I pulled out my cell phone and caught him at the taco shop.
“Can you call the Pack for me? Have them meet at the barn in an hour.”
“Sure thing, Adam. Everything okay?”
I glanced down the barn aisle at the Jeep. “Just get everyone over here, all right?”
I knew he was curious, but I couldn’t talk about what happened to Gabe over the phone. I jammed my cell back in my pocket. Anxious to keep my mind occupied, I started filling the grain buckets. We lined them up in the same order as the stalls in the barn. Each horse had his own mixture of feed. Some got extra oats for energy, while the younger horses needed more weight and less spunk so they got barley-corn and some bran. Each horse also got a handful of Natural Glo vitamin supplement, and for the show horses we added a dash of linseed oil to help keep their coats soft and smooth.
Carrying the grain buckets down the barn aisle instantly made me the most popular guy in the place. The horses pranced around their stalls, shaking their heads, nickering and stamping at the ground. I fed Bruce first, dumping the grain into his large, black feed bucket. He lowered his head to snatch up a bite, and then stared at me with intelligent eyes while he ground up the goodies. Horses were excellent listeners.
I stepped up to pat his neck.
“We lost Gabe today.” My voice started to waver. I cleared my throat. “I’m going to find out who killed him, Bruce. I won’t stop until I find him.”
I didn’t know how complicated that promise was about to become.
Chapter Five
Lana
Five hours later, Adam still hadn’t called. My stomach growled, reminding me I skipped lunch. Gnawing at a cuticle on my index finger, I stared at my silent cell phone. My rental car was still at the diner, and the guys in the gray jump suits could be anywhere. Maybe I could order room service.
Or I could get a grip and figure out what was going on with me. Who were those guys and what was Nero? Nero couldn’t just be another mental asylum back east. It was something more sinister with gun toting, tattooed, trained teams, and somehow I had been connected since I was a baby. I clenched my fists. I couldn’t just hide out in my room waiting for someone to save me. Besides, I was usually pretty good at saving myself.
Until last night.
I tossed a glare at my phone and headed for the bathroom. Brushing out my hair, I stared into the mirror. Could my parents tell I was different at birth? Adam told me shape-shifting was inherited. They must have been shifters too.
And then there was the tattoo. That lion’s head with an “N” emblazoned on the forehead was forever burned into my mind. When I was old enough, one of my social workers gave me the sweatshirt I’d been found in. It was unmarked, not even a tag in the back of the neck, but it bore the same insignia tattooed on the gunman.
Whoever these guys were, my parents must have been connected.
For most of my life, I’d tried not to think much about them. Through my teen years anger kept me from searching, but as time passed, my anger faded to indifference. Being bitter was a waste of energy.
But if they were shifters like me, why would they get rid of me? They had to know it would be a bad idea to leave me alone with humans.
I snatched up a black rubber band and quickly pony-tailed my hair while I tried to keep the emotions at bay. It would be easy to imagine scenarios of a sobbing mother, who had no choice but to leave me. But I steeled myself for reality. Whatever the reasons, they hadn’t wanted me.
I slid my cell phone it into my pocket and grabbed my coat. It was time to find out more about where I came from. With room key in hand, I headed for the elevator. When the doors opened on the ground floor I caught a whiff of the lobby restaurant, and my belly groaned for food. I could eat later. The library might not be open if I ate first.
The concierge helped me with a map, and I headed out toward the downtown library. They’d have more reference materials about child services than I could find on Google anyway. I needed a contact who would be able to dig into my sealed juvenile case file, or better yet, get a copy so I could go through it myself. Maybe I’d get lucky and be able to track down some information on Nero, too.
The cool evening air soothed my skin as I maneuvered through the throngs of people. If I could get to the library before they closed, I could get copies of child welfare laws for San Antonio and maybe track down a licensed PI in Texas all in one trip. The sooner I could find out if they had any record of my birth parents, the closer I’d be to some answers.
In the past when I used private investigators for articles, I found out I worked better with the old-school detectives. Too many of the PIs who advertised on the internet tended to only use the internet for their digging. I could use Google better than most people, so if I was going to pay for help to track down my birth parents, then I wanted someone who had friends and connections in San Antonio Children and Family Services.
That’s where I had been abandoned—Texas—and I spent my childhood floating from foster home to foster home. There were plenty of horror stories out there about being a ward of the state, but I’d never known any other way to live. For me, moving to a new school, new friends, a new house, it was the way my life had always been. The only resentment I felt was toward my parents who gave me to the State of Texas in the first place, but I boxed up that rejection and kept it in a dark corner of my memories. Until now.
The library was a stern brick building in the heart of Reno. The front was lined with glass windows and large glass doors. Although the lights were still on inside, when I tugged on the brass handle, the doors were locked.
“Damn!” Now that I’d finally admitted I needed to start the search for my parents, I didn’t want to wait. When I spun around to leave, I nearly smacked into a tall man with dark eyes, olive-colored skin, and black shoulder-length hair.
“Sorry about that,” I said, veering to my right.
“Not a problem,” he replied, nodding toward the library. “Is it already closed?”
“Looks that way.”
He looked past me to the doors. “Too bad.”
I offered a half-hearted smile and went on my way. I could check with the library tomorrow, though patience was not one of my virtues. Ugh! Maybe I could distract myself with food. My stomach growled, apparently a fan of my new plan.
When I rounded the corner, I caught the scent of something…different. Adam had encouraged me to trust my heightened senses, so I checked back over my shoulder. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. I wiped at my nose, hopefully hiding the fact that I was sniffing the air. There was a definite scent, earthy but clean. It seemed out of place on this busy street in downtown Reno when so many of the people reeked of perfumes, aftershaves, and body odor.
Shaking my head, I walked back toward my hotel. After I got some food in my stomach, I’d call a cab and see about getting back to the diner for my car. By morning I could be back on the road.
A flash of Adam’s green eyes filled my mind with an echo of his words. Don’t disappear on me.
Regret stabbed at my heart, but I forced it down. I was making the right choice. I could get the car, exchange it in case the Nero guys had my plate number, and head for Texas to dig up more on who my shifter parents might be.
A block from the hotel I caught a whiff of garlic and marinara. My mouth watered, and I wandered into the lobby restaurant.
Halfway through my lasagna, I caught the scent again. A chill ran up my spine. My senses were on full alert, but after glancing around the restaurant, I had no idea why. Nothing seemed out of place. I didn’t recognize anyone. No one was staring at me, or looked angry or upset, and thankfully no men in riot gear.