“No what?”
Sam sighed, seemingly irritated. “You ask a lot of questions. You’re a LaSalle. Details about our pack are rea
lly none of your business.”
I scowled. “Just trying to make conversation.”
Sam seemed pretty damned paranoid for a bartender. Why the hell was Jaxson even bringing a bartender along? For mixing cocktails after kicking ass?
Sam had shown up when we’d raided Jaxson’s auto body and when I’d been attacked at the fair. She’d kicked Casey’s butt and chased after those rogue wolves.
She ain’t no bartender, I realized.
I settled quietly into my seat, and stared at the back of her head, just in case I had some sort of strange psychic powers and could read minds.
Apparently, I didn’t.
Since reading minds and polite conversation were both out of the question, I watched the houses go by. I recognized some of the towns we passed through and couldn’t help the rising lump of homesickness for Belmont. Alma was probably reading a palm or cleaning her crystals right now. A melancholy smile fluttered at the edge of my lips.
Jaxson kept looking at me in the rearview mirror. Was that remorse in his eyes?
He was reading my emotions again.
I leaned back and rested my forehead against the window, letting the late day sun warm my face and watching the blur of trees pass by. I didn’t want his remorse or pity. The attack at the Taphouse might have changed the course of my life, but I refused to be a victim.
I buried myself in my phone and found a text from Casey: Hey cuz. Where are you? Not in your room. I’m there now.
Irritation pricked my skin. Damn it, Casey. I wasn’t used to having people checking up on me and prying into my business. I typed out a reply: Why are you in my room?
Seconds later, my phone buzzed. Looking for someone to get drinks with. Apparently, you’re still out herding werewolves. Let me know when you get back.
On my way home for a few days to help my godmother, I responded. Sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up, but it was an emergency.
His response came back quickly. Are you crazy? Without me?
A sigh sloughed off my shoulders. I hated people keeping tabs on me. Don’t worry. I have hairy bodyguards. I promised not to wolfsbane them again, and they promised not to eat me.
After a long pause, which I imagined was filled with cursing, Casey wrote back. Stay safe. Call me if you need anything. If they look peckish, feed them some bacon and rub their bellies.
“What’s so funny?” Sam asked.
“Nothing.” I stifled my giggle and buried my head in my phone again.
I felt bad about the chain of lies, but I was pretty sure that if Casey got a whiff of what I was up to, he’d have an aneurism. I would have taken him along in a heartbeat, but I knew the werewolves would never work with him. The blood was bad.
Twenty long minutes of brooding later, Jaxson finally pulled into a Mobil gas station, and I silently rejoiced. I had to pee like nobody’s business.
He parked next to the pump. Across the lot, three well-built guys were leaning against a pair of Jeeps. They nodded subtly in our direction—Jaxson’s reinforcements, no doubt.
Regina—the sour-faced woman who’d called me a liability at the docks—pulled up behind us with a young, dark-haired woman.
“Be right back.” I slipped out of the car and hightailed it into the convenience store, clenching my muscles for dear life.
Two people were ahead of me. Dressed in jeans and biker boots, and they had the athletic, all-too-hot-for-my-own good shifter look to them. The man opened the door for the woman, but as I neared, he stepped in front of me and let the door close.
Definitely shifters. Apparently, my reputation preceded me—LaSalle.
I glared at the two as I speed-walked to the bathroom in the back.