Page 50 of Fresh Old Bounties

“You!” I exclaimed in outrage.

The Crawler’s berserker bouncer filled the kitchen’s entryway. “I’m here.”

I turned to Ian. “Are you sure we can trust him? What if the man has a mage friend?”

“I kept you out of the club, didn’t I?” the berserker gloated.

“Only because I didn’t really try.”

He strode in and loomed over me, an evil smile stretching his mouth. “Oh, really?”

Hmph. As if I was going to cower at this. “More powerful people than you have tried to intimidate me, big guy. Unless you want to look behind your back every day for the rest of your days, I suggest you tone it down.”

His grin turned wicked. “I’d like to see you try to tone me down, witch.”

My magic might not be big enough to take down a berserker of his size, but I wasn’t losing this staring contest. A witch had to stand strong and claim her territory.

“This is Mark,” Ian said. “He does jobs for the bounty hunters sometimes.”

“Jobs the shifters and witches can’t deal with on their own,” Mark drawled while wriggling his eyebrows.

“Or maybe they would if you let them into your establishment,” I countered.

“I don’t make the rules.”

“Mark will stay guard until the man regains consciousness,” Ian continued as if there wasn’t a duel of wills happening in front of him. “Let’s go.” He walked to the back door, then paused. “Or we can stay here and wait together.”

“No,” I said, not breaking eye contact with Mark. “I’m going.”

I walked backward, bumped into the wall, then stepped into the doorway proper.

“I’ll be back,” I warned. “Don’t mess with my stuff.”

Mark lifted his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

I glowered at him one last time, then hurried to join Ian in the backyard.

“He’s a good sort,” Ian said once we were in his SUV and driving. “Helpful.”

“Not to me,” I muttered. I should put up a no-serkers sign on the shop’s front, then invite one of his rival berserkers in. That’d teach him not to play favorites while I conducted important investigative business. “Where are we going?”

“Home.”

And that’s the last thing he said until we parked at the cemetery and he ushered me into his house. He had me sit on his comfortable couch and told me to wait. The living room was as cozy as always, made up in warm wooden colors and with a big fireplace dominating one wall. An astronomy book sat on the glass coffee table, and I pulled it my way.

Ian didn’t talk much about hobbies, but I’d caught him staring up at the sky a few times. I wondered if he had a telescope upstairs and if that’s how he spent his nights.

I wondered if his bedroom had a skylight to watch the stars as he fell asleep.

He reappeared a few moments later with a big file box in his hands, which he placed on the floor. After sitting by my side, he began rummaging through the box.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“My ex-partner’s files.”

My brain rewound to three days earlier and my fleeting meeting with his ex-partner’s son. “I thought you said you told his son you had nothing left from him. You lied to him?”

“My ex-partner had no sons.”

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