frowned. A tall man stood on the stairs, blond and attractive, wearing expensive designer clothes and pristine light brown leather shoes. He looked tremendously out of place out here in the wilderness. A large Porsche SUV was parked on the gravel outside, its tires muddied, and Travis noticed at least one more person behind the tinted windows.
“Good morning. I’m so sorry to disturb you, sir. We’re looking for a young man who could be in danger.”
Well, fuck. Travis kept his features neutral. So this was one of the people Micah had been hiding from? Travis quickly assessed him. He was Travis’s age, maybe a few years younger, good looking and stylish. The clothes, the car, and a titanium watch spoke of wealth but also of a habit to show it off ostentatiously, which made Travis suspicious. He’d done business with people like this man, and it had always paid off to be on guard with them.
“How can I help you?”
“My name is Peter Cunnings. My husband is missing. He was last seen by the Birdsview train station and was supposedly headed for the National Park. We are checking all properties surrounding the park to find out if someone saw him.”
Husband. Travis recoiled from the word. No. Not possible. He was sure Micah had told the truth when he said he’d been a virgin. The polite, gentle tone of the man’s voice had all Travis’s instincts on alert. Peter Cunnings—if that was his name—was lying. He was very good at it but still lying.
“I’m sorry, but I haven’t seen anyone out here for days,” Travis said, just as mildly. “What kind of danger is he in?”
The man bowed his head and took a deep breath in a perfect display of discomfort and sadness. Except his foot tapped with impatience. Yeah, you’re lying.
“He’s bipolar with strong depressive bouts. His father and I are concerned he might hurt himself unless we find him soon enough. We’re hoping he hasn’t gotten lost in the forest. He has camping gear with him, but I’m terrified of what he might do if he feels unwell.”
“That’s horrible. I’m very sorry. How many days has it been?”
“Seven.”
“He’s lucky the weather has been mild. We had heavy rainfalls the week before. Have you contacted the rangers?”
“Of course,” the man lied smoothly. If the station or the Birdsview sheriff had gotten information about a missing person, Travis would have been the first to know. Blake always called him about cases like that. “But it’s a delicate situation. My husband’s emotional state makes a large search operation difficult.”
To his horror, Travis caught a hint of Micah’s heat-enriched scent through the open living room window. Shit. He had to get rid of the man fast.
“I wish I could help you more. Could you leave a business card or something? I’ll call you if I notice something.”
“Thank you so much, sir. Sorry for disturbing you.” The sleek man handed Travis a white card and was about to step down the stairs when a door creaked somewhere inside the house.
Peter Cunnings paused and turned. “Who’s that?” he asked rudely, eyes narrowing, his previous friendly politeness gone.
“You are asking about a guest in my home,” Travis said in a low voice. “I don’t owe you a reply.”
Peter’s nostrils flared.
“I can smell him, you bastard,” he growled and was about to push his way to the closed front door. Travis grabbed his upper arm and twisted it behind his back.
“You are on my property. Leave before I call the sheriff.”
Another waft of Micah’s strong scent drifted from the window. The powerful alpha’s reaction to it vibrated through the man’s body. Travis had no choice. He forced Peter to the ground, clasped both of his wrists, and pressed them to his lower back. Peter growled helplessly. Three car doors opened, and an older man climbed out, flanked by two younger ones, holding handguns. Shit.
“Let him go!” the old man shouted. He was maybe sixty, short and stocky, but his suit was just as neat as Peter’s jacket.
“Stay where you are! You are trespassing,” Travis roared. “Once I let go of him, you will get back into the car and leave immediately. All of you.”
The two bodyguards stepped to the sides, their guns aimed at Travis, but the older man charged forward. He stopped abruptly, staring openmouthed at Travis.
“That’s Travis Whitehall,” he mumbled.
“What?” Peter ground out.
“Stanley, Anthony, back in the car, immediately,” he ordered, not taking his eyes of Travis.
“Sir?”
“Get in the car,” he repeated. “I’ll take care