Page 83 of Logan’s Acadian Wolves

The sleek Cigarette purred as Logan fired up the engine. Guarding Wynter was his priority. There was no way he’d let her go out on the lake by herself with Fi. She’d been right about them coming for her. Despite not seeing the threatening letter they’d delivered to his home, she knew. If he didn’t discover the lab’s location with the new intel, it’d just be a matter of time before they attacked. A strike in broad daylight was unlikely, but the hum of the six hundred horsepower engine put his mind at ease. Another boat would be hard pressed to outrun his speedboat if they tried.

Unbeknownst to Wynter, Logan had assigned Jake to take up the north shore where Fiona planned on laying her crab trap. A trained sniper, he’d scan the area for trouble. Zeke took his post, fishing at the old Hanover dock, a mile off from where they’d set out to make their stop. It seemed like a lot of work for one run out to the lake. But Wynter was wound tight, and he felt his wolf pacing in response. Their self-imposed seclusion was taking its toll on both of them. He wasn’t built to stay indoors for days at a time. Even in the city, he’d get out, running as a human. His dream home felt like it had turned into a prison. The fresh air would do them all some good, and later in the evening, he and Dimitri would resume the search for the killer.

By the time they reached the open lake, Wynter felt as if a weight had lifted. The high speed boat ride had been exhilarating. It was as if the wind against her face had blown away her cobwebs of worry. It wasn’t lost on Wynter how much trouble Logan had gone to so they could get out of the house. Part of her knew he just wanted to get her out of the lab so she’d stop obsessing about the virus. Her work would never be done, she thought. Regardless, it warmed her heart that he’d protect her and go to such great lengths so they could all have a few fun hours in the sun.

Soon, they’d reached their destination, and Logan cut the engine. The long, thin dance boat bobbed in the open water. Logan gave the go ahead to the girls. He took Wynter’s hand and helped her up the steps so she could lay out on the bow. She shook off her shoes, preferring to go barefoot. Even though it was February, the weather was expected to go into the eighties, so she’d thrown on a bathing suit underneath her clothes. Carefully, she trod onto the smooth fiberglass, laid out an oversized beach towel and sat down. Fiona trailed behind her, carrying the large bound bundle of sprigs.

“Hey, girl, can you hold this rope for me?” Fiona asked, letting the blue tarp fall open onto the bow.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh this? It’s Wax Myrtle. I’m goin’ bunch it up and throw it into the lake.”

Wynter gave her a confused look and glanced back to Dimitri and Logan who didn’t look at all surprised. She thought it funny that with such an expensive shiny toy, he could have cared less that Fiona had just laid out a huge canvas on it. She loved that no matter his means, at the end of the day, Logan was down to earth. No pretenses, what you saw was what you got.

Fiona began to tie up the branches and continued. “Yeah, the pre-molt crabs love this stuff. They crawl in and then we’ll come back later, pull it out and shake ’em out. Normally, I’d haul this mess in my little skiff, but since that’s not an option today, Logan said I could bring it here. Anyway, about the crabs, we catch ’em before their shells return, then we’ll eat soft shell crabs.”

“Oh,” Wynter said, amazed. “So…uh…how did you learn to do this?’

“My daddy. Some folks sell ’em. I just eat ’em. Tasty little critters,” she commented as she worked to bale up the plants. Plucking off a leaf, she crushed it and handed it over to Wynter. “Smell.”

Wynter took the gooey green mixture and sniffed. She thought better of commenting about Fiona’s father, remembering what Logan had told her. “Mmm…nice.”

“Yeah, isn’t it? They’ve been using it for hundreds of years. It’s our way.” Fiona eyed Wynter as she continued to handle the aromatic plant. “You really are a city girl, aren’t ya?”

“Born and bred. I may not know how to catch crabs but I can get you from Midtown to Soho faster than anyone else…even at rush hour,” she joked. “Have you ever been to the Big Apple?”

Fiona tightened the knots. “Um, yeah. Was there a few years ago. Art show…a charity event. I’m very interested in new artists. I have a little gallery in the quarter. Well, it’s more of a natural herb and art gallery combo. I’m technically the pack healer, but that doesn’t pay the bills,” she quipped.

“I’d love to see it sometime, the art. I haven’t spent much time in New Orleans, but it really is very unique. You can feel the history speaking to you, if you know what I mean.”

“So Wyn, how are you doing? What I mean is, how do you like being a wolf?” Fiona changed the subject, hurling the bundle overboard. A red bullet-shaped crab float tugged at the surface. She folded up the tarp.

“I’ve only shifted once, but yes. Logan, he’s…” She gave him a backwards glance. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the sunglasses but suspected he was watching her. Wynter searched for the right words to describe her situation, unsure how much to share with the young she-wolf. Fiona seemed friendly but she also was friends with Luci. “He’s been very supportive.”

“Ah, is that what you humans call it? Supportive? I bet he’s been very supportive…all day and all night long, huh? Just look at that mark on your neck.” Fiona rolled her eyes and relaxed against the side of the boat.

Wynter laughed and absentmindedly traced her fingers over her shoulder. She looked over again at Logan who smiled at her. Deciding on honesty, she turned back to Fiona.

“He’s my mate.” There, she’d said it. She’d told one person, a friend, about Logan. And it felt freeing and girly. She wished Mika was the first friend she’d told. But Fiona had been kind enough to bring her out on the water, care about how she was doing.

“And?” Fiona drawled with a wicked smile.

“And what?” Wynter asked coyly.

“Do you love him?” Fiona whispered as if she was getting ready to hear a national secret.

Wynter knew Logan could hear every word of their conversation but still, Fiona insisted on whispering. It struck Wynter as funny and she began to giggle, as did Fiona. Just as she was going to respond, something caught her attention. To the east, a medium-sized, black sailboat drifted toward them.

“Hey, that boat over there. He’s coming toward us,” Wynter observed with a growing panic. As far as she was concerned, any stranger was a potential threat.

Logan pulled out the binoculars. A man in white shorts and a pink polo shirt struggled with the sail control lines while a woman lay on the blood-tinged deck. He suspected she was down with a boom injury. Even experienced sailors were susceptible to accidents, but by the look of things, the man on deck appeared confused, lines strewn every which direction. Damn fools. Too many times an overconfident wannabe rented too much of a boat and ended up needing rescue.

“A tourist,” Dimitri offered, after taking a look for himself.

“Yeah, probably,” Logan hedged. He opened a storage hatch and pulled out his Beretta. The Alpha and his beta exchanged an unspoken conversation at the sight of the weapon. “Just in case.”

“Here she comes. About fifty feet off. She’s gonna hit starboard,” Dimitri warned. He pulled open the back storage compartment and pulled out a couple of boat fenders. He handed one off to Logan and they tied them to the cleats to prevent damage.