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“Probably doesn’t matter,” Xander said. “Nobody likes those, anyway.”
I smacked him on my way back to the counter. “I like them!”
I cracked the box open and tore the plastic, then gave it a sniff. Smelled okay. When I tasted one, it was a little stale but not bad. The mix of caramel, shortbread, coconut, and chocolate reminded me of a nostalgic normalcy. A fleeting April of my childhood when Mom had shacked up with Dan, an accountant with a daughter of his own. Asia had been just around my age, brown-skinned and lanky with a big, toothy grin. Dan had enrolled me in her school and signed me up for her Girl Scout troop. We’d walked around her little hometown selling cookies together for two whole weekends before Mom pulled the plug on the relationship and whisked me away in the night.
I wondered where they were now. Like most elements of my mother’s past, once she was gone, she never kept in touch.
“They’re not bad,” I admitted, savoring the lingering sweetness of the coconut on my tongue.
“Then, cheer up,” Xander said as I began to arrange the cookies on a plate. “Maybe Dennis the Bounty Hunter has your same kind of sweet tooth.”
* * *
In the end, Dennis the Bounty Hunter didn’t arrive in a leather pants or with a patchwork of tattoos. No trench coat or fedora, either.
He looked nothing like I’d imagined.
He arrived on the front porch just as the coffee finished brewing. Xander and I greeted him while the carafe cooled.
He was a little shorter than Xander but had a similar build. They both had the sort of muscle that looked to have been crafted in a field instead of a gym. His hair was a silver and bronze color that suggested it had been ruddy brown during his youth. He must have been around the same age as Xander’s dad. A scar marked one side of his face, creating deep and twisted ravines in his cheek. It looked like someone had gone after him with bared claws.
Not exactly a kind face, no, but his eyes were a nice, warm hazel. At their corner, I was certain I spotted laughter lines.
“You’re the Millers?” he grunted, wiping his combat boots on the welcome mat. They looked like they were from the same army surplus store where he’d gotten his olive-green cargo pants. His shirt was plain black, clean, and unrumpled despite the fact he’d just come off an extra-early flight.
“I’m Xander.” Xander didn’t correct Dennis, even though I hadn’t taken his surname. He just struck out his hand. They shook, then Xander gestured to me. “This is Felicity, my mate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Kerry.” I offered Dennis my hand as well. He took it with a grip so strong, it made me wince.
Dennis’s brow furrowed. His grip relaxed. He leaned in and sniffed the air between us suspiciously.
“Huh. Human.” His frown deepened, like I had a weird smell. “Don’t see that very often in these parts.”
Next to me, I felt Xander bristle. “That gonna be a problem?”
Dennis snorted. “Of course not. You ready to talk?”
Xander stepped back and held out an arm, inviting him in.
“Now, I’m in the business of finding people who don’t want to be found,” Dennis explained as we led him through the lodge. “Ferals, mostly. We’ve had more of those in the last six months than I’ve heard of in the last decade.”
“Well, we’ve got one feral for you,” Xander said. “Maybe two.”
“That’s my bread and butter. You’ve got pictures?”
Xander nodded. “In the dining room.”
“I saw your story on the news.” Dennis glanced down at me. His hazel eyes softened for a moment. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”
“So am I,” I said.
He quickly looked away again. Apparently, that didn’t warrant a response.
We entered the dining room. Xander picked up the file folder we’d compiled for Dennis to look over and handed it to him.
Dennis thumbed through it, pausing on the pictures of the boys. They were the same ones we’d given the cops.
“Cute babies,” he commented. “Both alphas, you figure?”
