When He's An Alpha (The Olympus Pride #2) - Suzanne Wright Page 0,49

their questions without putting up any kind of resistance.”

“He’s been dead a few hours at least,” said Alex.

Which was why it goddamn reeked in here. Both the coppery scent of blood and nauseating scent of death were heavy in the room, mingling with the cloying smells of urine, mold, and stale cigarette smoke. It made her devil’s nose wrinkle in distaste.

“Do a quick check of the room, Farrell; see if there’s anything interesting among his belongings,” said Tate.

“Sure thing.” Farrell then began rummaging through a small, wobbly dresser.

Tate checked Sinclair’s pockets. “No cell phone. Whoever shot him probably took it in case there was anything incriminating on it.”

“There’s one here.” Havana grabbed the phone beside the old TV and skimmed through the call log and messages. “There’s nothing on it. No texts, no saved contacts, no history in the call log. It’s gotta be a burner.”

Bailey glanced at the phone. “It looks brand new. There are no scratches or smudges on the screen.” She sighed. “On the plus side, you don’t have to worry that Sinclair’s going to attempt to finish the job he started and kidnap you.”

Yeah, there was that. Havana inhaled, sifting through the various smells, but she couldn’t pick up the scents of any people other than Sinclair and the shifters who’d accompanied her here. Any others seemed to have long since faded.

There might have been some trace of them if the other smells in the room hadn’t been so pungent. Still, she asked, “Can anyone scent other shifters?”

The others shook their heads or muttered a negative … aside from Alex.

“There’s the faintest trace of jaguar,” said the wolverine. “But it’s extremely faint.”

“Jaguar,” echoed Tate. “So Gideon sent his minions here.” Tate might have felt some pity for the bastard if he hadn’t been, well, a bastard.

Having done a search of the entire room, Farrell said, “He either had nothing incriminating in his possession, or it was taken from him.”

They all stilled as the burner phone in Havana’s hand began to ring.

Each and every cell in Tate’s body went on high alert, and his inner cat tensed. He crossed to her and said, “Let me answer it. If it’s someone hoping to speak with Sinclair, they might buy that I’m him. Everyone be very quiet.” He took the phone and answered using the speakerphone option, “Yeah?”

“Who might I be talking to?” a cultured male voice asked. One Tate didn’t recognize. He glanced at the others, noting that none of them appeared to recognize the voice.

“You’re the one that called me,” Tate pointed out.

“Yes, but I’m quite aware that my dear friend Sinclair is unable to answer. You must be one of the shifters who were seeking him. Excellent. I left a phone at the motel room hoping I could have a little talk with the people who are trying to push their way into my business. I was quite sure you’d come for Sinclair.”

Tate’s lips thinned as he quickly deduced, “You called in the tip. You led us to him.”

“It seemed the easiest way to communicate with you that didn’t involve a face-to-face meeting.”

Galled that he’d been so easily manipulated, Tate bit back a curse and gestured for Luke and Farrell to canvas the area. For the caller to know that people had entered the room, either he or one of his minions was nearby.

“Who are you?” Tate asked his caller while Luke and Farrell headed into the bathroom where they’d no doubt use the rear window as an exit.

“A lot of my friends call me Abe,” the unfamiliar voice replied.

“Abe,” Tate repeated. “I didn’t know that was a pet name for Gideon.” Silence greeted the comment. Yeah, this fucker was Gideon York. And if he or his minions were nearby, it was possible that they had a gun trained on the building. Tate signaled Vinnie, Alex, and the females to move into the bathroom.

“Hmm, just what did Rupert tell you?”

Tate waited for the others to quietly enter the small, dingy bathroom before he joined them and replied, “Enough to know who you are, York.”

“Gideon York is dead.”

“You don’t sound dead.”

Another long silence. “I don’t, do I?” Apparently, he was done with the pretense. “I feel it is important that we are all able to come to an understanding. I’ve come to learn a few things since Rupert and Sinclair failed me. It would seem that Miss Ramos is under the protection of Tate Devereaux, Alpha of the Olympus Pride.”

Tate’s grip on the phone involuntarily tightened. He