Page 47 of Hunted

“Get away from me,” he yelled at her.

Gunn gave a low growl, but she gave him a tiny headshake and said, “Whatever, dude.”

She put the cover on her coffee and they walked out, not hurrying, while the manager came out and Trey started yelling at her.

Michelangela went straight to the Lexus. “This one,” she said.

Gunn said, “Isn’t this that asshole’s car?”

“Yep. He’s going to be super-late for his meeting.”

Gunn started to grin. “This has an electronic locking system. How the hell are you going to get in?”

“The old-fashioned way.” Michelangela pulled her hand out of her pocket, dangling Trey’s key fob, which she’d pickpocketed when she’d brushed off his suit.

She beeped the car doors open and they got inside, driving out the lot’s side entrance so their escape couldn’t be seen from inside the shop.

Gunn was laughing in the passenger seat. “I’d forgotten how much fun it is, working with you.”

It was good to see him laugh. He looked like he hadn’t had any fun in a long time. Neither had she.

“So,” she said. “Where to?”

Gunn hesitated, then he said, “I have an old safe house in Illinois, near Joliet. Haven’t used it in a long time, though—don’t know what kind of shape it’s in.”

“Who else knows about it?” she asked.

“Dobe did, and Rex. And Hawk. Don’t know if they’d remember it. And who the hell can tell what Thanatos knows?”

Michelangela frowned, thinking. Maybe Gunn was right—it really was time to stop trying to do everything alone. “I have a better idea,” she said. “We need to get us some burn phones.”

Chapter 21

They stopped at a gas station convenience store to buy phones. Once they were back in the Lexus, Michelangela made a call. Luckily, it was picked up right away.

“Hey, Remy, it’s Mikey. I need a big favor, fast.”

Remy was an old friend, and he was used to her random calls. “Hi, Mikey,” he said. “I’m fine, thanks for asking. Glad you’re not dead; Jaeda and I weren’t sure. But hey, don’t be concerned about us, sitting here worrying.”

“You were not worrying, you were probably fucking,” Mikey said. They’d only been mated a couple of years, and they were ridiculously in love.

“It was very worried fucking.” His tone was light, but Mikey knew he was sincere. He and his mate—one of her besties from her home pack—really had been worried about her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t call earlier. It’s been a really, really weird week. And before it’s done, I need to help save a little shifter girl from getting auctioned off to the highest bidder.”

She heard Remy suck in his breath. He went instantly into professional mode. “I’m on it. What do you need?”

“A really good fake ID. Rich, entitled, male—someone my Angela Croft persona could vouch for to Trevor McIntyre, to get into this auction. I’d pose as the buyer myself, but he already knows Angela buys stolen art, not kids. The auction is in three days, but I need to contact McIntyre tonight to get an invite. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”

Remy whistled. “You don’t ask for much, do you? Lucky for you I’m a genius.” There was a moment’s pause, and she could hear him tapping computer keys. He asked, “Can he be foreign? Makes verification easier to fake.”

She turned to Gunn. “What languages do you speak?” He was staring at her with a bemused look on his face—she’d forgotten to actually tell him her plan. Oops. He gave his head a quick shake, like he was clearing it, and said, “German. French. Some Arabic. German’s most fluent.”

She went back to the phone. “Make him Swiss. From one of the German cantons. They have all those hinky banking laws to hide people’s dirty money.”

Remy said, “One disgusting Swiss child trafficker, coming up. Send me his physical stats. And an ID photo.”

“Use the ones in the law enforcement files. Gunnar Jorgenson.”