Jamie let out a howling laugh. Shaking his head, he sprang off into the woods, making himself scarce. Bowman growled, and Kenzie gave him an impish look.
“What?” she asked, one hip canted. The crash helmet made her look sexy as hell.
She was still making him pay for the vet sitting on his bed and rubbing his leg, was she? Bowman increased his growl, which Kenzie pretended to ignore.
Two could play at that game, Bowman decided, his heartbeat speeding heat straight to his groin. If Kenzie wanted the payback challenge, he’d meet it. And he’d show her he played to win.
* * *
To Kenzie’s surprise, Bowman agreed to let the cop, Gil Ramirez, into the house. No arranging a neutral location like the coffeehouse a half mile outside Shiftertown. Bowman gave Ramirez directions when he called Kenzie’s phone, and opened the door himself when Ramirez arrived.
But then, this was Bowman’s territory. He liked to control it like he controlled everything else.
“Ramirez,” Bowman said. He didn’t offer to shake hands or make pleasantries; he simply filled the doorway, staring down at the man before he took one step back and moved so Ramirez could enter.
Welcome to my territory, he was saying. I’ll honor you as a guest as long as you leave my mate and cub alone, don’t nose in my business, and don’t make me want to kill you.
Ryan was still at Cade’s for the cookout Cade was having tonight. Ryan had gone on the zip line a couple more times, and Kenzie had followed to keep an eye on him, leaving Bowman to wait less than patiently for them at the bottom.
Bowman was on edge, and in pain, Kenzie could tell, but he’d let Ryan have his fun when he could have simply grabbed his son by the scruff and dragged him home. He’d agreed to let Ryan stay behind under Cade’s and Jamie’s supervision, knowing he’d be well looked after by the trackers.
Bowman also didn’t want Ryan here when the cop came—Kenzie understood that.
True to his word, Ramirez wasn’t in his uniform, wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a leather jacket against the increasing cold. The mild day was at an end.
Ramirez gave Kenzie a nod as he shucked his jacket. “Kenzie.”
“Gil,” Kenzie answered.
She took the jacket and hung it up for him, because that was what humans did. The wife in a traditional human household, she’d gleaned from television, was a hostess who made the guest comfortable and her husband look good—a custom Shifters didn’t always share. The male Shifter and his mate stood side by side against any stranger, keeping him from invading their home. They wouldn’t care about the invader’s comfort.
Bowman shot Kenzie a look, both because she’d taken the coat and because she’d called the man Gil. Bowman’s gaze burned her as she finished hanging the jacket on the wooden coat rack in the front hall.
“Won’t you sit down?” Kenzie asked, gesturing to the couches in the living room. Bowman, behind Gil’s back, rolled his eyes.
“Why don’t you get him a beer, honey?” Bowman asked, the snarl in the words ruining his imitation of a TV husband.
Gil, oblivious to their tension, shook his head as he sat down. “Nothing for me, thanks. I have a long drive back, and I don’t get behind the wheel after even one drink.”
Kenzie walked past Bowman and sat on the end of the couch Gil had taken. “That’s wise,” she said. “What a good cop would do.”
Gil’s intelligent eyes fixed on her. “Yeah, that’s what I think.”
Kenzie only smiled at him. Bowman sank down on the other sofa, hiding his grimace of pain. He pretended to be relaxed, but he was ready to spring at any sign of danger.
Kenzie ran her hand along the sofa’s muted brown fabric, taking comfort from it. She’d redone the living room not long ago, finding soft but sturdy furniture in the earthy colors she liked, adding splashes of bright red and deep blue in pillows and pictures for contrast. The two couches were chunky instead of elegant, but they had deep cushions and were oh so comfortable.
Bowman had declared he didn’t like them, but the day after Kenzie had found them at the closeout store and had Cade haul them home in his truck, Bowman had fallen asleep on one, Ryan curled on his chest. Both males had been sleeping deeply. Kenzie had snapped some pictures. For blackmail, she’d told Bowman when she’d shown him the printed photos. He’d grown furious, chasing her and pinning her to snatch the pictures away, which had led to some of the best sex she’d ever had.
“So,” Kenzie asked, giving Gil a warm smile. “What news do you have for us?”
Gil turned his body to include both Kenzie and Bowman in the conversation. Wise man. “I looked into Kenzie’s idea that a truck had picked up the . . . whatever it was . . . and drove it out of there. There aren’t any traffic cams in that remote an area, and satellite feed is iffy. But I was able to look at cameras at traffic lights in the towns around there. An eighteen-wheeler rolled through Asheville just after one in the morning, which was twenty minutes after you say the attack was over.”
Bowman sat forward, adjusting his leg at the last minute so it would not bend too sharply. “You get a plate? Company the truck was from?”
Kenzie broke in. “Did it say ‘We Move Monsters’ on the side?”
Gil chuckled; Bowman scowled. “No such luck. I got a partial plate. The truck was black, both container and cab. Hard to see at night, but still distinctive. People remember glossy black eighteen-wheelers. Took me a while, but I think I found it. The owner has a trucking company in Raleigh, but when I contacted them, they said the truck had been stolen about a year ago. They already have the insurance money for it, and didn’t care what happened to it, but they did give me the name of the last driver. I checked him out—he’s dropped out of sight, but he did own property around here. I went up there to check it out. Found the truck, but no monster, as you probably guessed.”