He shook his head. “There’s a BOLO for the purple car, but they haven’t located it yet.”

Not entirely surprising, I thought. “It’s probably secure in a garage right now, waiting for new plates.”

Roger moved a bit closer, lowered his voice. “Gwen said you were attacked by ghosts? Is that who took Rose?”

“I’m not sure. After we lost the pursuers, everything was fine until we got to South Gate. The vehicle died, the temperature dropped, and we were suddenly the only cars on the road. Then ghosts emerged from the gate—or so it seemed—and attacked us. Ghosts with enough power to vocalize, physically stop our vehicle, fight both of us, and tear chunks of stone out of the gate. Theo got out of the car to help me. Then he got hurt, and when I got him back to the SUV, it was empty.”

“They vocalized?” Petra asked.

I nodded. “They kept saying ‘no,’ and at one point said to ‘go back.’ ”

She frowned. “What does that mean?”

“They didn’t want Rose leaving them,” Roger guessed.

“That was my thought.”

“No sign of other vehicles?” he asked.

“None. There was a magical fog, so I couldn’t see anything. But I didn’t hear any fighting, and she seems like the type who would have fought back.”

“I agree.”

“Did she work with necromancers?”

“Not that I’m aware of. And if she had friends—or enemies—with the kind of power you’re describing, she didn’t tell me about it.”

“I’m sorry, Roger,” I said, and the guilt flooded again. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get her to the safe house.”

“Nonsense,” he said quickly, and gestured to the waiting room. “You risked your lives to do your job. I don’t know if I underestimated how powerful her enemies were or if she wasn’t candid enough.”

“I think the ghosts would have killed us if they could have,” I said. “They were intent on—I don’t know—stopping her? Taking her back?”

Roger squeezed my hand. “I’m glad they didn’t. It’s not impossible that she got away on her own. If you were under attack because of her, she might have thought the best course was getting out and away, getting you in the clear. Hopefully, she’ll call once she’s somewhere safe.”

Petra whistled, tilted her screen to us to show a photo of the scene that had been shared online. Spotlights had been set up casting garish shadows on the gutted gate. “Who has this kind of power?” Petra asked.

“I don’t know,” Roger said. “But we’ll find out.”

And hopefully before they hurt anyone else.

* * *

I was tired and desperate, so I opted for waiting room coffee. It was not good. I added enough sugar and creamer to make it almost drinkable, then settled in to let the caffeine do its work.

By the time I turned around again, he was just . . . there.

Connor Keene, prince of the North American Central Pack. And very much mine.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark wavy hair and brilliantly blue eyes. A lock of hair curled superheroically over his forehead, and even the teenage girl in me—who thought the teenage Connor was an irritating punk—sighed a little.