Emily “Tock” Lepstein-Jackson kept walking through the crowd, not looking at the man who’d bumped into her. Instead, she waited until she reached a porta potty. She didn’t go in. She couldn’t do that. She went around it and stopped between the porta potty and the six-foot security fence to look at the piece of paper in her hand.
This sort of thing hadn’t happened in a while, because she wasn’t working for anyone. Well, she wasn’t working for any government. She did work for the shifter nation. That’s where her true loyalty lay. Governments were changeable entities—one day a democratic paradise, the next a totalitarian nightmare. She didn’t want to end up on the wrong side of history, so she gave her loyalty to the one group that hadn’t changed in thousands of years. Shifters. Their only goal was to keep their kind safe and able to thrive. They never wanted to be science experiments. They didn’t want to be hunted for trophies. They didn’t want to be sex toys for those who thought they were “exotic.” And they definitely didn’t want to end up as steaks on some full-human’s dinner plate.
That was a belief system Tock could get behind. And an employer who didn’t sneakily shove pieces of paper into her hand in the middle of a street party thrown in honor of her teammate Mads’s grandmother. She was in Detroit with her four teammates and some big cats to relax. To eat amazing food, to get in a little street ball, maybe to flirt a bit with the local cutie pies. Not to be part of some covert operation that could get her—
“Shit.”
Tock crumpled the paper, pulled out a lighter she only used for this sort of thing because she didn’t smoke, and set the paper on fire. She held it between her thumb and forefinger until it had burned down to the tiniest scrap. Her fingers hurt a little from the flame, but they’d heal soon enough.
She dropped the remaining scrap and came around the porta potty, pulling out her phone and sending a quick text to her teammates: Gotta run. See you back in Manhattan. Won’t miss practice.
The last line was specifically for her teammate Mads. She knew that would be Mads’s first question. Their pro shifter team, the Wisconsin Butchers, was headed to the finals, and her friend wouldn’t let anything get between them and possibly winning this year’s championship. Because when it came to basketball, Mads was a little . . . obsessive. She’d always been that way, though. Since the day Tock had met her. The girl loved basketball. It made sense when Tock thought about it. Basketball was Mads’s “safe space.” A place no one could touch her. Literally. The girl practically had wings on her feet. No matter how horrible Mads’s family was to her—and they had always been fucking horrible—they couldn’t say anything to make her feel insecure about basketball. Because Mads was that good.
Of course, Tock wasn’t a bad ball player either. She just didn’t take it as seriously as Mads did. Tock did like winning, though. She was very good at winning. She even had a little “we beat your ass” dance.
She really shouldn’t put herself at risk—which meant possibly risking the championship—but she knew that there were times in life when you couldn’t ignore a request. Even when you really wanted to.
Away from the street party, Tock quickly found the car that was waiting for her. All the information she needed had been on that slip of paper: the car she would drive to the airport about an hour away; the private jet she’d take back to the East Coast; and an inkling of what she’d be doing once she got there.
She slipped her hand under the back left wheel well of the car until she could feel the key stuck to the metal. Pulling it out, she wirelessly unlocked the door and started the engine.
Tock walked to the driver’s side door and opened it.
“Where ya going?”
Startled, she glanced up at the big cat leaning against the passenger side of the car while he ate a Jamaican beef patty out of a greasy paper bag.
“What are you doing?” she snapped. “Why are you following me?”
She was at least a mile from the party. He had to have been following her!
He shrugged. “Just curious.” While still eating, he held out the greasy paper bag to her. “Patty? They’re really good. I’ve already had, like, eight.”
“Cats,” Tock sighed.
*
Shay Malone watched the honey badger. She was glaring at him, but he wasn’t sure why. He hadn’t really done anything. He was just curious whether she was stealing this really nice car. A brand-new Mercedes-Benz that easily cost over a hundred grand was not something someone just picked up as a rental. And who left the key under the tire?
People up to no good. That was who.
And honey badgers were always up to no good, weren’t they? At least from what he’d seen so far.
Tock leaned across the roof of the car and snarled, “Go. Away.”
“Are you stealing this car?” he asked. “That is so not cool.”
“No.”
“I know it’s a rich person’s car but that doesn’t mean you can just take it. That’s wrong. Stealing is wrong.”
“I’m not stealing anything.”
“If you’re not stealing, what are you doing?”
“I have to take care of something. Alone.”
“Okay. I’ll just tell Mads that you drove off in a car that’s not yours and you keep whispering. In the middle of Detroit.”
Tock immediately glanced at the watch on her wrist. It was a big watch and looked very expensive. Maybe a boyfriend’s watch. He didn’t know. He’d never asked.
“Fine.” She glared at him. “Get in.”
Luckily, the car was a sedan and not a small, two-door nothing that his legs could barely fit in, much less his shoulders.
Once inside, with the doors and windows closed, Tock said, “I have to go help someone. I’m not stealing anything. This car was left for me.”
“Wait . . . should I get Mads and the oth—”
“No.” She closed her eyes again and let out a breath. “I don’t want them involved.”
“Why not?”
“That’s my business. Now get out.”
Shay thought a few seconds before replying, “Nah.”
“What do you mean, ‘nah’?”
“I mean, nah. I’m not going anywhere. If you’re not going to have your friends backing you up, you should at least have me. I’m helpful.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“Either I go or I get Mads. And when she hears you’re doing something dangerous alone so close to the championships . . .”
Tock gripped the steering wheel with both hands and began taking in breaths through her nose and blowing them out through her mouth.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s a calming technique that will hopefully prevent me from beating you to death.”
What was disturbing was how calmly she made that statement. Only her gripping hands and red knuckles told him how pissed she was at the moment.
“I’m just trying to—”
“Stop saying you’re trying to help. You’re just being a pain in the ass.”
Shay didn’t say anything. He simply stared at her until she turned her head, her eyes going wide.
“Are you about to cry?” she asked.
“No.” And he wasn’t. “But my feelings are hurt.”
“Cats don’t have feelings.”
“Yes, we do. And you’ve hurt mine. But I’ve made a commitment—I’m going with you. Despite your cruel words. That were so hurtful to me.”