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  Deliberate Intent

  (Shadow Company – Book 2)

  By Catherine Wolffe

  Copyright 2017 Catherine Wolffe

  All Rights Reserved

  Discover other titles by Catherine Wolffe at www.catherinewolffe.com.

  SMASHWORDS EDITION

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  ADULT CONTENT

  In order to protect minors from viewing inappropriate material, please know that this book may contain language, situations or images inappropriate for children under 18 years of age.

  Other Books by Catherine Wolffe

  Salvation’s Secrets (The Loflin Legacy Prequel)

  Comanche Haven (The Loflin Legacy Book 1)

  Casey’s Gunslinger (The Loflin Legacy Book 2)

  The Lady in the Mist (The Western Werewolf Legend #1)

  Waking Up Dead (The Western Werewolf Legend #2)

  Wolfen Secrets (The Western Werewolf Legend #3)

  A Dance in Time (J.T. Leighton, Time Traveler #1)

  Beyond the Veil (Shadow Company Book 1)

  Deliberate Intent (Shadow Company Book 2)

  Table of Contents

  Deliberate Intent

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Excerpt

  Books by Catherine Wolffe

  Acknowledgments

  To my grandchildren.

  Deliberate Intent

  (Shadow Company – Book 2)

  By Catherine Wolffe

  Preface

  In Dreams

  Luke and Connie Calder’s house stood at the end of a dirt road on the outskirts of Cheniere Station. An old, whitewashed tenement house, the place needed stable steps, paint, and a new roof. Luke’s dog, Mojo, raced alongside Logan Latimar’s truck.

  One quick glance at the glass-eyed Australian Shepard kicking up dust reminded Logan of the days Luke and he had barreled down the same road headed to Luke’s farm. The memory made him yearn for those carefree days when all was right with their small world. His best friend and former bud in SEAL team six crowded his mind these days. Not only Luke’s upbeat spirit and ready attitude but also the fact his friend was never coming back. Logan vowed he would not forget Luke – ever. Guilt had a hand in taking a toll on him. Luke’s memory haunted Logan’s time without relenting. Examining the dilapidated house, Logan hoped by coming out to see Luke’s widow, Connie, somehow the pain would ease. Being in Luke’s front yard held a glimmer of hope for Logan.

  Mojo’s incessant barking managed to distract Logan from the woman standing inside the door frame. Her blonde hair hung loosely about her shoulders. No one had to remind him they had been an item once. Swallowing, Logan slid out of the truck and slipped on his aviator shades. “Morning, Connie. How you been?”

  “Fine.”

  Slowly the screen door strained on its hinges as the woman stepped out. Connie sauntered across the wooden boards of the front porch with a sultry stroll reminding him of his younger days and a quiet picnic up at Lake Darbonne. “I dropped by to check on you.”

  “You don’t have to keep coming out here, Logan. Luke is gone. Things will never be the same again, but it doesn’t mean I’m gonna lie down and die too. So you can just stop your worrying and get on back to town.” She flung the butt of her cigarette off the porch into the dirt.

  Logan had shoved on his shades. Her words brought the grief back full force. “Guess I just couldn’t stop the truck from heading this way’s all.” His hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans turned into a defensive move. He waited a beat. “Yeah, I know. I don’t understand it either.”

  Connie nodded. “You want some tea? I got some fresh.”

  “Yeah, tea would hit the spot.” Mojo followed him up the plank steps and inside the cool, dark interior of Luke’s place. “I brought some feed. Thought you may need some for the chickens.”

  Connie slowed in her retrieval of the pitcher from the refrigerator. “Well, thanks. Vermin got four of them last week before I managed to find their point of entry.” She shook her head. The laugh came out brittle and hoarse. Glancing out at the pasture beyond the kitchen window, she sighed. “That sounded like Luke.” The glass settled on the vintage kitchen counter with a solid thump. The turn proved careful. “You gonna tell me how I need a man around here?”

  Logan’s mouth went dry. “No. I know you can handle yourself. It’s just that…”

  “It’s just the fact living alone is hard. Don’t you think I know that?” Her hand landed near the glass filled with ice cubes and no tea.

  The thud of flesh against Formica held anger. He got up. The wary steps he took getting to the counter felt mired in quicksand. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound like I’m preaching. No need in reminding you of how different things are now.” He gazed out the window. “My reasons for coming are selfish.” Dropping his head, he studied the drab woodgrain pattern of the countertop. “This is where he is for me.”

  Silence reigned around them in the simple farm kitchen.

  “He’s here, and I can’t not visit. It’s as if he still lives in these trees and out there in the fallow ground that holds so much of his sweat and hard work.”

  Connie stood leaning against the counter, her fingers curling and uncurling in response.

  He glanced at her profile. The cool blue of her eyes went icy in the light. Her mouth set in a firm jaw. One tear trailed quietly down her cheek. Unable to stop himself, Logan reached out wiping the moisture away with his knuckle. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

  Without warning, she turned to him. Her arms slid through his, while she rested her head on his chest. She sniffed loud and unladylike he supposed. When a woman cried, she needed comfort. His next move happened automatically. Pulling her close, Logan did his best to comfort her.

  Connie relaxed into him, giving his response a solid reaction. Her body molded to his. Her breath stirred against the skin beneath his shirt. Warm and moist, her breath came out jumpy.

  The air charged with a static neither of them needed. Somewhere in the deep recesses of Logan’s conscious, he understood he was about to cross the line. The fingers which reached out were not steady as they lifted her head. Tear streaked and trembling, her pink lips lay parted. The contact took his standards and slammed the door on them. Capturing her mouth with a kiss, which made his head reel, Logan tuned out everything except her response.

  Connie’s nails raked down either side of his backbone before tugging at the tail of his pearl snap with a force as natural as their existence. Cool air hit his spine.

  With her tank in his hands, his brain crashed into the sensation of her hand sinking behind the buckle of his jeans. He clutched her breast before sucking the dark tip into submission. Her tortured gasp stoked the fire of need growing with each point of c
ontact. Her hips pressed against him grinding out her wishes in precise urgent thrusts. Before he found his senses again, he steered her toward the kitchen table. The clutter went crashing to the floor. Mojo barked once before disappearing behind the couch in the living room.

  “Connie…?”

  “Shut up, Logan. Just shut up.” Hastily yanking his zipper down, she shot him a look of pure lust.

  Dragging at her jeans, Logan understood only one thing. In release, the pain would dissipate like the rain on a hot day. His eyes crossed with the urge racing through his loins. Her bare bottom filled his hand as his mouth coarsened a tortured trail down her belly. Connie moaned, urging him on. Logan obeyed.

  Pinning her beneath his hard, aching body, Logan slid inside her heat. The rhythm of sex never changed. Wrapped in her, Logan thrust deeper and deeper. The world exploded in a consortium of lust, gratification, and momentary satisfaction.

  She relaxed against the table, staring out at the pasture through the window. Her hands, still laced in Logan’s hair grew cool.

  He opened his eyes before taking a step from her. Her eyes tracked to his. The pain he witnessed startled even the warlock inside him. She had loved Luke. How could that have been? The things she told Logan when he brought her the news of Luke’s death stood out in his memory. So what? Luke was nothing to me. He left because he couldn’t stand me anymore. There had been such bitterness in her words. Rubbing at the sudden ache in his chest, Logan pulled his jeans up. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  Connie sat up, pulling her shirt back in place. “Don’t worry, Logan. Sometimes things just happen. Right? Doesn’t mean anything.” At the sink, she took out another cigarette. Flicking the lighter, she positioned it under the cigarette until the tip grew red. The ember’s deep glow reminded Logan of the explosion, which took Luke’s life. “I gotta go.”

  “Okay.”

  As if dismissing him, she turned her back to him, intent on gazing out the window. “It’s gonna rain.”

  ***

  Thunder sounded right outside the window. Logan woke with a jerk. His skin ran wet with a dampness as thick as if he had run a marathon. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he cursed. “Three in the morning.” Nothing good ever happened at three in the morning. The truth of his opinion weighted his steps as he got up to pad to the window. Rain hit the glass in a steady, unhurried stream. A dull ache signaled the onset of a headache. Another damned migraine. Where had the dream steered into such an unholy place?

  Logan turned to gaze at Aubrie. The woman he loved lay asleep without concern or reason for fear. Intent on keeping things just that way, he slipped out of the room. The deck ran the length of Aubrie’s country home. Leaning on the rail, he searched the shadows of the shallow valley below. Unsure if he’d been more disturbed by the fact he’d had sex with someone other than the woman he was marrying or the notion he’d considered the act therapy, Logan stood wishing for a cigarette. He had quit smoking after returning from the secular sandbox known as Afghanistan. War held a man in its profane grip much longer than necessary or even considered normal. So what did a man do when the dream world woke him at three in the morning with the worst wet dream imaginable, one headlining the ex-woman in his life?

  A night bird cried from a tall pine. Glancing at the bird, as the fowl spread his wings, Logan discerned a measure of comfort. Perhaps nature would give him the solace he needed. Closing his eyes, he lifted his right hand. “By the skill of Merlin, I fly.” With the words fresh on his tongue, Logan’s feet left the deck. Soon he went soaring high in the nocturnal ocean of his world-the world of a warlock.

  PART I – DARK TALES

  Chapter 1

  Aubrie’s car sputtered to a stop in front of the gas pumps at Gus’ Garage. “Morning, Gus. I just need some gas.” She pointed at the dusty ’69 Mustang. Betsy needed a wash job, she mused. The chore would have to wait. She was late for work, again.

  “Hi, Aubrie. How’s my brother doing after his surgery?”

  Aubrie rolled her eyes skyward. “You’d think he’d had a heart transplant instead of a wisdom tooth pulled.” Making the motion of a tooth extraction, she laughed at her own joke. “He’s doing fine. Got me doing everything for him. I think he’s even created a chore or two out of boredom.”

  “Yeah, fits Logan to a tee. He likes the attention when he’s under the weather.” Gus shook his head with the mental picture her words invoked. “Been that way as long as I can remember.”

  “Well, I have work. Logan’s on his own. Hey, if you have time, could you check on him?” Opening the door, she slid behind the wheel. “I’d really appreciate it. Your brother’s kind of out of sorts today. Something's bothering him.” She shrugged before starting the car.

  “I’ll do my best. Take care now.” Gus waved as she sped away.

  Aubrie glanced back at her soon to be brother-in-law and waved. Being an empath came with loads of responsibilities. Some of which included a person’s privacy. The impulse to sneak into the mind of someone you loved could kill a relationship faster than a lightning strike. “Sure hope Gus can get him to talk. Maybe there’s a good reason behind Logan’s mood. Maybe the reason isn’t me.” Dread squeezed a little harder. Fear eked into her gray matter with precision. “What if he wanted to call it quits? What if he wanted to call off the wedding?” Her inner voice gleefully tap-danced to the tune of a breakup. Aubrie’s rational side put up a defense against the notion. Gripping the steering wheel harder, she glanced over at her phone lying on the console. “Maybe Logan will call just to tell me he loves me.” The image in the mirror scowled at the notion. “Who am I kidding? He probably wants to dump me.” The sigh came out long and laborious. The tap-dancing grew louder. “He’ll be like the rest.” Silence filled the emptiness punctuated only by metal-toed shoes clicking in time to the music of doubt. A tear threatened to fall. Aubrie brushed it aside.

  Her large wedding loomed in stress-filled weeks away. They’d made a pack to share their lives together. Would the vow come undone before the knot got tied? Aubrie glanced out the window as she drove down the interstate twenty. Getting herself geared up for something as complicated as marriage hadn’t been a walk in the park. “Who are you kidding anyway, woman?” The reflection in the rearview mirror smirked back at her. “I know you love him. It’s just the fact you’re a seer. You can listen in on his thoughts. Do you really want to be connected at the hip to someone whose thoughts you’ll have on speed dial every day for the rest of your life?” As if waiting for a reply, Aubrie stared at her reflection. An eighteen-wheeler roaring past broke her concentration.

  “The fact he loves you should be enough.”

  Aubrie screeched. The car swerved precariously close to the rear wheels of the passing eighteen-wheeler. “Christ on a crutch, Pilot!” Glaring at her new passenger in the backseat, she snarled at the shadow walker. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people, especially when they’re in the middle of deep thought.” Her stalwart friend glowed bright orange. Aubrie had to take a repeat glance. “What are you doing, auditioning for a Coppertone ad?”

  With overdone abloom, Pilot glanced down at his tawny fingers before sharing a cool sniff of derision. “Seems to me, you should be watching where you’re going instead of concentrating on how to get out of marrying Logan.”

  Her mouth fell open. Besides changing the subject with finesse, Pilot had been listening in on her thoughts. “How did you know that’s what I was doing?” Her shoulders hunched closer to the wheel. “You should get a block for that pesky talent of yours.”

  Pilot smiled toothlessly. Bright as a tangerine, she could see right down to his tonsils.

  “I’ve been here the whole time.” Giving a shrug, he leaned back in the seat. “You know it takes me a little work to materialize, that’s all.”

  Her brows furrowed. “Doesn’t give you the right to eavesdrop on my conversation or my concerns. You know how I hate your habit for eavesdropping.”

  Pilot sighe
d heavily. “Yes, yes, I know how you hate for someone to hear you talking to yourself.” He shook his head. “You must put an end to this doubt. I couldn’t sit here any longer listening to your pitiful attempt at cold feet. The man loves you. He has before either of you ever met. Trust me, I know.”

  Disbelief rimmed her glare into the mirror. “Do you really expect me to believe your malarkey?”

  Pilot smirked. Leaning forward, he draped two orange forearms over the seat rest. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”

  Aubrie glanced at his arms dangling over the seat. They resembled two Cheetos - crunchy ones. Scowling at his reflection, she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Just testy this morning. Logan is in one of his moods. I guess I figured I’m the reason. Got myself all worked up, is all. To what do I owe the honor of your presence this fine morning, Pilot?”

  “I’m glad you asked.” One bony finger jabbed the air near the car’s roof. “I have information for both of you concerning my investigations into Nybbas’ business beyond the veil. It appears he wasn’t killed as we all assumed. Somehow, he’s alive and well. Planning his next attempt at control of our world. Such a ridiculous plan. He’s a ridiculous demon. To be sure.” Pilot waved at an imaginary speck of dust on his orange t-shirt.

  Aubrie held onto the wheel until she could maneuver off the highway. With the traffic flying by, she turned in the seat to stare. “What do you mean, he’s alive and well?”

  Pilot raised his hands in defense of the statement. “My intel says he was burned badly by the explosion. Yet he somehow managed to regenerate his body to the point he can function once more. As of yet, I have no visual proof. Just a post from one of my contacts. I brought this to you as soon as possible.”

  The mention of the Netherworld demon made the hairs on Aubrie’s arms stand at attention. Dread became a three-headed snake squirming its way up her spine. Her gut worked the queasiness into a greasy mess before she stiffened her backbone and forced a smile. “You’ve been busy it would seem.” Nodding, she turned back facing the road. “Why don’t you drop by tonight. I’ll be back around four. Would you like to eat with us?” Pausing, she waited a beat.