Page 6

Perched on a ladder, I was fixing a tenant’s broken window seal, worrying about Duncan and waiting to see if Dubois would call, when Bolin returned.

He wasn’t with his parents—or their prospective buyers—this time, but he held a newspaper under one arm, so I wasn’t relieved.

The last time he’d shared a story with me, it hadn’t been anything good.

It had highlighted the deaths— murders , as the reporter had called them—in our parking lot and speculated that a wolf had been involved.

“What?” I asked warily, climbing down from the ladder.

“I spotted a story that might interest you.”

“For a Gen Z’er, you spend a lot of time scouring physical newspapers.” I accepted the offering, a short article halfway down the page circled.

“I have online alerts set up for a few keyword searches. When this popped up, I went out to find a physical paper to bring to you. I know Boomers struggle with opening links and reading things on their phones.” His tone was teasing, a smirk finding his lips.

“You know I’m not a Boomer. I’m barely Gen X.”

His gaze drifted to my hairline. Damn it, I did need to make time for a dye session.

“I hope you have keyword searches set up for Radomir, Abrams, and their corporation that has absolutely nothing to do with multifamily properties, so they don’t bamboozle your parents.

” I scowled at Bolin before lifting the paper, not holding it as close to my eyes as I would if I didn’t have a young and irreverent witness—how come my vision was perfect as a wolf, but letters were fuzzy when I was in my human form?

“I’m looking into them further.” Bolin sounded serious.

“Good.” I skimmed an article about a robbery in Bellevue, expecting it to tie in to the motorcycle thugs and my robbery.

But all it mentioned was that the penthouse condominium of a well-to-do real estate mogul had been broken into and a precious antique stolen from a vault. “Oh,” I said when I reached the end.

According to the victim, the antique had been a golden bracelet that featured a wolf head on the top. It had been an heirloom purchased from a collector in Europe decades earlier.

“It looks like Radomir and Abrams are still pilfering priceless artifacts related to werewolves,” I said.

“I wondered if it might be the same people who’ve been sending thugs after you.” Bolin touched his scar. “And anyone in your orbit.”

“Anyone in my orbit carrying a wolf-lidded case, yeah. And of course it’s those two. I’m sure it hasn’t suddenly gotten trendy for criminals throughout the Puget Sound area to steal magical werewolf jewelry.”

“The article doesn’t mention if this was magical but…”

“Reporters are notorious for leaving out those details,” I said.

Outside of the paranormal community, few acknowledged that magic existed. Since normal humans couldn’t usually sense it, that wasn’t surprising.

“Thanks for sharing.” I couldn’t imagine how I could use the information, so I handed the newspaper back to Bolin.

Maybe it might prove fruitful to talk to the victim and ask for details about the artifact—and if a security camera had caught footage of the thieves—but I doubted it would do more than confirm that Radomir and Abrams were still collecting.

“You’re welcome. I also took a picture of this when our prospective buyers were parked here.” Bolin tapped his phone to pull up a photo.

“You think my ancient geriatric eyes will be able to see it?” I asked dryly.

“I can use the zoom,” he said, deadpan, then held up the phone to show a license plate.

I wouldn’t have guessed the significance except that the fender looked familiar. Ah, yes. It had rammed my truck.

“Since you’re friends with the police now,” Bolin said, “I thought they might look up the address of the owner of the car for you.”

“Dubois and I aren’t that close. And I doubt it’s Radomir’s home address anyway. It sounds like he’s been hopping hideouts lately. The bastard knows I’d like to hunt him down.” Despite my words, I held up a finger and pulled out my own phone for a call.

Bolin raised his eyebrows.

My niece, Jasmine, answered.

“Hey, girl. Any progress with the job hunt?” I felt I should ask about her life before requesting more favors. She’d helped me a lot of late, and all I’d been able to do in return was agree to be a reference for her résumé.

“I’ve had a couple of interviews but no offers yet. Apparently, the real estate business is slow everywhere. Nobody’s buying since prices are high, and interest rates are up.”

“That’s probably why lots of people are applying for apartments at Sylvan Serenity instead of buying condos. Despite all the reports of odd things happening here, this is a lot more affordable than a mortgage right now.”

“Odd as in murders and werewolves? Or as in a druidic guy who blows up an inflatable garage to protect his hoity-toity SUV from bird poop?”

I didn’t think her tone conveyed that she was falling in love with the druidic guy, despite his attempt to serenade her with rap beats. Poor Bolin.

Aware of him watching—hopefully he couldn’t hear the conversation—I held up a finger and took a few steps away.

“Bolin is more quirky than odd,” I told Jasmine, “and only the werewolves and murders have made it into the papers.”

“Well, they’re not as much of a deterrent as you’d think.

” Jasmine didn’t comment on adjectives appropriate for Bolin.

“An affordable price is an affordable price. You guys are actually a little below-market on rents. Did you know? Besides, it’s not like the werewolves bother anyone except hoodlums, vandals, and the occasional plump and delectable rabbit. ”

“Something the newspapers always fail to mention.” I cleared my throat. “I called to ask for another favor.”

“What do you want my dad to look up now?”

“Can he use his elite computer skills to find an address associated with a license-plate number?”

“I don’t think that’s legal, but that’s not what you asked.”

I hesitated. “I don’t want to get him in trouble.”

“He and Mom donate to the National Fraternal Order of Police, and he also helped solve three crimes in the last ten years by analyzing imagery from public traffic cameras to get faces and license plates of miscreants that nobody else caught.”

“Does that mean that even if he got caught snooping in the DMV’s database, he might not get in trouble?”

“I wouldn’t think so, but I couldn’t say for sure. Text me the license plate number, and I’ll ask him.”

“Is that Jasmine?” Bolin whispered, not stepping closer but leaning closer, as if drawn by her magnetism oozing through the phone.

“Yeah, she wants you to send that license-plate photo.”

“Who’s there?” Jasmine asked.

“Bolin.”

“Oh, did he hear me making fun of his blow-up garage?”

“I’m not sure, but, if it helps, I make fun of it frequently. Also the plastic owls he used as his first attempt at a bird-poop deterrent.” I smiled at Bolin.

He frowned at me.

“Tell him I was just teasing,” Jasmine said. “I’ve seen weirder things. He’s an okay guy. Good taste in music.”

I didn’t mention that Bolin would ensure his taste matched exactly whatever her taste was. “Yeah, he’s decent.”

Bolin’s frown faded, his eyebrows rising hopefully. I made button-pushing motions in the air.

“I don’t have her number,” he whispered.

“Jasmine, is it okay if I give Bolin your number? He’s the one with the photo of the license plate.

” Sure, I could have asked Bolin to send it to me, then relayed it to her, but…

I owed Bolin a few. I doubted he would pester Jasmine relentlessly with memes about love and adoration, and maybe this would open up the line of communications.

“Oh, sure.” She didn’t sound worried about him having her number. That was promising.

As he sent the photo to her, a text came in on my phone, another photo.

It was from Dubois and showed a police officer arresting a bearded man in black leather and another officer chasing a guy with a similar look who’d been in the process of springing over a car in the coffee-shop drive-thru to get away.

They were both familiar. The one escaping…

“That’s the one I have a potion for,” I blurted.

Bolin looked up from his phone. “Hm?”

“Nothing. I need to find Duncan.” And grab Rue’s potion from my apartment.

“On my way here, I saw him dangling a rope into a koi pond in the courtyard of the condos on the corner.”

To think, Jasmine thought Bolin was the odd one around here.

“The rope has a magnet on the end,” I explained.

“Thus making his actions… normal?”

“I didn’t say that.”