Chapter Twenty Eight
Ace was in the zone when the ping came through. She sat cross-legged on the leather chair in her office, hair in a loose braid, mug of now-cold coffee beside her and three different tabs open on the laptop... budget projections, patrol reports, and a half-written message to Clara. She’d been telling herself all morning she would not think about that late-night phone call from Jameson again. And then the report landed. Her private investigator, who was quiet, discreet and paid very, very well, had finally sent what she asked for. She clicked it open. Her eyes moved fast, trained now to skim for the big things first: power shifts, financial strain, alliances, bloodlines, and, in wolf circles, the important (and often messy) question why. Red Forest was exactly what she feared. A pack
- Writer
