She was right. If they’d been true mates, the she-wolf wouldn’t have run. She’d have ripped her way through the car doors and torn Savannah limb from limb or died trying. I’d seen it happen before: Billy, my brother-in-law, had gone berserk when my sister died. It had taken all my strength—and my father’s—to stop him from starting a war with the fucking sorcerers who’d killed her.
But even if those two weren’t mates, the missing abductor was a wolf, and she would come looking for vengeance.
“Then what’s our plan?” Regina asked, stirring me from the echoes of Stephanie’s death.
“I’ll make sure the mechanic doesn’t fix Caine’s car. Then you and I will pretend to head out of town this evening and circle back through the woods. I’m hoping the she-wolf will return as soon as we’re gone, and the rest of the team can jump her and beat some answers out of her.”
It didn’t take long to pass through Belmont. The town was insignificant, and you could miss it if you blinked. I pulled into Randy’s Auto Body and parked in front of one of the open bay doors. Savannah Caine’s car sat in the second bay.
No one was in the dingy little office. I didn’t have the time or patience to wait, so I ducked into the dark garage. My eyes adjusted after a second, and I saw a mechanic with his head down behind the open hood of Caine’s Gran Fury. “Are you Randy?” I asked.
The man stood straight and grabbed a stained towel. “Yep. How can I help you?”
“My truck needs an oil change.” It didn’t need a thing, but humans couldn’t smell lies like werewolves could.
Randy started wiping grime off his fingers. “How about this afternoon?”
“I’m in a hurry. I’ll pay extra.” It wasn’t a request.
The mechanic glanced back at the woman’s battered car, weighing his priorities. It was the perfect opening. “Hell, that thing looks like it’s in pretty bad shape.”
He nodded. “You can say that again. Poor girl ran over a wolf last night. Look at these claw marks—it’s like the damn thing attacked the car. Thank the Lord that monster is dead. They should shoot them all.”
Instead of ramming my claws into Randy’s eyes, I forced my fist to relax. “How bad is it?”
“Well, that depends.” The mechanic scratched his head with still-greasy fingers. “The owner wants it back pronto, and it’s technically running. I just had to reconnect a few radiator hoses. How the radiator isn’t cracked in half, I don’t know. A surprising amount of the damage is cosmetic.”
I stepped close and let my alpha presence wash over the man. “It seems like the damage is a lot worse. Are you comfortable sending the woman out on the road in a vehicle that isn’t roadworthy? Does your insurance cover that?”
The reek of the mechanic’s rising shame and guilt flooded my senses. He rubbed his chin. “I guess I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I’ve known Savannah for a few years. Nice girl. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something happened to her because I didn’t fix her car right.”
I nodded. My alpha presence worked best if I led people to conclusions that matched their beliefs. The sheriff hadn’t wanted to believe that monsters could be in his Podunk town, so he’d readily accepted that everything was a wolf attack. The mechanic, on the other hand, probably prided himself on his work and reputation.
I fished a coil of bills out of my pocket and started counting hundreds. Randy’s eyes widened as I thrust the wad of cash into his hand. “I’m sure it will take weeks if you’re going to fix it right. This is a down payment. I’ll pay the entire bill at twice the normal price, just make sure you take your time. And don’t tell the woman about our arrangement.”
He nodded slowly and took the money.
I tossed him the keys. “First, my oil change.”
Randy caught them in cupped hands and headed out front to pull my F-250 into the empty bay, leaving me alone with the Gran Fury.
I checked over my shoulder and extended my claws, preparing to sabotage a few important components of the engine, but Regina gave a low whistle, and I froze.
Retracting my claws, I stepped to the edge of the garage just as Savannah came zipping down the street.
6
Savannah
Oof. Rollerblading was way harder than I remembered.
I hadn’t been on s
kates since I was sixteen. A lot had changed since then, including my shoe size, and my feet were screaming expletives at the rest of my body.
Alma didn’t have a car anymore, her old bird-shit-blue bike had a flat, and I didn’t want to spring for a taxi—not that they were easy to get around here. As a last resort, I’d pulled my old blades out of the closet. I’d had them with me when Alma had whisked me off to Belmont, and I hadn’t put them on since. Skates were for children, and after Mom and Dad died, I was no longer a child.
Once I pushed past the pain in my feet and legs, I embraced the euphoria of speed and being on the open road with the wind in my hair. I’d worked up a sweat and my blouse was damp, so the breeze felt divine.