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Finn’s voice trembles. “Who else was with her?” He turns on me, and the look in his eyes is pure devastation.
“Her kids,” I say, my lips tugging up at the memory of the little spit-and-vinegar brunette in rainbow pajamas and the brave little warrior who was trying his best to protect them.
He narrows his eyes, and I know that look of determination. It’s the same one he gets when studying a hunk of wood and deciding on the best way to carve it into his newest creation. “But no mate?”
“Not with her.” I run my hand over my hair, at a loss for how exactly I’m supposed to fix this at three in the morning.
Or ever, if she’s mated.
His eyes narrow, my omega zeroing in on me like a bird of prey. “Then it looks like we have homework to do. Inside. Tell me everything.”
It’s hours and a homemade raspberry tart later before I can convince Finn to give up the chase until tomorrow.
My truck idles across the street from what I suspect is Cammie’s house. Despite Cliff’s warning, no car is in the drive. The small bungalow looks squat between two large Victorian estates. The yard could use a mow, and a few toys line the grass beyond the sidewalk, but that’s normal when we’re coming up on summer. I park on the street.
Peering into the drawn window, I wait for someone to answer the bell. I can’t get a good look at much; it’s just a front hall jam-packed with shoes and toys. There are no scents of alphas though. Only Cammie’s ripe raspberry and sweet bakery mixed in with the neutral scents all kids have before their secondary gender presentation.
That doesn’t mean much. Her mate or mates could be away doing anything that requires travel. That would explain why she looked as though she needed a snuggle, a nap, a bubble bath, and a good cry. My heart aches at the memory of her turning away from me, refusing my escort home.
And here I am, stalking her like some creep.
I knock once more, waiting another minute before turning around and eyeing the street. It’s almost time for my shift, which means I won’t solve this mystery right now. I leave a note on her door instructing her to call me if she has any more trouble with Cliff.
At the station, I shift gears, falling into routines as we change out teams. My mind focuses on work, but even after we run twelve medicals and two wrecks, one involving a car fire on the highway, I’m not able to shake the gnawing sense of urgency that tells me I need to solve the puzzle that is Cammie Cooper.
“What’s up with you today, man?” Spencer calls as we unload used gear and equipment off our engine. “Your focus is shit.”
He looks at me quizzically, shaking out his dark hair, damp with sweat. He’s four years my senior and the lieutenant on our engine. We’ve been good friends since we started working together almost a decade ago. He’s solid, even if he cheats in Monopoly and snores like a freight train. It’s no wonder he noticed something was off.
“Sorry, man. Rough night.”
“Is Finn okay? You need me to buy you dinner before you spread those lips and tell me what the fuck that means?” Spencer asks.
“Finn is great, and I never put out on a first date,” I deadpan. “But I won’t say no to a juicy steak.”
Chase, the rookie on our crew, snorts. He’s a baby, clocking in at age twenty-two, but even with his surfer looks and attitude, he’s proven competent in the last three months since he started in the jump seat.
The front bumper line is nasty with oil from where it leaked across the hose during the car fire, so we hose down and rack the line, setting it out to dry.
Finally, my curiosity gets the better of me. “You know anything about Cammie Cooper?”
“No. Should I?” Spencer asks.
“I met her last night but haven’t seen her in town before.”
Spencer looks at me, gaze shrewd. “She pack potential?”
“Don’t know yet.”
He nods thoughtfully.
“She has kids. Maybe a mate.”
Chase whistles. “A mate? How is that possible if you think she’s yours?”
“It’s possible,” Spencer tells him. “But it sounds like you’re still gearing up to win her?”
“Depends,” I say, trying to be rational about the whole thing. But the word is followed by a protesting growl that leaps from my chest.
