“Oh, that,” Marigold said with a look of contempt. “That woman with the national column? She’s a total fake. Take it from a real psychic. She’s well known in the psychic community. Human, not witch, not psychic, no powers whatsoever. Anyone with real power can sense it when we’re near somebody else who has it, like this faint crackling, almost like static electricity. She has none.”
“How does she stay in business?” Lainey wondered.
“She’s showy and she has charisma.” Marigold’s nose wrinkled in distate. “She’ll blow into town and say something like, the missing woman can be found near a swamp, when the whole county is full of swamps, so it’s like, no kidding. Then she’ll charge a fat fee. Then she’ll let the cops do all the work, and she’ll claim all the credit.”
“Nonetheless, it’s news, so I need to be there,” Imogen said. “She’s making the announcement in half an hour.”
Tate sighed. “That’s going to be a big headache for Loch, because whatever the psychic predicts, the Sinclair family is going to expect Loch to follow up on it.”
“You should go help him, then,” Lainey said.
“I just got you back. I don’t want to leave you behind.” Tate flashed mournful puppy dog eyes at her, and Lainey felt an overwhelming wave of love and affection flowing through her. He was hers. All hers. Forever.
“I’ll go with you,” she said. “This is important. Mint juleps can wait. My God, I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Seriously, what? Who are you?” Marigold peered at her suspiciously.
“Well, just a sip. I won’t drive. I’ll go in Tate’s pickup truck.” Lainey grabbed a mason jar and took a healthy swig before setting it back down on the tray.
“That’s a sip?” Tate asked as she followed him to his truck.
“Yes, and darn it, I want a to-go cup, but I guess that wouldn’t be legal. The whole open-container thing. And you’re a cop and all.”
“Yes, we wouldn’t want me to have to bust out the handcuffs.”
“Wouldn’t we?” Lainey grinned wickedly. Wow, Marigold’s naughtiness was apparently contagious. Well, there were worse things she could catch.
Tate put his hand on her thigh as they pulled out of the parking lot, and squeezed affectionately. “I had no idea you were such a pervert. Lucky me.”
When they pulled up in front of the sheriff’s station, they were greeted by Loch himself. He stood outside the station waiting for them, and he looked worried.
“What’s happening?” Tate asked.
“I was just about to call you. We picked up Frank Sinclair, over at the Beaudreau mansion. Odd thing, he seems…I don’t know. He seems as if he’d been drugged or something. Not drunk, I don’t scent any alcohol on him, but he’s slurring his words and babbling and his pupils are dilated. We’ve got a doctor on the way. He’s coming out of it now, in his cell. I thought you might want to talk to him, put the fear of Alpha in him. Or maybe it’s time to issue a Challenge.”
Frowning, Tate followed Loch into the holding section, with Lainey at his heels.
Frank was fully awake when they got there, staggering in his cell, his clothes ripped as if he’d tried to shift, his eyes wild.
When Tate got to the jail cell, Frank rushed over and grabbed the bars.
“You’ve got to go find her,” he cried, his voice thick and slurred. “Now. Go!”
“What the hell are you talking about? You’ve been told to stay away from my sister and stay out of this county. Do you realize I’d be within my rights to issue a Challenge right now?”
“Megan! He took Megan,” Frank howled. “You’ve got to find her. You’ve got to go.”
Chapter Twelve
Loch quickly unlocked the cell door, and he and Tate rushed in. Tate grabbed Frank by his neck and lifted him completely off the ground. “What are you talking about? Who took Megan?”
Loch grabbed his arm as Frank’s face turned purple. “You’re killing him, you jackass. Let him talk.”
Tate dropped Frank to the ground, and Frank wheezed and gasped, staggering back and clutching at his throat.
As Frank struggled for breath, Tate quickly dialed Megan’s cell phone. It went straight to voicemail. Panic clutched at his chest as he dialed Kyle’s number.
“Where is Megan?” he demanded. “I can’t get ahold of her. Frank Sinclair is saying something about somebody taking her.”
“What the hell? I don’t think anybody took her…she said she had to go to the bathroom a little while ago, asked me to watch the kids. She hasn’t come back yet,” Kyle said, sounding worried. “Oh, crap. Wait. It’s been half an hour. I didn’t notice. Schuyler ran off after Megan, said she had to go to the bathroom, too. She isn’t back yet, either. I’ll have everyone start searching for them.”
“Call me as soon as you find her,” Tate said, and hung up quickly.
He swung back to Frank. “What the hell is going on?” His voice was a threatening growl, his eyes glowing red with rage as his thick, black claws shot from his fingers and his face went hairy.