Read Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) for Free Online Page B

edged. Typical Wells—speak softly, then gut them with a sharp knife.
    Didn‘t it just figure that he‘d actually answer his phone this time? She‘d have preferred voice mail—recordings never asked awkward questions. ―Sir.‖ A nonchalant tone, that‘s the ticket. ―I‘m getting out of the city and heading into the mountains. Might be out of touch for a while.‖
    ―Is there a problem, Morgan?‖
    ―No, sir. Well, come to think of it…‖ Excellent lead-in, not too pushy. ―Perhaps one thing.‖
    ―Go on.‖
    Here it got tricky. Dammit, she‘d never lied to him, and doing so felt like gravel in an open wound. ―I had a drink with an old buddy from Afghanistan. She told me about an ex-marine named Swane.‖
    ―Swane.‖ She heard the scratch of his pen as he wrote the name. More anal than a proctologist, Wells jotted everything down. Hell of annoying at first, until she‘d learned other people often forgot stuff...like the moron last year who‘d forgotten the GPS quadrants for the pickup zone and her best friend had died. She swallowed. Stay on track, soldier.
    ―What is the problem—I assume there is one—with this individual?‖ Wells asked.
    ―Seems he‘s torturing homeless people and using a cop contact for the cover-up. Doesn‘t look good, sir, to have a screwed-up marine loose in Seattle.‖ After a few scandals involving recently discharged soldiers and violent altercations, the military was walking on eggshells.
    Although this wasn‘t in Wells‘ area, he‘d still do something.
    A grunt. ―No, that‘s not good. Your buddy‘s name is…?‖
    ―I‘d rather not say, sir. I don‘t want to betray a confidence.‖
    Silence. She knew what he was thinking. Duty to your country outweighed any other loyalty, including what you owed to your friends. But she‘d made a promise to Lachlan. Unless the shifters were dangerous, she wouldn‘t put them in Wells‘ sights.
    ―All right, Sergeant. I‘m not in-country, but I‘ll look into it when I return.‖
    In spite of the pain, she grinned. Getting Wells onboard was siccing a pit bull on a poodle.
    ―Thank you, sir. I‘ll be in touch. Good—‖
    The line clicked. Wells never said goodbye. He thought it sounded like a curse, so he saved his farewells for his enemies.
    ―Goodbye, Swane,‖ she said cheerfully. ―Bye-bye, Mr. Asshole-Suit. ‗Parting is such sweet sorrow‘.‖
    Yeah, if anyone could find these guys, Wells could. The first time she‘d seen him, she‘d been doing sit-ups to burn off her anger at being turned down for combat duty. She looked up at this man. Older than her father. Sharp nose, icy clear blue eyes, tailored clothing like some English aristocrat. He‘d watched her for a minute, before giving her a thin smile. ―I hear you want to join the fighting in Iraq.‖
    She‘d frozen halfway through a sit-up as he said, ―If you don‘t mind wearing civilian clothes, I can promise you all the danger you‘ll ever want, and that your work will make a difference.‖ He‘d won her over with his final words. ―I need you, Morgan.‖
    He‘d kept his promise then and always. She could safely leave the kidnappers to him.
    Time to go shopping. But when she rose from the table, her headache went ballistic. Then dizziness hit, a riptide sucking at her consciousness. Dropping back on the chair, she shook her head. Oh, this wasn‘t good at all. Fucking-A, was she going to die like that old woman?
    As she staggered into the living room, sweat broke out on her skin like she was in the fucking desert. But her legs crumbled under her, and she hit the floor hard. God! Everything hurt so bad she didn‘t know what to hold first. Just shoot me now.
    ―Lord, look down on Thy Servant! Bad things have come to pass.
    There is no heat in the midday sun, nor health in the wayside grass.
    His bones are full of an old disease—his torments run and increase.
    Lord, make haste with Thy Lightnings and grant him a quick release!‖
    After a minute