Page 35 of Howl Lotta Love

Emma read it twice, the warmth of the last hour draining out of the room in one cold rush.

Jace’s arm tightened around her, his whole body going still and alert in the space of a single breath, the soft, sated man from thirty seconds ago replaced by the one who tracked threats for a living.

“Neither of us is going alone,” he said, already reaching for his phone.

“Wasn’t planning on that either,” she said, and meant it, though some part of her—the part that had spent seventeen years chasing exactly this kind of lead—was already wondering how fast she could get dressed and back out the door.

TEN

EMMA

Breakfast was an ambush of an entirely different kind.

Emma made it as far as the coffee pot before Tucker glanced up from his laptop, took one look at her face, and went back to typing without comment—which landed worse than if he’d said anything at all. Diesel set a plate in front of her without being asked, considered her a beat too long, and returned to his eggs without a word, opinion visibly withheld. Roman, for once in his life, said absolutely nothing, which was the loudest reaction of all three.

“Somebody say something,” Emma muttered into her coffee. “I can’t handle the collective restraint.”

“I’m exercising professional discretion,” Roman said, immediately abandoning it. “Also, for the record, I called it in March. I have a whiteboard. There’s a whole timeline.”

“There isn’t a whiteboard.”

“There’s absolutely a whiteboard. Tucker laminated it.”

“I laminated it,” Tucker confirmed, without looking up.

Her phone buzzed. Nora, predictably.

!!!!!!!!!!!

That was the entire message. Emma laid the phone down and reached for the coffee instead.

It buzzed again thirty seconds later. Milo told me you two are official and I need every detail or I’m coming over there myself. I have a shift in four hours and I will still find time.

She didn’t dignify that with a response either, though the sheer speed of the intelligence leak told her exactly how much privacy she could expect for the rest of her natural life.

Jace came down ten minutes later, dressed, focused, already running the anonymous message through his head from the set of his jaw. He crossed straight to the coffee pot, and to her, dropping a kiss against her temple on his way past, an ordinary gesture now, which—apparently—it was. Nobody at the table so much as blinked, though Tucker’s typing hitched for exactly one beat too long to be casual.

“That’s disgusting,” Roman announced, delighted. “Never stop.”

“We need eyes on the meet before we walk in blind.” Jace dropped into the seat beside her, casual as any other morning, though his knee found hers under the table hard enough to make a point of it. “Tucker, trace the number?”

“Already tried. Burner, bought with cash, activated an hour before it texted Emma. Whoever sent it knows exactly how to stay invisible.” Tucker spun his monitor around, a city map already up, a single pin dropped in the financial district. “Location’s a warehouse. No cameras in a two-block radius, which means our contact is careful, or the setup’s a trap. Possibly both.”

“Wonderful. I love a good possibly-both.” Emma stole a piece of toast off Roman’s plate, which he allowed with the wounded dignity of a man choosing his battles. “Do we at least know if it’s an occupied warehouse or one of the sad, abandoned ones with the aesthetic?”

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to my nerves. I’ve had much better luck in occupied buildings.”

Roman pointed his fork at her, the gesture of a man acknowledging a Supreme Court verdict. “This is why I like her.”

“I’ve already got Roman and Diesel running perimeter thirty minutes ahead of you,” Tucker went on, calm. “If it’s a trap, we’ll know before you’re inside it.”

Roman, mouth full of toast that was rapidly becoming Emma’s toast, offered his professional assessment without being asked. “For the record, if it’s another warehouse, I want it noted that I’m getting genuinely offended. Every single one smells the same. Machine oil and regret. Criminals in this city apparently shop at exactly one store.”

“That’s not helpful, Roman.”

“It’s not meant to be helpful. It’s meant to be true.” He aimed the fork at Jace next, laying down fact. “For the record, if we ever catch this guy, I want five minutes alone with his real estate agent.”