“I’m not finished,” I said, and his mouth snapped shut. “This is not your fault, Vance.”
“She wouldn’t be out there if I’d been there.”
“I fired you.”
“And I left.”
“Good god. Everyone made their own choices, Davey included,” Bishop snapped. “But the only bad guy here is Cam Senet. Now let’s deal with him and put all this to fucking rights, as best we can.”
Austin gave a feline huff of agreement.
Vance shrugged. “He’s not wrong. Davey’s as stubborn as you are, and she had every right to stomp off in anger without worrying about being kidnapped.”
I pulled him aside and lowered my voice while Bishop dug in the back of his vehicle. “What did she say to you? Is there any possibility that she…sought Cam out?”
Vance frowned. “Why would she—” His mouth snapped shut as understanding dawned. “I truly don’t think so. She told me she plans to volunteer for Faythe’s program, and I tried to talk her out of it, but she seemed really determined. But she’s too smart for this, Charley. She wants to be a shifter, but she doesn’t want to die in the process.”
“That was my thought too.” Yet the possibility still nagged at me.
“Let’sgo,” Bishop snapped. “They’ve had enough of a head-start.”
I agreed, so we took off into the woods to the south, racing as fast as we could go until we got close enough to be heard, according to my GPS. My heart raced, pulse swooshing in my ears as I signaled the guys to stop. I smelled wood smoke, and there was light up head. Just a faint glow leaking between some cedars at the moment, and likely too faint for human eyes to detect. But it was in the right direction and approximately the right distance.
“I see it,” Vance whispered.
Bishop nodded, and at his side, Austin huffed through feline nostrils.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I pulled it out to see a text from Jace. “They’re in position,” I whispered as I texted back. “They can see one male form through the window, and Tucker confirms that the silhouette is consistent with Cam Senet’s build. They’ll defend the rear exit, until they hear us come through the front. Let’s go.”
We moved as quietly as we could toward the small house, sacrificing speed for silence. Ignoring the cold. The building came into focus, its outline emerging from the shadows as we carefully stepped over fallen branches and exposed roots, ducking beneath bare, low-hanging deciduous limbs and veering around fat, fragrant cedars.
The house was tiny and old, but in decent repair, smoke rising from what appeared to be a hand-stacked stone chimney. The blaze in the fireplace was part of the light source we’d seen, but not all of it. The main room was well lit, and as we approached, just yards away now, I saw a male silhouette cross in front of a sheer-covered window.
Bishop tapped my shoulder, and I turned to follow his gesture to a familiar vehicle parked to one side of the house, on a blacktop driveway cut in from the main road, which we’d avoided. I couldn’t swear that it was Cam’s car—I didn’t know what each of my regulars drove—but I’d definitely seen it in the parking lot at the Fat Cat.
“It’s packed,” Bishop whispered, and when I squinted at the hatchback window, I could see squarish forms covered by a dark blanket.
Cam was ready to run.
Vance darted past me, moonlight glinting off something clenched in his fist, and seconds later, air hissed from both of the vehicle’s rear tires, ending any possibility that Cam could escape by car.
I sighed, worried that Cam would hear that. And he certainly could, if he were paying attention. Fortunately, he seemed preoccupied with whatever was going on inside.
I saw no indication that he knew we were there.
We approached the front door, all three men at my back, careful not to step in front of either of the two visible windows. For a moment, I considered knocking. But it was the middle of the night, and there were no close neighbors, which mean there was virtually no chance we’d lure him to the door under a false, non-threatening pretext.
So instead of knocking, I kicked the front door in, relishing strength I hadn’t had as a human woman, as the impact reverberated through my right leg.
Old hinges squealed and aged boards splinted. The solid wood panel swung open to crash against the wall.
Startled, Cam Senet spun toward me from the middle of the small front room, holding a damp cloth in one hand and a plastic bottle of water in the other. A trail of droplets led across the dusty floor through an arched doorway into the kitchen.
“Charley.” He blinked at me and understanding surfaced behind his eyes. He looked startled, but not truly surprised.
“Where’s Davey?”
“She’s gonna be fine,” he said, instead of answering. “You were.”
