“Well, I met this guy at Valkyrie last weekend. I didn't grab his name, but I think I may have left my phone with him.” I groan inwardly. This whole conversation sounds like a massive walk of shame, but I can't think of a way to phrase it without sounding pathetic or insane. “Anyway, I saw him in here grabbing coffee the next day. Is there any chance you would remember the name you put on his cup if I describe him to you?”
“Ah. We've all had those nights, am I right?” He chuckles and shakes his head before continuing, “I'm pretty good about putting names with faces. What does he look like?”
I blow out a breath of relief and try to describe the sexy jerk. “Let's see. He's tall. Over six feet and pretty buff. He's got dark, wavy hair. A scruffy beard. And some intense blue eyes,” I say pathetically, but it comes out sounding like a question. I think back to our encounter trying to remember the slightest detail that might help. “Oh, and he was wearing a white t-shirt with the word Alpha across the front. Any chance that sounds familiar?” I cringe at the weak description.
A spark lights in his eyes, and I allow myself a moment of hope. “Oh, you know what? I think I remember who you're talking about! He had a cool name. I think it was Crash. No, wait… Kash! That was it,” he finishes, snapping his fingers at his recollection.
“Kash,” I whisper. It suits him. The arrogant jerk. I clear my throat, blinking up at James. “Any chance you have a last name to go with that first name?”
“No, sorry. Just the name I wrote on his cup,” he says, shrugging an apology. “Oh, wait! He paid with a credit card. I mean, I'm not supposed to give that kind of information out, and I normally never would, but you practically live here. I'll pull it up for you. Just don't tell my boss, and promise you're not like stalking the guy or something,” he says with a laugh.
A strangled chuckle bursts from my throat. “No,” I clear my throat, “I am definitely not stalking him.”
Less than a minute later, James returns with a conspiratorial smile.
He leans in close and whispers, “Montgomery.”
“Thanks, James.”
“Don’t mention it.” His smile falls away. “But seriously. Don’t. I could get fired.”
I nod as he goes back to taking orders.
Kash Montgomery. Rolling the name around in my head, I feel a brief moment of smugness. What kind of idiot uses a credit card to pay for something when you’re stalking and threatening someone? It’s like he’s never watched MurderTV, which is odd considering it would have come in handy for covering up his own crime. Not that he needed help since apparently no one ever found the body or reported it.
Unfortunately for him, MurderTV comes in second only to my love of books. I may not be as strong or fast as a werewolf, but I have skills that Kash didn't take into consideration.
I figure out who the murderer is before everyone else when we watch crime shows. I’m crafty as fuck. But perhaps the biggest thing I’ve got going for me? I live and breathe social media. Now that I have his full name, there’s no hiding.
It’s time to make the hunter my prey.
Chapter 4
“That’s the last one! Thank y’all for stopping by! Enjoy your Just Desserts,” Anna says to the last couple before sliding the window closed and turning back to face me.
“It’s been busier than a rooster in a hen house this mornin’. Thank you for helpin’ me. I know ya hate wakin’ up this early.”
I wave her concerns away. “You don’t have to thank me. What are friends for if not to wake them up at ungodly hours and force them to bake,” I joke.
The truth is that helping Anna this morning means she’ll work a double today, so she’ll be too tired to notice me sneak out on my mission later tonight.
“Oh, hush,” Anna says throwing a leftover donut at me. I laugh and catch it before taking a bite.
“Mmm. Oh, my god. So worth it,” I say around a mouthful of deliciousness.
Anna laughs then picks up a towel and sanitizer bucket before beginning the tough job of cleaning up before we leave. “I know you were up late readin’ last night, so I appreciate ya comin’ to help me all the same,” she says over her shoulder.
I pop the last bite of donut into my mouth, its lemon blueberry flavor mingling with guilt in the pit of my stomach. A small part of me feels bad for letting my roommates think I was reading, but I know they wouldn’t approve of what I was really doing. Besides, Internet stalking Kash Montgomery was just as entertaining as my last urban fantasy read and even more illuminating.
“Um, sure. It’s no problem. Seriously. I knew today was my day. We should be feeling bad for poor Talia. Her video conferences with her parents and their lawyers sounds like hell.”
And will effectively keep her busy until long after I’ve slipped out tonight.
Anna scrunches up her nose, handing me a to-go container so I can pack up the tarts she made for Talia. We officially sold out of them two hours ago, but Anna had kept a couple back for her before they were gone. Talia would raise hell if we came home without her favorite raspberry tart.
“Sometimes I wonder if she’ll ever tell her parents the truth,” Anna sighs.
“Would you tell your parents?” I ask.
She sighs again before shaking her head. “No, I s’pose I wouldn’t. I’d feel too terrible about upsettin’ them. It just makes me so sad for her. Anyone can look at her and see this isn’t where her heart is. It’s different for me. I love bakin’.” She waves around her truck before continuing. “My parents don’t force me to do this. I love it. I just want both of y’all to be as happy as I am.”
I take the empty dishes from the counter to the sink and start the water, giving myself a little time to think of a response.
“You know how Talia is. She may not admit that she doesn’t want to run the family business, but she’s not miserable. She’s using her time to do everything she wants to do before settling down into that life. She’s tough. She’ll be fine.”
Anna crosses to my side of the truck and begins to sanitize all of the food storage before she continues. “What about you, Rom? I’m not talking about your book stuff. I know how much you love that, and because of how much you love it, I know you’ll figure out your final project.”
She sighs, dropping her towel and giving me her full attention. “I know you haven’t given up on tryin’ to prove werewolves are real.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, standing in front of the sink, up to my elbows in sudsy water.
Anna shakes her head and snorts. Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter.
“Sure you don’t,” she says rolling her eyes. “I don’t know why y’all act like I don’t know what you’re up to. Besides, ya left your list entitled ‘Operation: Catch That Smug Werewolf Jerk’ on the coffee table last night.”
I do my best to ignore her, scrubbing furiously at the strawberry seeds stuck to the pot. The snap of a towel sounds a second before the sting begins on my right butt cheek.
“Ow!”
“Well?” she asks with an arched brow.
“Well, I wish that you had told me that before I lied my ass off,” I say, smiling sweetly before blowing bubbles directly into her stunned face. She squeaks, diving for the soapy water before exacting her revenge.
“Oh gross. There’s soap in my bra,” I mutter disgustedly.
“Better than a raspberry,” Anna says, picking the offending fruit from her modest cleavage before tossing it at me. I laugh and push up from the floor, surveying the inside of her truck to see how much damage our impromptu fight had caused. Thankfully, it looks like a quick mop and wipe down is all that’s needed.
Our weapon of choice, besides the stray berry, had been soapy water.
I reach a hand down to pull Anna up from the floor, laughing at the way her mint green dress is plastered to her.
She grimaces, but it quickly dissolves into a laugh as she pulls the tacky fabric from her chest. �
��I think we needed that,” she says with a grin before turning sober again.
“Listen, I know that little ol’ me isn’t gonna change your mind. You’re stubborn as a mule. So, just promise me you’ll be careful, all right?”
I smile at her, grateful for her easy understanding. “I will. Now, let’s get this place cleaned up so we can go change. You look like you just won a wet t-shirt contest.”
She laughs, shoving me away before handing me a mop. “Here ya go. Your mess to bless.”
I wait, hunched over in my car, until the sun has set behind the rooftops, casting the street view in to shadows. My black pants and matching black jacket help me blend in as I get out and make my way down the block to the address listed on the Evite I dug up last night. Kash Montgomery is a ghost according to the internet.
His friends, however, are not.
Whoever Lynch Foster is, he’s very organized when it comes to party planning. Tracking down Kash’s name and attaching it to Lynch’s was an easy Google search. The rest I dug up from Facebook and Lynch’s event planning Evite.
I stay low as I creep closer, darting from one parallel parked car to another for cover. On the other side of the street, I scan the warehouse building that marks the address I dug up. What the hell are they doing partying here?
Before I can second guess, a metal door opens, and music spills out from inside. I angle my body to get a better look and catch a quick glimpse of people mingling with drinks in hand before the men entering block my view. A second later, one of them reaches back and pulls the heavy door shut behind him.
I double back to the corner and tuck my body against the wall out of sight. Then, I reach for my newly replaced phone and hit the record button on the LIVE stream I cued up in the car.
“Hey, peeps. This is Romy Reads Romance, and I’m ready to make the big announcement I promised you. As I mentioned in my earlier post, I’ve stumbled onto something major, and I can’t possibly keep all this excitement to myself. The truth is, I’ve made the discovery of the century.
“Are you ready for this? Are you sitting down? Werewolves exist! That’s right, I’ve seen the proof with my own eyes, and now I’m going to get that same proof for all of you, my loyal followers. You’ll be the first to see in living color that werewolves. Are. Real.”
I flash the camera at the building across the street then aim it back at me again. “Inside that building over there is our guy. In just a minute, I’ll go inside and bring back the proof you’re all waiting for.” I take a deep breath then flash a smile. “Wish me luck! Hashtag book boyfriends are real!”
I hit the button to end the live stream then make sure it gets uploaded to my feed. Satisfied, I tuck the phone into my jeans before darting across the street to the alley where I scoped out a side entrance last night.
The sign mounted beside the door reads “Staff Only,” and I’ve done enough digging to know this particular party is private–no outside staff. Which hopefully means that nobody will be in the server’s hallways to spot me sneaking in. It’s also the perfect place to hide while I get the footage I need to fulfill my promise to the masses.
With a deep breath, I square my shoulders and slip inside.
The hallway is dark but with enough light pouring in from the larger rooms up ahead to offer a clear path down the corridor. I pass a couple of storage closets and a restroom before the hall opens into a large kitchen.
It’s empty, as I suspected, and I duck low, hurrying past a cutout window that looks out into a larger room filled with people. A giant banner is draped across the bar. The words Actually Alpha! written across the front of it in surprisingly beautiful calligraphy. I have no idea what that means, so I just shuffle and shimmy over to the corner where I can stand out of sight with a view angled toward the buffet line.
I watch with shallow breaths as, one by one, the guests take a plate and then fill it with bacon-wrapped chicken and jalapeno poppers.
I count nearly two dozen attendees–all men–before a familiar face finally steps into view.
His honey colored beard is too massive to miss, and when his forest green eyes sweep past my hiding place, I’m certain. It’s definitely him.
Lynch.
The guy throwing the party. I recognize him from his Facebook profile picture.
I reach for my phone, keeping my movements small and slow.
The door to the kitchen opens, and a guy walks in.
I freeze, my hand halfway to my back pocket, and look up into the face of a stranger.
His eyes widen when he sees me, but then he immediately relaxes, and his mouth stretches into a wide smile. “Well, well. What have we got here? Lynch, you dog, I thought Kash said no entertainment.”
I blink, my mind racing for some excuse that’ll get me out of sight before Kash discovers me. Or before I’m used for kibble.
“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Entertainment. That’s me.”
The guy in front of me backs up to check me out. “That’s your costume? Sexy cat burglar?” He rubs his jaw, and his dark eyes gleam with interest. “I’m not big on cats, but for you, honey, I can make an exception.”
My costume?
Hold up. He doesn’t think—
Shit.
Alarm bells go off, and I dart a glance toward the exit, which is now being blocked by the cat-hater.
“Actually, I left my costume in the car.” I say as smoothly as my trembling voice will allow. “I can grab it and be right back.”
“Naw.” He shakes his head, his smile stretching wider as he warms to the idea of me in tactical black. “This works just fine. Besides, you won’t be wearing it much longer anyway, am I right?”
Before I can answer–or pee from terror–he grabs me and leads me out the kitchen door and into the main party room. For a moment, no one notices, and I pray it’ll be that easy to get across the crowded space and out the front door. But then I spot Lynch and Kash standing together near the bar where we’re headed and realize this is about to go from bad to worse.
“Lynch,” my escort calls out. His grip on my arm is firm, but I don’t try to pull away. Not yet. “You didn’t tell me you hired entertainment.” He hoots, and some of the other guests cheer and turn to watch us.
Great.
Lynch looks up first, and his brows knit in confusion at the sight of me approaching. A second later, Kash breaks off from his conversation with the man on his right, and he freezes.
Busted.
“Uh, I didn’t hire–” Lynch begins, but Kash is already moving.
With lightning speed, he has extracted my arm from his cat-averse friend and is already dragging me back to the kitchen.
“Whoa, where are you going?” the guy calls out at our backs. “Alpha or not, sharing is caring.”
“Shut up, Doyle,” someone mutters.
Kash ignores them all and shoves us into the kitchen hard enough that I brace myself for the door to come crashing down around us. It manages to remain on its hinges, and Kash doesn’t stop until we’re alone in the hallway I snuck in through.
His jaw clenches and unclenches as he stares at me with hard eyes, but something akin to worry floats in their brilliant depths. It's clear that he’s trying to gain control of himself before reading me the riot act. The logical part of my brain tells me not to say a word—because an angry werewolf is a dangerous werewolf—but instead I blurt out the questions that have been bothering me since I found the online event invitation.
“What the hell is an Actually Alpha party, and why the fuck do you have a giant wolf pinata hanging from the ceiling? I mean, you guys are aware that you’re full grown men, aren’t you?” I demand.
“I have a better question. Why are you stalking me?” he fires back.
I ignore his questions the same way he ignored mine. “No offense, but it's a real sausage fest out there. I don't blame the pervy one for thinking I was the stripper. Does no one in your friend group know how to score a date?”
His shocked
gaze snaps to me, and he lets out an involuntary laugh before shaking his head at me. “How the hell did you find me, Pepper?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t easy,” I say. “What kind of person isn’t on any social media sites?”
“Uh, maybe the kind of person who doesn’t want to be found.”
I put my hand on my hip. “Well, you’re not the only one capable of a little investigating. You’re clearly not that great at stalking, yourself, or you would have realized that social media is my life. Literally. It’s my job. My skills with a phone are legendary. Finding an antisocial werewolf wasn’t too terribly difficult.”
“Unbelievable.” His eyes narrow, and he gestures to the crowd. “Do you even realize what kind of danger you put yourself in just by showing up here tonight? And looking like that?”
“Like what?”
I follow his gaze down to my black on black ensemble. When I look up again, his gaze lingers on my very pronounced curves. Attraction curls in my belly.
Is the werewolf killer checking me out?
Playing it cool, I shrug. “I mean, you already know I’ve witnessed you committing murder. And since you’ve been inside my house and cornered me outside my favorite coffee shop–all without harming me–I figure you can't really be that much of a danger to me. If you wanted to hurt me, you would’ve done it already. So, that being said…” I flash a bright smile that I hope inspires cooperation. “Want to take a selfie with me?”
“Why in the hell would I do that?”
I bite my lip, debating whether or not to out my mission. In the end, I go for it. “Because I promised my social media following that I’d post proof you exist?”
His eyes widen, and his cheeks flush with a temper I can feel rolling off him now. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve gone too far.
“Un-fucking-believable,” he mutters under his breath before pinning me with a glare. “It's like you have no sense of self-preservation at all. You just willingly walked into the middle of a pack of werewolves. Our number one rule is to keep the secret. What do you think they would do to a human who's trying to do the exact opposite?”
The Girl Who Cried Werewolf Page 4