Wolf at the Door

chapter Twelve



Rachael walked into Cain’s office, her nose in Minnesota for Morons. She hadn’t meant to let the book capture her, but Cain had kept her waiting, so she had pulled it out and then . . . and then . . . and then Cain’s assistant really hollered and Rachael realized Cain was ready for their meeting.

“You know,” she said, engrossed, “Stillwater might be very nice. It’s old, comparably speaking. And the river looks so pretty.”

“Consider visiting. Now.”

That got her head up in a hurry. Anger. Fear. Anxiety.

She snapped the book closed. “What’s wrong?”

Cain was behind her desk, pinching the bridge of her nose. She looked like she hadn’t changed her clothes in three days. She, ah, smelled like it, too.

“A public relations nightmare. That is what’s wrong.” Cain stopped pinching and looked up. “I’m sorry. There have been some murders.”

“Local?”

“Yes.”

“Pack?”

Cain blanched. “Good God, I don’t think so. That’s all we need, dead Pack members popping up right when the Pack leader’s cousin gets to town. Michael would be so pleased.”

Rachael snorted. Pleased wasn’t the word that leapt to her mind when wondering about Michael Wyndham’s reaction to a Pack murder spree. What constitutes a spree, anyway? She said murders, plural. Two? Is two a spree?

“You’re jammed,” she guessed.

“Extremely.”

“You could have called . . . we didn’t have to meet today.”

“We did have to meet today, Rachael. I’m sorry to have to tell you . . . this is going to sound a little odd, but the two victims were on a list of small business owners who are looking for an accountant.” Cain coughed. “A list I had drawn up for you and was prepared to give to you this morning.” Cain slid the list across her desk. “I strongly advise you not waste your time calling Mr. Stewart or Ms. Janesboro.”

Less than a week?

A WEEK?

Cuz, you are in for the spanking of your life if I ever get back to the Cape.

“And we don’t validate parking.” Rachael had been using the parking stub for a bookmark. “Sorry.”

A never-ending nightmare.