"Will you call Cori for me?"
"Sal, do you need your hand held?"
"If I call her, I'm telling her what you bought for her birthday."
"Salidar, I'll key your car. I swear I will. You can't hide it, either, Dad has the keys."
"Fine. I'll call Cori. Will she blab to Dori that I called?"
"Ah. I missed the ex-girlfriend angle in all this," Marco nodded sagely. "I don't think Cori will blab. One peep about what I got her and your car's toast."
"I won't tell. I just need help with homework."
"Good."
* * *
"I just want to pat his head," Matt muttered as he stared at Amos Thompson. Amos Thompson's white buffalo stood amid the dunes surrounding Winkler's beach house, guarding the property with two of Winkler's wolves.
"Amos put in twenty years with the army. I'd hold off on patting his head," Winkler chuckled.
"His wife's a good cook," Matt bit into a chocolate chip cookie and chewed happily.
"She's a swan," Winkler pointed out. "Amos loves her a lot. You should see them together on a full moon. Amos tucks her under his chin and snorts at anybody who gets close."
"That's great—I'd love to see it," Matt smiled.
"Marco told me that—he's seen it, I haven't."
"Truth really is stranger than fiction," Matt said.
* * *
"Mrs. Thompson," Ashe wandered into the kitchen at five, after sleeping all day.
"Young man, you need to be careful," Florence Thompson shook a flour-covered finger at Ashe. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a neat bun as she shaped rolls with her hands at the island.
"I agree," Ashe said, sliding onto a barstool.
"Want a sandwich? You haven't eaten all day."
"A sandwich would be awesome."
"How do you feel?" Trace walked in while Florence "Flossie" Thompson put a roast-beef sandwich together for Ashe.
"Kinda crappy. Like my head is full of cotton," Ashe replied. "I think your nurse friend gave me too much pain medication."
"That's possible, I guess," Trace agreed. "He may have thought he was treating a werewolf and not a shifter."
"I'm not really a shifter, either," Ashe muttered. "Thanks," he said as Flossie put the sandwich in front of him. "I'm just something different who happens to shift."
"Young man, anybody who shifts is a shifter. That's that." Flossie softened her words with a smile.
"I guess I'm a shifter," Ashe grinned and bit into his sandwich.
"Spoiling your dinner?" Winkler walked in, followed by Matt Michaels and the Grand Master.
"I guess." Ashe took another bite of his sandwich.
"He's starved. He hasn't eaten all day." Flossie was back to shaping rolls for the oven.
"Are those homemade rolls? I can't wait for that," Matt sighed.
"Don't get home cooking much, do you?" Flossie offered Matt a smile.
"Nope. Those cookies were amazing."
"There are cookies?" Ashe was interested quickly.
"For dessert. Mr. Michaels was in the kitchen when they came out of the oven, so I gave him three. He's too thin," Flossie observed. Weldon Harper threw back his head and laughed.
* * *
"Charles, the target has been eliminated," Aedan sounded weary to his own ears.
"Something wrong, Aedan?" Charles's voice crackled; they didn't have a good cell-phone connection.
"Nothing you can fix," Aedan replied.
"I'll send the jet tomorrow evening," Charles promised.
"Thank you." Aedan ended the call and tossed the phone onto the sofa. He'd made the call from the safe house located outside Mucklagh, in County Offaly in Ireland. Dawn was still hours away and that troubled him. This would be where his life ended; in a field near the place of his birth so many years ago. Fate had sent him to Ireland when his life had become so empty.
Rifling through his small suitcase, he found a pad of paper and a pen. This would be his last letter to his wife and son. Briefly, Aedan cursed the ones who'd brought him this unbearable pain.
* * *
"Mr. Winkler, can I talk to you for a minute?" Ashe stuffed hands in the pockets of his jeans as he offered Winkler an exasperated look before ducking his head.
"Sure, kid. What is it?" Winkler invited Ashe inside his study.
"That pain medication—what was it?"
"Not sure, why?"
"I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton. And the signals I usually get—well, they're gone. I can't feel anything."
"How long is this gonna last?" Winkler motioned for Ashe to sit. Ashe took a guest chair in front of Winkler's desk with a troubled sigh.
"I don't know. Kinda makes me feel blinded."
"Yeah, I guess it would. Maybe I'll contact the nurse and ask how long that stuff stays in your system."
"I think he gave too much. Probably unintentional, but I can't tell right now."
"And you were unconscious when he gave it," Winkler stood, a frown crossing his features. "He's one of Shirley Walker's wolves. I'll ask the Grand Master to give her a call and we'll do some quick research. We don't need traitors in our midst, just as Peyton Miller is hauling a batch of Zeke Tanner's trackers our way."
"That's not good," Ashe muttered, rubbing his forehead.
"Got a headache?" Winkler asked.
"Yeah. A bad one. I kept hoping it would go away, and I sure don't want to take anything else for pain. Not if it makes me blind and stupid."
"Understood. We didn't expect you to help tonight; Gavin and Tony will be with us. It wouldn't hurt, though, to know you're able to help if we need you."
"I'll be on standby, but I don't know how helpful I can be," Ashe said. "I haven't attempted to relocate or do anything else yet."
"Maybe a workout will help. Trajan!" Winkler called on his Second, who came running.
"Boss?" Trajan wasn't even winded when he stood in Winkler's doorway seconds later.
"Give the kid a ton of water to drink and make him run on the treadmill. We'll see if we can work some of that painkiller crap out of his system."
"Sure thing. Come on, kid. Your ass is mine for the next hour." Trajan offered Ashe a wolfish grin. Ashe slouched off the chair and followed Winkler's Second out the door.
* * *
"I have my talents focused on one of the vampires, that's how I knew," Wildrif sounded gleeful.