“I might need a shower after this.” I rubbed my eyes, but my vision didn’t clear. “Goddess.”
The Mendelsohn pack had also, apparently, embraced nudism.
“I’ve never seen so much junk in my life.” I wasn’t talking about the piles of garbage left for the city to pick up when road crews worked the area either. “I’m not a prude, but come on.”
When Ford didn’t comment, I expected to catch him ogling the boob parade since the jiggling was kind of hypnotic, but he had tucked his chin to his chest and glued his eyes to the floorboard.
“I can handle this solo,” I offered.
Unimpressed, Bonnie barked once, loud enough to make me wince.
Wiggling a finger in the ear nearest her, I worked out most of the pain. “Bonnie can watch my back.”
“Bonnie can’t drop her glamour to help you. Even if she could, we don’t need to give the wrong impression.” Heat blazed in his cheeks. “I’ll go.”
Ford made his point, and it was a good one. This was a delicate situation, and I didn’t want her presence to cause friction between the packs when there would be strife enough to go around once the victims had all been identified. Corgis were much less intimidating than gwyllgi, so corgi she would stay.
“All right.”
I didn’t ask what made him uncomfortable. I didn’t want him to be more likeable than he already was, and I didn’t want to respect him either, but it was hard not to when he treated women like people and not sex objects created for his personal gratification.
Unlike our visit to Garou, no one spared us so much as a glance as we walked the main aisle. They were too busy getting high, rocking out, and having sex against trees, up trees, beneath trees, and anywhere else but on their cots in their tents. A moaning, writhing mass caught my attention in the center of the circle made by the tents.
The star of the show was a very buff, very handsome, very well-endowed young man busy plowing into a woman from behind while she mewled like a bagful of kittens. Other women surrounded him, offering him their breasts on their palms and other things to feast on until his spine snapped straight, and he roared.
I expected—no, I hoped—that would be the end of it, but he only motioned for that woman to roll aside to make room for the next.
Unwilling to stand too close, I called out, “Can I have a moment of your time?”
“It’ll take me longer than a moment.” He shoved the eager woman away and patted the flattened grass he’d cleared in an invitation for me to join him. “I’m willing to put in the effort, though, for as long as it takes.”
“I’m Hadley Whitaker, with the Office of the Potentate.” I let that sink in. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Sure.” He wet his lips as his gaze slid down my body. “We’ll talk in my tent.”
A dangerous rumble poured over my shoulder, but I couldn’t blame Bonnie. This was all Ford.
I leveled a hard stare on him, and he quit, but he didn’t look happy about it.
Territorial males. They’re so cute. Except not.
“I appreciate the offer, but I forgot to pack Lysol.”
Rising to his full height, Mendelsohn scratched his left butt cheek. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Nothing at all, stud.
Disinfectant spray probably wasn’t strong enough. Bleach might work. A hazmat suit would be ideal before entering his lair. Even then, I bet everything crunched underfoot.
“It’s a beautiful day.” I indicated the nice paved road away from his tent. “Why don’t we take a walk?”
“All right.” He glanced back at the woman he’d slighted and winked. “Gotta hurry back, though.”
“Yeah.” I ignored the daggers she threw at me with her glare. “I can tell you’re a busy man.”
The next spokesman for Energizer, folks. He might not be a bunny, but he was breeding like one.
Once we hit the road, I got to the point. “Do you know a woman by the name of Shonda Randall?”
“She pack?”
“Not your pack, no.”
Thinking, he started scratching other things. “Did I meet her at a party in the city?”
“I’m not your secretary. I don’t know your social calendar.”
“Do you know your hips are ripe for childbearing?”
“I’m not the maternal type,” I said, barely suppressing a shudder at the thought of my own mother.
“God put you here to bear fruit,” he said to me, but then he spoke to Ford. “Is she not fertile?”
Pretty sure Ford would have dug a hole and climbed in then raked the dirt over the top of him had a shovel been handy. He looked ready to shift and use his claws. He didn’t know me all that well, but he had seen my handiwork, and he had to know I was itching to leave Mendelsohn with a sample.
Hot and tired, and way too close to an aroused nudist with no concept of personal hygiene, I stuck out a hand, and Ambrose obliged, allowing me to draw one of my kopis blades. I doubted I needed the other. I held the tip to Deric’s throat, and he attempted to swat the sword aside then acted shocked when it cut him.
“What is your problem?” He cleaned his hand on his thigh because that was totally sanitary. “Your man needs to teach you some manners.”
“I tried polite, and it didn’t work.” I held the weapon firm. “Do you know a woman by the name of Shonda Randall?”
“No? Maybe? Who can tell?” He flung out his arm, encompassing his harem. “A woman is a woman.”
“From what I can tell, your little head got all the brains, so let me break this down for you. Shonda was a member of the Atlanta gwyllgi pack, and she was murdered. Right now, a warg is our prime suspect.”
Eyes widening in comprehension, he examined the wound on his hand. “I’m a warg.”
“I’m done here.” I wrinkled my nose at Deric and sheathed my blade. “Happy humping.”
Ford waited until we had put distance between us and the horndog in charge. “On behalf of my gender, I apologize.”
“What a waste.” All this emotional scarring for nothing. “His brain might be the size of a hickory nut.”
“Do you want to interview his beta?”
“You’re giving him too much credit. Nothing about this pack screams organized hierarchy. I’m bumping them to the bottom of the list until we get a report that indicates otherwise.” Oh, how I wished for hand sanitizer even though I hadn’t touched Mendelsohn. “Unless you disagree?”
“This is your show,” he deferred. “For what it’s worth, I agree with your preliminary assessment.”
“I appreciate you letting me handle him.”
“Momma would have beat me with her dishtowel if she heard him talk to you that way.”
A prickle of unease stiffened my shoulders before I could loosen them. “Why would she beat you?”
“For not breaking him over my knee.” He chuckled. “After he apologized to you first, of course.”
“Of course,” I breathed, reminding myself his mother wasn’t like mine.
Sweet as he meant it, I couldn’t afford to let a man stand in front of me. Not the POA, and not Ford.