Page 27 of Colton’s Mate

No way was she going in there without him.

She didn’t try. She whispered, “Stay here,” and returned to the car. In a few seconds she was back, with a cool little Beretta pistol in her hand.

Colt hadn’t moved.

Callie looked down at him and said, “On three.” She counted out “One, two, three” and then kicked the door open, ducking to the side and keeping the opening covered.

Colt flowed inside like a ghost, and Callie followed, flipping on the lights.

It looked like nothing had been disturbed in the living area. They went through the house—him on four legs, her on two—and methodically cleared every room. Two bedrooms, two baths, kitchen and dining area.

When they were sure there were no intruders inside, they went back to the living room.

It was a lot harder to Change back to human than it had been to go leopard. Colt felt like he’d been tortured on a rack—all his joints pulled apart and not quite put back together.

Callie waited patiently until he was done. He tried to lean unobtrusively against the dining-room table in case his knees decided to buckle.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked.

“Nothing that a fifth of whiskey won’t cure.”

Callie locked the door, and then went to the bar cart against the wall and poured two glasses of whiskey. She brought him one. “Here.”

“So did they take anything?” Colt asked, taking a large swallow and closing his eyes. Bliss.

She shook her head. “Nothing obvious. I’ll have to look through everything, though. They searched the entire place.”

He stopped drinking at that. “Everywhere?”

“Everywhere I can see. They did a good job, but too many tiny things are out of place.”

He nodded. She looked at him quizzically, like she expected him to question her assessment, but he believed her. Lynxes were predators, and they instinctively observed their surroundings. No matter what it looked like to him, if she said the place had been searched, it had been.

“Any idea who it was?”

“Fucking crows.”

His eyebrows went up. “And what they were looking for?”

“The fucking Ark of the Crow-venant, apparently.”

Colt stared at her. “Come again?”

She looked sideways at him. “You haven’t even made me come once, hotshot.”

That made him laugh. Which made him hurt all over again.

“The offer’s always open,” he said. “But right now I want to hear about the crows.”

“We need more whiskey for that.”

“And I probably need those clothes you promised. Otherwise, you’ll be so overcome with lust you won’t be able to tell me a straight story.”

Really, it was because the idea of making her come had gone straight from his ears to his fantasies to his dick, and he was right on the edge of a boner.

“I’ll get the clothes,” she said.

“I’ll get the whiskey.”