“Yeah,” I say. The winter wind feels like it’s cutting through my coat. Sadie’s right—I’ve always fought to keep my business alive. But I’m tired of fighting. It feels like I’m pushing a boulder up the hill over and over again. But instead of a boulder, it’s a concrete profiterole.
I tell this to Sadie, and she doesn’t laugh. “It doesn’t have to be like that. We want to help. If not with money then with our time. You can pay us back with baked goods.”
“All right, it’s a deal. If I need help, I’ll let you know.” I squeeze her tight. We make our goodbyes, and I trudge back the way I came. I stop in front of my shop and drink in the sight, then close my eyes and picture the shop the way I want to remember it—with lights on and no crime scene tape and a constant stream of customers flowing through the door. I hear my mémère’s advice in my head.
Create an image in your mind of what you want and hold to it, even when things get hard. You will bring what you want into existence if you keep the faith.
“All right, Mémère,” I say out loud. “I’m keeping the faith. In the meantime, I need a plan.”
I turn away from my shop without looking at it again. This is the last time I’ll visit until I’m ready to reopen The Chocolatier. I have rent to pay and no money to pay it, so it’s time to swallow my pride and start looking for a job to tide me over. I refuse to lose this business and concede my parents were right. I’m a trained chef and entrepreneur. I’d be an asset to any business if I can convince them to hire me in the middle of winter. Taos is a tourist town, and jobs are thin on the ground this time of year.
I do know of one restaurant that’s hiring. Too bad it’s owned by my nemesis, Rafe Lightfoot. The guy who stepped in to protect me when Bing’s enemies came after me thinking I had his drugs or money. He told me that now that the cartel’s killed Bing I’m safe, but he insisted on installing security measures in my home and ordering me to use it.
Which is nice, I guess. But still overbearing. But that’s Rafe: bossy, arrogant, know-it-all. Former military—his closest friends call him “Sarge.” He thinks he can order everyone around. No self-respecting, independent woman would want to work for a guy like that. Driving up to his new restaurant and asking for a job is the last thing I want to do. But it’s either that or ask my friends for help.
I sigh and slip into my truck. As Mémère would say, No one likes the taste of humble pie.
Rafe
I stand on the large wooden deck outside the repurposed mountain ski lodge that now serves as my pack’s headquarters and home. The direct light of the midwinter sun has snow melting in patches. I step carefully from bare patch to patch, avoiding sheets of ice. My feet are bare and so is my chest. I’m dressed in nothing but sweatpants, but I don’t feel the cold.
When I reach the railing, I lean against it and relax, drinking in the view. We’re in the thick woods, but the previous owner built the deck on a small bluff overlooking the snow-streaked mountain and valley. Overhead is a baby blue sky empty of clouds.
My wolf loves the thick clusters of pine. The sight soothes him. We’re safe in these mountains, tucked into the woods. And for this conversation, I want all the reassurance I can get.
“He knew we were coming,” I say into my cell phone. “Dieter knew. He was waiting with some sort of special gun. He shot me, and the bullets burned. We sent them to you for testing, but we’re pretty sure they are silver.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line as Colonel Johnson digests this. The wind blows over my ear, and I turn to shield the phone.
“How are you feeling, Sargeant?” the Colonel asks.
“I’m fine.” I flex the muscles in my back, feeling traces of soreness but no pain. The cold wind feels good on my bare skin. Shifters can withstand cold better than humans. What’s freezing to them can feel good to us. “Channing got the bullets out, and I healed up fast.”
“That’s good.” His gruff tone tells me how worried he was.
I’m not concerned about bullets—not even silver ones. I want to know what Dieter found out about my family.
What could I give you to drop this little crusade? Money, gold, jewels—the names of those who killed your family?
How did he know about my family? Better question: Could he truly give me the means to my revenge? I’ve been searching for answers my entire life. Does Dieter hold the answers?