Castellano gestured, and Joey leaned forward to slide a knife under the plastic ties. As Zoe leaned to get out of the car, Joey caught her arm and the knife prickled against her side. "Don't do anything stupid, kid."
She held her breath but tried for attitude as she raised her eyebrows. "Do I look stupid to you?"
"Don't answer that," Castellano said. He gestured and moved toward the door. "Let's go."
Zoe blinked as the sunlight blinded her but staggered out of the car. She looked around the empty street, wishing to see Simon or Ethan or Tate or anyone friendly. Instead, Joey and Castellano flanked her as they walked toward the bar. The gravel crunched under her feet. Inside the bar was as dim as she remembered, and a great deal emptier than the last time she'd been there. But Rosie still worked behind the bar, raising her eyebrows as they walked in.
She started to speak but something cut her off and her head tilted. She sniffed the air briefly, then pasted a mostlysincere smile on her face as she leaned on the bar. "Hey there, honey. What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to call in that favor." Zoe smiled but widened her eyes and hoped that Rosie would pick up on her distress. "Could we use your wifi for a second?"
"Sure, sug." Rosie gestured at one of the somewhat clean tables. "Set up shop wherever you need. Did Simon and the boys come as well?"
"No, they're back at the lodge." Zoe swallowed panic as she shuffled over to the table and eased into one of the chairs. Castellano sat next to her and handed her a laptop while Joey folded his arms over his chest near the door. No getting out that way. Rosie remained at the bar, cutting lemons, and watched with a jaundiced eye as Zoe opened the laptop and started typing.
The bartender set the knife aside and fussed with something under the bar. "You want anything for lunch, honey? I'm supposed to meet Sam next door, and —"
"We're fine," Castellano said, the muscle in his jaw jumping. Zoe had seen that look before. She prayed Rosie left it alone.
Rosie only arched an eyebrow and gave one of the most expressive sniffs Zoe had ever heard. The bartender said, "Suit yourself," and sashayed out the back door.
The moment the door clicked shut behind her, Castellano slid a crumpled piece of paper across the table. "This is the bank account number where I want all my money returned. And this is where you're going to drop all the files you stole."
Zoe held her breath and nodded, reaching for the laptop. "This might take a while. There was... a lot."
"I know," he said. His voice carried a hard edge, and Zoe's heart sank. Men like him didn't forgive much. Her fingers trembled as she touched the keys on the laptop, and she clicked slowly to work.
She tried not to think of Joey, standing by the door with his gun and complete lack of humanity, and focused instead on Simon. He loved her. He wanted her to stay. He would find her.
He had to find her. Fast.
17
SIMON
Simon's phone rang when they were only halfway to the rally point; he tossed it to Ethan, who answered with a laconic, "Talk to me."
Simon gripped the steering wheel harder as Ethan put it on speaker and Rosie's voice crackled and broke through the poor reception. The bartender sounded like she moved fast, breath coming hard as she ran. "Your little cookie is in my bar with two of the rudest sons of bitches I've had the pleasure to see in recent days. One ugly one by the door, packing at least a pistol and maybe something else, and a slimy bastard sitting right next to her. She's doing something on a laptop."
Ethan glanced over at him but Simon couldn't think through the rage that turned his vision red. So Ethan cleared his throat. "Thanks, Rosie. Did she look injured at all? Anything wrong with any of them?"
"She just looked scared, hon. But bless her heart, she smiled when she asked to call in her favor. Are you boys close?"
"We will be," Simon ground out, feeling his teeth crack.
"I'll get some of the boys together," Rosie called into thephone, the signal breaking up. "We saw some other odd fellows running around the trees, we might need to get the sheriff involved in roundin' 'em up."
"Not the sheriff," Ethan said, then cursed as he looked at the phone. "We lost signal." He picked up his radio instead and called back to the rest of their guys, warning them about the additional shooters in the woods.
Simon stepped on the gas, pushing the truck until it nearly rattled apart around them and Ethan gripped the handle of the door to keep from hitting the ceiling every time they hit a pothole in the road. It felt like an eternity until the town came into view, and Simon eased off the gas. No reason to raise the alarm, in case Castellano posted look-outs to give him warning if the cavalry arrived. Ethan hid the rifles so they rode lower in the truck as they turned onto a side street parallel to the main street. The radio crackled as Finn said they were closing in on the south side of town and had run across Rosie and several of the other shifters in town, with half a dozen guys in paramilitary equipment detained.
As their truck rolled to the back of Rosie's bar, Simon saw Zoe. A bruiser held her in a near head-lock while a greasy-looking guy in an expensive suit carried a laptop and got into the driver's side of a dark sedan parked across the street. The bruiser shoved Zoe into the backseat and climbed in after her, and Simon's bear growled to see the terrified look on her face. She looked like she'd been crying.
He accelerated until the truck bumped the sedan, about to leap out and drag the suited bastard out through the window, but the sedan took off. It skidded on the loose gravel but got enough traction to head out of town, clouds of dust choking Simon as he struggled to stay with the speedy car. He snarled as the sedan slid into a sharp corner, a steep angle, and sailed over the edge of the embankment. Rolled twiceand landed upright, the interior filled with deployed airbags and cursing.
Simon leapt out of the truck before it even stopped and raced to the vehicle. He heard Zoe swearing and crying, saw her climbing out of the dented window. Trying to climb out — the ugly bruiser tried to grab her ankle, and the suited man pulled a gun from inside the car.
Simon couldn't breathe. Could barely see. And then — the bear roared out, beyond his control, entirely in charge. And an enraged grizzly collided with the sedan and crushed the door shut on the suited bastard. He roared and reared up on his back legs to get better leverage to crush his paws on the roof of the car, not caring at the tinny pop-pop of a pistol, and his claws ripped through the metal like tissue paper.
