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“You’re his. He wanted me to know it.”
Alex didn’t bother to correct him. Right now, she felt his—chosen, branded…marked.
“It’s a wolf thing,” Cade continued. “Sometimes we pee on trees.”
“I guess I should be glad he wasn’t a wolf when he decided to mark me.”
Cade’s lips quirked. “I guess.”
“Is everyone in town going to think I’m—”
“His?” Cade’s smile deepened. “They already do.”
“What?”
The word erupted, loud and confrontational, causing a middle-aged man who’d just come out of his house to glance across the street in their direction.
“Morning, Barry!” Cade lifted a hand, and after a few more seconds’ contemplation Barry bent, picked up his newspaper—The Werewolf Gazette?—and went inside.
Cade tilted his head and observed Alex as if she were a fascinating new specimen. “Julian hasn’t brought a new wolf to town since—” He paused and unease flickered over his face.
“Since Alana?” Alex asked.
Cade’s eyes widened. “He told you about her?”
Alex shrugged. He had; then again he hadn’t.
“If he didn’t bring you here for himself,” Cade murmured, “then why did he bring you?”
She wasn’t going to touch that question with a ten-foot pole.
“You’ll have to ask him,” she said. “You wanted to talk to me?”
“I heard they were looking for a waitress at the coffee shop.”
“And this is something I need to know why?”
“Thought you might want a job. I know you said you weren’t a cop—” His forehead creased. “But Julian said you were.”
“PI,” Alex supplied. God, she was so good at lying it was kind of embarrassing. “Not really a cop, but close.”
“Well, we don’t need a cop or a PI in Barlowsville, but we do need a waitress at the coffee shop. I bet you could handle it.”
“Maybe,” she allowed.
“It’s a great job for someone who’s new to town,” Cade continued. “Everyone drops by eventually. And once they know you’re working there, they’ll drop by even quicker.”
“Why’s that?”
“They’ll want to talk to you. Get to know you and let you get to know them.” Cade opened the door, taking a step inside before glancing back. “If you’re interested, just ask for Rose.”
Alex had considered going door-to-door, or accosting people in the streets for answers. She could have made the case that she just wanted to get to know everyone, but she figured that would sound fishy. The coffee shop was the perfect cover. She could talk to people and get a peek at them. See if they had any telltale burn marks.
The owner, Rose Bianchi—not a mark on her that Alex could see—was so thrilled to have an applicant that Alex feared the woman might hug her.
“You can start today?” she asked, her fluffy, white halo of hair bobbing above cheeks the same shade as her name. “Right now?”
“I don’t know anything about being a waitress,” Alex lied. It wasn’t as if she could mention all the towns where she’d picked up a few days’ work for tips just so she could buy another box of silver bullets.
