Loch was in his office, sitting behind his desk. “You look like ten miles of bad road,” he observed.
“You have a talent for stating the obvious.”
Tate knew Loch was right. He looked terrible, and he felt worse. He couldn’t stop thinking about Kat. He didn’t have her phone number, so he couldn’t call her and explain, but as soon as they’d dealt with the Sinclairs, he planned on heading right over to Imogen’s to apologize and try to talk to her—if only she’d let him.
“Do I?” Loch said irritably. “Okay, here’s some more obvious. You’re acting like an ass, and whatever your problem is, it’s not with me. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. Otherwise, put on your big-boy pants and try to act like you’re all growed up, if you think you can manage that.”
“Sorry,” Tate muttered. Loch was right. He didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of Tate’s snappishness.
He’d spent all night long tossing and turning, and not just because of the raging erection he’d been left with. That was a problem that could have been easily solved, if he’d wanted to. Women came on to him all the time; he could easily have found another woman for a quick roll in the hay. What was really plaguing him was the fear that Kat would never speak to him again.
More and more, he was starting to wonder if she could possibly be his fated mate.
There was no other explanation for it, for the fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and the strong physical reaction he felt every time she was near him. He’d been attracted to women before, sure, and he could still admire a pretty face, but he’d never felt anything like what he felt for Kat. She crowded all rational thought from his mind. It was thrilling and frightening all at the same time—especially frightening considering how little he knew about her.
“Anything I can do to help?” Loch asked.
“Unfortunately, no. This one’s all on me.”
Before Loch could press him any further, the Sinclairs bustled through the front door of the station, and it felt as if the air, cold as it was, suddenly dropped several more degrees in temperature.
Quincy, his sister Aurora, and his sister-in-law Cornelia, Portia’s mother, were there. Loch had specifically asked that they bring in Quincy’s son, Frank Sinclair. They hadn’t. It was clearly a challenge to Loch’s authority.
Or, Tate reflected, it could be because Quincy and his son were known to loathe each other, which gave Tate even less reason to trust Frank. Frank had moved off of pack property as soon as he turned eighteen, and he didn’t work for any of the Sinclair businesses, which was unheard of for most of the Sinclair pack. When someone was too obnoxious even for Quincy Sinclair, one knew they were bad news.
As soon as the Sinclairs walked in to the station, three of Loch’s deputies, who were also members of his pack, walked in to Loch’s office, in a show of solidarity.
The Sinclairs entered the inner office behind the deputies, and Quincy shot Loch a frosty look. “There was no need to bring your pack in here,” he said. “What is the meaning of all this? We are attending your wedding as a courtesy, and we’ve been shown none in return from the moment we arrived in town.”
“Quincy, when you pretend not to know what’s going on, it just wastes everybody’s time,” Loch said. “We asked you to bring Frank with you, and you already know why. We have undercover deputies working security on the Beaudreau property, and he was spotted there last night. When the deputy called out to him, he shifted, and ran into the woods, where he managed to elude law enforcement. The scent trail led to the area where the reception is being held. We also smelled scentsbane, but not enough, clearly, because we could still pick up his trail. Inside the reception hall, we found that someone had spray-painted the walls with curse words involving my family.”
“Strictly circumstantial.” Quincy, who was a lawyer, spoke quickly. “Frank has visited the Beaudreau property several times recently. He could have left his scent then.”
“Why?” Tate growled, his face turned hairy and his eyes glowing. “What the hell is a nineteen-year-old boy doing hanging out at some old mansion? Sight-seeing? He was up to no good, obviously. If he was anywhere near my sister Megan, I’m throwing down a challenge right now.”
Quincy swallowed hard, no doubt aware that the last time Tate had issued a challenge, he’d killed a crazed Alpha.