polished off the treat in amused silence. Oh wait. That was me. He gave off more of a horrified vibe.
He left the tip, which was fine by me, and we headed back to the truck.
“You’ve got to work on your endurance,” Ford tsked as I struggled to lift Bonnie onto the seat without hurling. “What about second dessert?”
Gwyllgi are walking stomachs. Ford was sated, but he could go for another bowl of pho or another piece of silkworm cake without busting the zipper on his pants. I, on the other hand, wished I could pop my top button and make some breathing room.
“I’m not a hobbit, or a gwyllgi. I only have one stomach, and it’s about to burst.”
A pleased sound rumbled in his throat that raised Bonnie’s hackles.
“Chill.” I smoothed her fur with gentle strokes. “He’s doing that guy thing where he feels good about having fed me until I can’t move. It probably originated with men who couldn’t woo the girl of their dreams with riches or wit and had to resort to stuffing them until they couldn’t outrun them.”
The corgi made a snickering noise then pressed her nose against the glass.
Ford blasted out a low whistle as he rolled up to the last-known address for Garou and his Loups.
“Looks like Momma was finally wrong about something.” He peered through the windshield. “Crime does pay.”
“No, the victims pay. None of this was earned. It was stolen.” I pointed at Bonnie. “Stay.”
The corgi bared more teeth than I felt a dog of her size could fit in its mouth, but I wasn’t cowed. Much.
“Midas,” I said patiently, “will swallow me in one gulp if you get hurt on my watch.”
Ears pinned back, Bonnie snarled until foam dripped from her sharpening canines.
“Midas will not swallow you whole,” Ford was quick to counter. “He might be put out, but he wouldn’t harm a hair on your head.”
Accepting him at his word, Bonnie wiped her mouth clean on his seat.
Next to me, Ford shut his eyes and tightened his hands on the wheel.
“I’m sure fae slobber won’t stain.” I patted his shoulder. “I bet it wipes right off leather.”
A pained groan slipped past his lips, and I almost felt bad for teasing him.
“Scoot over.” I nudged Bonnie aside as I opened the door. “I’ll get down, and then I’ll get you down.”
Before the scream trapped in my throat escaped, she had leapt onto the driveway without stumbling.
“Are you kidding me?” Fingers glued to the door, I gawked down at her. “You could do that the whole time?”
She turned wide eyes on me, all innocence, and I wished for Bonnie the woman back. The four-legged version had my number and wasn’t shy about calling it.
Ford beat me to her, and she spun a quick circle, urging me to get a move on.
I joined them in the driveway, and we didn’t have to wait long for the Loups to roll out the welcome wagon.
Two men and one woman prowled down the marble steps leading up to a mansion tackier than a toddler’s fingers after a lollipop. They wore black leather, head to foot, and one of them must be breaking in new pants. They creaked when they walked like an old door whose hinges needed oiling.
“Are you lost?” the woman called, swinging a scarred bat in one hand. “I’m real good with directions.”
The shadow pretending to be mine curled its fingers with want and seeped toward her, a dark stain, and his hunger beat at me until my vision doubled with sympathetic pain.
“I’m Hadley Whitaker.” Blinking my eyes clear, I stepped forward to intercept the trio and was relieved Ford didn’t fling any misplaced chivalry at me while I was on the job. “I’m with the Office of the Potentate. This is my associate, Ford Bentley, and we’re here to speak to Garou.”
“You’re that skank Grim is training?” the guy next to her asked. “Heard you like to cut people.”
“I am that very skank,” I agreed amiably. “As to the rest… The POA trained me. What do you think?”
The third man rubbed a hand across his throat, confirming the POA’s reputation for decapitation via scythe was still holding strong on the street.
“Do you have an appointment?” The woman looked me up and down. “Garou is a busy man.”
“I bet he is.” I looked her up and down right back. “Criminal enterprises don’t run themselves.”
“Garou is a businessman,” the second man informed me. “A businessman with a clean record.”
“That’s the funny thing about dirty money,”