Slade did as told, finding a flannel shirt slightly too large, and a snug jacket. His blood-spattered jeans would have to do.
“I heard we got fifteen hunters all told, including the leader of the biggest hunter family. Some are in state custody. We only have room for a few.” Mac flashed a grin. “Besides, split ‘em up, and they talk more.” Except for the dark circles under his eyes, he looked like the same old Mac.
They stopped for burgers, Slade’s newly deputized status allowing him to drive the official sheriff’s vehicle while Mac ate. Slade tried not to watch. Famished werewolf? Not a pretty sight. Judith would have been all over the man about manners.
The deputy title also allowed Slade to follow Mac into the much-too-crowded sheriff’s office. Two hunters, Buddy, and Debra—now clothed, thank God—waited for them. This time, the pain in Slade’s side didn’t exceed manageable levels. Only the old man sat, the rest stood.
“About damned time you got here,” the old man who’d shot Noah said. Ah, what Slade wouldn’t give to go out back and settle this the way he’d done in his younger years—with a beer bottle to the head.
“Father, hush,” said a younger man with dirty blond hair and blue eyes, appearing to be roughly Slade’s age, with a world-weary look to him.
“Andrew Pritchard?” Mac asked.
“Yes,” the guy replied.
Andrew. Andrew Pritchard. Noah’s given first name?
“I guess the man over there scowling enough to scare a snake out of the brush is Thomas Pritchard.” Mac tapped a few keys on his laptop as he settled into his chair. Likely, all the details about the pair sat in front of him.
“Where is my son?” Andrew Pritchard asked.
“He’s a minor, so I got social services watching him.” Mac looked up, a world of meaning in his eyes. “For now. Mighty questionable practice, teaching a fifteen-year-old to murder.”
“You’d better not hurt him. He’s just a kid.” Andrew hung his head.
“It ain’t murder! It’s putting down a rabid dog!” the old man spat.
Mac closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He exhaled, opening his eyes to reveal a steely glint. “Like the kids your family shot in their beds?”
Andrew said nothing.
No mistaking the resemblance between father and son, though the bitter twist of the old man’s mouth aged him. All this time, some of the bogeymen who’d kept Noah in hiding, caught at last.
“Aren’t you in the least bit worried about your nephew’s well-being since you stood around with your thumb up your ass while your father shot him?” Debra asked in a conversational tone.
“What do you mean, my nephew?” Andrew snarled. “My only sister didn’t have any kids when she died. Killed by your kind!”
Nephew?
“Ask your daddy,” Debra said, folding her arms over her chest, leaning hipshot against a filing cabinet, looking like a sixty-year-old badass. If she sauntered into The Last Call, she’d send hard-core bikers running out the back door. Her hair draped her shoulder like a gray, braided scarf. She stared Andrew down, daring him to call her a liar. Definitely a woman Slade didn’t want to piss off.
He’d have to keep her away from Judith, or they’d take over the world.
Andrew turned toward the old man. “If he’s my nephew, he’d have to be Valerie’s kid. Valerie didn’t have any kids. The wolves fucking killed her! You said so!” He no longer sounded confident.
“Don’t be so sure,” Debra answered when the hateful old man stayed silent. Even Slade thought he scented the loathing coming off the murderous asshole.
“Dad?” Andrew’s nostrils flared. “They killed Valerie. That’s what you said. They killed her, so we had to kill them.”
The old man didn’t budge.
Andrew grabbed his father by the shoulders, giving him a hard shake, a wild look in his eyes. “They didn’t kill her, did they? Jake Dillashaw didn’t lure her away, did he? Did he?” He shook harder. “Answer me, old man! What happened to my sister?”
Debra added her glare to Andrew’s. If looks could kill, Old Man Pritchard would've been reduced to ash. Slade would have glared too if he hadn’t been so fucking tired.
“You can tell him, or I can, Thomas!” Debra roared, hands balled into fists. “Right here, right now, your son’s gonna know the truth.”
Andrew whirled. “What truth? Tell me!”
