Britt bit his tongue, unable to 'fess up to the fact that he'd all but accused her of giving in to Gaviston's charms and selling out the wolves.

"Went down that tricky road, did you?" Reid tried to suppress a grin and failed. "Didn't work out well, I take it."

"No. It did not." Britt rubbed the heel of his palm against his forehead. "I reacted to a fleeting suspicion before thinking the damn thing through."

Reid clutched his chest. "Where's my calendar?" He pulled out his phone, tapping away. "I need to make a note of this. Britt Steele reacted without brooding something to death." He clicked his screen off. "There, a historical moment recorded for me to pull up and mock at a later date."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're an ass?"

"Every day of my life, bro. Sometimes twice on Tuesday."

Britt nodded toward the cooler sitting at Reid's side. "Got an extra in there?"

Snapping the lid open, Reid grabbed a beer and tossed it to Britt. "Not your normal weapon of choice."

"Not a normal day."

"From your boo-fuck-hoo face, I take it Randi's important to you."

"We've...grown close." Britt scraped a nail over the label on the beer bottle. "I need to make this up to her."

"Buy her an ice cream cone."

"What?"

"Ice cream. Chicks love that kind of thing. Sweet and romantic."

"Does Brynne agree with you?"

"Don't know. Haven't tried it with her yet." He stared down at the blue-and-gold label on his bottle. "But I'm gonna keep it in my back pocket."

"Trouble already?"

A muscle flicked in his jaw.

"Reid?"

"I almost lost her, and it scared me shitless."

"A little overprotective, are you?"

"So she says."

"Welcome to the world of Britt."

Understanding darkened Reid's face. "We've never thanked you for taking care of us after Dad left."

The air valve in Britt's throat closed. He looked away. "Don't start now, or I'll have a damn heart attack on your construction site."

"Can't have that. Mags will insist on a full-scale investigation, which will put us even further behind."

"Prick."

"Back atcha."

An easy silence fell between them, one the two of them hadn't experienced in years. Decades, maybe.

"Do me a favor, would you?" Britt asked.

"You want me to help you track down who's hunting the conservation area?"

"How'd you know?"

He flashed one of his grins. "There's more to me than amazing good looks, bro."

Britt shook his head. The old Reid was back. "I would appreciate the help, thanks."

"Sweet." Reid popped out of his chair. "Ready?"

Britt eased to his feet, downing the last of his beer. He set the empty bottle inside the cooler, then clapped a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Let me know how the ice cream thing goes."

An uncharacteristic flush entered Reid's cheeks.

Britt laughed, ruffling his brother's hair like he used to when they were much younger. "Come on, dickweed. Let's find out who killed my wolf."

Snap!

"Sonofabitch!" Reid's whole body arched as he jumped away from the iron jaws of the illegal trap. "That makes four." He rubbed a hand over his chest. "I'll never get used to the sound of a sprung trap. Can't even imagine what that must feel like on a paw."

On the way to the conservation area, Reid made a stop at the urgent care clinic so Britt could have his ribs checked out. All the pain turned out to be nothing more than a helluva contusion, which suited Britt just fine. He wondered if Randi had gone to see her doc yet.

At the conservation area site they scouted for any evidence of who had killed Mellow and whom, or what, Randi had seen on the bluff right before her encounter with the bear. So far, they hadn't found anything of a personal nature that might help them identify the trespasser. However, they had found a number of set traps that might carry the owner's fingerprints.

The find confirmed Britt's opinion that Mellow's death hadn't been an accident. He'd been hunted. Somehow, the wolf had eluded his hunter and sought the safety of the den. So the question remained-had the trespasser killed the wolf for fun, sport, or profit?

Britt grabbed the trap. "Randi and I got lucky when we were out here earlier. One misstep and we would have gotten nailed by one of these." He shoved the iron torture device into his backpack, noticing for the first time how low on the horizon the sun sat. "We're losing our light. I'll come back tomorrow to finish the search."

"It just so happens that I'm a free man tomorrow."

Britt grinned and clasped Reid's shoulder. "Thanks, mutt."

"You're welcome, Tarzan."

"You up for a little Name That Tune?"

A slow smile stretched across his brother's face. "Do I get to kick some ass?"

"Quite possible."

"I'm in."

After leaving the conservation area, they piled into Britt's truck and drove for an hour before pulling into Carolina Club's parking lot. Britt backed into a parking stall and cut the engine.

"So what's the plan?" Reid withdrew his Sig Sauer from beneath his lightweight jacket. He gave it a once-over, checking the chamber before re-holstering the weapon. Noticing Britt's tension, he said, "Don't worry. It'll stay concealed unless they go stupid on us."

Britt nodded, resting his wrist atop the steering wheel. "We wait."

"Then what?"

"When Norwood and his cronies come out, assuming they're still inside, we confront them about the traps and shooting."

"That's your plan?" At Britt's nod, Reid asked, "Where does the ass-kickin' factor in?"

"The second they tell one lie too many."

"You don't really expect them to 'fess up to trespassing on our property, do you?"

"No. But I'm hoping I can tweak Norwood's ego enough to make him careless." Britt spotted three figures emerging from the lodge. The gentleman who walked ahead of the others bore Norwood's tall, fit physique and receding brown hairline. "Let's see if we can make one of them sing."

Calm settled over his brother as they followed the three club members. The transformation from Reid's normal can't-sit-still-self to the laser-focused-soldier was something to witness. He'd seen this shift in him once before, when Brynne'd had a run-in with a drug trafficker.

The sight elicited a strange combination of emotions in Britt. Seeing that his brother's character was made up of more than the one-dimensional pain in the ass made him proud, yet this side of Reid terrified him a little. What sort of experience had he gathered under his belt to bring such calm before facing an adversary?

They intercepted the trio as they reached the cluster of luxury vehicles awaiting them. Guessing Norwood would claim the largest one present, Britt planted himself between the leader and a Cadillac Escalade. "Norwood."

Reid positioned himself at an angle where he could catch visual cues from Britt while also keeping tabs on each of the hunters.

Norwood studied Britt. "Steele, right?" At Britt's nod, his gaze leveled on Reid. "Although you resemble the billionaire, you don't have his height"-he took in Reid's gray T-shirt, black cargo pants, and military boots-"or his boardroom polish."

"Answer my brother's questions and you won't have to witness my superpower."

"Now that your ruffian brother has set the tone, to what do I owe this unusual meeting?"

"We've found evidence of illegal hunting on Steele property." Britt paused, letting his statement sink in and watching for any flicker of awareness from the trio.

"Illegal hunting takes place every day, all across the state. I don't follow why this news should be of any interest to us."

"Because no one in Steele Ridge would dare trespass on our property, let alone set traps so deep within our territory."

"Traps?" one of the men behind Norwood drawled before spitting on the ground. His large cowboy hat, white button-down shirt, jeans, and big country attitude screamed Texan. "Those are not the tools of a true hunter."

"Sounds like you have a fur trader picking from your land," the third gentleman said in a Midwestern accent.

Britt's gaze flicked to his brother's. He'd been so focused on the club and their reasons behind their too-generous offer for Randi's land that he hadn't stopped long enough to consider other, more logical possibilities. Could Mellow have been killed by a trapper? With lightning speed, his mind flew through the events of the past twenty-four hours.

If a trapper had wanted Mellow's pelt, he would have found a way to lure him into one of his traps so he could suffocate him or strangle him with a snare. Bullet holes in pelts reduced their value. Although he couldn't explain the traps, the individual who shot Mellow wasn't a fur trapper.

Norwood plastered an unaffected, knowing smile on his face. "Now that we've helped you crack the mystery of your trespasser, perhaps you'll step aside." He waved a hand toward his SUV.

"I don't think so." Britt widened his stance and, out of the corner of his eye, caught Reid honing his trouble radar. "The animal was shot."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mr. Steele. Who better to understand such a concept than your family? The saviors of Canyon Ridge."

Until that moment, Norwood's unflustered facade seemed unbreakable. But a note of cynicism had entered his voice, revealing one of the cards he held. Now Britt had to figure out the rest of his hand.

Britt propped his elbow atop his forearm. He tapped his fist against his mouth, contemplating his foe. "Since you have such a keen interest in Miss Shepherd's property, I'm left to wonder why your club didn't bail out Canyon Ridge, so that you could have access to such prime hunting grounds."

A fissure crackled its way across Norwood's control, leaving a blackened, jagged trail in its place.

Britt smiled. "You tried, but my little brother outbid you. Or was it that the club denied your request?"

"My club is run by idiots-" Norwood caught himself. "Jonah Steele's motivation was a great deal more personal than the club's interest."

"In what way?"

Too late. Britt didn't see the trap coming until Norwood's eyes brightened right before he pounced, landing a perfect punch.

"Jonah wanted to ensure gainful employment for all of his brothers."

Reid took two menacing steps toward Norwood. Britt's hand shot out, stopping his brother.

"We've all done just fine without Jonah's help," Britt said.

"That might be true for Griffin and even you, to some extent, if one could say banging nails all day was a lifelong ambition." Norwood nodded toward Reid. "However, the Beret's injury took away his future-until his baby brother came to his rescue."

It was the wrong nerve for Norwood to poke.

Reid surged toward Norwood again. "You don't know shit about me."

"On the contrary, I've come to learn a great deal-about all the Steele brood." Unconcerned about a pissed-off Green Beret bearing down on him, Norwood caught Britt's eye. "Seems the Steele family has a few delicious secrets tucked away in the closet."

"Reid, hold up-"

His command came a second too late. One second Reid was charging toward Norwood and the next, he was on the ground. Behind him stood a slender Asian man decked out in a dress shirt, dinner jacket, gold medallion, and slacks. He was the epitome of sleek elegance-like a black leopard sporting a diamond collar.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Jun Ito. He holds a black belt in a number of hand-to-hand combat disciplines, as you see."

Reid rolled to his feet, preparing to strike back, though Britt could see his brother favored his injured leg. Ito had known where to strike. Norwood hadn't been bluffing about his knowledge of the Steele clan.