“I got you. Finding them is the first step. They still think the back transfers are occurring. That might be our in. Hopefully, there will be an IP address I can ping. It will be fucking poetic justice if that is the thing that gives them away.”
I stood and stretched. "I’ve gotta head to my computer room so I can access everything. I have a good feeling about this." I didn’t notice when the living room got quiet. It was only when Pearl cleared her throat that I looked up.
Parker stood in the doorway. She wore sweatpants and one of my old shirts; the sleeves hanging off her wrists like she was twelve. Her hair was a rat’s nest, and the bruises on her face were turning a sickly yellow. But she stood on her own, one hand braced against the frame.
Nobody said anything for a long second. Then Bronc nodded at her, slow and respectful. “You should be in bed.”
She ignored him. “You need me.”
It wasn’t a question. Just a statement of fact delivered from chapped lips that mine wanted so badly to soothe.
Arsenal started to protest, but Gunner cut him off. “She’s right. Nobody runs a trace like Parker.”
I didn’t say anything. Just gestured for her to follow me.
She walked over with a small limp, and we headed to my den. I put my arm around her and helped her into the big chair. Thanks to her shifter healing her left arm was out of the brace but still in a sling. She slipped it off and flexed her fingers as though she wanted to see if her hand still worked. It did. Within seconds, shewas knee-deep in phone records, looking for anomalies, making notes on the pad between her knees.
Pearl brought her a cup of coffee. Parker took it without looking up.
Everyone wound up in the room with us. Bronc watched all this, jaw set, a proud father with no words for his kid.
“Got something,” she said, not five minutes later. “Three phones. Two dumps prepaid. One keeps pinging the same tower in Farwell.”
Arsenal leaned forward. “That’s west. Near the border.”
“Could be a relay. Or could be they’re making a show for us.” She looked at Bronc. “You want me to go in?”
He looked at me, then her, then back at me. “You okay with this?”
She didn’t wait for my answer. “You need me to do it. And I want to.”
Bronc nodded. “Do it.”
She got to work, fingers flying. Gunner watched the feed, calling out hits on vehicle plates. Arsenal started running background on every rental property within ten miles of the ping. Pearl paced, her phone glued to her ear, organizing food and perimeter checks for the construction crews.
I watched Parker. She had her jaw set, lips pressed together, a bead of sweat on her brow from the effort. She didn’t stop, didn’t slow down. It dawned on me then that I was more than in love with her. I respected her. She was perfect, and it was so much more than her beauty—her curves, her softness. I realized her mind was maybe the sexiest thing about her.
After two hours, she had a map of the entire area, a dozen likely addresses with acreage who owned them, and a list of cars tied to Greenbriar proxies. Looked like they’d moved west.
She looked up at me, eyes clear for the first time in days. “You okay?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I am now.”
The others finished their tasks and drifted into the kitchen for more coffee. The house was quiet, just the two of us and the hum of the laptops. I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed, careful of the bruises.
“You don’t have to do this, Wren.”
She grinned, lopsided. “I want to.”
I grinned back. “Fine. But if you pass out, I’m carrying you to bed.”
She snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe.” I leaned in, kissed her hair. “Just don’t die again. I’m not sure my wolf can take it.”
She nodded. “I’ll try.”
We went back to work.
