I brushed a fleck of lint off my tan pants, wondering if I should bother calling Dean after what had happened. I’d grown to love working at Club Sin, but after this fiasco, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind I would be served walking papers, regardless that someone else had instigated the shift. Club owners didn’t knowingly hire panthers. Shifters had a long history with slavery, and everyone had a rank on the totem pole. Many had been alive to remember, so it was no surprise if a deer had problems with predators. But panthers had a reputation all our own.

I didn’t even realize I’d been cursing until Reno pulled down his shades to get a good look at me.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’m just thinking about my job. Customers talk and rumors spread fast.”

“You can always dance on the human side of town,” he suggested.

“For nickels and dimes. None of the Breed clubs will hire me once they hear about this, and you can bet they’re all talking about it—my ears are already burning. I’ve always had my panther under control. Always. Someone forced me, and if I ever find that man—”

“We’re here,” he said.

My jaw slackened as I scoped the neighborhood. Reno pulled into a parking space in a shady apartment complex, and I don’t mean shady because of trees. Three men were sitting on the hood of a beat-up maroon car, smoking weed. Empty beer cartons littered the edge of the building next to a rusty blue bicycle missing a front wheel. This wasn’t even a Breed complex.

“Oh, Skye,” I whispered.

“She lives in a better neighborhood than this rat hole,” Reno said, lifting a gum wrapper from the floor and putting it in his pocket. “Sure you don’t want to wait in the car?”

“I just want to make sure her baby is okay. That’s all I’m here for.”

“She’s with family. Of course she’s okay.” Reno popped open his door and got out.

I followed behind him up the steps and down a corridor until we reached a green door with a knocker. Reno used his fist instead.

“Hold on, hold on,” someone yelled from inside.

Reno kicked his boot on the welcome mat to straighten it out. I glanced toward the pool area, where kids were splashing and squealing.

When the door swung open, a young man who looked in his twenties answered. He had on long yellow shorts and no shirt. He didn’t look a thing like Skye—red hair and hazel eyes. His cheeks and nose were bright red, and the skin on his sunburned shoulders was peeling. He smelled like chlorine, and the roots of his hair still looked wet.

Reno widened his stance. “Are you Skye’s cousin?”

“Yep. You one of her boyfriends?”

“I’m a PI. I need to ask you a few questions.”

The man hitched up his shorts in the back. “I don’t know jack shit. Her manager called, and I told him what I know. I bet she ran off with one of her johns.”