The Tracker's Mate: Sunderverse (Mate Tracker Book 1) by Ingrid Seymour (an ebook reader TXT) 📗

mint leaves, volcanic ash... they were all there. Though soon I would have to replenish my stash of Pixie dust.

A series of bangs on the wall next to my cupboard startled me. Someone was hammering on the other side. I stared at the wall, hands on my hips. So the new tenant was already here and making a racket during business hours, no less.

Great!

The hammering went on for about a minute, then stopped. I waited for it to begin again, but it didn’t. Good. I couldn’t talk to customers like that. If it started again, I would have to go next door to shove their hammer where they couldn’t find it anymore.

I went back to my desk and spent the rest of the hour reviewing Celina’s file and making a few phone calls. Images of Foster’s hanging body flashed before my eyes, unbidden. I couldn’t get them out of my head, nor the foreboding that something bad would happen.

“Are you all right?” Rosalina asked from the door.

I glanced up, lifting my head from steepled fingers. “Oh, I’m fine, just thinking about last night.”

“I’ve been doing the same, but it’s time to look sharp. Ms. Morelli’s here.”

“Already?” I rose from the chair, shook myself, and straightened my knee-length dress. “Bring her in.”

“You have to nail this one, Toni,” she reminded me.

I nodded. “I will. I will.”

If I found Celina Morelli’s mate, it would open a world of possibilities for Rosalina and me. I couldn’t fail.

Chapter 3

I smiled as Celina Morelli walked into my office. She wore a tight red dress that fit her like someone had poured it over her. Her black hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and her lips matched the shade of her outfit. She was tall and slender and wore black heels that helped accentuate shapely calves that must be the courtesy of some hot private trainer.

Oh, to have that kind of time and money. Maybe one day.

“Ms. Morelli.” We shook hands over my desk.

“Please, I’ve already told you to call me Celina.”

“Sit, Celina.” I indicated the chair across from mine as I sat back.

She placed her small purse on my desk and took a seat, crossing her long legs prissy-like. Celina topped six feet with her two-inch heels and probably looked like a freaking goddess when she strutted down the sidewalk. I tried to picture her mate. I imagined him tall, dark, and handsome. But even if he resembled a bald orangutan, once I found him, she would have no choice but to fall desperately in love with him.

I got giddy just thinking about it.

God, I love my job.

Nothing like getting paid to hook up lonely people.

I laid my hand on top of the manila folder in front of me. For the sake of time and clarity, I didn’t like dancing around the issue. I always spoke to my customers as candidly as possible.

“I have reviewed your file and thoroughly understand your frustration with the dating scene. You’ve had a certain number of relationships that must have been heartbreaking.”

Celina inhaled sharply, lifting her chin to appear aloof. It was common among failed lovers to act as if they were above heartache, but I was good at recognizing the signs. This woman had been hurt. Deeply. I had inferred it from her file, and now I could see it on her face.

I’d seen the same strained look in the mirror many times. Who said young people lacked experience?

“Nothing I can’t manage,” she said.

“I don’t doubt it. You seem like a strong woman.”

This was common too, pretending one could finger-plug the heart leaks while taking on the entire world.

I’d done the same after Jake. I didn’t tell Mom he’d left me, and when she found out, I pretended it was no big deal, even though, on the inside, I was wrecked. When the rent money he had left ran out, I was too proud to go back home, so I stayed on the streets, homeless, doing odd jobs that barely paid for food. That was when I met Rosalina. She helped me pull myself back together, and with her friendship, made me realize my worth. I didn’t deserve what Jake did to me. But I’d learned my lesson. I would never give my heart so freely again.

So yeah, I knew all about strong façades, but Celina didn’t fool me.

“I’m afraid,” I said, “that even though it may be uncomfortable, you will have to open up in order to get what we need.”

“Your partner warned me about this.” Celina seemed on the verge of rolling her eyes, though she confined her annoyance to a slow blink. “Are tears really necessary?”

I opened my drawer, took out a vial, uncapped it, and handed it over. “I’m afraid so.”

She took it with distaste. “I despise crying. It ruins my makeup”

“I can turn around if you’d like.” I pushed a box of tissues in her direction and started swiveling my chair toward the back wall.

“No need. Let’s get this over with.”

I stopped the chair and offered her a sympathetic smile.

“My latest romantic debacle happened a year ago,” she began. “I was deeply in love with him. We’d been dating for almost a year when he proposed. I was ecstatic. We set a date for a month later because we couldn’t wait. We even moved in together.”

Celina’s voice broke, and she stopped to swallow. Tears were already pooling in her eyes, wavering in place, and though she knew we needed to fill the vial, she fought them.

“The night before the wedding,” she continued, “he went to stay with a friend, so we wouldn’t see each other until we got to the church.” Her chin quivered. “I haven’t seen him since. His friend showed up instead to let me know the groom wasn’t coming. Apparently, that morning my ex ran into someone from his past, a Fae girlfriend he hadn’t seen in years. It took them an hour to reconnect and discover they were still in love.”

The tears