Heir of the Dog Black Dog - Hailey Edwards Page 0,7

familiar aftertaste? I was the one lashing out. I was the one hurting. Same old tune, different dance.

I pressed a finger to his forehead and nudged him out of my personal space. “I’ve had a long shift. Email me your case files tonight. I’ll go over your information tomorrow.”

I had turned toward my car when his hand closed over my arm.

A throat cleared behind us, saving me from whatever he might have said to make things worse.

“Shaw,” Mable called from the sagging front porch. “Take your show on the road.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped the brim of a nonexistent hat and let me go. “Later, Thierry.”

Mable and I watched him swagger over to a pickup that wasn’t his usual black monstrosity. A white printout from the dealership still clung to the window, and an orange price sticker blocked part of the front windshield. This truck was a glossy, sapphire-blue dream come true for someone who drove her mom’s hand-me-down sedan with peeling bumper stickers from her middle-school days plastered on it.

Shaw climbed into his new ride, punched the gas and churned up a cloud of dust in his wake.

“Give him a ten-minute head start,” Mable cautioned.

Waiting implied Shaw wanted me specifically, when he had made it clear that was no longer the case.

I cast a fond smile over my shoulder. “I will.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” She waved. “Remember, you said avocado next time.”

I lifted a hand and started walking toward my car. “I’ll remember.”

Thanks to the magic of basswood honey, she had given me two more cases to work. Both FTAs, failure to appears, which would keep me occupied for another couple of weeks while Shaw and I tracked the poacher.

Unlike Quinn, whose capture padded my bank account by five grand, these two were worth half that. Half the risk meant half the fee. Yet another reason why tackling the case with Shaw made good financial sense. Factor in the hazard pay, and we would each walk away with four grand. Not too shabby.

As I stabbed the sticky door lock with my Mom of the Year key, a flicker of movement caught my eye.

Trapped beneath the windshield wipers, a silky black feather whipped in the breeze.

Magic stung my fingertips when I retrieved it.

Caw.

My heart leapt into my throat.

Caw.

After scrambling to get inside the car, I jabbed the lock button until the satisfying click filled my ears. With my nose pressed against the glass, I spotted a lone black bird circling overhead.

Three short bursts of old-school rock music blaring from my cleavage made me jump. During the second it took me to pull my cellphone from my bra, the ominous bird vanished. I smacked the steering wheel with my palm, swiped the call icon with my thumb and forced enough false cheer in my voice to choke a horse. “Hi, Mom, I was just about to call. I got hung up at work— What? I’ll be right there.”

Chapter Six

I pulled into Mom’s driveway and sat there, staring through the windshield. A deep foreboding settled around me as hundreds of cawing birds hopped, fluttered, pecked at bugs in the sod and at each other.

Black birds.

Ravens.

My cellphone was in hand, my finger poised to dial Shaw and report the eerie occurrence when curtains moved inside the house. A second later, Mom eased out the front door and darted to my car. Shaw would have to wait.

This morning she wore a yellow swimsuit with a black rose pattern. Her silvery hair was gathered at her nape, but flyaways curled around her face. Her feet left no prints, and her knuckle was dry when she rapped on my window.

I hit the button and lowered the glass, breathing in her worry and the wet-feather scent of her guests. “I can wait if you want to change clothes first.”

“No, I’ll shower later.” She plucked at her straps. “I dried out waiting on you to get here.” To soften what almost sounded like a reprimand, she added, “I swam first thing, as usual, and when I finished, I found this. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Animal control? Except the birds’ unnatural behavior was obvious, so of course she called me. Unnatural was my wheelhouse.

“Scoot over, and I’ll check it out.” Nudging her aside with the door, I stepped onto the concrete beside her and inhaled deeper. Bird dander. Carrion. Poop. But no magic. “It’s probably a migration thing.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

Her lips flattened to hold in whatever comment she almost made.

Screwing up my nerve, I approached the