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

I let my hair hang forward, covering my face. Jake gestured toward a coffee shop across the street from Lucciola - Fine Candle Shop.

“Let’s go in. I’ll get us some coffee. Why don’t you snatch us a table?”

We went into the coffee shop, and I sat at one of the window tables with a good view of the candle shop. I set my purse down. It thudded with the heavy gun. Oops!

My cell phone buzzed, the caller ID flashing “Mom.” I dismissed the call and typed “Lucciola” into the search bar and found a New York City restaurant by that name. I also learned the word had a Latin origin that meant “I shine,” and that in Italian the word meant firefly. I figured since the Dark Donna was originally from Italy, she was going for Firefly Candle Shop. Not a bad name. I put my phone away and surreptitiously glanced across the street. Not much activity there.

Jake returned with two cups of coffee and two croissant sandwiches and set them on the table. He pushed one of the coffees in my direction. “Cream and three sugars.”

Damn, he also remembered how I liked my coffee. I slow blinked and took a sip. Delicious. The croissant was tempting, but I had to keep my girlish figure.

I gestured toward the food. “If you’re hungry enough, eat both sandwiches. I had a giant blueberry muffin earlier.”

“Oh, I’m hungry.” Jake seemed to always be hungry. It was a werewolf thing. His metabolism ran hot and fast like a space rocket.

We sipped our coffees silently while we watched the candle shop. People passed in front of our window. As I scrutinized them closely, it reminded me of scouting for a mark. The difference... I had no idea what we were waiting for here. We already knew they were keeping Stephen mobile. He wouldn’t be in the candle shop.

God, we needed to find him. We had less than twenty-four hours before it was too late.

Trying not to sound impertinent, I asked, “So... what exactly are we doing?”

Jake’s silver eyes wandered away from the shop to meet mine. He shrugged one shoulder. “Gathering clues. PI work can seem frustrating and irrational sometimes, but the smallest details can make a huge difference in solving a case.”

“What do you think we’ll see here?”

“I’ve no idea. Maybe I’ll walk over there and buy you a candle.” His mouth tipped into one of his wicked smiles. “Lavender, citrus, vanilla? Which would you prefer?”

I gasped.

“What?”

I shook my head. I was so stupid. Why hadn’t I made this connection as soon as I saw that Lucciola was a candle shop?

Jake frowned, waiting for an answer.

Dammit, how could I explain what I’d just realized without divulging the way my skills worked? I struggled with what to do, feeling like a piece of smelly trash as I did so. Stephen’s life was on the line, and here I sat, worried about myself and my baggaged relationship with Jake.

“Toni, whatever it is, you have to tell me.”

“I know.” I lowered my head and took a deep breath. “Okay, but you have to keep this to yourself. You can’t tell anyone.”

“You can trust me. You know that.”

“Do I?”

Okay, maybe the question was a bit unfair since my professional secrets had nothing to do with our relationship. I waved a hand to dismiss my own comment and lowered my voice as I explained. “When I go into a trance, I use my senses to find my mark.”

Jake’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You know how strong my sense of smell is,” I said, remembering how he’d constantly remarked about it in the past. He used to say that it rivaled his own sense of smell, and werewolves were well known for that trait. “Well,” I continued, “when I was trying to track Stephen I smelled cinnamon, vanilla, and lavender.”

I let that sink in. Jake’s gaze sparked as he made the connection. He glanced toward the candle shop. “Maybe they’re keeping him there.” He squeezed the edge of the table so hard that the wood groaned.

I shook my head. “No, I told you he’s on the move.”

He regarded me with narrowed eyes. “And your... senses helped you figure that out, too?”

“Yes. I could hear a car’s engine, tires rolling on asphalt, traffic sounds.”

“And what did you see?”

“Nothing. It was dark—not a pinprick of light.”

Jake lowered his head, appearing deep in thought. As he ran fingers through his golden-brown hair, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. In front of the candle shop, a white delivery van rolled to a stop. It had a logo on the side painted with black and golden letters that read Lucciola Candle Shop.

Before I knew what I was doing, I rose to my feet and rushed out of the coffee shop. I crossed the street in a few strides and found myself standing behind the van’s rear double doors. The back windows were tinted. I took a step forward, my hand reaching for the handle.

“May I help you?” A man, clearly a Stale, came around the side of the van. He wore black slacks and a gray shirt with the company’s logo on its breast pocket. A beer gut stuck out, barely held in place by a worn belt.

“Open this door,” I demanded.

The man furrowed thin eyebrows and glanced from me to the candle shop behind him.

“Um, I—” his mouth slammed shut when Jake appeared behind me. Beer Gut took a step back, looking ready to bolt.

“Do as the lady asked,” Jake growled in his alpha tone, a blood-curdling sound that carried the command of a thousand pissed-off dads.

Beer Gut shuddered visibly, his face going slack with fear. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d peed his pants. I could see the moment he decided it wasn’t worth arguing. He put both hands up and slowly approached the van. Trembling, he reached for the handle and pulled the door open.

Light spilled into the van’s interior, revealing metal shelves running along the