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“Wouldn’t you prefer to live alone so that you can have a regular bachelor pad?” Bailey asked the tiger.
Camden frowned. “No. I like things the way they are. I like having my best friend living with me.”
Havana raised a finger. “Which is why Randy—”
“Don’t even mention that sack of shit,” clipped Camden.
“—and others you’ve dated have found it hard to accept Aspen,” said Havana. “You might have an easier time making your partners get along with your best friend if she isn’t living with you.”
The tiger’s face scrunched up. “I could give less of a fuck if people don’t like that she lives with me.”
“Your mate would care,” Aspen pointed out. “If you meet him or her, they’re not going to want me living with you. Come on, Camden, it’s not like we’ll never see each other—we’ll probably be living in the same building.”
But the tiger didn’t drop it, so the two disputed the matter right up until the moment they walked out the front door with an exasperated Bailey, who was pushing them to hurry so that they didn’t miss the movie they planned to go see at the theater.
Alone with Tate, Havana relaxed against him. “Thank you for giving my honorary family a place in the pride. You’re getting lucky later for sure.”
He smiled. “I’m already lucky. I have my mate right here. And she’s naked.”
Havana felt her brow furrow. “No, I’m not.”
“You are in my head,” said Tate. “It’s impossible for a man to look at you and not wonder what you look like naked. I don’t need to wonder. I know. And my mind brings up that pretty picture very often. It’s kind of distracting, but I’m good with it.” He kissed her soft and slow and languid. “I need to use the bathroom. I’ll be right back.” He patted her ass and strode off.
Just then, Havana’s phone rang. She grabbed it from the coffee table. Cesário. Damn. She hadn’t kept him up to date on all that had occurred, because she suspected he’d be pissed if he knew she’d almost died. Havana didn’t want him jumping into the situation and, in doing so, misusing the group’s resources. He’d regret it later.
She put her cell to her ear and greeted, “Hey, how are you?”
“You haven’t called with any updates,” he gruffly complained.
“I would have, but I know you find uninformative conversations boring and pointless, and since I don’t yet have intel about Gideon to pass on …”
“You must have something.”
“We did manage to find out that one of his jaguar-minions is named Enrique—that’s all we have on him so far, though. Well, it’s possible he’s a regular at a local casino, but we can’t be sure of that. Still, Tate’s enforcers are staking it out.”
He grunted. “How will they know if the jaguar shows?”
“We spoke to someone who was able to give us a description of both him and his buddy.” There was no need to explain she’d gotten that info out of a man who targeted her with a gun. Twice.
“That’s something, I suppose,” Cesário muttered. “I didn’t call just to moan at you.”
“At least you’re admitting that you’re moaning.”
“I wanted to know if you had anything to do with your old Alpha’s death.”
Both Havana and her devil went utterly still. “What?”
“Someone from our group knows of your old clan. They told me Yasiel was found dead in his cabin a few days ago. Well, some of him was found. It looked like whoever mauled him—and I’m guessing it was a shifter—also ate some of him. The killer didn’t set off any alarms. No one sensed them enter the territory or leave it.”
Feeling her chest squeeze tight, she said, “It could have been an inside job.”
“It probably was. I just thought I’d ask if you had a hand in it.”
“No, I didn’t.” She looked up as Tate strolled back into the living area. “But if I find out who did, I’ll be sure to shake their hand.” She had a pretty good idea of whose hand she’d be shaking, actually. Her gut rarely led her wrong. And right then, it was pointing its metaphorical finger at her mate. So was her devil, shocked by the news of Yasiel’s demise.
“As will I, Ramos. The fucker reaped what he sowed—it’s that simple.” Cesário paused when a muffled voice spoke in the background. “I need to run. Don’t forget to keep me in the loop about the auctions.”
“I won’t.” Without looking away from Tate, she rung off and returned her cell to the table.
Frowning, he cupped her chin. “Is everything all right, babe?”
“Yeah,” she breathed.
“You don’t look okay.” He slid his hand from her chin to her nape, pulled her closer, and curled his other arm tight around her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I just …” She licked her lips and watched his expression carefully as she explained, “I just spoke with my old boss from the Movement. He told me that Yasiel was murdered.” There wasn’t even a flicker of surprise on Tate’s face. “You had something to do with it, didn’t you?”
