Undercover Wolf - Paige Tyler Page 0,2

source of the scent that had drawn her down there, but nobody stood out.

Maybe she was completely wrong about the scent.

Maybe it wasn’t a werewolf at all.

Then she caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of her eye that made her snap her head around, but she didn’t see anyone. Sure she’d seen something, she skirted the outside of the dance floor in that direction. She was starting to question herself again when she spotted a tall, attractive guy with broad shoulders, casually disheveled brown hair, and scruff on his square jaw. He was circling the dancers on the floor in much the same way Harley was but in the opposite direction, keeping pace with her so they stayed exactly opposite each other.

Yeah, like that’s a coincidence.

A little voice in the back of her head told her to get on the radio and call Caleb and the rest of her teammates, but she ignored it, too mesmerized by the handsome man across the room from her. Every few seconds, piercing blue eyes locked with hers, making something inside her—maybe her inner wolf—feel a sensation she didn’t recognize.

Even if she hadn’t picked up on the scent, Harley would have known he was a werewolf from the graceful, animalistic way he moved.

He was a predator, no doubt about it.

Was he a kidnapper as well?

She wanted to say he’d never do anything like that, which was an asinine thing to consider about a man she’d never met.

Tired of stalking in circles, Harley stopped, turning carefully to keep her eyes on the big werewolf as he moved closer. She wasn’t sure, but for a brief moment, she thought she caught sight of what might have been a smile tugging at his sensuous mouth.

The other werewolf—an alpha most definitely—strode past the last few people separating them and came to a halt a few feet away. Harley couldn’t ignore that the man in front of her was possibly the most gorgeous guy she’d ever seen.

Which pretty much guaranteed he was one of the bad guys. Because that was how her luck worked out when it came to the opposite sex.

Harley took a single step forward and felt a tingle in her stomach when he did the same, that dangerous smile showing up again. She took another few steps toward him when his head whipped to the side. She looked that way, too, trying to see what had attracted his attention, and caught sight of two men slipping behind a black velvet curtain covering a section of the far wall. The second guy cast a furtive glance over his shoulder before disappearing.

That isn’t suspicious at all.

She turned back to the alpha werewolf, but he was already striding in that direction. She quickly followed, knowing she should call the rest of the team, but once again, her instincts insisted she hold off. By the time she slipped behind the curtain, all she saw was another set of stairs. The mysterious werewolf was nowhere to be found.

She paused long enough to slide a hand under her dress and pull the small frame Glock 9mm from the tiny holster strapped to her upper thigh, chambering a round as she started down the steps, rather proud of how comfortably she handled a loaded weapon. Considering that before joining STAT she’d never even held a gun, she thought she was doing rather well.

From down below, she heard the rhythmic sound of rapid footsteps along with the soft murmur of voices but no music or partying people or anything else to make her think this was a part of the dance club open to the public. Whatever the hell those two guys had come down here for, it probably wasn’t on the up-and-up.

Lit only by three low-watt bulbs mounted in cobweb-covered fixtures hanging from the rough stone ceiling, the room at the bottom of the steps was filled with crates, racks of empty bottles, and bags of trash. The dim glow was barely enough to throw shadows, but Harley didn’t need a lot of light to see the werewolf standing a few feet away, his broad back to her, a pistol down at his side.

“You always bring a gun when you go to a nightclub?” he asked without looking at her.

His voice was as deep as she’d imagined it would be, a little rough with a hint of a British accent, like he’d traveled extensively for much of his life and lost a bit of the distinctive sound over time.

“A girl