Page 23

Pretending I hadn’t heard that, I unlocked the door and opened it slowly, peering inside. Nothing. No slavering, growling, homeless feral jumping out at us. I brought Cameron in and locked the door behind us.

“It’s fine. See?” Cameron said. “You’re good to go.”

“Not yet. I need to check all the rooms,” I said, still scanning the apartment warily.

“Oh my God,” she groaned, but didn’t move to stop me.

I looked behind the couch, then in the small bathroom, making sure to move aside the shower curtain. After that, I went through all three bedrooms and closets, kneeling down to inspect under each bed as I went. The other, somewhat larger bathroom and linen closet were clear as well. All good.

“No one here,” I said as I returned.

Cameron was standing right where I’d left her, her hands clasped together, wringing her fingers and chewing her lower lip. Maybe she was more shaken than she’d let on. If I had to guess, she wasn’t used to showing weakness and was doing her best to put a show on for me.

“Go relax,” I said lamely, unsure what else to say. “Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something?”

“Sure. Uh, my mom made some watermelon agua fresca . It’s in the fridge,” she said as she shuffled over to the couch.

The fact that she was now letting me cater to her after she’d been so standoffish since meeting me told me the shock of everything was finally setting in. She did not need to be alone right now.

The big jug of light red liquid was easy to find. I poured her a large glass and put a couple of ice cubes in it before taking it to her. She gulped down half the glass, never once looking at me.

Cameron was obviously not in the mood to discuss what had happened. Not in detail, anyway. Better to let her relax and sink into the comforts of home. Not that I knew much about that, but I assumed others found it soothing.

I strolled around the apartment, stopping at a bookshelf that contained a myriad of pictures.

Multiple pictures of an older woman with Cameron and a young boy.

Her mother and brother. A thought occurred to me, and I scanned the other frames, trying to find an image of a father.

Nothing. Cameron would only be turned into a shifter if it was in her father’s lineage.

From what I saw here, it appeared that the father was either dead or out of the picture in some way.

I leaned toward the latter since a beloved father would probably have some pictures up in memoriam.

How the hell would I ask about her dad without things getting weird or raising her suspicions?

“Nice-looking family,” I remarked, keeping my voice nonchalant.

“Yeah, thanks.” She looked up at the photo and smiled, more to herself than me. “They’re pretty great.”

“You guys aren’t Canadian natives, I take it? Where are you originally from?”

Cameron chuckled, but her face showed no humor. “Yeah. Definitely not from here. I was born in Zamora. It’s a city in Mexico. That’s where my mom’s from.”

“What about your dad? He from Mexico, too?”

She shook her head. “No. Pretty sure he was American or Canadian. Mom doesn’t really talk about him much. He vanished a month or two after I was born. I’ve never met him.”

Damn. One lead gone. It would be nice to know for sure what this poor woman was in for.

“So, if your dad has been gone since you were born?—”

“Who’s Gael’s father?” Cameron asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.” I shrugged awkwardly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“His dad was a real piece of work.”

“Drama,” I said. “Sounds like family.”

She snorted. “Mom doesn’t have a great track record with men.

From what I gather, my dad was the one man who truly loved her.

” She shook her head feasibly. “Of course, he vanished. On second thought, maybe he wasn’t that great, either.

” She frowned for a moment. “Anyway, Gael’s dad is a guy named Barry.

He was all right, but a bit of a deadbeat.

He acted like he loved my mother, and I was sort of warming up to him.

When I was a teenager, I got a job at a fast-food place to bring in a little extra cash for the family.

I came home one day after getting my first paycheck, and Mom’s sobbing her eyes out.

Like, crying hard enough, she’s dry-heaving. Awful shit.”

“Doesn’t sound like good news,” I said, sitting down across from her.

“You could say that again. Barry walked out on us. Grabbed his shit and left the moment Mom told him she was pregnant with Gael.” She downed the rest of her drink and set the glass down.

“That was when I learned about the happy news. Not only had Barry left us in a financial lurch with rent almost due, but we’d have medical bills and another mouth to feed. ”

Her gaze slid up to the framed pictures. The bitter look on her face faded, and she smiled.

“I love that little kid, though. I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one damn thing.” She looked at me, frowned, then shook her head. “Why the fuck am I telling you my life story? Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m here to listen. And to keep you safe.”

She smirked, her eyes narrowing. “I haven’t needed a father to protect me my whole life. I appreciate it, but I’m okay to take care of myself.”

That struck a nerve. She definitely didn’t like the idea of saviors or father figures. Good to know.

Behind Cameron, on an end table, I noticed another large framed photo with nearly a dozen people standing around what looked like a dining room table.

“Who’s that? Extended family?” I asked, still probing for information.

Cameron glanced around, then chuckled to herself before looking at me again. “You’re really interested in my family life.”

“What can I say? I like to get to know my new friends,” I said with a shrug.

“We aren’t friends,” Cameron said quickly.

“Fair enough. Acquaintances, then.”

“Whatever. That’s my mom’s family. They’re all back in Mexico.”

“Do you ever go visit?”

“Zamora is not Cancun or Cozumel. It’s nowhere you’d go on vacation. Even if it’s to see the people you care about.”

“Rough?”

“To say the least.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head, unable or unwilling to go into detail. “Hey, listen, do you want a coffee or something?”

“That sounds great. Black, no sugar.”

Cameron rolled her eyes. “Okay, Mr. Badass.”

As she went to work in the kitchen, I tried to dig further for any information that might help us figure out why this damned feral seemed fixated on her.

“Did you grow up in Zamora, or did you guys move away when you were little?”

“I grew up there,” she said, pouring water into the coffee maker.

“Lots of gang violence. Even more cartel violence. Kids don’t go out at night, bars and wire mesh grates on windows, stuff like that.

Everyone just keeping their heads down and trying to get by.

My mother worked her ass off to get out of there. ”

“For a Latina, your first name is a little, how should I say it? Less than traditional?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Mom doesn’t talk about my father much. All I know for sure is he wasn’t Latino. Mom named me after someone on his side of the family. I guess she was sure the great love of her life was never going to leave. So much for that.”

The bitterness had returned to her voice. I could relate. I didn’t have any family growing up. Foster families were, by and large, just people looking for a little extra money. Very few were actually in it to help kids. I had my own fair share of bitterness.

As though reading my thoughts, Cameron said, “Why are you interested in my family? You keep asking me about them. It’s a little weird.”

“Sorry,” I said, wincing inwardly at how heavy-handed my questioning had been. “I find them fascinating. I never had a family. I like to learn about people who do. That’s all.”

“You never had any family? No one?” She gaped at me like it was the craziest thing she’d ever heard.

“Nah,” I said, accepting the coffee mug she handed me.

“You don’t sound very sad about that.”

“What’s to be sad about? You can’t miss what you never had.”

“I guess,” she said, but I could tell she had a hard time believing it.

We sat in silence for several minutes, sipping coffee. The whole time, I waited for her to bring up the attack, but she seemed dead set against it. It was up to me, apparently.

Setting my mug down, I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. “Cameron, we need to discuss this attack. We can’t ignore the fact that this guy has come after you for a second time.” Even if she hadn’t positively identified him, his scent was a dead ringer for the fur Ollie had shown me.

She didn’t answer me. Instead, she gripped her mug harder, knuckles going white, and pulled her legs up onto the couch. Everything about her screamed tension and fear.

“Did you get hurt in the fight?” she asked, pointing to my shoulder. She gestured to a tear in my jacket, right at the seam where the sleeve met the shoulder.

I shrugged out of my jacket. My shoulder and arm were unharmed.

“I’m good,” I said, fingering the torn seam. “Only got the jacket. He didn’t break the skin or anything.”

Cameron nodded, took a deep breath, and set her mug down. “So, muggers and carjackers don’t usually track down victims to try a second attack, right?’

“You’re in the news biz,” I said. “You probably know more than me.”

“They don’t,” Cameron admitted. “That’s not the M.O. for criminals like that.”

“True.”

She stared at me for several long seconds.

It was like someone was peeling me open like an orange and inspecting the soft flesh beneath the thick skin.

It wasn’t easy to make me uncomfortable, but under her gaze, I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.

This woman would be a hell of a reporter once she got further into her career.

“Tell me what the hell’s going on,” she demanded. “You and Ollie know more than you’re letting on.”

“Can’t tell you,” I said. “It wouldn’t be safe.”