by Kat Kinney
Pulling back, I kissed the tip of her nose. “Pancakes?”
Sundays were the one day I always took off. If you got up early enough and beat the weekend crowd coming up from Austin or San Antonio, the streets were quiet, the heat index wasn’t yet bad enough to make you sweat through your clothes, and you could pull out a sketchpad for a few hours and watch the eastern sky slowly change color.
At Guillermo’s, the menus were a little greasy. Good luck finding two chairs that matched. One wall was strung with Christmas lights and a bulletin board featuring pictures of everyone who’d finished an order of their ghost pepper enchiladas, including West and River. Hundreds of faded photographs gazed out from beneath plastic vinyl table covers where you could find everything from pictures of the Howlers marching out on the field at halftime to aerial shots of the town’s nationally famous corn maze.
Hays flipped her hair over one shoulder, looking hot as hell in a black leather moto jacket and ripped skinny jeans. “Did you hear anything from Brody?”
I took a sip of coffee. “He just texted. Says he’s got someone working on it.”
“Someone?”
“One of his contacts.”
She rubbed her temples. “Maybe we should find out where she is, go over there—"
“I think we should give Brody some time. It’s been twelve hours and he’s having to use back channels. I can’t ride his ass on this.”
For that, I got flipped off under the table. Which kind of just made me love her more.
Her chocolate-chip pancakes arrived with a side of breakfast tacos slathered in verde sauce. I got the same thing every week. The migas here were hands-down the best in town, smothered in diced tomatoes, avocado, Monterrey Jack, chopped onion and cilantro.
“Tell me about your show.”
Hayden swirled a piece of bacon through her syrup. “It’s at this club downtown called The Craze. We’ve been trying forever to get in. Austin has hundreds of venues, but between national acts and established locals, it’s hard to break onto the scene.”
“But you got in.”
She nodded through a mouthful of pancakes. “We submitted clips. It’s taken forever for us to work our way up, establish a fan base. Jake, our booking agent, got us a huge break opening for Skittle Days next weekend. They’re out of Seattle.”
“That’s awesome.”
She traced the indigo petals of the daisy tattoo peeking out from the edge of her sleeve. “I think we should use it.”
“Come again?”
“He’s tracking me, has to know I’ll be up there on stage in a week. We set him up. Make it look like I’ll be easy to grab. Just like last time.”
I reached across the table and laced my fingers through hers. “Could get ugly.”
“I want this over.” She blew out a breath. “Whatever it takes.”
Ben might have been Sheriff, but before she put away her knives in order to wrangle an infant Cal and Brody into diapers, Sofia was one of the Southern Territorial Council’s deadliest Tracers. Ben might have been the one to take us out to the back pasture to learn how to hotwire a car and shoot, but it was Mom who taught us to fight, throw a knife, break a hold, track someone with at least two senses compromised, and get out of any binding, whether it was silver, ropes or cuffs.
Her most important lesson? If one of us ever underestimated a girl we were dating, she would kick our ass.
I nodded. “Okay.”
Hayden chewed her lip ring, staring out at the lone truck coughing its way down Main. “For what it’s worth, I don’t blame you, Ethan. I can’t even imagine what you must have gone through back then. You were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault Ben—”
The server walked by and she quickly lowered her voice.
I ran my finger over the rim of my cup. “Yeah, well, he had his reasons. I had a lot of problems back then.”
“Tell me. I want to understand. No BS this time.”
“The silver kept me level. Without it, any sort of stress triggered my wolf. If there was a fight, if I was hooking up—”
“So the times before when you tried to quit—?”
My phone buzzed. I ignored it. “A couple of times in high school, I tried seeing if I could go without it for a few hours. Then a day. Once I made it nearly two. Started having blackouts, manic episodes. I wasn’t fully aware where I was, didn’t know what I was doing. Probably should have stopped then, but it wasn’t like I thought withdrawal was going to be some walk in the park, you know? Maybe I needed to push through. But then I threw a chair at River for, hell, I don’t even remember. Cal had to tackle me to the floor. Ben found out what I was doing and flipped out.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
My phone buzzed again. Two missed calls from August. I hit redial.
My brother picked up on the second ring. “We got problems.”
Throwing a few bills on the table, I nodded to the door. “Time to go.”
Back in my truck, I put August on speaker. “What’s up?”
“Someone jacked up Ellie’s car.”
Hayden bared her teeth. “How did they—”
August cut her off. “Hell if I know. Back tire was punctured. He cut the fuel line, too. Whoever did it was probably hoping she’d be stranded out in the middle of nowhere so he could grab her.”
“You get a scent?”
“Same guy from the trailer park.”
I started the truck and pulled out onto Main. “You back at the house?”
“Yeah. Ellie’s not real happy at the moment. Brody told her we think there’s someone stalking Hayden, that this mystery guy could be after her, too, and she pretty much lost it. He’s trying to talk her down now.”
“Stay there. We’re on our way.”
Twenty minutes later we were rattling over the cattle guard onto my parents’ property. The sprawling two-story ranch house sat at the top of a rise overlooking Hill Country farmland as far as the eye could see. Hundred-year-old live oaks shaded white limestone walls and flagstone patios during the hot Texas summers. My mom’s pale blue plumbago and indigo-headed salvias sprawled out beneath the windows, bobbing in the wind as a squall line of dark gray thunderheads built off to the west.
The moment I set the parking brake, Hayden bolted from the car, rushing to meet Ellie. They collided in a fierce hug.
“I was so worried.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Ellie cut a glare my way, strip-searching Hayden with her eyes like she was expecting to find her covered in bruises.
“Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
“Um—"
“Violet,” I supplied, which earned me glare number two. Apparently, I was supposed to be looking for a shovel for self-burial purposes. “She has panic attacks when we leave her alone.”
Which, I was pretty sure wasn’t really a thing. But wouldn’t you know, Ellie immediately wiped her eyes, glancing behind me to the truck. I was one step above pond scum. But it had taken her two seconds to bond with a fictional dog with panic attacks. Because, of course.
“Where is she?”
Total. Genius.
“With her foster family for the afternoon. We thought it might be too much stress with so many people here.” Hooking an elbow through Ellie’s, Hayden dragged her towards the house. “Look. We brought pictures.”
Wrong answer. Ellie slowed, scrolling. “Shepherd mix?”
“Mm…hmm?”
“She’s big.”
“Especially when she’s standing on your—”
Hayden shot me the finger.
“Why aren’t there any pictures with you?” Her sister squinted at the phone. “And are those… Cocoa Puffs?”
Forget the Council. We’d be lucky if Ellie didn’t report us to animal control.
I headed out to the back patio. Hot-pink bougainvillea and lavender wisteria swirled up corner posts of a wide arbor, creating a brilliant overhead canopy. Black wrought-iron chairs su
rrounded a table long enough to seat ten, where Jason Aldean and my oldest brother were currently performing an exorcism on all the stray cats in Lindley County. Don’t get me wrong, Brody could sing. Could, being the operative word. But he knew damn well everyone in this family hated country music except him. And in typical Brody fashion, didn’t care.
The second the screen door slammed, Mr. CMA-wannabee saluted me with his beer. “Bring your chainsaw?”
I flipped him off. Yeah, it had been a week since I shaved. Add that to skinny jeans, Doc Martens, and a plaid flannel and you got what Brody called my lumbersexual look. Never mind that Cal had a beard straight out of Fargo and was so skinny he lived in flannel five months out of the year to keep from freezing to death even though we were in the middle of Texas. No one gave Cal shit.
Brody jerked his chin towards the house. “What are they up to?”
“You haven’t seen #EthanCaldwellMustDie trending? Talk to me about the phone.”
Brody glanced towards the house and lowered his voice. “It’s a burner. Activated at a Walmart in South Austin three months ago.”
“You think someone from down there is involved?”
Most of the urban areas had multiple packs. Between the logistics of hundreds of weres trying to move around without being noticed and the inevitable infighting that occurred in any pack, having everyone report to the same headquarters posed too much risk of discovery. Not that most Alphas wouldn’t have given their right arm to hold a territory the size of Dallas or Houston, which was why the cities were plagued by constant turf wars.
The Austin metro area had two packs. One hated us. The other would have sold us out for the fun of it.
Good to have friends.
“Hard to say. With the interstate corridor, it could just as easily be a drifter moving south to where the weather’s warmer. Might have spotted her walking back to her car one night after a show.”
I stared out at the last yellow squash and tomatoes of the fall swaying on their stakes. We’d all taken turns this past year cutting the grass and weeding because hell if Ben was going to come home to find his garden full of crabgrass. “Your guy get anything else?”
“My guy?”
Cal grinned. “That would be River.”
“You gotta be kidding,” I muttered.
“Don’t start with me. We needed someone fast and he’s a freaking savant when it comes to this stuff.” Brody glanced over as the lid to the smoker screeched shut, sparks scattering across the flagstones.
Tossing a BBQ fork onto the table, Dallas picked up his beer.
Brody and Cal exchanged a look, the latter subtly shaking his head. I picked at the label on my Sprite.
“Wasn’t much else. Pinged a cell tower in Austin, so we know he was downtown last night when he called, but that ain’t gonna help us narrow things down.” Brody drummed on the picnic table. “So you and Hayden, huh? That officially a thing now?”
“Working on it.”
“She still planning on playing the gig down in Austin next weekend?” Cal dangled a nacho dripping with tomatoes, cheese and sour cream off the arm of his iron patio chair to where a golden retriever sat motionless as a statue, eyes tracking his every movement. He clucked his tongue and Major snatched it from his hand.
“Quit feeding my dog that crap. Vet says he needs to drop five pounds by Christmas.”
I snorted, which earned me a glare from Brody. Because apparently body shaming for dogs was a thing now, too.
I held up my hands. “Talk to his dealer.”
Cal flipped me off. The malnourished eighty-pound canine in question flopped down beside his chair, tail sweeping oak leaves this way and that.
From the day he brought Major home from the shelter in an old grapefruit box, Brody got it in his head The Great Snowy Menace had the makings of a K9 officer dog. Don’t get me wrong. I’d watched Major let little kids yank his ears in the checkout line at PetCity without batting a paw. He was ready at the door with his leash to follow my brother on his runs every day whether it was a hundred degrees out or sleeting. I would have pet-sat for him any day over West’s spoiled-ass guinea pigs who chattered and gave you side-eye if you didn’t bring them the right vegetables. Because, first world problems. But about the only job they were going to have Major doing down at the station was swiffering the floors.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
WillKillforThinMints: You’re a dork
And a picture of the post-it I’d stuck in her pocket, two black wolves with a basket of chocolate muffins between them.
WillKillforThinMints: And I’m getting this as a tramp stamp
Me: Then I’ll just start laughing every time you…
WillKillforThinMints: Be very careful how you finish that sentence
Me: ...bend over to clean out the grinders
WillKillforThinMints: And you know I totally check out your ass every time you pull espresso
Me: You have a dirty mind
Me: and stop trying to give me wood
Over at the grill, Dallas tossed the tongs like a conductor holding a baton, the smell of homemade sausage wafting towards us.
“How’s the restaurant?” I said to his back.
The patio went so quiet you would have thought I just ripped one in church. Dallas slammed the grill, turning to face me. He and Brody favored Ben the most, both tall, blue-eyed and fair, but where Brody buzzed his hair short every Saturday night like clockwork, Dallas returned from his four-year stint in Canada with a man bun that would have rivaled David Beckham’s and hadn’t looked back since.
“We pretending now you give a shit about anything I do?”
At Cal’s feet, Major cocked his ears.
“What crawled up your ass and died?”
Brody pitched his bottle cap at the trash barrel and missed. “Ladies, do we have to do this today?”
“Food’s ready anyway.” Grabbing a fresh beer, Dallas stalked into the house.
Brody cleared his throat. “You need to lay off.”
“The hell? All I said was—"
“I get it. But he’s pissed about the whole Lacey thing.”
“They were never even together. It was one freaking night back in high school.”
Cal scrubbed a hand over his beard. “It’s complicated for him when it comes to her—”
“—which you damn well should have thought about before sticking your dick in the middle of things,” Brody finished.
“All I asked was how the restaurant is doing.”
“And what I’m saying is don’t start shit.”
Like we didn’t all know how that song and dance went down. Dallas started shit. And I finished it.
The screen door creaked open. Hayden and a frowning Ellie came out carrying crockery dishes of potato salad and beans. August and West brought up the rear with sweet tea I could smell had a cup of sugar for every quart of Luzianne, pickles, onions, a brown paper sack of bread, plus two Texas pecan pies.
Taking a pull from a flask, Dallas leaned in and whispered something to Lacey. She spewed beer all over the flagstones and one hapless golden retriever who didn’t manage to scuttle out of the way in time.
“Watch the dog!” barked Brody. “Major, c’mere.”
But Ellie was already swooping in, kneeling down to mop off the golden’s coat with paper towels while the Furnado in question waved his tail inches from a pan of banana pudding and tried to get to second base with her coat pocket.
“See. You would have loved playing with Violet.” Producing a cookie, Ellie cooed and fluffed his ears.
“Violet?” Brody crossed his arms, grumbling something about calories under his breath.
“Their new dog. Ethan brought her to the clinic last night.”
My brother whirled. “You gotta be kidding me—"
Over at the grill, Dallas dropped a metal tray, wiping his hands on an old Cowboys apron that had so many burns it was practically unrecognizable. “Can we freaking eat already?�
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Smirking, Lacey flicked a strand of hair behind his ear. “That chicken getting a little dry?”
With a flip of the tongs, Dallas loaded her plate up with a half-rack of pork ribs slathered in sauce, brisket so tender it was practically falling apart, and the stupid chicken they fought about every week.
“People drive for two hours to taste the way I burn a chicken, sweetheart.”
Shrugging, she popped a bite of breast meat into her mouth. “Just saying. I hear they sell thermometers now that can—”
“One more word, and I’m gonna come across the street and school your butt in how to bake a pie.” He swatted her with a dish towel and she danced out of the way.
“Better watch it,” Cal called from the end of the line where the others were digging into the sides. “He’ll feed your ribs to the dog.”
Major’s ears perked up, tail flagging hopefully.
Brody gave me a hard look on his way by that said this conversation was anything but over.
Dallas took Ellie’s plate, serving up a tofu burger I hadn’t noticed sitting on a side platter. “Didn’t bust my tail in culinary school to cook for dogs.” West coughed loudly, and he rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
Lagging at the end of the line, August slipped on his Aviators despite the fact that the sky was overcast.
I wheeled on Brody, who was crooning under his breath as he dished up fried okra, something about goddamn Chesney learning to dance and painting his damn house. “Can you turn that crap down?”
Dousing his entire plate in a ladle of barbeque sauce, Brody topped things off with half a loaf of sliced bread. “The gas station sell out of Midol again?”
Lacey snorted into her sweet tea.
“Hey.” Cal jerked his chin at Brody, who, with a glance over at August, pulled out his phone. A second later, the music cut off to a collective sigh of relief.
“I’m fine, y’all,” August said dryly. “Don’t need five mother hens.”
Snagging a water bottle, Cal tossed it his way. Hayden met my eye, brow furrowed. I shook my head. We couldn’t discuss this, not with Ellie here.