“I won’t hand Aiden over to them,” Adam said. “Nor stand by while you or Tad are taken.”

“There’s some room between what we will do and what we won’t,” I said. “Should I call Thomas?” I didn’t have his phone number, but I could call the hotel.

“Your justification for escorting the Flanagan and her vampire is that they are in your territory?” Zee asked. “How big is your territory, Adam?”

“As big as I can defend,” Adam said, his eyes hooded. “If there is a war, I will take it right to the door of Underhill, should it be necessary. They will not find us an easy enemy to defeat.”

“Cost them so much in the winning that they never do it again,” said Zee thoughtfully. “That is a tactic. Not a good one, but a tactic. Usually, the result is a Pyrrhic victory.”

Adam nodded. “Let’s just hope that someone other than you remembers that, and they don’t force us to go to war.”

“Or we can just refer to the guesting laws,” I said. “Guests can request help in their journey without us claiming Walla Walla as our territory. It’s stretching the rules a little, but not changing the letter of the law.”

“Guesting laws aside”—Adam took a deep breath and gave a decisive nod—“the first thing we really need is information. And I have one place we can get more without risking anyone.” He hitched his hip up off the chair and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. “So I vote that we see what our note writers want first.” He dialed, then set the phone on the table with the speaker on—apparently done with his nod to democracy.

It rang three times and stopped. I could hear breathing on the other side of the connection. They waited for us to speak—but that’s not how an Alpha plays the game.

Eventually, a voice that could have been a high-pitched man’s or a low-pitched female’s said, tentatively, “Who calls?”

Aiden jerked awake at the sound of the voice and dug his hands into Adam’s arms, then slid off his lap and backed into a corner of the kitchen. Zee knew the voice on the phone, too. His eyes narrowed, and he pursed his lips, but he nodded at Adam.

“You give this number to a lot of people?” Adam asked.

“Mr. Hauptman,” said the voice, the tentative quality disappearing, buried in cold confidence. It was a woman’s voice, I decided. “We do not desire a war with you.”

“Could have fooled me,” he growled. “You set a troll on my city.”

There was a pause. “Your city?” she said. “I believe you are the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack, not the mayor of Richland, Pasco, or Kent-Kenta-Ken . . .”