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“Would you mind picking up the order for me?”

I furrow my brow. “You want me to drive out to Sweet Kettle Farm?”

It’s about twenty miles west. Extremely close to the Whiterose-Blackburn border.

But it’s also broad daylight and, again, I’m sure that Rowan is just being extremely melodramatic about what he allegedly witnessed during his patrol.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Tim says. “It’d be a huge help to me. The bar will be fine. I’d do it myself, but I’ve got to deal with some payroll bullshit. We got that new software, remember? Can’t seem to puzzle through it, but payday is coming for y’all and—”

“It’s fine,” I cut in, as politely as I can manage. “Don’t worry about it.”

With a sigh of relief, Tim tosses me the keys to his pickup. I tug off my apron and chuck it behind the bar.

A few minutes later, I’m on the open road.

It’s a beautiful day outside. We’re having a false spring right on schedule now in early March. It’s warm and sunny, and even though everyone knows we’ll get another long period of chilly mist before real spring comes along, the good weather lifts my spirits.

It doesn’t make me optimistic enough to believe that everything will be totally okay, but it does make the weight on my shoulders feel a little lighter.

The back country roads are, as usual, fairly deserted. A couple of cars rumble along lazily behind me, but it’s just me and my thoughts in the cab of Tim’s dusty, rickety Ford.

Noah is safe and happy in school right now, and Rowan is God-knows-where. I should relish the solitude and appreciate it for what it’s worth, but there’s a weird prickling sensation on the back of my neck. Almost like I’m being watched.

Except, one glance in the rearview mirror tells me there’s nobody else for miles.

But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not as alone as it seems. Not even when I pull into the main driveway of Sweet Kettle Farm and there isn’t another soul in sight.

I kill the engine and peer out the window at the big, old barn stationed at the mouth of the drive. It’s huge and a little dilapidated, with a rotting roof that’s sinking in the middle. The little sign that reads Eggs-Milk-Butter swings lazily in the pleasant breeze.

Nobody comes out to greet me, but maybe Tim forgot to let them know that I’d be stopping by today instead of Dane.

I hop out of the truck and wander toward the barn. The massive doors are hanging open, and it looks brightly lit inside, so I make my way in and hope to find a staff member experiencing as slow of a Monday morning as I was back in town.

Except the barn is empty. Nothing is there but hay and stacks of boxes, and a couple of stray chickens pecking about. There’s no sign of the supplies that I’ve been sent to collect for The Diner.

“Hello?” I call out.

No answer.

I wander further into the barn.

“Is anyone here?”

Still no answer.

My neck prickles again.

There’s a shuffle of footsteps behind me, but before I can turn around, something strikes me on the side of the head.

Chapter 20

Rowan

I had to leave my sentinel position in Alina’s driveway early this morning to make it back to Greenbriar territory in time to meet with my father and his Betas for our usual biweekly roundtable.

Most of the time, it’s a boring process to sit through. Running a pack isn’t all fun and games. There’s a lot of financial planning, budgeting, and tax requirements. On top of that, we take time in the meeting to review disputes that have been raised by pack members about whoever and whatever.

The meeting became a little more interesting when I brought up what I discovered about the satellite pack pushing at the outer borders of the Blackburn territory.