11
Rafe
“I dunno, Sarge. This is a s**t lead,” Channing mutters.
We’re huddled in a dark corner, waiting in the freezing rain. There are few people out on the Parisian streets. The only movement comes from a few patrons ducking into a dark doorway lit by a neon sign.
Channing looks like a wannabe rapper in baggy jeans, seven hundred dollar sneakers, and a bright, brand-name shirt. Club attire, so he can blend in if need be.
Deke is a silent shadow at my side. He and I are dressed for combat. It’s just the three of us. Lance is back in Taos, holding down the homefront and guarding our mates.
“It’s all we got,” I tell Channing. “But it’s a good lead. You weren’t there when I got my ear chewed off by the Tucson Alpha. His mate had a vision when she held something Tabitha made. She saw f
