Page 1 of Grin and Bear It (Enchanted Falls #2)

ONE

T he rooftops of Silver Ridge stretched before Thora Halliwell like a concrete playground. Cooling brick beneath her palms, she perched at the edge of the tallest building downtown, amber eyes tracking the urban landscape below. Twilight painted long shadows across the aging architecture, providing perfect cover for both predator and prey.

A breeze carried the mingled scents of restaurant kitchens, exhaust fumes, and humanity. Thora inhaled deeply, filtering through the layers of ordinary smells, searching for anything unusual. Hunter’s instinct, fine-tuned through years of tracking bounties, rarely failed her.

There—a flicker of movement three buildings east. Too fast for human reflexes.

A smile curled the corner of her mouth. The idiots at the Silver Ridge Bounty Office had insisted this particular leopard shifter was impossible to catch. “Like trying to trap shadows,” the desk sergeant had warned. The same speech they gave whenever they wanted to knock a few zeros off her fee.

“And yet,” Thora murmured to the cityscape, “here you are, showing off for anyone with eyes to see.”

The male leopard shifter below paused at the edge of a sandstone facade, head turning as he surveyed possible escape routes. Even from this distance, she noted his overconfidence—the casual way he glanced over his shoulder, the unhurried grace of his movements. He thought himself invisible up here, above the everyday bustle.

Rookie mistake.

Thora eased back from her perch, slipping into the shadow of a rooftop water tower. The weight of her gear pressed against her hips—shifter-dampening cuffs, tracking devices, various tools of her trade—a comforting reminder of the barrier she maintained between herself and the world. Everything had its place, neat and contained.

Unlike her hair, which the persistent breeze seemed determined to toss into her face. She tucked a rebellious strand behind her ear and focused. The mark had moved, leaping across to the next building with unnatural grace.

Time to move.

Her boots connected with concrete in whisper-quiet steps as she crossed her own rooftop. The leather of her jacket stretched across her shoulders, supple from years of wear. At the edge, she paused, calculating the distance to the next building. A twelve-foot gap stretched between them, deadly concrete waiting three stories below.

Child’s play.