The glimpse of sparkle reminds me who I’m in a half crouch next to. As I settle in the chair, I examine the woman I glimpsed the first night I met Warner.

She’s gorgeous with her strong features and dark eyes. The tan skin on her high cheekbones is colored rosy, like she spends plenty of time in the sun. Today, her black hair wraps around the top of her head in a braid crown, and I admire the little turquoise drops that dangle from her ears.

“You keep checking me out, I’m gonna tell Warner he has some competition.” She gives me a saucy wink, making me smile wide.

“You’re friends with Warner?”

“Best friends. Oh, the embarrassing childhood stories I could tell!” She sets down what I realize now is a cowboy boot and holds out her hand. “I’m Courtney Benally. Glad to finally meet you.”

When I clasp her hand, rough calluses brush my palm. Apparently, vibrant footwear and out-of-season Daisy Dukes don’t preclude a girl from working hard.

“Good to meet you too.” Even as I pull my current project—the apology scarf I’ve almost finished—out of my bag, I study Courtney from the side of my eye.

My curiosity is fueled by one question: Is she a werewolf?

Courtney spends time at The Rabbit Hole, but she doesn’t seem to be a member of The Dark Moon Riders. Does every wolf in town have to be a biker too? Could she be one of the townspeople who are in the know?

None of these questions are things I can just blurt out, so I search for a way to approach the topic innocently.

“You said you’ve known Warner since you were kids?”

Courtney nods, a big grin on her face. “Yeah. I hung out with him and Roderick when we were little tykes. Their mom’s house is down the road from mine.”

“He was as charming then as he is now. Quick to laugh,” Amy Spencer offers, smiling across the table at us as her fingers wield a needle in a cross-stitch project.

Courtney leans close, muttering only to me, “Quick to tear up too. Sorry to tell you, Zoey, but you’re shacking up with a notorious crybaby.”

I snort, turning my head to whisper back, “Noted. I’ll make sure to treat him gently.”

Her eyes glitter as they meet mine, and I return to my original goal.

“So, I guess you know a lot about him. All his … moods?”

Hell. I suck at this. I was not made for the life of a detective.

Still, Courtney’s stare loses an ounce of humor, sharpening as her brows dip.

“I do in fact.” Her shoulder bumps mine as she leans in closer. “Like how animalistic he can get.”