Page 33 of Brandon’s Mate

A wave of exhaustion swept over her.

Kitty didn’t even bother to get her suitcase out of the car—just leaned against the wall in the inn’s elevator and tried to keep her eyes open long enough to stagger to her room and throw herself on the bed.

If Brandon was attacked by ninja assassins this afternoon, he was on his own.

She slept dreamlessly for four hours. But of course, her mutant white monster wolf wouldn’t leave her alone.

Once again, she was back in the dream vision. The Crows’ Nest was burning, and she was inside, then outside, then inside, then outside, the vision flickering like some kind of badly-cut movie.

It stabilized, and she was outside, watching Brandon inside the burning building and trying to get to him. He was still staring off at something, still not seeing the danger around him.

This time, though, instead of falling beams, it was a huge misshapen shadow bearing down on him. An enemy, and he didn’t see it coming, even though she screamed and screamed for him to turn around, to look…

Just as it swooped down and obliterated him she woke up, shaking and nauseated.

She lay there holding her stomach, until the feeling mostly passed away. Not something happening now, then. It was still in the future.

Probably.

Glancing toward the window, she realized it had gotten dark. She must have been asleep for hours. The clock on the nightstand told her she was supposed to meet Brandon in the restaurant in twenty minutes.

She really didn’t feel like going down and dragging her suitcase back up here so she could change. Brandon was just going to have to take her the way she was.

She stripped and took a quick shower, then put her same outfit back on. She touched up her hair and makeup, then took a deep breath, stared at her reflection in the mirror, and did her best to channel her mother.

Tough. Badass. Not showing her feelings unless she wanted to. The kind of person who had a lot of love in their heart, but she didn’t waste it on people who didn’t deserve it.

And if Brandon acted like a stubborn idiot, she was going to wolf-slap him. Just like her mother would want.

Except he didn’t show.

She sat in the bar as eight o’clock came and went. Eight-fifteen. Eight-thirty. Eight forty-five.

She called Ray’s phone, the number of which she got from a cell phone bill she’d swiped off his desk at the garage for that exact purpose. Yeah yeah, mail, privacy, felony, blah blah blah. She was a bad girl—it was written right on her shirt.

He did not answer her call. He did not answer her text. She checked her gut for the Brandon-is-in-terrible-danger feeling, and there was nothing there but hunger pangs.

He wasn’t being tortured or assassinated or dropped into a river with cement shoes. He wasn’t in danger at all, at this very moment.

He was just not coming. He the same friend-abandoning douche he’d always been, and he’d left her hanging.

Flynn would be super-disappointed in her, because she’d believed Brandon’s lies instead of planting a tracking device on him. However, the cell phone bill that Bad Kitty had stolen also had a residential address on it, so she wasn’t a total disgrace to her upbringing.

So fuck you, friend-abandoner. It takes more than one broken date to successfully abandon this girl.

She was just sliding off the barstool when she caught a glimpse of two bikers coming into the hotel lobby. Black leather and flaming wings.

Caleb the Crapper and his minion. And the minion was flashing a cell phone at the desk clerk and asking questions. Looking for someone.

That bad feeling hit Kitty’s stomach again. Brandon might not want her, but she couldn’t say the same for his frenemies.

Brandon landed at the gym during the after-work rush—the perfect time to not be noticed. He walked in with a gym bag, swiped his membership card on the scanner and sauntered into the locker room with no one giving him a second glance amidst all the bulked-up gym rats and pasty-faced businessmen.

Ray’s key was for locker number 462. He opened it up, and saw nothing but a small zippered case. Inside were two thumb drives, each in its own little slot. Nothing to identify them.

Brandon slipped the case into his gym bag, closed up the locker again, and left the locker room at a leisurely pace, nodding casually and giving a slight wave of acknowledgement to a couple of people, as if they’d encountered each other here before.

Back in the truck, he transferred the case to his vest pocket.