"What the hell?" I grumbled. "There is no way this is all a seriously unlucky coincidence."
"Well," Junior surmised as he ate his pile, "it's either an unlucky coincidence or one shit-ton of good luck or bad luck—depends on how you wanna look at it."
"I'd say good luck at this point," Hank chimed in as he destroyed his own mound of Mexican food. "All the players are now in the same spot. Saves time. We can kill—and I do mean kill—an assload of birds with one stone."
"Something is very off about all this," Dima said. "However, I'm going with Hank. The more the merrier in one place."
"I'm sad those douchecanoes are making me go back to Georgia," Junior griped in frustration. "I'd like to go kick some Vampyre, Council, Dragon, feral Wolf ass."
"Don't you think you should get back to Sandy and your Pack?" I asked as I realized I was looking forward to a potential Council ass-kick.
"Yep," Junior said as he tried to steal two of my tacos. "Sandy needs me. She doesn't function well when I'm not around to make her life a living hell."
"It's good to know you're clear on where you stand with her," I said as I smacked his hand away.
"I might play a dumbass on a hit TV show, but in reality I'm freakin' brilliant," Junior stated.
"Wait," Dima said as she protected her tacos. "He's on TV?"
Everything stopped for a brief moment while we digested that Dima actually believed Junior. No one believed Junior and with good reason. He was so full of crap his eyes were brown… well, not really, but it sounded good.
"I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that," I told her with an eye roll and a laugh.
"You people are insane," she muttered.
"Correct," Hank told her. "And Junior is one of the most certifiable. Now everyone eat up. We're leaving in ten."
"Seconds?" Junior shouted as he shoved his food in his mouth so quickly he choked.
"Minutes," I said with a grin and a wallop to his back. "Slow down. Tacos are not worth dying for."
"These are," he said solemnly as he gently caressed his remaining Mexican feast.
"He might be right," Hank said reverently as he cuddled his own stash.
"Actually, I think he is," Dima added, not really hugging her tacos in a loving way—more of an I will kill you if you touch my tacos kind of way.
"Oh my god. Fine." I laughed and shook my head. "Eat. You all have exactly eight minutes and nineteen seconds till we're out of here."
Thankfully there was no more talking. We ate our to die for tacos and left. What lay ahead was anyone's guess, but we would face it on full stomachs.
Full stomachs and a hell of a lot of unanswered questions.
Chapter 18
"You two going to tell me what's really going on?"
Dima asked the question from the backseat of the Hummer as we sped along I-94 towards Michigan. I figured silence would answer her question sufficiently so I kept my lip zipped—as did Hank. The sun was setting and rush hour was over. We were making great time.
"Interesting," she said as she shuffled some papers around. "I should have guessed you'd keep me in the dark, considering you've taken my ability to shift away."
"You're on a need to know basis," I replied calmly. "You need us more than we need you. Killing your Pappy is not high on my priority list."
"It should be," she said with a polite smile and a shake of the stack of papers in her hand.
"I know you want me to ask you why." I texted Dwayne that we were on our way along with an unfortunately large portion of the Werewolf paranormal government on our heels. "But I have to pee and I can't concentrate on your potential bullshit at the moment."
"After you relieve yourself I'd suggest you ask me what the hell is written on the papers I'm about to eat," Dima shot back.
"You're really gonna eat paper?" I asked with a grimace.
"Yep. It insures my life for a bit."
"Eating paper?" I asked.
"Not the paper itself. The intel on the paper is what will keep me in the land of the living for a few more hours," Dima explained as she wadded up the papers and ingested them.
For such a gorgeous girl she was kind of gross.
I realized I'd possibly made a grave error in letting her eat the paper, but she was not one to screw with. If the Hummer caught fire it would blow up pretty fast.
"Okay, fine. What was on the paper?" I asked, realizing it was crap I probably needed to know.
"Your question should be—where did I get the papers?" she corrected me.
"I'll bite. Where did you get the papers?"
"Angela's desk—in a folder labeled confidential."
"Is she stupid?" I shouted. "Why would she leave a folder labeled confidential on her damn desk?"
"Maybe she's not stupid at all," Hank interjected reasonably. "Do you think she left it there so we would find it—and possibly find her?"
I was silent. I took some air in through my nose and blew it out through my mouth. There was a very good reason to have partners—especially when part of the mission was to protect your own family. My conflicts of interest were starting to screw with my ability to think rationally. Shitballs.
"That's all kinds of brilliant," I muttered, pissed I hadn't thought of it. "Angela's leaving us clues because she knew we'd come back for her."