“Just a minute.” I flipped the piece of paper over. I’m going to ruffle the packs to see if I can get a reaction.

Anybody who isn’t watching Desandra will be watching Doolittle, he wrote.

Perfect. “I have to go meet with the packs this morning,” I said aloud. “Anything you may want me to pass along?”

“Yes.” Curran took the note folded it and methodically tore it into confetti. “Tell them that there is no escape from me.”

* * *

The Belve Ravennati were my first stop. We met by a giant bay window in one of the public rooms where soft tan furniture sat arranged around a coffee table. The wolves from Ravenna didn’t want me in their quarters.

I sat in a love seat across from Isabella Lovari. Gerardo sat on her left. His brother was nowhere to be found. Three other people joined us, all with a similar bearing: clean-cut, the two men clean-shaven, the woman’s hair pulled back into a ponytail. They gave off an almost military air, and they watched me with a single-minded attention. This was a wolf pack, and I was clearly the enemy.

Barabas stood behind me, taking notes on a legal pad.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” I said. The swelling hadn’t gone down as much as I would’ve liked, and talking hurt.

Isabella looked me over. “I’m surprised you’re still here.”

“I’m hard to kill.”

“Like a cockroach.”

“Not sure that’s a good comparison. I never had trouble killing small insects,” I said.

Barabas quietly cleared his throat.

Isabella raised her eyebrows. In her early fifties, she had a kind of sharp precision about her. Over my time with the Pack I had watched alphas work. Some struggled, like Jennifer. Some, like the Lonescos of Clan Rat, had a natural ease about interacting with people in their charge. Isabella had neither. She radiated the air of command. It was obedience or else.

“As you know, we’re attempting to discover the nature of the attacks on Desandra’s life,” I said. “Her well-being and the well-being of her children is our first priority.”

“Are you trying to imply that we’re under suspicion?” Isabella asked.

“I’m not implying; I’m saying it. I’d like nothing better than to strike you from my list.”

Barabas passed me a small note card with a single word: diplomatic.

Isabella leaned back. “I’m insulted.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” I said. “Last night your daughter-in-law was attacked. Our people were hurt. I’ve got ten shapeshifters howling for blood. I’m looking for someone to hunt. It can be you or it can be Kral or the Volkodavi. I don’t really care. So go ahead. Give me a reason to paint a target on your chest.”

The Belve Ravennati stared at me in stunned silence.

Isabella laughed quietly. “Ask your questions.”

“Where were you last night around midnight?”