Exposing His Secret, page 1
EXPOSING HIS SECRET
SHIFT & SEEK
BOOK 2
MIA WEST
CONTENTS
Melt Your eReader
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
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Acknowledgments
About Mia
MELT YOUR EREADER
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EXPOSING HIS SECRET
Copyright © 2022 Mia West
Cover design © Angela Waters
Editing services provided by Alissa Davis
* * *
All rights reserved.
Created with Vellum
For the seekers, especially those who don’t yet know what they’re seeking
CHAPTER ONE
Shane floated, picking out the constellations he could just make out still. Cepheus… Hydra… Cassiopeia. They were fading from view as the deep blue of the sky began to lighten at the eastern edge. He couldn’t remember how he knew their names.
He tried not to dwell on it. Not when he had better things to dwell on, like this meeting Luke wanted him to attend.
When his boss had said that to him, Shane had snorted. Meeting. It sounded so corporate, like they were gonna talk about quarterly reports or hostile takeovers. He’d said as much to the big man, but then Luke surprised him.
“This is an opportunity, and I think you’d be good at it.” Then he’d said, “Never know what kinds of doors it could open for you.”
It’d been hard to resist a comeback—there were only so many doors at the refuge, and Shane had opened almost all of them—but Luke had had a funny look on his face that gave Shane pause. Like the man wanted to say more but was holding it in, which was weird because Luke Sorenson didn’t say a whole lot, ever. So Shane had just promised he’d be back on time.
He hadn’t slept well, though, for wondering what this opportunity was that the boss thought he ought to listen to. And who was the meeting with? It wasn’t like Luke had business partners. He was a lone wolf—literally. A wolf shifter who ran a refuge for other shifters. It was a pretty unofficial operation—shifter folks just kind of showed up when they needed help, or Luke brought them home in his truck. Like Macy and Levi, who were there now. Shane had shown up at Luke’s door one night too, but like so many other things, Shane didn’t really remember it happening.
Which he tried not to think about. Why obsess over things you don’t have when you can wonder at everything you do have? He had a good gig, helping at the refuge. Didn’t really get to use his geology degree so much, but he helped out around the place and got to meet all kinds of folks. Had easy access to water, plus three squares and his own room. And Luke’s truck whenever he wanted to borrow it, which he’d done an hour ago when he’d woken up from the dream.
The dreams were another thing he didn’t care to think about too much. They were weird in that way that felt so real but couldn’t be because, well, they had nothing to do with him. Plus, nobody in them had a face, which was horrible; they were just voices. Sometimes he was in his otter form, which was better but still not great because the water felt different. Darker. Colder. Which was saying something because the refuge sat on the edge of Minnesota’s Boundary Waters, and they could get downright chilly.
The stars were almost imperceptible now, so he flipped over and corkscrewed down through the pool until he came to the small stones at the bottom. He enjoyed clacking them together. The sound was both sharp and hollow, and it always helped to clear his head when he was churning on something. He picked up a couple of rocks and struck them against each other a few times. They felt good in his paws, smooth and heavy. Keepers.
The stones sat by the front tire of the truck as he shifted and then dried off, shivering, and changed back into his clothes. The swim had helped, he guessed, though he still didn’t know what to expect from this meeting. What he did know was he wanted to do well, whatever the job was. If he managed that, maybe Luke would trust him with more responsibility around the refuge. He wanted to help more, but sometimes his stupid brain got in his way. Maybe he could change that. He had to try.
Otherwise, he was just a broken otter, collecting rocks.
Mike gripped the wheel of the rental car and assessed his surroundings.
The land was mostly flat, wooded with evergreens and birches. Snow still covered the ground, but it was a thin layer compared to what they would’ve had up here in full winter. A few inches at most in the deepest drifts. The sky was blue enough. If he rolled down the rental’s window, the air would be crisp. And if he were to stop the car and listen, all he would hear would be a light breeze soughing through the trees, the creak of branches, maybe a few optimistic birds. And no people.
It was almost perfect.
He squinted at the forest, the patchy snow, the deserted road, trying to figure out what the problem was. This was northern Minnesota, practically Canada. Remote, quiet, peaceful. Sure, they got invaded by tourists every summer, but if a guy built his cabin away from the towns, on a pretty little river, say, it’d be a sweet retirement. All the fresh air and fresh fish an otter shifter could want.
And no fucking people. Had he mentioned that?
It’s just not majestic enough.
He shook his head. Majestic. The word sounded stupid and was an excuse, if he was being honest. He needed to pick a spot and be done with it. Get on with the business of building a place. There’d be permits to acquire and contractors to hire. This final job would give him enough to top off his nest egg, and then he just needed to pick a plot of land and pull the trigger. The last trigger he ever pulled, he hoped.
One more job, which meant one more orientation meeting. Today, in fifty-four minutes. But about twelve minutes ahead was a spot he’d scouted on the map to pull over and get in a swim. He had just enough time to strip and shift if he didn’t dawdle—
The rental jerked, and he gripped the wheel harder. Then came the full-carriage rhythmic thump of a blown tire.
Shit.
Right. This was why he insisted on a spare. Rental places didn’t like to provide them, wanted to send a tow service instead. But up here, who knew how long that’d take. And what kind of forty-two-year-old didn’t know how to change a goddamn tire? He flipped on the blinkers and pulled over onto the narrow strip of bare dirt that counted as the shoulder. He looked at his watch. Eight minutes, tops, then he could shift. The aurora had draped the sky the night before and his skin itched with the need. He was also horny as shit—another effect of the northern lights—but his solo session in the shower this morning would have to suffice until after the meeting.
He’d leaned the spare against the car and was cranking the jack to raise the axle when he heard an approaching vehicle. Move along, pal. But it didn’t. It slowed and pulled over behind the rental, and then the driver was out and walking toward him.
“Need a hand?”
Mike finished cranking the jack and reached for the lug wrench.
“Morning,” the guy said, almost next to him now. “Would you like some help?”
“Nah, I got it.” He gritted his teeth and shoved at the first nut. Stuck tight. What joker had cranked them down like this? Probably revenge for his demanding the spare tire. Keenly aware of the stranger’s eyes on him, he got it loosened and unscrewed it. He set it on the shoulder and seated the wrench on the second lug nut. It was looser, thank God. He laid it next to the first.
“You upstate for some hunting?”
“Nope. And I’m good here, so.”
“Fishing?”
Jesus. Take a hint. Maybe if he made eye contact, the guy would beat it. He paused with the wrench and looked up. But whatever he’d been about to say dried up in his mouth.
The guy was gorgeous. He had green eyes and light brown hair. It looked soft, the way the breeze was lifting the curls, and Mike could imagine that with enough sun it’d take on some bronze. Slim build, nice broadness to his shoulders. The guy could’ve been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five, which might have made him useful in Mike’s line of work, except there was no way this guy would blend in anywhere. In a fuckin’ surfer catalog, maybe. Unfortunately, he wasn’t wearing board shorts just now—had on a parka over Carhartts and fleece-lined boots—but Mike would’ve bet his last dollar the guy had a stellar ass.
Get a grip, DeLuca. He turned back to the tire and tried to seat the wrench. Took a couple of attempts, but then he had it. He cranked it like his own ass was on fire.
“There’s some sweet spots not far from here,” the pretty stranger said. “For fishing, I mean. It’s kinda early for smallmouth bass, but the walleye are perky right now.”
Mike’s dick was perky right now too, but that wasn’t doing him any good. “I’m not here to fish.” Wasn’t here to change a tire capably either, apparently, ’cause he fumbled the nut. Tried to catch it as it fel
“I’ll get it.”
The kid dropped down next to him and went for the bolt, and before Mike realized what he was doing, he’d grabbed the back of his parka and jerked him away from the car. “Don’t!”
The guy looked up at him, those green eyes wide.
Mike let him go and huffed. “You can’t just go reaching under a jacked-up car. It could fall on you.”
The guy straightened up to a kneel. He stuck out a hand and grinned. “I’m Shane.”
Great. Well, at least he had a name to grunt the next time he jerked off.
Soon, hopefully.
He shook the kid’s hand. “Mike.”
“Whatcha up here for, Mike?”
“Maybe I live up here.”
Shane chuckled. “Sure.”
“What?”
“Your car. It’s not what I’d call a local model.” He crooked his thumb back at his own vehicle, a pickup at least fifteen years old, maybe twenty. “That’s the local model.”
“You’re the local model,” Mike muttered.
Damn it.
Shane snorted and held out his hand again. Dropped the wayward lug nut into Mike’s palm. “Here you go. You seem to have things in hand. Good to meet you, Mike-Who-Might-Live-Here.” And then he was walking back to his truck.
Yeah, there was definitely a great ass under all those layers.
An ass that was sliding into a warm truck and leaving Mike’s on this deserted shoulder. The kid started his engine, flicked on his blinker, and with a wave pulled onto the road and drove off.
Mike finished swapping out the tires. He stowed the shredded one and the tools and checked his watch. Twenty-nine minutes.
No shift, then.
Grumbling and still half hard, he climbed back into the rental, checked his nav, and took off for his meeting.
CHAPTER TWO
When Shane pulled up in front of the main house, Luke was showing Macy how to use the snowblower. As Shane approached them, Luke was using what Shane called his patient-but-barely voice. Looked like Macy wasn’t catching on.
“I can do it,” Shane offered.
“Macy can do it,” Luke said. “Right?”
The porcupine shifter seemed doubtful. “I think so.”
“Just takes practice.”
“What if I fuck it up?” Macy asked, to which Luke shrugged.
“Then you do it again.”
“You’ve got this,” Shane said.
“Thanks.” Macy started the machine and began to steer it along the path already cleared by Luke. Hers wasn’t nearly as straight.
Luke set a hand on Shane’s shoulder and turned them both toward the house. “How was your swim?”
“Good. Thanks for your truck. Keys are in it. Tank’s full.”
Luke clapped his back. “Good man.”
He shouldn’t have felt a sense of accomplishment for doing the simplest thing Luke insisted on, but he did. Sometimes he wondered that he didn’t have a massive crush on the guy. Older dudes were Shane-bait, and while Luke wasn’t a geezer, he was probably in his late fifties. His blond hair was turning iron gray, more apparent in the winter, when he let his beard grow out. It was pretty thick now in early spring, and mostly silver, and he’d’ve made a pretty good Santa if he didn’t also usually look like he wanted to murder someone. That he was big and a wolf shifter only made him more intimidating.
Luke would never hurt anyone unless he had no choice—Shane knew that now—but his size and demeanor kept strangers off the refuge.
Anyway, if Shane had had a crush early on, he couldn’t recall it now. Luke was his boss, and a good friend even if he wasn’t one to deal out hugs or all-night chats or feelings in general. Besides, Shane happened to know that the big man carried a torch for a lady in Montreal, so. Off the market.
“You nervous about this meeting?”
He was, but no way was he going to admit it. “No, I’m ready.”
Luke was studying his face, as if he were looking for the fib. Only it was Luke who seemed kinda nervous. “Listen, before it starts, I wanted to—”
“Huh.” A car had rounded the curve of the long front drive. But not just any car. “I know that guy.”
Luke looked at the driver as he got out. “You do?”
“Well, I don’t know him know him. He got a flat out on the county road. I pulled over to help, but he was pretty much finished.” Pretty much a dick was more like it. A cute dick. “Hi!” he called. “You lost?”
The guy—Mike—had stopped and was staring at him.
“He’s not lost,” Luke said, then cocked his chin at Mike. “You gonna just stand there, or what?” He went down the steps to meet him. “Good to see you again.” Mike gave Luke a quick, hard hug, but his gaze was still on Shane. Luke walked them to the porch. “Shane, this is Mike DeLuca. Old friend of mine.”
Shane held out his hand. “Shane Richmond.” Mike had a firm grip. He gave Shane one pump, which only brought back the feeling of the guy yanking him out from under the jacked-up car. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t turned him on, that protective impulse and the strength behind it, but he’d also be keeping that to himself. Obviously, his meeting was going to be with Mike. No idea why, but no need to make it awkward, either.
From across the driveway, Macy yelped. She was struggling so much it looked like the snowblower was driving her, not the other way around.
“Nice to meet you again,” Shane said, then jogged over to Macy just in time to catch the blower before it ran into a tree. He put it in neutral, holding it while Macy dusted herself off.
“Thanks.” Her shoulders were hunched as she looked toward the main house. “Who’s that?”
“Friend of Luke’s.”
“Luke has friends?”
Shane chuckled as the boss held the door for Mike. When the guy disappeared inside, Luke held up a finger to Shane. Give us a minute, it said. Shane turned back to Macy. “Who’d’a guessed, right? So what’s the deal over here?”
“It won’t drive straight.”
Shane put the blower in gear, but he’d only taken a few steps before the problem showed itself. Something was up with the self-drive mechanism. He cut the engine. “Tell you what. I’ll take this back to the barn. The path can wait. You grab a couple shovels and brooms, and we can at least clear the front deck.”
Macy smiled for the first time since Shane got home. “Sure thing.”
Mike rolled his shoulders, trying to shake off the shock of finding the kid at the refuge. He masked his efforts by looking around the front hall, but it didn’t seem to have changed in the years since he’d left. Same paneling, same long rack of coat hooks, same colorful Welcome Home sign Luke had picked up at a Pride event before Mike’s time.
“Drink?”
“Sure.”
“Beer or Scotch?”
He frowned at Luke. “It’s ten a.m.”
“You look tense.”
“Had to change a tire.”
Luke gave him a funny look, then said, “You call for help?”
“Nah.” He shrugged. “That kid outside stopped. Shane. But I sent him on his way.”
“You didn’t let him help you?”
“Didn’t need it.”
Luke snorted. “Nothing changes.”
“Except all that gray hair in your beard.”
“Wiseass. Come into the office.”
Luke’s office had always been full of framed photos. The big guy was way more sentimental than his gruff appearance might indicate. Mike checked and yup, there was the pic of the two of them taken at Winter Festival down in Ely. Mike was almost unrecognizable, even to himself. Younger, slimmer, no facial hair. He looked like a goddamn grump, though, so some things hadn’t changed.
