Hunting Season: Werewolf Bodyguard Romance (Guarded by the Shifter Book 1)

he wanted. Owen tried to think if he'd done anything wrong in the past week or so, but nothing came to mind. And then he reminded himself that he was thirty-two goddamn years old and he didn't need to be afraid of Gibson.
He entered Gibson's bedroom and closed the door behind him. They were far enough away from the others not to be overheard as long as they spoke quietly, and this bedroom doubled as Gibson's office when he was at the cabin, so it wasn't strange to have a discussion here.
"What's up?" Owen asked. He leaned back against the door and crossed his arms loosely.
Gibson sat at the small desk he had set up and opened the lid to his laptop. "That was a friend of mine from college. His sister might be in trouble and he wants a guard on her for the next week while his family takes care of it."
"Takes care of it? Is he the mob?" They didn't have a strict moral code about who they would work for, but Owen figured there had to be a line somewhere.
Gibson huffed out a little laugh. "Worse. Money. Big money. You ever hear of the Selbys?"
"Can't say that I have." Owen knew his famous rich people, but not the sneaky ones who stayed out of the limelight.
"The Selby Group has its fingers in every pie. Old money. The daughter isn't involved, but this is the second attempted kidnapping of her in three years."
"Kidnapping? That's a bit more than trouble." Owen had expected to hear about another babysitting gig. Heiresses were needy like that.
"AR sounds sure the private family security could handle it, but he wanted an outsider to watch his sister. Apparently she's not a fan of family security and he thought this would work better. I'm sending you."
"Just me?" Owen didn't mind flying solo, but that wasn’t how missions worked. He couldn't cover 24/7, enhanced werewolf senses or not. He had to sleep sometime.
"To begin with, yes. He wants to convince her to accept a team, but he's going to ease her into it. There will be support monitoring from a distance, but you'll be her only point of contact."
"Our support or their support?" Owen didn't like the idea of going in alone, and he really didn't like the idea of strange backup. But he went where the major ordered.
"Theirs." Gibson didn't sound too happy about it either.
Owen couldn't see the point in arguing; Gibson wanted him for the job so he would do it. "When do I start?"
Gibson turned back to his computer and typed a few things. A moment later, Owen's phone chimed. "Show up bright and early tomorrow. I've sent you the details."
"Guess I'm heading back to the city tonight." He stood. "Anything else?"
Gibson leveled a glare at him. "Don't fuck this up."
"Yes, sir."

Chapter Three
Owen yawned and stretched his neck from side to side, satisfied to hear the pops and cracks of muscle and bone releasing. Or whatever caused a neck to crack. He wasn't sure. It sounded awful but felt amazing. He took a sip of his gigantic iced coffee and imagined he could feel the caffeine starting to flow through his system. He'd asked for three extra shots of espresso and a buttload of sugar and cream to offset the bitterness.
The barista hadn't batted an eye. He was sure she’d seen much worse.
He didn't know if it was werewolf metabolism or years of resistance, but it took a lot of coffee to wake him up, especially after a run. And the drive to the city in the middle of the night had been annoying. But he was glad he hadn't waited. He could hear the horns of the cars weaving through the streets of Manhattan and was grateful he'd only had to drive across town and not across the state.
Normally he wouldn't be using a car. This was New York. Who had a car? But on a job it was a necessity. It was much easier to keep someone safe in a car as opposed to on the subway. And Gibson had provided everyone in the company with specially outfitted cars. They weren't technically armored, but he'd seen tanks that could take less damage. The car was stored in a parking garage a block away. Unfortunately, the client’s building didn't have a secure parking garage and there was no extra space in their small lot for him to park. As far as challenges went, he could deal with it.
The building was nicer than he expected, but maybe it shouldn't have been. No ER doctor could have afforded the place. It had to cost millions. But his charge, Stasia Nichols, was no normal doctor. The pre-war building was only a few blocks away from the hospital she'd formerly worked at, which would have been convenient. The doorman on the building offered an extra piece of security, and that meant Dr. Nichols was smart enough to know there might be a target on her head.
Or she just liked it when someone in a uniform opened a door for her.
Owen gave the man a smile as he was let in. Selby Group security had arranged everything except giving him a key to Stasia's unit.
He eyed the elevator before opting for the stairs. The elevator looked original to the building—built in 1909—and Owen didn't want to take his chances. Of course, people rich enough to afford digs in this building would insist that the machine functioned. But he didn't like it and he was already running a little late.
Stasia lived in one of the two units on the fifth and sixth floor. The entrance to her unit was on the fifth floor and he wasn't winded by the time he climbed all those steps: army training and werewolf stamina for the win.
He took a bracing sip of his coffee. He didn't know how this was going to go, and he usually had a partner right beside him to smooth over any issues that came