“THIS IS A SECURE LAPTOP,” the guy in black fatigues protested when I tried to borrow his computer. Okay, so, my wolf was the one doing the borrowing, which meant there was more grabbing involved than human words.
“You don’t understand,” I countered, fingers unwilling to release the corner of plastic I’d ended up with before descending into a tug of war with the Secret Service agent. “If I don’t finish my grading, the system marks the kids down as failing. It’s a bug the tech team can’t seem to iron out. This could go on their permanent records. It could screw up the rest of their lives.”
“Not my problem.” His hand dropped toward the pistol in his hip holster. And I hesitated, unwilling to provoke gunfire for the sake of my career.
Then Jim Kelter was behind me, latent electricity hover
