Her Perfect Mate (16 page)

“That guy is such a moron,” Landon muttered to Ivy as they walked down the hall a little while later.

She looked like she was about to wholeheartedly agree, but stopped, a frown creasing her brow. She

cocked her head to the side as if listening to something.

“What’s up?” he asked.

She put her fingers to her lips and motioned him closer to the conference room where he’d had his

debriefing earlier. Landon didn’t need Ivy’s super hearing to pick up the raised voices inside, even with the

door closed.

“Accomplishing a single mission doesn’t mean Halliwell and Donovan are certified,” Dick said loudly.

“I think they need more training.”

“Wasn’t it you who insisted they were so experienced they didn’t need all that training?” John

countered. “You were obviously right. They got the mission done.”

“Barely.”

“But they got it done and that trumps every rule in your silly-ass book.”

Dick made an impatient sound. “Those rules were put into place by the top people in the organization.

People who fund the DCO, I might remind you.”

“You don’t have to remind me where the money comes from, or the strings attached to it. I notice you

didn’t seem to have a problem breaking those rules when you forced me to put Halliwell and Donovan in

the field. Well, they got the job done, and now, according to your bureaucratic rules, they’re certified.

Which is a good thing. If the intel we have on this guy Stutmeir is good, we’re going to need every

operative we can get, especially with Tate’s team already on a mission in Washington state.”

“Okay, so they’re certified,” Dick snapped. “But aren’t you the least bit curious why Halliwell gets along

with Donovan when she couldn’t stand either of her previous partners?”

“Besides the fact that you selected them for her? No, I’m not.”

“I sure as hell am.” A pause. “I think they’re sleeping together.”

Landon slanted Ivy a sharp look. He could tell from the panic on her face she was thinking the same

thing—that the next words out of Dick’s mouth would be an order to split them up.

In the conference room, John swore. “You’re just making up shit to wreck this team, aren’t you? Just

like you did the last time two of my operatives performed so well the heat finally started to disappear off

the shifter program.”

“I’m not making up anything,” Dick ground out. “On the contrary, I’m doing my job.”

“And which job would that be?” John demanded. “The one the DCO pays you for or the one your

friends up on the Hill tell you to do?”

“If I were director—”

“You’re not,” John reminded him. “The Committee put me in charge.”

Dick sputtered, but John cut him off. “I let you split up one team because you thought they were

sleeping together, and I’m still dealing with the fallout from it. There’s no way I’m letting you do the same

thing to Ivy and Landon. They’re too good to break up.”

“It’s not up to you,” Dick said. “It’s up to the Committee, and I’ll be giving them a full report on your

new team, including my suspicions.”

“Knock yourself out, Dick,” John told him. “You’re not the only one with friends in high places, you

know. I’ll be giving full reports of my own. And something tells me that my words will carry more weight

than yours when it comes to field operations.”

Landon smirked. He would’ve hung around to hear what else the two men said, but Ivy grabbed his

arm and pulled him away. She dragged him around a corner just as Dick stormed out. Okay, so his hearing

still wasn’t as good as hers.

“Why does that asshole have such a hard-on for the field teams?” he asked Ivy.

She peeked around the corner to make sure Dick was gone, then started for the front entrance. “It’s not

all the field teams. Just the ones with shifters on them. He hates us. He thinks we’re all a bunch of animals

that should be locked up in a zoo.”

“Good thing he’s not in charge then.”

She let out a snort. “Tell me about it. If he was, he would have canceled the shifter program already.

And if he couldn’t manage that, he wouldn’t be recruiting them off the streets.”

Landon frowned. “What do you mean, off the streets? What were you doing before they recruited you?”

“I came over from the FBI. But Declan was a forest ranger. And Clayne was…” She made a face. “Let’s

just say he wasn’t exactly on the right side of the law when they recruited him. And Lucy—you haven’t met

her yet—used to be a public defender in Boston.”

A lawyer? Landon wondered if she was part shark. He wasn’t surprised about Buchanan, though. He’d

love to know the story behind that one. But even more, he wanted the story about Ivy’s FBI background.

She was so graceful he thought for sure she must have been a dancer or something. Now that he thought

about it, though, it made sense. While she looked like a ballerina, she carried herself like a cop.

“Anyway,” she said. “Who cares what Dick thinks? John has our backs, so as long as he’s around, we’re

okay.”

Chapter 8

When they got to the training area the next day Landon found Todd and Kendra as well as a few more

training officers and a dozen other operatives—including Buchanan—gathered around a pit filled with

mulch. A telephone pole was mounted horizontally across it, and pugil sticks lay on the ground on either

end. Since he didn’t think they were going to be playing a game of
American
Gladiators
, the stick meant

the next best thing—combative training. Which was just another term for
beat
the
shit
out
of
each
other
.

Landon noticed there weren’t any protective helmets or gloves lying around. Hardcore. Hooah. Man, he

hadn’t done this kind of thing since infantry school—or was it during some down time at language school?

It’d been so long since he had combative training, he couldn’t remember when it was.

Todd separated them into two groups, one on either end of the log. Landon and Ivy were on the same

side, along with Buchanan. Damn. He’d been hoping to square off against the shifter.

“You spar until one person ends up in the pit,” Todd announced. “Standard rules—no face shots, no nut

taps.”

Beside Landon, Ivy rolled her eyes. “Leave it to a man to come up with that silly rule. Concussions are

fine, but please don’t hit me in the balls. You’d think it was the only important part on a man’s whole

body.”

Todd gave her a stern look. “I’m serious this time, Ivy. No more of your
oops, my bad
.”

She held up her hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll be good. Promise.”

The first two combatants grabbed the pugil sticks and carefully moved toward each other, which was

difficult to do on something the size of a balance beam. Todd waited for them to get their balance, then

blew the whistle.

Both men were intent on taking out their opponent with one hit—not something you could easily do

while balanced on a log. They got in a few good pops, but after a few swings—and misses—they both

ended up in the pit, victims of their own aggression.

The next matchups were more of the same. There was some strategy, but mostly it was all brute force.

Landon cheered along with everyone else. It might be ugly to watch, but it was entertaining.

Landon was next. As he hopped onto the log, a blond-haired man did the same. Before his opponent

could step forward, however, Buchanan hopped into the pit and stalked over to the man. The shifter

climbed onto the log and yanked the pugil stick out of the guy’s hand.

“What the hell?”

Buchanan threw him a glare. “It’s my turn.”

The man wanted to argue, but then shrugged, muttered something that sounded like “whatever,” and

walked over to take the empty spot Buchanan had left.

Landon met the shifter’s cold eyes.
You
want
to
fight, asshole? Fine with me.

Todd blew the whistle.

Buchanan attacked immediately, leading with a vicious overhand swing. Landon jerked his stick up just

in time to block the blow—and keep the shifter from taking off his head. The son of a bitch was using the

bare part of the stick instead of the padded end.

You
want
to
play
dirty? I can do that, too.

Landon aimed a vicious shot at Buchanan’s left hand and heard a satisfying crunch. The shifter didn’t

react to the pain. Instead, he smiled. That’s when Landon noticed Buchanan’s canines were longer than

before. And that his eyes weren’t their usual brown, but gleaming yellow.

***

hadn’t thought the idiot would shift, though.

Crap.

She couldn’t believe Clayne was going to beat the hell out of Landon—or try to—simply because she

wouldn’t give him the time of day. It was childish and stupid.

She darted a quick glance at Kendra, who looked as nervous as Ivy was. Todd and the other training

officers, on the other hand, were practically salivating at the matchup. What the hell was wrong with them?

Anyone watching could see this wasn’t going to be a simple sparring match. Both men looked ready to

cause some serious damage.

Clayne growled low in his throat as he swung his pugil stick again and again. Landon followed every

block with a counterstrike, going after Clayne as ferociously as Clayne went after him.

“Hey!” Todd shouted after an especially savage hit from Clayne. “Take it easy.”

When Landon and Clayne ignored him, he blew his whistle. Like that was supposed to stop them.

Neither one was following standard sparring rules. What the heck made Todd think they were going to pay

attention to a whistle? This fight would only end one way—with someone going to the hospital. If they

were lucky.

Unless she stopped it first.

Ivy took a deep breath and extended her claws, ready to jump into the fray, when Clayne abruptly

tossed his pugil stick aside and launched at Landon with a deep, rumbling growl. They hit the pit in a

twisting heap, fists and claws flying everywhere. Todd blew his whistle again, yelling for them to break it

up as Clayne raked his claws across Landon’s chest. Ivy’s heart seized as the scent of blood filled her nose.

Landon didn’t flinch. Instead, he swung his fist, hitting Clayne in the side of the head hard enough to

knock him senseless. While Clayne was still reeling, Landon shoved him onto his back and climbed on top,

cocking his fist back for another punch.

Ivy dove into the pit, latching on to Landon’s arm with all her strength. Beneath him, Clayne lunged,

canines flashing as he went for Landon’s throat. Ivy instinctively moved to put herself between them when

someone landed hard on Clayne’s chest, knocking him back. It took Ivy a moment to figure out who it was

and when she did, she blinked, staring at Kendra in astonishment. There were nearly two dozen men

standing around, but the only one willing to help was another woman.

The guys must have realized how that made them look because Kendra’s interference was finally the

signal to get their asses off the sidelines and separate Landon and Clayne, who were still trying to get at one

another. It took some hard work, but with the men’s aid, Ivy and Kendra managed to drag them away from

each other. Then it became a war of words, complete with a lot of cussing, name calling, and growling.

“Calm the fuck down!” Todd ordered. “Both of you!”

Clayne bared his teeth at the training officer. Todd rounded on him. “You better get it under control,

Buchanan, or I’ll have you thrown in lockup and hosed down.”

Landon let out a self-satisfied snort. “Serves you right, asshole.”

Todd turned his glower on Landon. “And don’t think for a minute I believe this was entirely

Buchanan’s fault, Donovan. You’re just as much to blame. Unless you want to get locked up in a detention

cell for a day or two alongside him, cool your jets.”

Landon’s jaw worked, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. Ivy let out the breath she’d been holding.

Todd looked from one man to the other. “You’re both in anger management for the rest of the week.”

He glanced at the men restraining Clayne. “Take him to the clinic to get checked out and make sure he

doesn’t have a concussion. And send a medic down here to look at these scratches on Donovan.”

Clayne sent one more low growl Landon’s way, but allowed the men to escort him out of the training

area. Kendra left with him, but not before giving Ivy an exasperated look. She turned to find Landon

scowling at her.

“What the hell were you doing, getting between Buchanan and me?” he demanded. “He could have

ripped out your throat.”

A simple thank-you would have been nice. “I was trying to stop you two from killing each other. What

was that about?”

His jaw tightened. “I reckon that was Buchanan’s way of saying he doesn’t think much of me being