Page 94 of The Rust in Her Hair

She lifts a hand when she sees me.

"Morning, Mack."

"Mornin', Miss Ellie." I dip my chin at her.

"How's that boyfriend of yours? Adrian." She slows but doesn't stop, marching in place practically. "I rarely see you two apart. Is everything okay?"

"We’re good, ma'am. Adrian’s just a little under the weather." Which is one way to put it. "How's Biscuit doing? That hip any better?"

Miss Ellie glances down at her beagle. "Oh, the vet's got him on a pill now. Costs more than my blood pressure medicine." She's already moving again, tracksuit swishing. "You boys have a good one."

"You too, Miss Ellie."

She pumps her arms on down the sidewalk, Biscuit laboring along behind, and I watch the two of them go with something almost like envy. Simple morning. Simple dog. Simple life where the biggest problem is your dog’s bum hip.

A shiny black SUV rolls past the house, sunlight sliding off tinted windows and paint so clean it looks wet.

We don't get cars like that in this neighborhood.

Out here it's all dented trucks and hand-me-down sedans, and Miss Ellie's ancient wagon. Not a forty-grand blacked-out Suburban. I watch the damn thing, not taking my eyes off it until it turns down the corner.

I sit there, frozen in place, trying to figure out if I should be worried or not.

Then a familiar rattletrap sedan comes around the corner sounding like a coffee can full of bolts, and any hope I had of a quiet morning dies right there.

Renata swings her little car into the gravel, driving too fast. Her old car shudders to a stop with a groan. The driver’s side door pops open and the she-alpha unfolds out of it, dark hair piled on top of her head, and a small duffel bag slung over one shoulder. There are a pair of pink Converse high-tops balanced on top like she just grabbed the whole armful and ran.

She squints at me over the roof of the car.

"Why are you sitting out here half-naked at six in the morning?"

"Could ask you the same thing." I roll my shoulders. "Well. The half-naked part's mine. What’s up, Ren?"

"Came to get the girl." She hip-checks the car door shut and hikes the duffel higher. "Nico called me last night. Said things were getting a little too serious over here and I needed to come take the omega off his hands for a while." She jerks her chin at the house. "So. Where is she? I brought her some clothes."

I look at Renata, then back at the house behind me, at all that heavy sweet smell still rolling out from under the door. I can’t help but think about what I heard through the walls at around two in the morning.

I let out a low whistle through my teeth.

"Well, Ren." I scratch the back of my neck. "I'm gonna go ahead and tell you now, so you don't get your hopes up. That girl ain't going anywhere."

Renata's brows pull together. She crosses the yard, boots crunching in the gravel, and climbs the porch steps to lean her hip against the railing beside me. Up close I can see she didn't sleep much either. There's a crease between her eyebrows that only shows up when she's chewing on something.

"Is she okay?" she asks, quieter now. "The omega. Lyra." She sets the duffel down by her feet. "Nico made it sound like a whole thing on the phone. I've been worried about her all night. In fact, I almost came by to get her last night."

I let a slow smile spread across my face.

"Worried, huh?" I tip my head at her. "Ren Cruz. You got yourself a little soft spot for our omega?"

"Don't." She points a finger at me. "She's a sweet kid who got dealt a shit hand. That's it." The glare she gives me could strip paint. "I’m trying to do you guys a favor."

"Uh-huh." I hold my hands up, grinning.

She keeps glaring, so I let it drop and turn my eyes out to the yard instead.

The sun's climbing now, gilding the terracotta pots along the rail, throwing long shadows off the sun-catchers. Down the block, Miss Ellie turns the corner, heading toward the park. We’re all alone, for the moment.

I blow out a breath.