Hart and Hunter

Chapter 12

Ch. 12: Dane

I break at least five traffic laws on the way, but we get back to Spring Lakes in record time. There are only two cars on the street in front of Lagrange's shop, one of which is Julian's. My front tire jumps the curb as I park behind it, and I'm out of the car and dialing his number in seconds. Just like the last ten times I'd tried, it goes to voicemail, and I swear and hang up the instant the recorded message begins to play.

As I stride across the street towards the shop, a car door slams, and quick steps approach at my back. I turn to see that Ingrid has followed me.

"Grids, get back in the car. I don't have time for this."

"No way! You need backup!"

Reaching the door, I try it but find it's locked. The interior is dark except for a row of overhead lights, and there's no sign of Julian or Halloran.

"I am the backup," I snap, examining the large windows on either side of the door. "I don't need a backup dancer."

She crosses her arms and tsks at me. "Are you being sexist right now? Because that sounded kinda sexist. What are you freaking out about, anyway? Just 'cause a rune sounded like Halloran's name and Julian looked at the guy?"

"Yeah, pretty much." I cast about for a suitable glass-breaking implement, and spot a golf-ball-sized stone near the base of an ornamental tree. Snatching it up, I flex my arm for a throw, but Ingrid lunges to catch my sleeve.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell are you doing? Isn't that like, a crime, or something?"

I shake her off. "Ingrid, I swear to God if you don't get back in the car—"

"You'll what? Spank me? You're not my father, Dane. And yeah, I'm your little sister; but I'm also a full-grown woman and just as much a Wolf as you are. Now stop being such an alpha dick for a second and use your head. Can't you just call your cop-lady friend and have her let us in?"

I cross my arms and glower. "Now who's being sexist? That 'cop-lady' is the chief of police, and yes, she could send someone over, but there's no time. Fastest response for a non-emergency is at least ten minutes."

She huffs and rolls her eyes. "Fine. Gimme two minutes. Then you can smash things."

Before I can ask what she's talking about, she rummages in her purse and produces what appears to be a paper clip. As she unbends the bit of wire, crouches in front of the door, and works it into the lock, I realize two things: it's definitely a paperclip, and Ingrid knows what she's doing.

She'd probably accuse me of double standards, and she'd probably be right, but in my mind there's a big difference between me committing a crime to rescue my mate, and my little sister committing one to help me. I'm about to tell her to stop — to set a good example and wait for the police after all — when the lock clicks and she lets out a triumphant "Fuck, yeah!"

It hasn't even been one minute, much less two.

"Where the fuck did you learn to do that?" I ask.

She shrugs, dropping the abused paperclip back into her purse as she stands. "School."

"Right." I rub the back of my neck and sigh. "You're not gonna listen to me, are you?"

"Nope."

"All right. Stay behind me, and stay quiet."

I push the door open and step into the shop.

"Cold in here," Ingrid remarks, hugging herself as she follows me.