Chapter 3 #2
“The music masked the sound. Also, you know exactly how silently you move when you choose to.”
Mason stared at me, his expression flat. The man did inscrutable the way other people did happy and sad and mad—like it was part of his basic emotional responses.
“Need I remind you that you were part of the contingent all gung-ho for me to continue this charade? You’re supposed to be watching my back—that was the deal you agreed to—and instead you’re making me feel like every side of me is a back that I have to watch myself.”
I slapped the file I was holding on top of the cabinet and faced him dead-on.
“You all told me to do this and surprise, surprise, it hasn’t worked.
I’m still being attacked, surprise, surprise, by another anonymous SUV.
” I jabbed my index finger at him. “I hate you, this room, The Org, and the job I’ve been shoehorned into. ”
“Is that ‘Brandy?’” he asked, right out of the godsdamn blue.
“What are you talking about?”
“The song playing,” he said, tilting his head in a move that was entirely canine. “Is it that song from the seventies about the guy who chooses the sea instead of the girl?”
He was back in a business suit, though he’d eschewed his usual jacket and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing sculpted forearms and another expensive watch. In his expensive clothes with his head angled to one side, he looked like the literal version of a Wall Street wolf.
“Wait a second.” I pressed my hand to my chest to calm myself. “You’re asking me if the song playing on my phone is ‘Brandy in parentheses You’re a Fine Girl’ by Looking Glass? In the middle of my rant?”
“Yes. Is it?”
“Of course it is.”
“Always kind of liked that song. My dad used to sing along with it in the car.” He hadn’t taken a step back but had relaxed his stance and dialed down the shark smile. “Tell me about the SUV.”
“We were on the farm road west of Smokethorn.” I wiped my eyes with the back of one hand, feeling thwarted. “It showed up out of nowhere and tried to run the boys and me off the road. I got away.”
“Description of the vehicle? License plate number?”
Wonder of wonders, I’d actually memorized most of the number and was able to relay it to him along with a few details—make, model, and a distinct scratch on the left front fender.
“Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl)” ended and the opening strains of “More Than A Feeling” began to play.
“Is that Boston?” Mason asked with a trace of excitement in his voice.
“Who even are you?” I demanded.
He gave me an aggressive smile and began typing something into his cell.
I rubbed my chest where I’d hit the drawer and returned to rifling through the file I’d set aside. There were photos of me on the streets of La Paloma, on a date with a guy I’d been briefly interested in four years ago, and more recently, with Ronan.
Lots of photos of us together.
Hidden-corkboard-in-the-closet-with-red-strings-connecting-them amounts of photos.
“What a psycho,” I muttered.
I finished with that file and flipped open the second, thinner one.
This was all scribbled theories about me.
To give credit where it was due, Floyd was on top of all things Betty Lennox.
He’d written about my demon heritage and my feelings for Ronan, and had been made aware the moment I’d reconnected with my power at the Siete Saguaros.
There was no way he could’ve known all this by himself. No freaking way. Floyd had to have had a plant somewhere in my life, and not the kind I’d find in my garden room.
The idea panicked me, sent my head spinning.
Mason turned down the music and regarded me.
“Stop looking at me like that,” I snapped.
“Something’s got you upset.”
“I’ve been upset since I took over this damned pack,” I snapped.
“No, it’s something more immediate.” He took the page I’d been poring over out of my hands and skimmed it. “Ahh, I see. You think there’s a mole at the trailer park, and it’s got you paranoid.”
I glared at him.
He laughed, shook his head. “No way. Not your tenants.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
“Yes, I can.” He took the file from me and flipped through the rest of the pages. “I tried to compromise every single one of them. Even that grouchy old woman who seems to hate you told me to hit the road.”
“Senora Cervantes?”
“I thought she might be interested in making a little extra cash, and she didn’t appear to be your biggest cheerleader, so I approached her. Took her to dinner and circled the subject. I’m pretty good at this sort of thing.”
“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?” I asked.
Mason ignored me. “The woman ordered half the menu, let me pay then told me to go screw myself in Spanish. At least, I think that’s what she said. My Spanish is rusty, and she talks fast.”
That cheered me right up. “Please tell me she wrapped up the leftovers and took them home?”
“Yeah. Two giant bags of food.” He shut the file and stuck it back in the drawer. “She was the only one who agreed to meet with me. The others slammed the door in my face. Your friend flipped me the finger through the driver’s side window—didn’t even roll it down.”
Goddess, I loved Ida.
“You deserved it.”
“Agree to disagree. I charged the meal to the pack, so at least I wasn’t out any money.” He didn’t smile, but his dimple showed up for a moment. “So, is Pallás Jr. stopping by, or is it just us?”
“Ronan doesn’t use that name anymore. It’s Ronan Williams. And no, probably not. I don’t know. The subject is a little … touchy.”
“Got it. This place isn’t exactly where I want to spend my Saturday either.”
“Same,” I said.
He glanced around, upper lip curled. “By the moon, it reeks in here. I know Pallás dragged the furniture through fear-sweat and piss to make other wolves uncomfortable, but I never understood how he could stand to be in the room with the stench.”
“Ronan said it was a power play.” I glanced at my partners, who were now chucking paperclips from the desk into an overflowing trash can across the room. “How about we let Cecil incinerate all the chairs in here? It might help, and he’s been itching to try out a new spell.”
At the sound of his name, my partner spun around, purple hat askew on his tiny head.
Mason side-eyed the gnome. “Should I grab some matches from the supply closet?”
“Unnecessary. You might have to drag this stuff out to the dumpster, though. He’ll need some type of containment, and we usually use the dumpsters at the Siete Saguaros.”
“Not worrisome at all,” he murmured.
“No, you’re right to be concerned.” I glanced at Cecil, who was trembling with excitement. “You’ve got to make it fast and clean. No sparkles and no loud noises. We can’t alert human law enforcement.”
He chittered in agreement.
“Let me take a look at the chairs first. Never know what might be lurking in the cushions.” Mason systematically searched them. “By the way, have any of the wolves I’ve assigned to guard you given you any trouble?”
“No—well, except for this morning.” I turned away and flipped through my file again.
A solid third of Floyd’s loyalists hated my leadership, hated that I wasn’t a wolf, hated me.
I’d already had run-ins with a couple of them.
So far, Ronan and Mason had been there to protect me, but there’d come a time when they wouldn’t be around.
The whole situation was a powder keg waiting for a spark.
“Did anyone show up this morning?”
“No.” I shrugged. “Figured you forgot to assign someone.”
“I never forget,” Mason said, tightly. “I’ll deal with it.”
“Maybe I should just turn the pack over to Ronan now. They’d be more accepting of him.”
“No.”
“You think I need the threat of the pack to stave off your stupid demon-hunting organization?”
“Former stupid demon-hunting organization.” Claws slid from his fingertips and fur sprouted on his hand as he shifted one entire arm to hybrid wolf form.
He slashed the fabric on the back of the chair and peered inside.
“I’m helping you now, aren’t I? I could be a thousand miles away, and instead, I’m stuck in this spirit-deep offense to my olfactory senses. ”
“Only because your girlfriend guilted you into helping me.”
“Untrue.” He looked away before I could tell whether he was blushing, but I was pretty sure he was. “Bronwyn Jonas can be persuasive when she wants to be, but staying was entirely my choice.”
“Persuasive and super gorgeous, right?” I said with a wink.
He responded with another rend of chair fabric.
“You know, I dislike you a whole lot less when you talk about Bronwyn.”
“You’re the one talking about her.” He pulled on a metal spring and let it bounce back. “Why do you dislike me less?”
“I don’t know. It’s like you’re softer, more approachable. I can almost see you as human instead of a murderous wolf robot.”