“I’ve told him about you,” I said, setting my keys on the counter. “He once asked if I ever planned on making this a chain, and I mentioned your location. I told him I had the best manager known to man running that shop.”
April beamed with pride and swung her gaze up, admiring the paintings on the walls. They were mostly items I’d bought on sale—images of Parisian bistros and European street scenes.
“So you’re Atticus Rain, cookie maker and bodyguard.”
He smiled and casually leaned back on his elbows. “It has a nice ring to it. I just hope my pointy fangs won’t affect business.”
“How do you keep those retracted so they look normal?” she asked.
Atticus winked. “Magic.”
I chewed on my lip and stood next to him. “Izzy’s going to show you how to run the cash register in case we ever need you to hold down the fort. Anyone who has a problem with you working in my store can find another place that makes lemon cake as good as I do.”
“Good luck with that,” April said. “So how do we know you’re a good bodyguard? Have you ever worked as one before?”
He averted his eyes and began pinching one of his dark eyebrows. “No. Would you mind if I look around your kitchen?”
“Go on,” I said. “I’ll be back there in a second to show you what I do.” After he circled the counter and left us alone, I gave April an apologetic glance. “I know I asked you to come along and help me out, but if you don’t want to, then you can sit out here and read a book while I show him the ropes. Trevor keeps an e-reader in the locked cabinet behind the register.”
“Are you sure hiring him is a good idea?” she whispered.
“He can probably hear you,” I said. “And the more I think about it, yeah, I do. Eventually I’m going to balloon out and won’t be able to work. Then I’ll have the baby to take care of for a while, so there’s no way Trevor and Izzy can keep up with all the prepping, baking, and running the store. Naya’s hooked Wheeler up with some of her clients who need financial advisors, so I really don’t have an extra hand. On top of that, I still have clientele who order large volumes for their businesses, and I can’t afford to lose them. If Atticus doesn’t catch on, then I’ll hire someone else. But I need a dedicated worker to keep this business afloat.”
“Jeez. When did we get so old?” she asked on a sigh, propping her chin in the palm of her hand. “If we didn’t have to make money, I’d be perfectly happy.”
I laughed and went to lock the door. “Until you can figure out the magic spell to fill our bank account with enough money to last us the next eight centuries, we’re stuck with jobs.”
“Well, at least I won’t have to work as many years as you will.” She chuckled whimsically, but the thought tugged at my heartstrings.
When I approached the door, my breath caught. In the middle of the road beneath a dim light cast from the streetlamp, a woman was lying on her stomach, her blond hair caught in the wind and her right arm outstretched toward me.
I swung the door open and ran as fast as my feet could carry me. “Call the police! Someone’s been hit by a car!”
“Lexi!” April shouted from behind.
My heart raced. I’d seen idiots drive down this street a million times without yielding to pedestrians.
As I neared the woman, she suddenly sat up and smiled. That’s when a swell of terror came over me. She was bait, and this was a trap.
When I heard the bell jingle on the door, I turned to warn April. As I did, I spotted at least five wolves surrounding me.
“April, no!” I screamed. “Go back inside!”
She hesitated at the curb, confused until she noticed a black wolf baring his canines at her.
Atticus rushed through the open doorway like death’s shadow, snapping the rogue’s neck before he could lunge. Another wolf scurried into the shop, and Atticus lifted April onto the hood of my car as if she weighed nothing. April warily looked around at the flickers of movement cloaked in darkness.
As I turned, the blonde was backing up, a smug grin on her face as she settled in the embrace of a guy who could have easily passed as one of Axel’s biker buddies, with his leather jacket and fingerless gloves. His eyebrows and mustache were darker than the short beard on his chin, and his nose was crooked. A few tattoos were creeping out from his collar and up his neck.
“Southern girls are always so polite… so gullible,” she said on a giggle.
My heart was a banging drum, and when I backed up a step, I bumped into Atticus.
“What’s your business?” he asked the biker, his voice firm.
The leader replied, “A friend of ours is missing. We thought the bitch might know something.”
“What makes you think I would know a damn thing?” I snapped.
He smiled and tipped his head to the side, not giving me the answer we both already knew. He must have picked up the scent on our land and did the math. “You’re the Packmaster’s bitch, aren’t you?”
Atticus’s fingertips tightened around my arms.