Melinda’s Wolves(97)

Which reminded Melinda she had no idea why the woman had returned.

“No, ma’am. It would seem we’ve reached a dead end.” Mitch didn’t elaborate. He shook his head as if the case were closed and it was just too sad they didn’t catch the bad guys.

What the hell?

“Well, I really should get going,” Mitch continued, stepping around the room to reach the front door. “I just wanted to check on Keegan’s progress.” He turned toward Trace. “You’ll call me when he wakes up?”

“Of course,” Trace said as he saw Mitch out.

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell,” Melinda added silently, making Trace flinch.

•●•

Trace turned around as soon as the door shut and glanced from Melinda to Mimi. “What the hell just happened here?”

Melinda collapsed against the couch, her gaze on Mimi. She didn’t ask any questions. She simply waited for her grandmother to speak.

Mimi closed her eyes for several moments, her hands on her lap, palms up. She appeared to be meditating. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at Melinda. “That man was pure evil.”

Trace gasped. “Mitch?” He came around the couch and resumed his seat next to Melinda. “What do you mean? He and Keegan have known each other for years. They’re very close.”

“Don’t know anything about that,” Mimi said. “But he’s full of shit. He didn’t have an honest bone in his body today.”

It was rare for Mimi to cuss. Melinda would have gasped if the situation weren’t so serious. “Why did you come here, Grandma?”

“Thought I left my wallet. Can’t seem to find it in my purse.” She hauled herself off the chair and looked around in the cushions, the same spot she’d sat the last time she’d been there.

The difference was this time Mimi was lying. The woman was no more missing her wallet than she was about to fly to the moon.

“We didn’t see it, Mimi.” Trace said. He stood also and looked around the couch, under the furniture, on the kitchen table. He was the only person in the room not being fake. “Could it have fallen out in your car? Maybe slipped under the seat?”

Mimi smiled and snapped her fingers. “That’s an excellent idea. I should look.”

“I’ll walk you out and help,” Melinda said. “Trace, can you check on Keegan again?”

Trace furrowed his brow. “Don’t you think we would know if he was awake?”

“Just do it. Please.” She followed Mimi out of the house and down the front steps. As soon as they were out of hearing range, she started in on her grandmother. “What’s going on?”

“I had a feeling.”

“Obviously. And?”

“I have no idea, but something dragged me back here like a magnet. It was that man. Keegan’s boss.” Mimi shivered. She grabbed Melinda’s arm too tightly as they walked. “You’re not safe, child.” She stopped at the side of the car and held her granddaughter firmly with both hands now. “I feel a sense of doom you cannot imagine.” Her eyes were wide and full of intense fear.

“Okay. What should we do?” It wasn’t as though Melinda hadn’t felt something similar. She just was so closely involved she couldn’t tell how much of her weird vibe was real and how much was residual fear over the near-death experience of her mate.

“I don’t know, Melinda.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. And I hate it.”

Melinda nodded. “I have both my mates with me. Nothing can possibly happen to us tonight in our own home.”

Mimi nodded, pursing her lips. Unconvinced. “Better pretend to find my wallet under the seat, child. Your man is watching through the window.”

Melinda grinned. “Right.” She rounded to the driver’s side door, opened it, and leaned into the car, tipping her head low. She was surprised to find Mimi’s wallet actually was under the seat. “Got it.” She held it up triumphantly.

Mimi gave her a firm hug and got into the car. “Be careful, my sweet girl.” Her hands shook as she started the engine.

Melinda’s hands shook just as hard as she shut the door.





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Mitch fumbled to make this dreaded phone call.

He was in over his head. He’d never intended to get in so deep that people got killed. But it was way too late now.

He knew exactly what happened to the previous building inspector from a year ago. Whoever the orchestrator of this insanity was, he’d had the man killed. No one had found the body yet.

Intense fear drove Mitch to do as the man said. When he’d received those pictures of the dead building inspector in the mail, he’d vomited his lunch onto the kitchen floor. Thank God his mate hadn’t been home.