Roger squeezed my hand. “I’m glad they didn’t. It’s notimpossible that she got away on her own. If you were under attack because of her, she might have thought the best course was getting out and away, getting you in the clear. Hopefully, she’ll call once she’s somewhere safe.”
Petra whistled, tilted her screen to us to show a photo of the scene that had been shared online. Spotlights had been set up casting garish shadows on the gutted gate. “Who has this kind of power?” Petra asked.
“I don’t know,” Roger said. “But we’ll find out.”
And hopefully before they hurt anyone else.
***
I was tired and desperate, so I opted for waiting room coffee. It was not good. I added enough sugar and creamer to make it almost drinkable, then settled in to let the caffeine do its work.
By the time I turned around again, he was just... there.
Connor Keene, prince of the North American Central Pack. And very much mine.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark wavy hair and brilliantly blue eyes. A lock of hair curled superheroically over his forehead, and even the teenage girl in me—who thought the teenage Connor was an irritating punk—sighed a little.
Part of that was just his intense sexiness; he was powerfully handsome. Part of it was love. I hadn’t planned on falling for a guy who’d driven me crazy when we were younger. But feelings were unpredictable that way.
He strode toward me, ignoring the stares of the nurses who watched him like he was a very expensive meal they were extremely ready to devour. He had that effect on people, and it probably didn’t hurt that he was wearing workout gear: black sneakers, black shorts, and a sleeveless black technical shirt that showed off plenty of muscle.
Lulu came in behind him, still wearing her ensemble from the art show.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Roger said, “but I made a call.”
“Not at all,” I said.
Connor reached me, put his hands on my face, concern darkening his blue eyes. I heard the nurses across the room sighing.
“You’re all right?” he asked.
“I’m fine,” I said. “Theo’s still being treated.”
Lulu was next in line for a hug.
“Did you ditch your party?” I asked.
“It was winding down,” she said with a smile, “so I took an Auto. This is more important.”
Given how much she loathed supernatural drama, it meant that much more that she’d come. “Thank you,” I said.
“So, what the hell happened?” she asked.
“Long story short, ghosts and a missing informant.”
“Ghosts?” Connor asked.
“Yeah, of the human and canine varieties. So if you have any sway with your ghostly brethren, tell them I’m pissed.”
“Did you get bitten?”
“No. It was the human ghosts that did the damage. They could pack a punch. And we think they took Rose.”
Connor squeezed my hand. “We’ll get her back.”
A woman emerged from a treatment area. She wore a white jacket over brilliantly purple scrubs and came toward us with a businesslike stride. She looked enough like Petra that they might have been sisters. This must be the doctor-cousin.
She reached us, gave us an evaluating look. “I’m Dr.Anderson. I’m helping Mr.Martin.”