar and unfortunately necessary mask of cool disinterest settled over me. I squared my shoulders as I faced him and offered my hand to shake. “I’m Lawson.”

  “You’re Percy Lawson?” He snorted and ignored my hand, though he shared a look with the other guy. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t waste my time.”

  “You’re wasting your own time,” I said calmly. “I’m Persephone Lawson, and I charge by the hour. Yours started promptly at ten, when our appointment was scheduled. You’ll be charged the full hour whether you want to talk to me or not. Your choice, Mr. Evershaw.”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me, but I refused to react. Most guys his type respected a forthright attitude and a bit of challenge. They wanted to know they weren’t hiring a pushover. Unless I’d grossly misjudged his issues and he just hated pushy women. Seemed possible, if he surrounded himself with men’s men like Mr. Tattoos.

  Who also watched me in silence. The back of my neck prickled but I refused to speak first. The ball was in Evershaw’s court.

  Evershaw folded his massive arms over his chest. “Persephone. That’s quite a name.”

  “My parents were classics professors,” I said. It wasn’t the first time I’d had to explain the weird name they’d stuck me with.

  “Interesting,” Mr. Tattoo said, and from his tone, I almost believed him. “They must have figured you’d end up a hippie or something.”

  “Well, joke’s on them,” I said, fixing him with a withering look. A hippie? Hardly the most insulting response I’d heard, but certainly the least creative. “I became an engineer and architect. Now, Mr. Evershaw. What kind of habitat are you interested in, precisely, and where will it be located?”

  The two men continued to frown at me, clearly trying to figure out how I fit in their world and what to do about the inconvenient fact that I was a Persephone instead of the Percival they wanted. I didn’t care, or at least tried to pretend like I didn’t. I needed the work and a hell of a recommendation, and the kind of money this guy would need to hire me for a single job meant he had to have the kinds of friends who also had a shitload of disposable income for equally lucrative projects. Every job I took could be the one that made my name in the city and set up my career for the next thirty years.

  Evershaw finally grunted and pointed at one of the chairs in the living room behind me. “Fine. We’ll see what you come up with, Lawson.”

  I nodded and made my way
to the loveseat next to the cat, who purred and rolled onto his back to show off his plump belly. I couldn’t picture Evershaw as the cat’s owner, so perhaps there was someone else inside who loved the beast. I opened my folio and laid out a series of designs on the coffee table between us as Evershaw slouched into an armchair. Mr. Tattoo leaned against the back of another chair, still studying me. Perhaps he also had an interest in architecture. I refused to let him make me nervous.

  “Without more information on the animals requiring the habitat, I’m not able to provide a unique design right now. However, these are several habitats I’ve designed and am building for a predator sanctuary outside the city. They have quite a bit more land but also require varied ecologies for their animals.”

  “A predator sanctuary?” Evershaw frowned as he picked up one of the sketches. “Never heard of it. Seems like a weird thing for this part of the country.”

  What a dick. What an absolute tool. Maybe the job wouldn’t be worth all the aggravation of dealing with him. I reached out to rub the cat’s furry belly to comfort myself as I restrained my temper. “They rescue bears, wolves, lions, and other big cats from zoos and circuses. It’s a worthy cause.”

  He grunted, unimpressed, and picked up another sketch. “And you’re doing all of the designs for them?”

  “Yes.”

  Another long silence. I glanced up and found Mr. Tattoo watching me and paying zero attention to the designs or his boss. I frowned right back at him, wanting to tell him to pay attention, but instead of looking even the least bit chastised, a grin started to peek through the mask of his beard. My cheeks heated and I debated looking away or pretending not to be completely distracted by the charming smile and bedroom eyes. I was a professional, damn it.

  “Lawson,” Evershaw said, and I snapped my attention back to him. But he seemed more interested in where I petted the cat instead of how I ogled his friend. “Cricket likes you, I take it.”