Lucas
From the living room, Chase and Temple talking in the office sounded faint, too indistinct to clearly hear. Were they talking about me, their other cases, any hot dates they had for next week?
I focused on my curiosity, grasping onto the indistinct sounds and straining to hear and turn the noise into clear words.
"—hell of a coincidence here, Slate."
"Duh, but it doesn’t change anything…”
“Fits with our theory about their collection process too.”
Did I, had I—no, don’toverthink!Keep going!
“—Whoever magically altered Lucas isn’t exactly above board. Perhaps they sold the information later?”
“Possible, but it’s more complicated. Much as I hate to say it, Bolton hiding his scent and following me fits neatly.”
“If this guy’s after an unshifted male shifter mate, what are the odds he’d stumble on someone else matching that definition? Maybe the coincidence here is that our informant happens to match Lucas. What if Bolton was after Lucas before you even entered the picture?”
“Ow, shit!”
My leg banged into the coffee table when I jolted. Did they hear me? The voices stopped. I tried to listen closer… only the sound of footsteps greeted me. Hey, were my super senses kicking in? Those footsteps sounded pretty loud—oh, Chase had joined me in the living room.
"What were you talking about?" I asked immediately.
"Damn, are you the jealous type?" Chase winked, dropping down on the couch a fraction too close.
I wouldn’t let myself get distracted. "Is it-is it possible Bolton’s really after me? I’m the target."
Chase stared at me for several seconds, internally debating. Sitting close together and nearly going cross-eyed as he watched me, there was still an unfair beauty about him. “Come with me.”
We walked back to the garage and I braced for-oh. Nothing terrible, a punching bag had been set up. Chase gestured for me to use the bag. I stepped up hesitantly.
With him watching and probably familiar with fighting techniques while I was…me, this felt awkward. I gave the bag a weak push. It barely swayed.
"Don’t think,” Chase instructed. “Just hit."
I punched the bag, which again hardly moved. I hit the bag. I hit it again. My knuckles started to sting. This inanimate object exerted more power over me than me on it. How annoying.
The next time I hit the bag, the bag had it coming. I hit again and again. My breath began to come in pants. I just kept hitting. Everything else seemed to fade from view.
Only then did Chase speak.
"Mistaken identity still makes the most sense.”
At his words, I stopped so I could pay attention. Except he stopped talking. When I continued, so did he.
“But it’s a pretty big coincidence that you’re pulled into our mate ring case and you happen to be exactly the type of ‘merchandise’ these people are after. Us detectives hate coincidences."
"So what-what does that mean?" I asked. It was a bit easier to not freak out when focusing on hitting the bag or the impact vibrating along my knuckles.
"Nothing. Not definitively. It’s just another piece of the puzzle right now."
"What makes these mate—these targets so valuable?"
"Are you sure you wanna hear this?"
I nodded. “I wanna know.”
