Page 32 of Bear’s True Mate

My hands balled into fists at my sides.

“The woman was Rose,” she said, oblivious I’d already figured it out myself. “And I don’t mean to judge, but I didn’t care for him. Something about him rubs me the wrong way.”

I was sure. After all, Delilah was a fox shifter. She could smell a snake out from a mile away.

“What’s he look like?”

“Tall. Thin. Clean-cut. Nice clothes, good smile.” She paused. “The kind of smile that’s a little too good, if you know what I mean. Like he’s practiced it.”

It had to be Evan.

“Did you tell him anything?” I asked.

“Honey, please.” She gave me a look. “There’s no way I would have given that sweet girl up to a man like that. Darren was here having breakfast, though. He talked to him.”

Every muscle in my body tensed.

Darren was no good. He’d give someone up in a heartbeat if there was something in it for him.

“When the guy walked away, Darren was counting some cash.” Delilah’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You know that vulture swung that situation to play in his favor and made some money passing off her location.”

My bear lunged forward, and I barely held him back.

“Nolan, I’ve been running my mouth all over town about the romance writer staying at Alister’s place. I thought it was charming. If that man found her because of me—” She shook her head. “I’ll never forgive myself.”

“This isn’t on you. It’s on Darren,” I ground out. “I have to go.”

I started toward the exit.

“Be careful,” Delilah called after me. “I’ve been around long enough to know when a smile is for show, and that man’s smile is nothing but.”

“It’s not me you need to worry about.”

I was out the door before she could say anything else.

The drive home took less than five minutes but felt like a damn year. I kept both hands on the wheel and ran through what I knew—Evan had somehow found out Rose was here, he was in town, and Darren had given him the address of where she was staying.

Which meant he could already be there.

He could have shown up hours ago.

I pulled into the driveway. Her car was there. The lights were on. She was home. Which meant she was safe.

Right?

I bolted out of my truck and straight to her door. My heart pounded in my chest and my bear paced while I knocked and waited for her to answer. I heard her inside, making her way to the door, and forced myself to breathe and calm down. When she opened the door, she had her reading glasses on and a mug of tea in hand.

Had she been writing?

She looked relaxed. Happy, even. I frowned because that was about to change.

“Hey,” she said. Then she noticed my expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Can I come in?”

She stepped back, and I walked inside. The desk by the window was covered in pastel sticky notes, and her laptop was open. I turned to face her and made myself deliver the bad news I was here to tell her.

“He’s here, Rose. Evan’s in Driftwood Cove.”