A knock at the study door drew Connor Magnusson’s attention. His fingers traced a pattern that was well-established muscle memory, and the door swung open noiselessly. Roger Hennessy entered the study and approached Connor’s desk.
“Any word, Roger?”
“Possibly, sir.”
Connor’s eyebrows arching upward betrayed his surprise.
Roger continued, “We have a hit on the card you gave Wyatt. Someone used it at a general store in Precious.”
Connor fought the urge to scowl. Precious—well, its whole county really—was shifter territory. He’d never been one of the more rabid anti-shifters in the Magi community, but if those animals had harmed his grandson, he’d wipe the town off the face of the world.
“Prepare three cars,” Connor almost spat. “Split the teams fifty/fifty between security personnel an
