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Tiffani. While heā€™s dicking around looking for me, call the Dark Mansion and tell Mikal where I am.

***

The Tracker made it to the house first. Maybe Mikal was too busy screwing my brother to get her damn clothes on and come kill me. Or maybe it was just routineā€”send in the zombie to secure the prisoner before the big shot came in and did all the ass-kicking.

Jax and Harper sat at the bottom of the staircase in the living room while the Tracker wound his trusty log chain around my arms and stomach and pinned the loops together behind my back. Harper flinched when the padlock snapped closed.

I tried to look confident so she wouldnā€™t freak out. Iā€™d only had a couple of minutes to bring Jax back around and get my plan across to him and Harper before the Tracker showed up. Harper had told me straight-up that she didnā€™t think there was any chance it would work.

ā€œShouldā€™ve brought steel,ā€ the Tracker said. He had a voice like someone with throat cancer had eaten a bag of nails and he stunk like rotting shit. Not having to breathe was kind of a blessing with him in the room. He gave the chains a test-jerk. ā€œTheseā€™ll work ā€˜til Mikal gets here. Try to break outā€¦ā€ He pulled an old Wild West .44-40 out of his gun belt and aimed it at Jax and Harper. ā€œBang. Bang.ā€

I growled at himā€”as much as someone could without a voice.

The Tracker ignored me and slopped over to the window, maybe to watch for Mikal.

I started feeling around behind my back for the padlock.

Jax shook his head at me. He touched the step, then waved his hands around him and Harper.

I rolled my eyes. I didnā€™t play baseball and neither did Jax. If he was trying to send me some kind of message, it wasnā€™t going to work.

My fingers grazed the padlock and I worked at it until I got the shackle into my hand.

But Jax touched the step again, pushing down really hard this time. There was a spark like when you flick a lighter, then he gave me a thumbs-up.

Jax had just done something with magic.

Then I got itā€”he wanted me to know that they were safe. That I could go ahead with my plan and not worry about them getting killed.

The Tracker turned back around and squinted at me. I smiled up at him like a good little prisoner.

Tiffani

 

I threw the last bucket of soapy water on the sidewalk in front of my bakery, then went inside and hooked up the hose to the sink. Iā€™d have customers coming in half an hour and I didnā€™t want to have to talk to anyone while I could still smell the Trackerā€™s putrefied corpse.

That damn kid. Why couldnā€™t he have figured out another way? Damn me, too. Making Tough wasnā€™t the same as doing something. It was more like putting a Band-Aid on a knife wound.

Hell. Now I was starting to sound like Colt.

I dragged the hose outside and unkinked it. Water sputtered, then exploded out and washed the suds off the concrete. I pulled out a cigarette and held it between my lips while I lit up. The crisp, ashy smoke helped hide the reek of the Tracker and the cigarette gave my other hand something to do while I hosed off the sidewalk.

Two crows flew over, crawking at each other and heading for the highway. Probably off to patrol the edges of their territory for coyote trespassers.

After Ryder died, the closest thing Colt had to friends were crows. Although it had always struck me as more mutual understanding than friendshipā€”the primals never stopped fighting their wars with each other and Colt never stopped fighting his war. Probably didnā€™t hurt that Colt was supplying the crows with guns and ammunition, either. They were how he found out that Mitzi was letting me listen in while she and Tough had sex. The crows at the tattoo parlor gossiped like biddies at the hair salon.

I had come back from hunting one morning to find Colt waiting outside the bakery, hunched over against the wind in a ratty Carhart coat and watching me like he couldnā€™t decide whether to stake me or throw holy water in my face. That hair, those eyesā€”he hadnā€™t filled out much yet, but even all arms and legs and angles, he screamed Danny. Just being near him made me feel as if Iā€™d somehow fallen backward in time.

ā€œWhat the hell do you want?ā€ I asked.

ā€œLonely Pershing said Mitzi lets you listen in while she and Tough areā€”are together,ā€ Colt said.

I had less than an hour to shower, throw stuff in the oven, get the coffee going, and suck down a breakfast smoke.

ā€œPiss off, kid. I donā€™t have time for a sermon today.ā€

Colt took a step toward me.

ā€œNo, Iā€™m notā€”I wouldnā€™tā€”ā€ He had that innocent look in his eyes that Shannon used to flash at people like a Get Out of Jail Free card. I could smell her in himā€”tattoo ink and skin so hot that it could only be full of unbalanced, unholy fury. ā€œI just wondered whether Tough was okay.ā€

ā€œWell, he had a rocky start,ā€ I said. ā€œBut Mitzi got him whipped into a Casanova who can go all night and be ready for another round in the morning, so Iā€™d say heā€™s better than okay. Maybe evenā€”ā€

ā€œThatā€™s not what I meant,ā€ Colt said.

ā€œPiss off,ā€ I said again, and I started to unlock the door.

Behind me, I heard the sound of fingers curling into fists. I braced myself. Colt had inherited too much of Dannyā€™s looks to have gotten anything from Shannon but her temper.

ā€œTough thinks heā€™s so damn smart,ā€ Colt said. ā€œThat heā€™s beating the system. But he doesnā€™t get that as long

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