Zander sighed, turning his gaze to the view of the marsh. “You’re right.” The “but” was clear in his tone.
“Why are you so reluctant to stay? Look, I’m not expecting you to sympathize with these females. I know empathy isn’t really your thing. But I also know that you’re a person who’s rarely daunted by anything. So, what’s holding you back? Is your wolf making it hard for you to be around Gwen?”
“No, he’s not giving me a hard time. But I don’t know if he’d help me protect her. It’s possible that he’d even object to it. What use am I if, when she’s in danger, he pulls back so hard that I’m distracted?”
Bracken frowned thoughtfully. “How did he react when you stepped in to warn away Moore just now?”
“He didn’t react. Just stayed back. It’s almost like he’s hiding from her. What does that even mean?”
Bracken’s mouth twitched. “It’s driving you insane that you can’t solve the mystery.”
Damn right it was. “I don’t like puzzles.”
“In my opinion, the only way you’ll figure it out is if you stick around awhile. But I’m not going to pressure you into staying. If you feel you need to go, go—I won’t judge you for that.”
Zander snorted derisively. “Like I’d leave you on your own.” He, Bracken, and Jesse were like brothers; they’d stick together through anything. He sighed. “I’ll stay. It’s what Shelby would want me to do. And you’re right. Walking away would make us like those people who let her down.”
“And you want to solve the mystery of your wolf’s reaction to Gwen. So do I. It’s kind of interesting.”
“Glad someone’s enjoying the puzzle.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.” Zander tipped his chin toward the door. “Let’s get breakfast. Then we can go hear Dale’s will.”
Zander flicked a look at the wall clock. Rory was late. Of course he was late. Everything had to revolve around him, so he was purposely making them wait for him. The bastard better fucking hurry, because the heavy scent of new paint was driving his senses crazy. Not even the strong smell of his coffee helped.
Bracken didn’t seem bothered. He was busy watching the news on the wall-mounted TV. Although the volume was low, his shifter-enhanced hearing allowed Bracken to hear it perfectly, despite the continual ringing of the receptionist’s phone and the noises coming from the children in the toy corner.
Zander had received a text message from Shelby informing him that she wouldn’t be coming. He wasn’t particularly surprised. He was also glad, because it meant she wouldn’t have to deal with Rory.
With an inward sigh, Zander threw the newspaper he’d skimmed through back onto the coffee table. The young receptionist tried to catch his eye, but he didn’t play the game. His mind was on other things. Like the reading of the will. Like how likely it was that Rory would be an ass. And like the question of whether Nick would sanction Zander’s and Bracken’s requests to stay in Oregon for a while.
He didn’t doubt that his Alpha would sympathize with Gwen and the female shifter’s situation, but Nick’s priority was the pack’s safety—especially since that pack included his mate and daughter. Also, Nick didn’t like outsiders; he wouldn’t put one before the needs of his pack, no matter the seriousness of the situation.
The front door swung open, and in walked a male with the same face that Zander saw every day in the mirror. Rory looked smart and immaculately neat with his slicked hair, black suit, shiny shoes, and briefcase. He also looked amused as his gaze found Zander, like Rory knew something that he didn’t.
Rory introduced himself to the receptionist, who blushed as she assured him that she’d alert the attorney of his arrival. He then strode over to Zander, halting in front of him. “Hello, brother.” It was a taunt, not a greeting.
Zander’s wolf lunged for him, upper lip curled back. He’d happily rip the male to pieces and not give a shit about it. Zander held him back and didn’t rise to Rory’s taunt. Instead, he spoke in a toneless voice that gave Rory no emotion to work with or exploit. “Rory.”
He cocked his head. “How’re things?”
“Good.”
Rory’s eyes cut to Bracken, who was pointedly ignoring him—something he’d been doing since they were kids. Rory’s mouth tightened at the clear dismissal, but he slid his gaze back to Zander and said, “I’m glad to hear it. Things are good on my end too. Work is good, life is good. I actually have plans to expand my business.” He talked about his job, boasted of his new contracts, spoke of his “newest piece of fluff”—his words.
He was so caught up in chatting about himself that he didn’t notice the bored look Bracken exchanged with Zander, despite the enforcer not being the least bit subtle about it.
The opening of a door was soon followed by footsteps shuffling down the hallway. Finally, a suited middle-aged male appeared. “Zander and Rory Devlin?”
“That’s us,” Rory confirmed with a smile as they walked toward him.
Zander took in the male’s scent. Fox shifter. His wolf growled; he wasn’t a fan of foxes.
“I’m Edward Simpson, your uncle’s attorney.” He shook each of their hands, his expression sympathetic. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
Rory swallowed hard. “Thank you. We’ll miss him.”
Bracken snickered only loud enough to reach shifter ears, and Rory’s face hardened as he tossed the enforcer a dark look that was completely ignored.
Rory turned to Zander. “I’m surprised Jesse’s not here to console you too.”
Zander didn’t rise to the snarky remark, which only pissed the prick off.
Edward cleared his throat. “Please come with me.” He led them down a hallway and into an office. With its white walls and gray carpet, the room was sterile. It was also obsessively tidy. Each item of stationery seemed to have its own place on the desk. The stacks of papers were perfectly aligned beneath the dolphin paperweight. The files and binders on the shelves were in alphabetical order.
There didn’t appear to be even a speck of dust, and Zander got the feeling that the attorney would have an aneurysm if he found one. Maybe that was why the guy had a stress ball next to his coffee mug and why the astringent scent of hand sanitizer was so strong—fairly drowning out the other smells of paper, ink, and coffee.
Edward gestured at the padded plastic chairs opposite his desk. “Please sit.” He then moved to the file cabinet, on which a framed photo of a woman and two children rested. Pulling out a slim folder, he closed the drawer.
Tension stretched the air taut; Zander and Rory remained so still that only the whirring of the fan and the shuffling of papers could be heard.
Sitting, Edward rolled his wheeled office chair closer to the desk and opened the folder. “I realize that reading the will aloud in an attorney’s office isn’t how things are usually done anymore. But your uncle was adamant that he wanted things handled this way. He attached a letter to his last will and testament, and he asked that I read it aloud first.”
Rory leaned forward, but Zander didn’t move.
“To my niece and nephews,” began Edward, “you may be wondering why you’re now sitting in my attorney’s office. Well, it is as simple as this—I knew that someone would be unhappy with the content of the will and most likely claim that the copy they received in the post was a fake. This way, you will all know that you each received the same copy.”