Well, if nothing else, Gwenie had him. She had Bren. The Shaw brothers would protect Gwen O’Neill. It was perfect actually. She’d stay in New York, where they could keep an eye on her, but that bear…that bear was going to have to go. Between the grizzly’s clearly unstable mother—Mitch was never one to trust those

“intellectual types”—and Gwen’s tendency to be squirrelly, the whole thing was a recipe for disaster. Mitch couldn’t take the risk his baby sister’s beautiful face would be mauled should that bear misplace his vat of honey or she startled him by hissing or something.

But first he needed to figure out who was helping Blayne in her evil plan to destroy Mitch’s happiness…

Tamping down his growing rage that things weren’t working out exactly as he wanted them to, Mitch brought up to his mother the one thing he’d sworn to Sissy he wouldn’t. “So Gwen and Blayne got jumped while away at Brendon’s on Labor Day weekend.”

Not remotely surprised by this information—am I the only who didn’t know?—Roxy nodded and pulled eggs and milk from the refrigerator. “I know. She told me. Couldn’t hide that limp from me.”

“Her leg healed up nice, though, huh, Rox?” Marie asked.

“Better than I would have thought from one of those Jersey doc-in-a-box centers.”

“Yeah.” Mitch scratched his chin, watched his mother walk back over to the counter. “But did Gwenie mention she was jumped by the McNelly Pack?”

When the eggs and milk hit the floor and his aunt’s juice sprayed across the room, Mitch leaned back in his chair and reminded his mother, “Uncle Cally warned you McNelly would never let that go.”

It wasn’t until the waitress slammed the food down in front of her that Gwen opened her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Lock told her while he reached for the ketchup. “You weren’t snoring.”

She sneered but kept her fangs in, since it was a full-human restaurant. “It would be your fault if I was snoring.”

Lock grinned around the burger in his mouth. He seemed to be a regular in this place. The waitress didn’t blink an eye when he ordered four of their “Big Enuf 2 Kill a Man” Burgers. But the way the same waitress eyed her, Gwen got the feeling he’d always come in alone before, and the waitress was hoping she’d one day be the one sitting on the other side of the table with him.

Too bad. He’s with me, and apparently I’m his girlfriend.

For the moment, anyway.

Gwen gave a big yawn before she dug into her pancakes. It was almost two o’clock, but she’d been all geared up about getting some breakfast. Thankfully, this diner sold breakfast twenty-four hours a day.

“You knew them, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Knew who?”

“The guys in that blue van from last night. You knewthem.”

“Probably.”

She didn’t mention the Unit, because she didn’t have to. Mitch had told her once what they did.

Portraying prey to lure out the full-human hunters who focused on shifters—and then killing them. “It’s been three years. They’re still following you?”

“Maybe. There’s been a few problems lately with former members, so they may be checking up on me.”

He wiped his hands on a napkin now that he’d finished devouring those four burgers in record time and dug into his basket of fries, leaving it in the middle of the table to share with Gwen.

He pulled out his cell phone and Gwen tensed, thinking it was Blayne again. Lock let out a sigh after reading a text message, glanced at Gwen, and asked, “Would you mind if we hit a bar after we’re done here?”

“A few hours with me and already you need a stiff drink?”

He grinned. “No. But I figure you could use a little more rest before we head back to my place.”

And damn him…he was right.

Lock walked into the Jersey bar with Gwen behind him. He’d given her what Ric called “The Speech”

when they’d driven over. “They’re mostly full-humans there. Don’t talk to anybody. Don’t look at anybody. If someone moves toward you, let me know and I’ll deal with them.”

He’d practically grown up in this bar and he’d seen enough over the years to know what the lowlifes at the bar went for and what they didn’t. Lock had learned early that full-humans were worse than any predators he’d ever encountered in the wild, and being in the military had only driven that belief home. Yet it wasn’t what was in the main bar that he wanted. It was in the back room.

As soon as they entered, every full-human eye turned their way. They immediately turned away from Lock’s direct gaze as they always did, but they all latched on to Gwen the second after that. He popped his jaw and those who’d watched him grow from five-foot nothing to what he was now instantly refocused on their drinks or racing forms. A few of the newer, younger ones were unaware of past incidents and their gazes stayed right on Gwen. Lock could see them debating whether she’d be worth the fight—and she was. For him.

Gwen, being a true feline, seemed not to notice anyone or anything. She moved casually through the bar, her gaze examining the framed pictures tacked to the wall and the ancient jukebox shoved into the corner. But as they neared the hallway leading to the backroom, a new full-human Lock had never seen before spun his bar stool around and made a move to stand. It wasn’t that Gwen turned to look at him. It was that only Gwen’s head turned to look at him. A good 180 degrees if Lock were to guess. She didn’t say a word, she didn’t hiss, she didn’t do anything because that one move was all it took.