“Hey.” Landry was on my couch, just as filthy and naked as I was. He sat up, scrubbing a hand over his stubble and groaning.
I grunted in response, passing him and throwing the sheets in the washing machine.
“Are you okay?” Landry asked when I returned. I must have looked as shitty as I felt.
“No. Are you?”
“Fuck, no.” Landry swung his legs off the couch to sit, his face buried in his hands.
It was as if we’d drunk a bottle of whiskey and were hungover. Which didn’t ever happen with shifters since our metabolisms were too swift. We were worn out from our run. We’d been frenzied. Crazed. And we were feeling it now.
“Yeah.” I walked back toward the bedroom, stopping at the doorway. “I’m going to take a shower and eat something.” My voice sounded like rusty nails. “Then let’s figure out how we’re going to fucking fix this.”
“Okay—good. I’ll make coffee,” he offered, standing.
Fifteen minutes later, we were both showered and had devoured a couple packages of breakfast sausages. I drank two cups of coffee before my brain finally started to organize. “We agree Caitlyn couldn’t have knowingly killed any wolves, right?”
“Right,” Landry said. His eyes were clear and focused. “But the wolves that were shot had her trackers in them, which means someone else is using them as locators. It’s too big of a coincidence otherwise. Could they be hacked? Like, could anyone pick them up like a radio frequency?”
I frowned as I considered. “I didn’t get a chance to examine the technology, but I doubt it. Not unless she shared some kind of activation code or serial number.”
He frowned, took a swallow of his black coffee. “Well, let’s think. Who else has access to that information?”
“Her advisor—Dr. Andrews. But the guy didn’t strike me as a hunter.” I remembered the little annoying man when we’d met him in Caitlyn’s office at the university.
Landry nodded. “Yeah, it’s hard to imagine he would even know how to load a rifle, much less be able to aim and shoot. Although, appearances can be deceiving.”
I ran a hand over my jaw. My whiskers were in. While I’d showered, I hadn’t shaved. “What if… I’m just spit-balling here… what if Andrews or someone else on their research team sold the information? If I were a hunter and knew that a bunch of scientists could give me the exact coordinates on my game, I might consider paying for that information.”
Landry snorted. “If you were a very unsportsmanlike hunter, sure.”
I grumbled, because what was the point? We were far from vegetarians, but we were thankful for the lives of the animals we ate. We didn’t kill for sport.
“We already know anyone who hunts wolves where they’re not designated as trophy game isn’t worried about playing fair.” He looked my way, and I nodded.
“Very true. Hang on a sec.” I got up and retrieved my laptop. “I’m just curious about something.” I knew Caitlyn’s research was paid for by a grant. What I hadn’t looked into was the source of that grant funding. I called it up on a web search. “Her position is funded by the Western Wildlife Foundation—ever heard of them?”
“No.” Landry frowned, leaned closer to look at the screen.
“Me neither. Let’s pull up their annual report.” I typed away, moving the cursor around, finally finding the official record and skimming through it. Landry waited patiently. “Son of a bitch!”
He stilled. “What?”
“Guess who’s listed on the Board of Directors?” I looked from the screen to Landry. His eyes were narrowed. Jaw clenched. “I’m going to kill that bastard. Please stop me, or I swear to Fate, I’ll do it.”
Landry’s expression turned deadly and he didn’t even know who I was talking about. “Is it Bob Jenkins or Tim Hollaroy?” Or maybe he did.
I nodded. “Both of them.”
Landry’s fist came down on the table so hard, our coffee mugs overturned. I lifted my laptop out of the way of the spilled liquid as Landry cursed a long diatribe thoroughly aimed at Jenkins and Hollaroy. He hopped up and grabbed a kitchen towel, mopped up the coffee, then threw the towel over his shoulder and paced the kitchen. “So those asshole ranchers formed a fake foundation just to get to our wolves?”
I stared at the screen, but it offered up no new information.
“Probably not just for the trackers,” I replied. “I bet they intend to influence the actual research published as well. To get wolves designated as trophy game in this part of the state. Fuck, you’d think they’d have better things to do with their money than go after wolves. Do the animals really take down that many of their cattle?”
“It seems like it goes deeper than that, doesn’t it?” Landry mused. “Almost like it’s personal.”
I made a mental note to follow up on that thought later because I had a feeling there was a lot to this. Right now, we had more pressing matters. Like our mate.