Page 50 of Someone Else's Wolf

"Today, after work. Text or call ahead so he knows you're coming. Unless you think his partner reads his texts."

"Who, Sue?"

Kirk tsked irritably. "You were awake when you called, remember? No, his mate-partner."

"Okay. Yes. Sorry. And thanks, Kirk."

He growled once and hung up.

He was going to help me. Hopefully, it wouldn't be needed. Perhaps Peter's mate wouldn't try to interfere or become violent. Perhaps.

I had the feeling Kirk had steered me right. The sooner the better, not waiting for someone else to step in whom Peter might listen to. I started typing up my text, then paused. Would it waken him? Would his "partner" snatch up the phone and read it? Nah. I bet he kept his phone private, anyway. Even if the guy knew we were coming, so what? I was going to see Peter one way or another.

I tapped out the text carefully. Should I add that I loved him? Could I say that in a text? Maybe I was being an idiot here. Maybe he really did want to stay with the man who didn't love him. But I had to try. I had to roll the dice, holding nothing back. This wasn't a game; it was entirely real. The wolf my subconscious had conjured up had made abundantly clear something I should already have known. Because Peter was worth it.

Whether he ever loved me back or not, he was worth every bit of embarrassment and pain. He had to know someone loved him and wanted to help him get free — if he'd let them.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

I was jittery all day leading up to the approaching meeting, or intervention, or whatever it was. Kirk told me to knock it off, but I couldn't. I'd be lying if I denied having doubts and second-guessing the decision, but mostly it was nerves.

Peter hadn't replied to my text informing him that Kirk and I would be stopping by after work. Maybe he hadn't gotten it, but most likely he was ignoring me. And why shouldn't he? As far as he knew, I was just another person who'd walked away and left him to his fate. No doubt I'd have to prove otherwise before he'd give me the time of day.

Going over and over everything in my mind, reminding myself that this wasn't really about me, wondering whether he'd love me back, thinking about everything that could go wrong — it was exhausting. So, I was a mess by the time we finally headed over there.

"Would it help if I smacked you?" Kirk offered pleasantly. I informed him it wouldn't. "Well, I'd like to smack somebody."

He'd had a long day. Two cancer patients. Both had happened to be older women. I knew that got to him, probably always would. I should probably offer to be noble and do this alone, but I didn't. Instead, I thanked him again for helping me.

"Don't thank me," he growled. "Just stop jittering around." He thought for a moment. "And maybe get your boyfriend to cook me something tasty when you get back together."

He was more confident than I. "I hope that happens. But even if it doesn't—"

His growl was loud. "Enough! I know: he's worth it, this isn't about you or what he chooses,blah blah blah. You've said it a dozen times."

I probably had.

We finally arrived, Kirk still grumpy, me still jittery.

A collection of bags and boxes and clothes had been thrown out onto the driveway. They looked like Peter's things.

As we pulled into the driveway, a man stepped out onto the small porch and flung some pots and pans. They clanged discordantly among the other discards.

The man looked scruffy, with reddish-blond hair and a scraggly beard. He was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a pissed-off expression. He looked older than Peter, with deep lines around his mouth as if he frowned a lot. He had the dehydrated, mean look I associated with someone who'd done time, and a few faded, violent-looking tattoos stood out starkly against the pale skin of his arms.

Was this the mate? Although, who else would it be?

I was out of the car before Kirk had completely stopped, and ran up to the porch. "Where is he? Where's Peter?" I barked, fiercer than I'd sounded in quite some time, possibly since the last time I'd had to collar an armed perp and my adrenaline had been sky-high. My police training kicked in automatically, and I stayed out of arm's reach in case he had a knife. He didn't seem to have a gun; I kept my eyes open, though.

"Kirk, Shane, what's—" Peter's voice. I turned to see him heading up from the back yard, his eyes wide, a stunned, slightly clueless look on his handsome face. "I don't understand. Why are you here?"

"Peter." I moved towards him gratefully, as automatically as if I were being drawn by magnetic force. "Are you okay? What's going on?" I took hold of his arms and held him at arm's length though I wanted to embrace him and not let go.

He looked embarrassed and lowered his voice. "Shane, what are you doing here?"

"Didn't you get my text? I came to check on you. We need to talk. I can't—"

He extricated himself from me with a pained smile. "This really isn't a good time for you to be here. You're only going to make it worse."