Page 79 of Hunted

11

River

River: How are you feeling?

Ellie: Exactly the same as when you texted me ten minutes ago.

Nearly a week had passed since Ellie’s exposure to werewolf blood. So far, other than an increase in her texting snark level that could only be tamed with Thai food and Torchy’s Tacos, she wasn’t showing any symptoms. Tonight was the full moon. If she wasn’t showing signs of turning by now, I was pretty sure we were in the clear. That said, I’d already forwarded three potential takeout menus for tonight just in case. Her appetite had been ravenous. When I’d pointed it out, Ellie had growled, reminded me it was that time of the month and to keep the carbs and chocolate coming.

River: Bitten anyone in the lab?

Ellie: Just Jori. She was cool with it, though. I’ve checked my temperature three times this afternoon. It was a little elevated once, but within normal range.

River: Any urges to drive to the nearest barbecue pit and take out two pounds of brisket?

Ellie: Please. We both know my hypothetical werewolf would hunt down every Impossible Burger and chocolate chip milkshake in four counties. Ooo… dinner plan! What time are you meeting with Hayden?

River: Half an hour.

Ellie: Want my advice?

River: Your sister and I can keep from killing each other long enough to drink a cup of coffee.

Ellie: You’re not the one I’m worried about.

River: Listening.

Ellie: Order the biggest, scariest, chocolatiest thing on the menu. Scratch that. Order two of them. You’ll have a fighting chance.

River: 1) I’m pretty sure ‘chocolatiest’ is not a real word. 2) You do realize that I’m a third-degree black belt, right?

Ellie: And don’t forget the whipped cream.

I was ten minutes from the diner where I was meeting Hayden, stopped at the red light hellscape that was South Lamar Boulevard, when August called.

“I’ve been digging through everything I can find on the Rossi family,” he said. “Bank records. Real estate transactions. Medical records. They’re very private. Most everything is done through shell corporations within shell corporations. But reading between the lines, it appears that they were pushed out of their local pack four or five years ago.”

“The whole family?”

“From what I’ve been able to gather, yes.”

“That would fit with the timeline of when Matteo left Europe and applied to the Tracer program. Sounds like someone decided to make him our problem and hoped we’d be so tempted by the prospect of a magic user with his level of power that we’d overlook his anger issues.”

“Does that happen often?” August asked.

“Off the record? Sometimes. But Guillermo and Alek know where to draw the line. They have a pretty good sense of when an applicant has raw potential and just needs training and discipline versus when they’re a loose cannon who will get the rest of the team in trouble. The mission of the Tracers is to serve and protect all the werewolf packs. We don’t want someone on a sadistic power trip, no matter how much magic they can command.”

“So here’s the weird thing,” August continued. “After the Rossi family was pushed out of their local pack and Matteo was rejected from the Tracers, one of their accounts began receiving regular payments from an offshore account. Ordinarily, those are hard to trace. But in this instance, I was familiar with the account’s origin.”

“Guillermo?”

“Yup.”

I swore. “You’re sure?”

“Looks like he’s been paying them roughly two thousand dollars a month in U.S. currency. So far, other than that and the safe house, I don’t have anything else.”

“That’s really helpful. Thanks, August.”