Mating Fever by Susan Hayes
Doyle
Doyle Frost was in a vile mood, and it was getting worse with every snowflake that fell outside. “Why is it that none of Rafe’s clients ever want something retrieved from Tahiti or Bora Bora, somewhere with blue water, women in bikinis and copious amounts of rum? Instead he sends me to the fucking arctic, where the people are blue with cold and there’s a copious amount of snow. Snow! I’m a tiger, not a fucking yeti.”
“Dude, you’re a white tiger. You want to be sent to the tropics? Dye your fur.” Seth grinned at him from his seat behind the wheel of the cube van they had acquired for this job.
Doyle was in the passenger seat, watching the snow fall as they waited for sunset. Behind them, Seth’s twin brother, Sean was already tinkering with his surveillance set up, activating feeds and carefully tapping into the security systems they’d need to bypass to pull off their mission. The painting they were re-acquiring for their client was well guarded against theft, which was not a surprise given that the current owner had hired someone to steal it for him.
Maya and Alan, Rafe’s other surveillance team, had done the preliminary setup already. They left town yesterday, leaving everything the second team would need at the drop point in Calgary.
“You two pups are sure you’ve got this sussed out?” Doyle cocked a white-blond brow at Seth, who flicked a chunk of dark hair out of his eyes with his middle finger before answering him. “I’m insulted. We have this handled. It’s our job, remember?”
Sean chimed in, letting his wolf come out enough to add a rough growl to his words. “And who are you calling a pup? We’re only a few years younger than you.”
Doyle straightened his shoulders and slipped into the Irish brogue that he rarely let anyone hear. “Not even close, lad. I was a man grown before you two were more ‘n a gleam in your Da’s eyes. You should know better ‘n to judge a shifter’s age by his face. We don’t age the same as humans.”
Both wolf shifters stared at him for a minute, and Doyle enjoyed the momentary silence. He knew it wouldn’t last. The twins had talked most of the flight north to Canada, filling the cabin of their private jet with incessant chatter. Then they’d proceeded to talk and bicker all the way from Calgary to Banff. If they tried that on the drive back, he might just kill them both and bury the bodies at the side of the road.
It hadn’t been easy to drive by the elegant resorts, knowing that they wouldn’t be staying a single night. Banff was a world class playground for the rich, and Doyle would have liked to stay and play for a while in one of the luxurious hotels they passed. Safely out of the godforsaken snow and foul weather of course, preferably in a hot tub with room service, brandy and a willing woman to pass the time.
Doyle’s boss, Rafe, had made it clear that there would be no time for indulgences. No wine, no women, and no gourmet meals. The lion shifter who owned F.K. Incorporated was loyal and devoted to his cause, but he absolutely had no appreciation for the finer things in life.
“This is as dark as it’s going to get,” Sean said.
Doyle glanced out the window and nodded in agreement. It was time to go. He stood and made his way to the back of the van, easing himself through the cramped space.
“Everything you need is in the pack. The earpiece is in the front pocket, don’t forget to use it,” Sean’s expression was completely serious as he set the pack near the back doors. “We’ll be watching, and if anything comes up, we’ll let you know.”
Doyle frowned. He’d forgotten that the twins weren’t old enough to have developed the talent for speaking mind-to-mind with shifters outside their immediate family. That meant he’d have to rely on technology to communicate. He preferred not to trust his freedom to gadgets. They had a tendency to fail at the worst possible moment.
Resigning himself to the situation, Doyle removed his shoes and then stripped out of his clothing, carefully folding each piece. He set his shirt down atop his jeans and then looked to the pups. “That’s a four-hundred dollar shirt. If either of you so much as breathe on it I will break one of you in half and make the grief-stricken survivor buy me a new one.”
Seth’s eyes widened, but he nodded silently and reached out to grab a half-devoured bag of chips, putting them down a safe distance from the neatly folded garments.
Smart pup.
Doyle stepped over to the doors and braced himself for the cold.
“Good luck,” both twins spoke at the same time and he couldn’t help but smile a little. Not that he let them see it.
“You make sure you keep a sharp eye out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, he threw open the doors, letting the icy chill wash over him. Doyle jumped into the snow and swore in three different languages as his bare feet vanished into a drift that came up to his knees and his balls shriveled and tried to retreat back into his body where it was still warm.
Fucking hell, it’s freezing out here!
The sooner he got this over with, the faster he could be thawing out on the flight back home to Washington State. He summoned his tiger, and the shift brought with it the familiar flash of heat as bone and muscle reconfigured themselves from man to animal.
He welcomed the warmth.
The moment it was done his tiger expressed its joy at being free with a low roar that rumbled across the snow. He turned, gripped the bag in his teeth and set off toward the house. It was over a mile away, but his tiger would make the run in minutes. Once he was there, he would have to shift again, and then again on the way out. As Doyle bounded through the twilight, he started making a list of all the ways Rafe was going to make this up to him when he got home. Freezing his balls off four times in one day was not part of his fucking contract.
