Before I could second-guess myself, I pulled out my phone. I typed:
Went to check out the dog relief area. Will be back soon. But we need to talk about last night.
I stared at the screen. That last sentence weighed heavy. I deleted it and hit send. Then, almost immediately, I added another message:
When you’re up, let’s get breakfast together.
My thumb hovered for a moment before I sent it. There.
The makeshift outdoor relief area came into view as I rounded the last bend. Set beneath a large temporary event tent at the far end of the parking lot, it was partitioned off with waist-high fencing.
A few overhead work lights flickered on, but the space was built for daylight use. At this hour, shadows pooled between the support poles, and the dim light left everything muted and grainy.
The folding check-in table near the entrance was empty. There were no staff with clipboards or wristbands tracking traffic yet. It was still too early for that.
I stepped inside. Movement caught my eye near the back wall.
Someone stood by one of the water dispensers, one of those five-gallon refillable jugs set upside-down in a gravity-fed stand. Handlers usually used them to top off bowls between rounds.
My wolf lifted its head, senses alert, insisting I pay attention. I slowed my steps.
At first glance, it looked like the person was just swapping an empty jug for a full one. But the jug he lifted wasn’t full. Fresh jugs were normally sealed with plastic caps. This one had none.
I took another step, boots crunching quietly on the gravel. A faint, sweet, nutty scent reached me before my eyes fully registered it.
My wolf bristled subtly, claws pressing at the edges of my consciousness. Something was very, very wrong.
My vision sharpened automatically. Residue clung to the inside of the jug’s neck, a cloudy smear that hadn’t dissolved properly, catching the faint light.
The man finished seating the jug into the dispenser. I didn’t wait. My hand shot out, fingers locking around his wrist.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I demanded, voice low and hard.
He jerked in surprise, turning to face me. Marion.
For a brief, impossible instant, his face was unguarded. Then the mask snapped back into place, that same insufferable smile curling his lips.
“Jaime,” he said lightly, as if we’d run into each other at breakfast instead of in a shadowed tent. “What are you doing here so early?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I jerked my chin toward the dispenser. “What were you doing to the water?”
His gaze followed mine, settling on the jug as though he were only just noticing it. “Oh. I tried changing it out. Thought I’d be helpful. Couldn’t lift the damn thing properly, so I put the old one back.”
He gestured vaguely toward another jug lying on its side. I glanced down. The seal was also broken.
I tightened my grip on his wrist. He shifted, twisting subtly, testing my hold.
“Hey, relax,” he said, his tone smooth but lacking its usual confidence.
Keeping my hold on him, I bent slightly to get a better look at the jug on the ground. The closer I got, the stronger the faint, sweet scent became. My stomach dropped.
Then I caught movement in my peripheral vision. His free hand had slipped into his coat pocket, fingers closing around something.
Still gripping his wrist, I lunged with my other hand and shoved it into the same pocket.
“Hey!” he snapped, driving a shoulder into me. “What the hell, man?”
My fingers brushed against something small and hard. He pushed harder, trying to wrench himself free, but I held firm and dragged the object out.
