The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1)

by Ingrid Seymour

  “It’s one of Bernadetta’s properties,” Jake said. He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze darting from side to side, then he ran back upstairs, leaving me standing next to a five-gallon bucket of paint.

  Adrenaline buzzed through my body, making me fidget on the spot. My mind whirled with questions. Was this a coincidence? Had I really come up with a clue? If I had, what did that say about my skills? What exactly had happened last night? And why?

  Jake came down a few moments later. He was fully dressed, wearing a T-shirt, a brown leather jacket, and matching boots. Without stopping, he snatched his bike helmet from the worktable and pressed it into my hands.

  “C’mon, let’s go.” He grabbed me by the elbow and pulled me along.

  I probably should have protested, should have told him I had things to do, but instead, I went along, a feeling of determination and certainty growing inside me. Stephen’s life had been hanging on the balance for days, and maybe today, we would find him. We would take him home, and he would be all right.

  “Give me a sec,” I said and ran into the office to retrieve my purse and tell Rosalina I was off for the day. I went in and out quickly. Jake was already straddling his bike.

  He started the engine. “Put on the helmet.”

  “What about you?” I asked as I climbed on behind him.

  “I have a thick skull, remember?”

  I snorted a laugh. He did have a thick skull, both figuratively and literally. He keyed the address into his cell phone, snapped the device in a holder mounted on the dashboard, and we rolled off the sidewalk heading north.

  Chapter 31

  We got to the Delmar Loop fifteen minutes later. Jake parked his bike a block away from the address in his file, and we walked the rest of the way. The area buzzed with the usual pedestrians going in and out of the shops and restaurants that lined the boulevard, so we had no trouble blending in.

  We approached from the north side, walking casually.

  “Huh? Lucciola is a candle shop?” I said, confused, when I laid eyes on the quaint shop. It had a black awning over its door and window display, golden accents on the trim.

  “She has lots of businesses all over the city,” Jake said. “All kinds of them.”

  I felt self-conscious and started to wonder if I should be there at all. I didn’t think Bernadetta would like seeing me nosing around one of her properties. I let my hair hang forward, covering my face. Jake gestured toward a coffee shop across the street from Lucciola - Fine Candle Shop.

  “Let’s go in. I’ll get us some coffee. Why don’t you snatch us a table?”

  We went into the coffee shop, and I sat at one of the window tables with a good view of the candle shop. I set my purse down. It thudded with the heavy gun. Oops!

  My cell phone buzzed, the caller ID flashing “Mom.” I dismissed the call and typed “Lucciola” into the search bar and found a New York City restaurant by that name. I also learned the word had a Latin origin that meant “I shine,” and that in Italian the word meant firefly. I figured since the Dark Donna was originally from Italy, she was going for Firefly Candle Shop. Not a bad name. I put my phone away and surreptitiously glanced across the street. Not much activity there.

  Jake returned with two cups of coffee and two croissant sandwiches and set them on the table. He pushed one of the coffees in my direction. “Cream and three sugars.”

  Damn, he also remembered how I liked my coffee. I slow blinked and took a sip. Delicious. The croissant was tempting, but I had to keep my girlish figure.

  I gestured toward the food. “If you’re hungry enough, eat both sandwiches. I had a giant blueberry muffin earlier.”

  “Oh, I’m hungry.” Jake seemed to always be hungry. It was a werewolf thing. His metabolism ran hot and fast like a space rocket.

  We sipped our coffees silently while we watched the candle shop. People passed in front of our window. As I scrutinized them closely, it reminded me of scouting for a mark. The difference... I had no idea what we were waiting for here. We already knew they were keeping Stephen mobile. He wouldn’t be in the candle shop.

  God, we needed to find him. We had less than twenty-four hours before it was too late.

  Trying not to sound impertinent, I asked, “So... what exactly are we doing?”

  Jake’s silver eyes wandered away from the shop to meet mine. He shrugged one shoulder. “Gathering clues. PI work can seem frustrating and irrational sometimes, but the smallest details can make a huge difference in solving a case.”

  “What do you think we’ll see here?”

  “I’ve no idea. Maybe I’ll walk over there and buy you a candle.” His mouth tipped into one of his wicked smiles. “Lavender, citrus, vanilla? Which would you prefer?”

  I gasped.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. I was so stupid. Why hadn’t I made this connection as soon as I saw that Lucciola was a candle shop?

  Jake frowned, waiting for an answer.

  Dammit, how could I explain what I’d just realized without divulging the way my skills worked? I struggled with what to do, feeling like a piece of smelly trash as I did so. Stephen’s life was on the line, and here I sat, worried about myself and my baggaged relationship with Jake.

  “Toni, whatever it is, you have to tell me.”

  “I know.” I lowered my head and took a deep breath. “Okay, but you have to keep this to yourself. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “You can trust me. You know that.”

  “Do I?”

  Okay, maybe the question was a bit unfair since my professional secrets had nothing to do with our relationship. I waved a hand to dismiss my own comment and lowered my voice as I explained. “When I go into a trance, I use my senses to find my mark.”

  Jake’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “You know how strong my sense of smell is,” I said, remembering how he’d constantly remarked about it in the past. He used to say that it rivaled his own sense of smell, and werewolves were well known for that trait. “Well,” I continued, “when I was trying to track Stephen I smelled cinnamon, vanilla, and lavender.”

  I let that sink in. Jake’s gaze sparked as he made the connection. He glanced toward the candle shop. “Maybe they’re keeping him there.” He squeezed the edge of the table so hard that the wood groaned.

  I shook my head. “No, I told you he’s on the move.”

  He regarded me with narrowed eyes. “And your... senses helped you figure that out, too?”

  “Yes. I could hear a car’s engine, tires rolling on asphalt, traffic sounds.”

  “And what did you see?”

  “Nothing. It was dark—not a pinprick of light.”

  Jake lowered his head, appearing deep in thought. As he ran fingers through his golden-brown hair, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. In front of the candle shop, a white delivery van rolled to a stop. It had a logo on the side painted with black and golden letters that read Lucciola Candle Shop.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I rose to my feet and rushed out of the coffee shop. I crossed the street in a few strides and found myself standing behind the van’s rear double doors. The back windows were tinted. I took a step forward, my hand reaching for the handle.

  “May I help you?” A man, clearly a Stale, came around the side of the van. He wore black slacks and a gray shirt with the company’s logo on its breast pocket. A beer gut stuck out, barely held in place by a worn belt.

  “Open this door,” I demanded.

  The man furrowed thin eyebrows and glanced from me to the candle shop behind him.

  “Um, I—” his mouth slammed shut when Jake appeared behind me. Beer Gut took a step back, looking ready to bolt.

  “Do as the lady asked,” Jake growled in his alpha tone, a blood-curdling sound that carried the command of a thousand pissed-off dads.

  Beer Gut shuddered visibly, his face going slack with fear. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d peed his pants. I c
ould see the moment he decided it wasn’t worth arguing. He put both hands up and slowly approached the van. Trembling, he reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

  Light spilled into the van’s interior, revealing metal shelves running along the sides, creating an empty middle aisle. Cardboard boxes filled the shelves and a hand truck was secured against the back wall.

  A wave of scents flowed out through the doors, hitting me with its pungent quality and making me take a step back. My knees weakened as flashes of severed fingers ran through my mind. My stomach flipped. This was exactly the jumble of olfactory stimuli I’d experienced during my trance.

  Jake sniffled, wrinkling his nose, taking in the scents. His head snapped in my direction. “Is this it? Is this what you smelled?”

  I nodded, fighting the tears that filled my eyes.

  Jake turned to Beer Gut. “How many vans like this one are there?”

  The man held his hands up again and started backing away toward the shop’s entrance. “Look, man, I don’t know. I just drive the stupid thing and deliver the candles. That’s all.”

  In the blink of an eye, Jake jumped on Beer Gut, holding him by the collar and pushing him against Lucciola’s glass-paneled door. A woman who was approaching down the sidewalk gave a yelp, turned on her heel, and ran back the way she’d come.

  I approached Jake carefully. His temper could be so volatile at the wrong times. For the most part, he controlled his wolf well, but anger sometimes got the better of him, causing him to shift involuntarily. Maybe in the last year and a half, his mastery had improved, but I didn’t know for sure. He didn’t need a Shifting Under Duress charge. No shifter wanted that on their record, just like no one wanted a DUI.

  “Jake,” I stood next to him, so he could see me. “Don’t hurt him. He may be telling the truth.”

  His silver eyes flicked toward me, then back to the man. Jake’s jaw unclenched, and his hands around Beer Gut started to relax. I exhaled in relief, but then the shop’s door opened, and both men went tumbling inside.

  A towering vampiress, well over six-foot tall, gracefully stepped aside as Jake and Beer Gut thudded to the floor.

  “What is going on here?” she demanded, wrinkling her nose at the spectacle before her. She wore a black, gossamer sheath that fell to the floor and could have made a nice curtain. Blond curls spilled over her shoulders, the kind of luscious locks that took hours to get just right. Her skin was smooth and pale like porcelain, and flawless makeup accentuated her large blue eyes. She would have been beautiful if not for her resting bitch face. I swear it would scare the cockroaches from any filthy kitchen.

  She took a step back, reached toward a table display piled with candles in a pyramid shape, and came up with a phone, probably getting ready to dial 911.

  “Jake,” I snapped, “I think she’s gonna call the cops.”

  “Damn right, I am.” She started to dial, but before she could finish, Jake leaped to his feet and snatched the phone from her hand.

  “How dare you?!” She wrinkled her nose and gave Jake a disgusted glare. “Your type of werewolf isn’t welcome here.”

  Finding himself free, Beer Gut lurched to his feet and stumbled out of the store.

  Jake had lost interest in him and was now scanning the vamp up and down, returning her glare. “My type of werewolf?”

  “Yes, violent and foul.” She sniffed. “When was the last time you took a shower?”

  He hadn’t taken a shower today. I knew that for a fact, but to me, his scent was intoxicating, not repellent. Vampires and werewolves didn’t get along, though. Everybody knew that. But how she could smell anything over the cloying sweetness that filled the store, I didn’t know.

  “What that hell is that sweet smell?” I said out loud, without realizing it.

  “That is just the best organic beeswax around,” the vamp said.

  Beeswax? Of course!

  Outside, Beer Gut’s van screeched out of the parking spot.

  “When was the last time you saw Stephen Erickson?” Jake demanded.

  The vamp’s expression changed. The disgust disappeared and calculated deliberation replaced it. “I don’t get involved in... skirmishes of that nature,” she said at last. “That goes well beyond my pay grade. I will kindly ask you to leave this establishment. We sell candles, if you’re not here to purchase one, you can take your stink elsewhere.”

  “I don’t stink,” Jake complained irrationally. The vamp was really getting on his nerves with that one.

  Time for a different approach.

  “I apologize for this... outburst,” I said, putting on my friendliest smile. “You see, my... partner and I are private investigators, and a clue in our search of Stephen Erickson led us here.”

  The blonde retreated, shaking her hands at us and staying away from a shaft of sunlight seeping through the display window. “Nah-ah, I told you already, this goes beyond my pay grade. I sell candles, nothing else.”

  I glanced toward a door in the back of the store. “Would you mind if we search the premises?”

  “No way. Unless you have some kind of legal paper thingy the only place you’re going is out of here.”

  She meant a warrant, I guessed, but nope, we didn’t have one of those—we weren’t even cops—but asking had been worth a try.

  “Then maybe you can answer a question for us.” I gave her another smile, but it might as well have been a growl because she rushed behind the counter, putting distance between us.

  “I’m not answering any questions.” She reached under the register to do something.

  Press an alarm button? That would be bad. Instead, she came up with a telephone receiver, one with a spiraling cord connected to it, and pressed it to her ear. She waited for a connection, her clear blue eyes shifting from Jake to me and back again.

  My thoughts raced, trying to figure out how to get any type of useful information from this person. I knew Stephen wasn’t here. Bernadetta wasn’t stupid. She was keeping him on the move. Of that, I was certain, but what could I ask next?

  Jake thought of something first. “Five drivers, five delivery vans,” he said. “Where are the rest?”

  “You’ve got your facts wrong, stink pile. We only have two drivers, and Garrett has been out sick,” she finished saying just as a voice piped through the receiver. “Yes, hello, this is Chrissa at The Loop location. We have a situation.”

  Jake leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “Time to go.”

  I didn’t wait to be told twice and took the lead out of the shop. We didn’t stop our clipped pace until we reached Jake’s bike. We tore out of there, my body pressed tightly to his, my arms wrapped around his waist.

  Only two drivers and the other one had been sick for a while. I was willing to bet his sick time amounted to the same number of days Stephen had been missing. And he was either driving the van, or he’d been told to sit on the sidelines while they used his ride for other purposes.

  My mind whirled with possibilities. How could we find out more? Was there a way to get a hold of Lucciola’s employee ledgers to find out the driver’s address? Or maybe we just needed the other van’s license plate, then the cops could put an ATL out for it. I wished I could ring Tom to ask him. Or maybe Jake had his own connections. I really hoped so.

  My heart pounded against my chest, and I wondered if Jake could feel it as I reclined against him. Damn, my blood hadn’t pumped this fast in a long time, and I didn’t like how alive it made me feel.

  Chapter 32

  Jake took a turn in the opposite direction of The Hill.

  “Hey, where are we going?” I yelled over the sounds of traffic.

  “Going to see someone who might be able to help us,” he yelled back. “You can call your friend when we get there.”

  Part of me wanted to protest, but the other part, the one that seemed to be an adrenaline junkie, was okay with it, especially when Jake twisted the throttle, and we sped down the street going faster than all
owed. The wind blew cool and pierced through my blue jeans, sending a shiver up my spine.

  Fifteen minutes later, we found ourselves in the Central West End area, specifically in the historic district on Westmoreland Place, a private community with grand homes built as far back as the 1800s. Who did Jake know around here who could help us? My confusion grew when he pulled up to one of the biggest mansions on the street and parked in the front.

  We got off of the bike, and I blinked up at the house from the sidewalk. The place was simply beautiful. It had an elegant architecture for which I had no name, though it certainly seemed European with its castle-like towers, ornate stone, and arches. A red brick path lined with manicured hedges led to the front door, which sported a big, ornate letter “K” on top of it.

  Could that possibly stand for Knight?

  Was this Jake’s house?! No, it couldn’t be. His parents had left him money, but not this much, right? Besides, I’d found him sleeping on a mattress on the floor of his would-be office. Why would he sleep there if he owned a place like this?

  As we walked up the path, I peered up at the warmly lit windows, and the twilight sky framing the structure. The place almost looked like it belonged in a fairytale.

  From the right corner, a man came around attacking a row of hedges with big clippers. He paused for a moment to wave. “Hello, Mr. Knight.”

  “Hi, Clyde.”

  Jake bounded up the steps and, without knocking, strolled into the house.

  My confusion-meter kicked up to red.

  A giant schnauzer came bounding into the foyer. Jake knelt in front of the animal and allowed it to lick his face.

  “Hey, buddy.” He grabbed the dog by the scruff and gave him a shake.

  I’d seen schnauzers before but none this big. This guy had to be on steroids—or more likely just a separate breed. His coat shone black, and he was groomed to perfection, including his beard and bushy eyebrows.

  Without even bothering to wipe his face, Jake stood and legit introduced the dog to me. “Toni meet Bones. Bones, this is Toni.”