Chapter Ten
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A cacophony of barking made me turn my head toward the shop. Gunner joined in as if it was a game. “You miss your friends?”
Gunner yipped, pawing at the window like she could climb through it to reach them.
Puppies didn’t bark like that unless something was wrong. Fear or threat or both.
My hand was already on the door handle when Gunner scrambled over my lap toward the driver’s side window, nails digging into my thigh. She pressed her nose against the glass and barked again, high and urgent.
“Easy.” I scooped her onto my shoulder and stepped out of the truck.
The barking continued, muffled now by walls and glass but still audible. Too loud for normal business. Too frantic for play. My wolf stirred, hackles rising, and the toothpick stilled between my teeth.
Something was off.
Crossing, I scanned the street. No suspicious vehicles. No one loitering near the entrance. But the feeling didn’t leave. It crawled up my arms and sat heavy in my gut.
The bell chimed when I pushed through the door. Deb was heading toward the back, but turned around when she saw me, surprise flickering across her face before she smiled.
“You’re Spencer’s friend.” She smiled at Gunnar perched on my shoulder. ”Hey, beautiful. You’re getting so big.”
“Gunner wanted to see her friends.” The lie came easy. Truth was, my instincts were screaming, and I’d learned long ago not to ignore them.
“Gunner?” Deb’s smile widened as she came around the counter. “Is that her name?”
Started to say yes. My mouth opened. The word was right there.
“Noodles,” I said instead for some reason.
Deb laughed, reaching up to scratch behind Gunner’s ears. The puppy leaned into the touch, tail thumping against my shoulder. “Noodles suits her better anyway. She’s all wiggly.”
My mate had won. The realization didn’t bother me as much as it should’ve. Spencer had claimed my dog’s name the same way he’d claimed space in my head, my bed, and every quiet moment between breaths.
Still, I couldn’t let my mate this one. I was getting her a cut made. Vest would have Gunner stitched across the back in bold letters. Let Spencer call her whatever he wanted. The leather would tell the truth.
“She’s beautiful,” Deb continued, giving Gunner one last pat. “How’s she settling in?”
“Chewed through three pee pads and learned to open cabinets.”
“Smart girl.” Deb stepped back, studying me for a beat. Her expression shifted, something knowing sliding into place. “You’re here to see Spencer.”
Wasn’t a question.
“That obvious?”
“You’ve been parked across the street since he clocked in.” She smiled. “He’s in the back doing inventory.”
“Appreciate it.”
“You can hang around if you want. But only if you make yourself useful and help him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Turning toward the back, I adjusted Gunner on my shoulder. Her nails dug in through my shirt, tiny pinpricks of pressure.
General Patton was on his perch, head cocked at an angle that made him look like he was plotting something. As I passed, he ruffled his feathers.
“Wolf!” the bird shrieked.
I froze mid-step. The bird knew. Animals always knew. They could smell what humans couldn’t see.
The bird stared at me with one beady eye then turned his head and preened a wing like he hadn’t just outed me to anyone listening.
Smirking, I kept walking toward the puppy section. The barking had stopped, leaving an eerie quiet that made my skin prickle. Eight pens lined the wall. Most of the puppies were alert, ears perked, staring toward the back corner where the supply area opened into a hallway.
No Spencer.
A clipboard lay on the floor near the sink, pages crumpled like it had been dropped. Spencer’s handwriting was visible from where I stood, messy and slanted, half the words unreadable. My wolf went from alert to hunting in the space between heartbeats.
“Spencer?”
Nothing.
Spencer’s scent was everywhere. Vanilla and strawberry and that clean laundry smell that clung to his clothes. Setting Gunner down near one of the pens, I sniffed the air. So did she. The scent grew stronger by the back door where we stopped.
Gunner pawed at something on the floor. Crouching down beside her, I picked it up. An earbud. White plastic, still warm from being in Spencer’s ear. The cord was frayed at the end like it had been yanked free.
My blood turned cold.
Snatching the earbud off the floor, I shoved open the door and pulled my phone from my pocket. Preacher answered on the first ring.
“Spencer’s missing.” My voice was flat, empty of everything except the cold fury vibrating in my bones. “Found his headphones by the back door. His scent leads to the back alley.”
I’d been right there, sitting in my truck and talking to Diesel on the phone. But I hadn’t seen anyone in the parking lot. Glancing to my left, I saw the reason. The other end of the alley spilled onto a street. Someone had snatched my mate right from under my watch.
“Where are you?”
“The Cat Nap pet store on Fifth.”
“Stay put. I’m ten minutes out.” In the background, the sound of motorcycles erupted, engines revving.
The alley stretched in both directions. Left led back toward the street. Right disappeared around the corner of the building toward the parking lot.
I couldn't follow his scent. Not when he'd been taken by car.
“We’ll find him,” Preacher said. “We won’t rest until we do.”
I ended the call, crouched, and covered my head with my arms, wishing I’d pushed for more information about the guy who’d tried to yank Spencer’s arm out.
Gunner bumped my leg, whining softly. I reached down and petted her head.
“We’re gonna find him, girl.” She licked my palm, looking up at me like she trusted my word was my bond.
“Got the pack heading this way.” Straightening, I walked back inside, Gunner at my heels.
Up front, Deb was stocking supplies. As soon as she saw my expression, her smile faded. “What’s wrong?”
“Spencer’s gone,” I said.
“What do you mean, he’s gone?” she asked, her brows furrowed.
Just then, I heard a chorus of engines growling and growing closer. Instead of answering her, I walked toward the door.
“What do you mean Spencer’s gone?” she called out. “What’s going on?”
Half a dozen bikes rolled to a stop in front of the store, engines rumbling low before cutting off one by one. I’d never been so glad to see my pack in my life.
Preacher swung his leg over his bike and dismounted, his gaze already locked on me. Diesel and Riot followed.
“Anything?” Preacher asked.
“Nothing.”
A muscle ticked in Preacher’s jaw. He tipped his chin toward the door.
Diesel went inside.
Preacher pulled out his phone and made a call. “Sheriff, I need everything you’ve got on a domestic violence case involving Spencer Winslow.”
I stayed at the curb and watched the street while he talked. Traffic moved through the light at the corner. A sedan slowed then picked up speed and went on. Nothing about it mattered. The only thing that mattered was the gap where his scent had cut off and what that meant.
Preacher ended the call and stepped back beside me. “We’ll have it in a minute.”
Ten agonizing minutes passed before his phone buzzed. He checked it then looked at me. “Ken Meyers. Domestic violence. Last known address is Spencer’s.”
My nostrils flared. The son of a bitch had used my mate’s address.
Deb stepped out onto the sidewalk. “Do you want me to keep her here?” she asked. “I can watch her until you get back.”
“No,” I said. “Thanks anyway.” Spencer was going to need her.
Deb nodded and went back inside.
Preacher turned toward the bikes. “Let’s go.”
I cut across the street, Gunner on my shoulders, and jumped into my truck.
Engines turned over, then we pulled out.