“Yes ma’am,” I said, surprised how the title of respect just seemed to flow out of me. “When I was told, my time and energies were given no consideration.”

She exhaled slowly. “I detest digging out prey. Have you been magicking the field?”

Pleased at her frankness, I decided to be the same. “I spent three days planning how to break into Mr. Ray’s office when I could have been working on other cases,” I said. “And while I admit that isn’t your fault, someone should have called me.”

“Perhaps, but it remains that the fish was not missing. I am not in the habit of paying out blackmail. You will stop.”

“And I’m not in the habit of offering it,” I said, having no trouble keeping my temper as her pack surrounded me. “But I’d be remiss if I didn’t make you aware of my feelings in the matter. I give my word I won’t interfere with the game. I don’t need to. Until I get paid, every time a ball goes foul or a bat cracks, your players will wonder if it’s me.” I smiled without showing my teeth. “Five hundred dollars is a small price for your players’ peace of mind.” Lousy five hundred dollars. It should have been ten times that. Why Ray’s henchmen wasted bullets on me for a lousy stinking fish was still beyond me.

Her lips parted and I swear I heard a small growl in her sigh. Athletes were notorious for being superstitious. She’d pay.

“It’s not the money, Mrs. Sarong,” I said, though at first it had been. “But if I let one pack treat me like a cur, then that’s what I’ll be. And I’m not a cur.”

She brought her gaze up from the field. “Not a cur,” she agreed. “You are a lone wolf.” With a graceful motion, she motioned to a nearby Were, one that looked oddly familiar, in fact. He hastened forward with a leather-bound checkbook the size of a Bible, which took two hands to handle. “It’s the lone wolf that is the most dangerous,” she said as she wrote. “They also have extremely short life spans. Get yourself a pack, Ms. Morgan.”

The rip of the check was loud. I wasn’t sure if she was giving me advice or a threat. “Thank you, I have one,” I said, not looking at the amount as I tucked it in my bag. The smooth shape of the baseball touched my knuckles and I pulled it out. I set it into her waiting hand. “I’ll leave before the game starts,” I said, knowing there was no way they would let me back in the stands. “How long am I banned for?”

“Life,” she said, smiling like the devil herself. “I, too, am not a cur.”

I smiled back, genuinely liking the older woman. Glenn drifted closer. I took the champagne he handed me and set it on the windowsill. “Good-bye, Mrs. Sarong.”

She inclined her head as way of dismissal, the second flute of champagne Glenn had brought resting easy in her grip. Three young men lurked behind her, sulky and well-groomed. I was glad I didn’t have her job, though it looked as if the perks were great.