Bishop was on my heels, and by the time we got there, Austin stood in the open kitchen doorway, glaring out at the car shining its headlights into the back of the bar. He was growling softly, every muscle in his body tense and ready for a fight.
Bishop took one look at his best friend and assumed a similar aggressive stance, puffed up with testosterone. Or with some cat hormone I had no name for. He stepped in front of me, blocking my entire view of both Austin and the door.
“Okay, enough of that. Move over,” I scolded as car door hinges squeaked from the parking lot.
Austin’s growling intensified, which meant he didn’t recognize whoever had just parked behind my business.
“Stand down, and tell Charley I’m here,” a commanding voice called from the gravel lot, and my heart leapt into my throat. I darted around Bishop and shoved Austin aside, then raced out the door to throw my arms around Jace Hammond.
“Hey, Char,” he said as he returned my hug. “I heard you might need an extra hand. Though it looks like you’ve added several recently.” He nodded at the two men now standing shoulder-to-shoulder in the kitchen doorway, evidently satisfied that I was not in danger. “What’s that about?”
“I have no idea. They’re acting weird.”
“They’re actingterritorial.” Jace gave me a pointed look I chose not to analyze. “Who are they?”
“Hey, assholes!” I called toward the kitchen. “Come meet the other Marshal.”
Austin stepped forward first, with his aggressive posture in full recession, and Bishop followed, his metaphorical hackles still raised.
“Jace Hammond, this is Austin Graham and Bishop Mattheson. Yvette was Austin’s sister and Bishop’s wife. Guys, Jace is the Marshal of the central zone of the Mississippi Valley Pride, and an Alpha in his own right. So behave.”
“Nice to meet you.” Austin offered Jace his hand to shake, and Bishop only followed suit when Austin elbowed him.
“You too,” Jace said. “I’m so sorry about Yvette. And I’m here to help however I can.”
“Titus didn’t mention you were coming.” I linked my arm through Jace’s to escort him into the bar, relieved to have such trusted backup. He’d been working as either an enforcer or a Marshal for more than a decade and was more experienced than anyone else in the Pride. Including Titus.
“I volunteered,” he said. “Abby says hi, by the way.” Jace had been with Faythe’s younger cousin for nearly four years. “She’s hoping to get up here to see you soon. And Davey,” he added. “I don’t believe they’ve met.”
“I certainly hope they get to.” I let Jace go as one of the other guys closed the kitchen door behind us.
Out front, Tucker turned from his screen to greet Jace, while Bishop whispered to Austin.
“How’d he get here so fast?”
“He lives just a couple of hours away,” I said. “And he clearly ignored the speed limit.”
“Speaking of which, Vance is only an hour out,” Tucker said.
“He better not get pulled over,” I grumbled. “He won’t do Davey any good from a jail cell.” I sighed. “Where are we on the property search?”
“I’ve only found one possibility.” Tucker spun his laptop around so I could see a satellite image zoomed in to the point of pixilation. “Rebecca Brewer’s mother passed away when she was in her forties, about a year and a half after her father, who was older. She had some kind of genetic heart condition that may also be why Rebecca died young. The Brewers owned a few acres of scrub brush on the outskirts of Parker’s Mill, and the county property records say that a one-bedroom domicile was built there nearly fifty years ago. It does not appear to have been improved much since then, other than the addition of an outbuilding and a blacktop driveway.”
“That’s it. Thathasto be it,” I breathed. “Does it say who owns it now?” Could Cam have sold it?
Tucker clicked on another tab at the top of his screen. “Camden Brewer.”
“Brewer,” Austin repeated. “That’s why it didn’t show up during previous property searches.”
“I take it this Camden has another name?” Jace leaned with one hand on the back of the booth as he peered at the screen.
“Two of them,” I said. “He went by his father’s surname—as Denny Morelock—for most of the past decade, but around here, we know him as Cam Senet.”
“He’s led us on quite the virtual hunt,” Tucker added. “Managing social media in two names, though not very active in one, with no personal details whatsoever. We all knew him, but it turns out none of us knew anything concrete or helpful, like his address or where he works.”
“He mostly talks about girl troubles when he’s in the bar,” I added.
“Which set off no red flags, becausemostmale shifters have girl troubles,” Jace said.
