“Wake up. Caitlyn. Get up.”

Time for school already? Well, she’d have Stacy go to class and take notes for her…no, not Stacy, she was probably still at last night’s party…Deb? Jan? George?

“Caitlyn. Get up.”

She rolled away from the command, but the hand shaking her shoulder would not be dislodged. “Oh, fuck,” she said, opening her eyes. “Someone better be on fire.”

Dmitri was there, had his hand on her, was shaking her awake. Dark stubble bloomed along his jaw, and she was staring so hard, she almost missed what he said. “There’s been another murder.”

“What?” She sat up so quickly, she got dizzy for a second. She glanced over at the window, but it was still dark. Her internal clock informed her it was 4:33 A.M. local time. “Where?”

“In the States, of course,” he said impatiently. “The next-to-last member of the Wagner team is dead. The—Gregory Hamlin called. He asked us both to come.”

She’d fallen asleep barely an hour before and it was hard to focus. Dmitri was dressed in the same shorts and shirt, and in a flash of insight she knew he hadn’t slept, hadn’t even been to bed. “Another…last night?”

“The body was found thirty minutes ago, this time in the O.S.F. lab. The killer is getting bolder.”

“Or more desperate. Shit. Shit! Okay, give me a minute.”

“You have ten. Then we’re flying back to the States.”

“We are, huh? Didn’t know you missed the gang at O.S.F. so much.”

He leveled her with a look. “People are dying.”

“Yeah, thanks, I got the news flash. At least I know you’re not the killer. And now you know I’m not the killer.”

He blinked. “Yes. Quite right.”

“Well, good. It was weird, staying in your castle and wondering if you were a slobbering psychopath. I’m sorry about last night,” she added, because his jaw was clenched so hard, she expected to see him spit teeth out in another minute. “It’s not that I didn’t want to. It’s just…”

“I understand,” he said flatly. “Get dressed.” And he was gone.

She groaned and climbed out of bed. Great way to start the morning. Pissed-off rogue agents and dead people. Fuck a duck.

“So, the Boss is expecting us?”

Silence. This was a big improvement over the last hour of the flight, which had been filled with silence. He was pissed at her, and she couldn’t blame him, but she also couldn’t help a flash of irritation. Men were such babies when you told them No Way. Held it against you for days.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, pretending he had answered. “Because I’d hate to surprise that son of a bitch. He’s bad enough when he’s expecting me.”

Silence, except for the occasional click as the Wolf typed a new command into his laptop.

“You know, this whole thing is just chock full of irony. Here we are, winging our way to the Boss to help him out, when I swore not only would I not work for him, but I wouldn’t cross the street to spit on him if his ass was on fire.”

Silence.

“Well, I’m glad we got all this straightened out,” she said sarcastically. Abruptly, she stood. “I’m gonna check out your little pad on wings, if you don’t mind. And even if you do.”

She flounced toward the back of the plane. Though the jet could easily seat fifty people, only she, Dmitri, the pilot, the copilot, and an attendant were on board. The attendant, a petite redhead with Orphan Annie hair and the greenest eyes Caitlyn had ever seen was in the front, chatting with the copilot. Caitlyn had refused breakfast and an early morning cocktail, being too wired and weirded out to eat or drink. Maybe later.

She tapped on a small door she assumed was a bathroom and, when nobody told her to fuck off, pushed it open.

It wasn’t a bathroom. It was the tiniest, most perfect-looking bedroom she’d ever seen. There was a twin bed, made up with military precision—if she sat on it, she’d bounce—and loads of pillows. There were three tiny windows so she could see out, and a small desk and chair. There was even a miniature refrigerator in the corner, which brought her back to her and Stacy’s dorm days. Their little fridge had always been full of Zima and cottage cheese and chocolate milk. The combination wasn’t so bad once you had enough Zimas in you.

She turned to go—and smacked right into Dmitri’s chest. That was weird, if slightly yummy. He’d obviously followed her to the back of the jet, which was way better than ignoring her.

“What—” was all she got out before he kicked the door shut behind him and thumbed the lock. “Oh.”

Still, he didn’t say a word, just looked at her with his intense gaze, and she had the oddest feeling…almost like he was hurt, like she had harmed him. Ha! Like a mirage could ever hurt a wolf.

He pushed her back toward the bed and she went, willingly enough. There wasn’t any reason to send him away now…he wasn’t the killer. And she still wanted him from last night. Shit, wanted him from seeing him at her party, would want him anytime, anywhere.

But as he pulled her shirt over her head, as he rapidly disrobed, as her leggings went flying, she had to wonder: Did she want this right now, this way? It was almost like he was…punishing her.

She decided, when his tongue thrust past her teeth, when he plunged his hands into her hair and pressed her to him, that she did. If he was mad and wanted to pay her back, fine. She’d worry about what it all meant…later. She’d worry later.

Right now the lust that had kept her awake, the desire that had made her cry herself to sleep, had flared back to life, had come surging back the moment she heard the lock click home. Stupid to play Outraged Virgin right now…not when they both needed exactly the same thing.

He lifted her to him and she felt her back against the wall—literally!—and then he was parting her with rough fingers and surging inside her. It hurt, but oh, it was good at the same time, it was what she’d needed. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he held her easily, and pumped, pumped, pumped.

She groaned and he said through gritted teeth, “Hurts?”

“Yes.”

“Shall I stop?”

“No,” she said, and when she heard her voice she was surprised—was that sweetly husky tone hers? It seemed to affect him too, because he closed his eyes and shuddered. And all the while he was pumping against her and holding her, his hands easily supporting her in the air, clutching the backs of her thighs.

His very roughness, his absorption, the fact that she was pinned to the wall like a butterfly to the board, pinned by a cock that was digging into her, making her his, all that was enough to jolt her into orgasm.

He shuddered again, and for a moment his grip tightened to the point of pain, and then he was setting her on the floor, sliding out of her. She tried to stand but her knees buckled, and he caught her and swung her onto the bed.

“What was that?” she gasped.

He didn’t say anything, just got dressed and readjusted his clothing. After a long, difficult moment he said, “I apologize.”

“Don’t be a jackass.”

“I—have no excuse. Don’t…don’t be afraid.” His gaze was haggard, haunted. “Everyone is afraid of me.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not afraid, idiot. But I am hungry. You think the flight attendant can rustle up some scrambled eggs?”

He looked at her, visibly surprised, then turned and left the room.

The eggs were waiting for her by the time she got dressed.