“Either he’s dragging a ton of fence line behind him, or he cut it earlier to get into the paddock.”
“It’s the latter,” Aiden said, and immediately called the Barnetts.
I concentrated on the thinning spool of magic and on providing directions. We were soon cruising back to Castle Rock.
“Left into Forest Street,” I said. “It feels like he’s stopped.”
“You want me to go slower?”
I hesitated. “Not yet. Turn down the third street on the right—it’s just beyond that park.”
We turned, the truck’s headlights briefly spotlighting a couple walking on the gravel path that followed the left edge of the road. “We’re almost on him now.”
Aiden immediately slowed. We swept around the next corner, and a number of buildings came into view. Directly ahead were several long tin sheds, and to our right was a single-story cream-and-red-brick pub that looked to have been around since the gold rush days. There were a number of cars parked out the front of it and at least six more in the vacant lot on the other side of the road. The SUV was nowhere in sight, but the tracking threads suggested our watcher had hightailed it into the pub.
“He’s probably parked around the back.” Aiden turned into a side street further up the road and then stopped.
“The minute either of us go in there,” I said. “He’s likely to run.”
Aiden nodded. “I’m actually counting on it.”
“How many exits are there?”
“Two aside from the kitchen, and he won’t chance being stopped by the chefs or owner. There’s an exit into the beer garden and another down the service hall, which contains the toilets.” His smile was brief and sharp. “He’ll no doubt take the latter the minute he spots you walking through the front door. Once I bring him down, you can make him talk.”
“Oh, you can bet I will.”
“Give me five minutes to get around the back without being seen, then head in.”
I nodded. He climbed out, then leapt over the nearby fence and disappeared. I watched the clock count down, then leaned across the seat to grab his keys and climbed out. The moon was once again free from clouds, which was never a good thing when you had crimson-colored hair that burned brightly under any sort of light.
I tugged the hood of my jacket over my hair and walked casually toward the pub. There were six old weatherboard houses between it and me, but thankfully, the pub was wedge-shaped and the closest end had no windows. Even if our target was keeping watch, he wouldn’t see me until I walked past the veranda.
The nearer I got, the more my heart raced. I flexed my fingers, trying to remain calm. At this point, we had no idea if this man was doing anything more than a bit of nefarious snooping. We had no idea yet if he was—in any way—connected to Clayton. Just because instinct was coming down on the affirmative didn’t mean it was right.
I went past the section of veranda protected by plastic roll-down blinds and then stepped up onto it. A small sign to the left of the double wooden doors said Railway Bistro. I grabbed the handle, took a deep, settling breath, and then stepped inside. It felt like I’d stepped back in time. The ceiling was dark wood, the walls warm amber dotted with old photographs and landscape paintings, and the antique furniture well-worn. There was a dining area on the left, a servery in the middle, and a bar area to the right. There were five couples and a family of six in the dining area, and half a dozen more people in the bar. The tracking thread led me to the right and, after a moment, I saw him. He was tall, rangy, with pock-marked skin—unusual in a werewolf—and dark gray hair. He definitely wasn’t from Aiden’s pack, as they ran the full gamut of blond; gray only set in once age had started taking its toll. This wolf looked to be in his mid-thirties.
I pushed the hood off and walked toward him. The movement obviously caught his attention, because his gaze rose and met mine. Surprise flickered across his expression, followed swiftly by consternation. He pushed away from the bar and strode to the left, quickly disappearing from my sight.
As I rounded the corner of the bar, I saw a slowly closing door that said Bathrooms and couldn’t help smiling. Aiden had picked it right.
By the time I got there, the hallway beyond was empty and the door at the far end open. I couldn’t see our suspect, but I could certainly hear him. He was cursing up a storm.
I stopped in the back doorway and watched Aiden drag the bound and handcuffed man closer.
“Told you it would work,” he said cheerfully. “Let’s go around to the beer garden—we can interrogate him there.”
“I haven’t been read my fucking rights,” the man bellowed. “This is an illegal arrest.”
There was a lilt to his voice that suggested he’d come from Ireland, but it was impossible to say how recently. Some people never lost their accent, no matter how long they stayed in another country.
“I’m head ranger and this is my reservation,” Aiden said. “You were not only following us, but rather stupidly threw a punch at me. You have no rights.”
“This is bullshit—”
“And it’s bullshit that’ll land you in a cell for several years if you’re not damn careful and start cooperating.”
“I demand you give me my phone call.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” Aiden kicked a metal chair sideways, slung the stranger onto it, and then pulled one of the ever-present cable ties from his pocket, quickly connecting the stranger’s bound hands to the back of the chair.
“Help,” the stranger screamed. “Someone help me!”
Aiden rolled his eyes but strolled over to the double doors that led back into the bar and went inside.
I crossed my arms and
