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“Crying wolf is a real danger.” ― David Attenborough

Axel Wulf

“Mommy, wake up, it’s a school day.” As Abbie knocks on the bedroom door, my wife pulls the pillow over her face.

“Five more minutes. Some wolf kept me up late.” While she groans, I nibble her naked tits.

“C’mon, babe. I’ll make coffee.”

“Mrumph. Beast.”

“I love you, Mrs. Wulf.” Biting back a laugh, I tug the foam from her head and kiss her lips until her eyes open.

“Love you, too.” Long dark lashes lift off her cheeks, her gaze shifts to the clock, and she jumps out of bed. “Oh shit. We gotta move.”

“Yes, we do.” After I bring Bear back from his walk, my wife has showered, dressed, and served up French toast.

“Are you bringing me to school, Dad?” My heartstrings twang. I may not be her sperm donor, but in every other way, I will be the parent she deserves.

“Yup. Eat up. Let Mom brush your hair because we need to go.” While my mind drifts to my current FBI case, for which I still have no leads, Abigail swallows a bite.

“Is Bear coming too?”

Pouring coffee into my commuter mug, I explain, “Yes, he takes classes to protect people like you and Mommy better.”

“Cool.” She rubs his ears with her sticky fingers before grabbing her glass of orange juice.

As she offers him the last of her toast, I reach out to grab her wrist. “That’s for you, honey. He had his breakfast.”

“O-tay.” She eats two squares.

I hold up four fingers when she looks at me to indicate how many more. Once she finishes, I wipe her hands with a wet paper towel.

A few moments later, I nuzzle my wife’s neck. “Listen, if Dolly is not home by tonight, I will call the local police in PA.”

While I whisper sweet nothings, she works on Abbie’s snarls, then winks at me. “Thanks, hun. Otherwise, we may end up fostering two cats.”

Listening in, our half-braided imp jumps from her seat. “Really? We can keep them?”

“No!” In stereo, Gwen and I look on in mock horror, laughing our asses off.

Soon after dropping our daughter off at her elementary school, I make my way through the rush-hour traffic and park in the FBI lot. In my office, I check my email. As I’m about to leave for my team's morning meeting, my boss wanders to my desk.

“Have you found out anything?”

“Nothing more since we spoke yesterday, Ira.”

Deputy Director Kemp has insisted I use his first name, but I find it disrespectful. We don’t know each other that well.

“Wulf, I hope you’re not overly distracted.”

God help me. Here we go. I work hard to keep my poker face steady. “No, sir.”

He’s referring to me getting married, moving to the burbs, and adopting a kid. Sure, it’s a lot, but not more than most men can handle. Honestly, I don’t know why he has a bug up his ass, but I suspect it’s because my wife and the president are friends.

“Is there anything else, sir?” I check the time. “My team’s waiting for me in the conference room.”

“Go, go. Don’t let me keep you. Whatever you learn about this militia group, I want to be informed immediately.”

“Understood.” I’m knee-deep in intel when Gwen calls me at lunchtime.

“Hey, babe. Busy. Not a lot of time.” In a perfect world, I’d talk to her forever, but until I get a break, I need to stay focused.

My spouse, a career woman with deadlines, understands better than most wives. “Sorry, I’ll be quick. The day spa called me back. They said Dolly checked out Sunday night.”

“Uh-huh.” Multi-tasking, I make some more notes in my spreadsheet. According to this report, the Russians have their fingers in my investigation. I need to find out why.

My lovely project planner speaks twice her normal speed. “I tried to get someone other than offshore to call me back, but they said they could not.”

“Yup.” I figure whatever she’s talking about, I can get the details later.

“So, I booked myself a spa weekend starting Friday night.”

“That’s nice.” Her words sink in, then I backtrack fast. “Wait. Hell, to the no.”

Why, in God’s name, would I let her go to a day spa in the middle of nowhere, a facility where her neighbor has gone missing? “You’re not going there alone, Gwen. End of discussion.”

“Correct.” In my mind, I picture her triumphant grin, and for the life of me, I do not know why.

Where’s her argument? Jesus, I don’t have time for this.

She blurts out her answer before I can ask. “I’m inviting Callie to join me. Lochlan already agreed to sit for their kids. You said yourself the place was safe. It sounds awesome. Massages, a shooting range, and some karate classes. You were the one who said I should learn more self-defense. Lucky had no problem letting his wife go. Are you forbidding me?”

Ah shit, a husband trap. No way am I stepping in it. “No, of course not, sweetheart. I’m simply advising caution.”

“Thanks, honey. I knew you would agree.” She hangs up.

What the fuck? I don’t think I said yes. I open my team’s chat window before texting Trever Johnson. He’s one of the most brilliant guys I know and more than capable of doing a little research on the side without getting caught.

Me: Need a favor

Trever: Shoot

Me: Dig into Nirvana Digital Detox Weekend Getaways, and let me know whatever dirt you find.

Trever: Deep dive?

Me: No, not yet.

Wondering if I’m being overly protective, I ping my friend, Lochlan James, AKA Lucky. Surely, the Patten Securities bodyguard would not give his permission unless he vetted the spa. My Aussie buddy doesn’t pick up my call, so I figure he’s guarding some famous person.

Later in the day, wearing an FBI t-shirt with black jeans, my data analyst stops by my cube. “Got a sec?”

“Yeah, sure.” I peer up from my computer while Trever motions me to one of the conference rooms containing a small table and two chairs.

Once the door shuts, the paranoid geek swivels his seat and laptop so no one passing by can read his lips or see his screen. “The spa you mentioned is owned by a shell corporation based in Canada. I’ll need clearance to learn more.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. “Why?”

His frown deepens. Despite being alone, he lowers his voice. “There’s an ongoing investigation. If I drill down further, questions will be asked. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I figured you wanted this kept between us.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” After my wife’s last two fiascos, he understands my desire to keep his inquiries quiet. “Did any red flags pop out?”

“Nothing yet. The facility opened a few months ago. It’s part of a chain. They’ve targeted ladies from hiking groups and quilting bees. They’re a privately held company, so I can’t see their financials. On the surface, they appear harmless enough.”

“Every place is safe until it’s not.” I ping Lucky, but again, no answer.

Dammit, Gwen’s impulsiveness must end here.