“The day I wouldn’t let you go back for your bag.”
Sometime around age eight, I’d started keeping a backpack of anything that really mattered. A teddy bear. A picture of some woman Hank claimed was my mom. A plastic figure of a knight on a white horse and a handful of small bills pilfered from Hank’s wallet. As I got older, the cash increased and the contents of the bag changed, but it was always packed and ready. No matter what Hank was running from, there was always time to at least grab the backpack.
Until one day there wasn’t.
That had been at least six months before he ditched me in Hemlock. Six months when he had hidden the fact that he was infected. “You always were good at lying,” I said softly.
The office door creaked open and Eve walked in without knocking. She didn’t hover on the threshold, she just crossed the room, her heavy boots muffled by the thick rugs on the floor. Like Hank, she didn’t match the surroundings but looked completely at home.
“I told you to wait in the bar.”
The glare Hank leveled at her would have made hardened criminals crumble, but she just shrugged. “Figured you’d want to know they put the Tracker and the two wolves in the storeroom.” A strand of scarlet hair fell over her face and she absently pushed it aside. “Heath was worried some of the wolves might challenge your orders.”
“Orders I wouldn’t have had to give if you hadn’t let them inside.”
A blush darkened Eve’s cheeks. “Sorry. I thought you’d want to see her.” But she didn’t sound sorry, and the look Hank shot her made it clear he thought she should be.
Sorry. Sorry for letting us inside. Sorry for making me his problem.
My eyes burned. I wasn’t his problem. I wasn’t anyone’s problem. All I needed was for Hank to hand over my friends and show us the door. After that, he’d never have to see me again.
“Do something useful and take her back to the house. The wolves can stay with the Tracker until I figure out what to do with them.”
I was on my feet in an instant. “You’re not doing anything with them. Jason and Serena were with me. All we wanted was to find Kyle and get out.”
“You expect me to believe a Tracker is friends with two werewolves?”
“I told you: he’s not a Tracker. He left them before going through with the initiation.”
Eve’s gaze ping-ponged between the two of us as she twisted the leather band over the scars on her wrist. She stood close to Hank—closer than he let most people get—and I realized she knew his history. She knew who he really was. “That’s why you let us in,” I said, staring at her. “You recognized my name.”
She shrugged. “Wouldn’t have if I’d realized you were with a Tracker.”
“He’s not—”
Before I could repeat myself, a shrill ring tone cut through the air. Hank hauled a phone from his pocket and glanced at the display before answering. “What?”
He listened for a moment, then, “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
He hung up and stood. To Eve, he said, “A group of Trackers caught a wolf out near Elitch Gardens. The wolf’s alive. Barely.”
Eve swallowed. “One of ours?”
Hank walked around the desk. “They’re having trouble identifying him, but they think so.”
He took my arm and steered me to the door. Eve trailed us out of the office and down the corridor. “I’m coming with you,” she said.
“No. If it’s a hunting party, they might still be in the area.” Hank paused and turned to pull open a steel door that I hadn’t noticed earlier. He pushed me over the threshold and I caught a glimpse of Kyle, Jason, and Serena before I whirled back to face him.
Hank’s eyes flickered to Jason, then locked on mine. They were cold and impossible to read. “I’ll be back soon.”
Eve suddenly reached around him and went for my pocket. Before I could jerk away, my phone was in her palm. “Can’t let the Tracker call anyone,” she said as she handed it to Hank.
The door slammed shut.
I tried the knob. We were locked in.
I don’t know how long I stared at the closed door. Long enough for Kyle to stand. Long enough for him to cross the room and put a hand on my shoulder.
“Mac?”
I barely heard him over the roaring in my head.
I’d had so many fantasies about confronting my father. But in not one of them had Hank saved me from a pack of werewolves only to dump me in a locked room while he took care of things that were more important.
I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath.
An apology. That’s what he had wanted from that girl. “For having to deal with me,” I whispered.
“Mac? Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” Kyle’s voice became increasingly insistent as the touch on my shoulder fell away.
I wanted to answer him, but my throat was clogged with all of the things I should have said back in the office. A cold black wave rose up as my hand curled into a fist. I lashed out, aiming for the door even though my eyes were closed.
The impact came too soon and was too soft.
My eyes sprang open. Jason stood in front of me, his palm a barrier between my hand and the metal. His lip was split and swollen, but other than that and the torn shirt, he looked all right. Better than seemed probable.
“If you’re going to hit something, hit something a little softer.” He closed his hand around mine, cradling my clenched fist. “Trust me. I’ve had plenty of practice.”
He glanced at Kyle and then quickly dropped my hand and put some distance between us.
Kyle shot Jason a look I couldn’t decipher, before focusing on me. Gently, he tugged the shredded fabric of my shirt and jacket aside and ran his fingers over my neck and shoulder. Relief flashed across his face. “Back in the pool room . . . I couldn’t tell if you had been scratched.”
“Don’t worry,” I said, voice stretched thin as I rubbed my sleeve over my eyes. “Plenty of wounds. None physical.”
“The guy who dragged you out of there,” said Serena, “Curtis? You called him ‘Hank.’”
I turned. She was sitting on a cot in the corner, surrounded by boxes and busted bar stools. A ripped futon mattress hugged the opposite wall. The only source of illumination was a bare bulb screwed over a stained sink, and the room’s one window was boarded up tight.