Page 3 of Semi-Reckless

“You’re sassy,” Margaret said dryly. “No one likes a sassy child.”

She sighed. “I’m not a child. But again, what’s wrong this time, ma’am?”

“Two of my cows were mutilated.”

Haven sat up a little straighter in her chair. Animals were sometimes used in demon rituals. Was it possible that Margaret had finally stumbled upon an actual paranormal problem she could help with? “Mutilated how?”

Margaret huffed out a harsh breath. “Girl, I hope for your sake that you’re pretty, because you are dumber than a box of hair. Mu-til-a-ted, I said. How many ways are there to mutilate a freaking cow?”

Haven decided she’d ignore the box of hair comment. Telling Margaret that what didn’t kill her disappointed everyone around her, or that she’d fail a personality test, or that even Bob Ross would call her a mistake, or that she was a sentient menstrual cramp wouldn’t do either of them any good. And it wasn’t very customer service-y. “I mean,” she began, calling forth every bit of patience she had left, which admittedly wasn’t much, “do you think it was a shifter? Or was it a ritualistic mutilation?”

“If I knew that, why would I call you?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. Deep, calming breath in, deep, calming breath out. “Are the bodies still there, or did you dispose of them?”

“I dragged ‘em into the barn so that the buzzards wouldn’t take ‘em.”

“Good. That’s good,” Haven said, typing some notes into the call log. “I’ll send an investigator out to examine them later today. Does that work for you?”

There was a loaded pause on Margaret’s end of the line. “You mean you’re actually sending someone out?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“You mean to tell me you’re actually concerned about my safety after all this time?”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t. Say. It. “No. But we take the safety of livestock very seriously around here.”

D’oh! She said it.

Margaret let out a dry snort. “Your parents should be tried at the Hague for how they raised you, you know that?”

Weirdly enough, it wasn’t the first time she’d heard that one. “And you bring joy to every room you exit.”

Margret was silent for a beat, and Haven feared she’d gone too far. Hell, she really might get fired. She had to think the only thing more humiliating than washing out of the hunter program was washing out of the fucking call center. But after a long pause, Margret sniffed delicately and said, “Good one.”

Then she hung up.

Well, if nothing else, she’d at least learned how to get rid of Margret. Apparently, all you had to do was impress her with an insult. Maybe the horrid old bog witch wasn’t so bad after all.

But as Haven was looking through the project management software that would tell her which agents had time to check out Margret’s complaint, she had a thought. Or maybe an epiphany?

She switched her screen to do a quick web search to define epiphany to see if what she was having met the description. Yes. Yes, this was definitely an epiphany.

If she figured out who or what was mutilating old lady Vassel’s cows without any trouble—or, you know, dying this time—her parents would have to admit she was ready to be back in the field and off this damn desk.

It probably wasn’t even a difficult or particularly dangerous investigation. Margret did live in the middle of werewolf country, after all. And the day she couldn’t handle some werewolves was the day she didn’t deserve her old job back.

Hell, she’d been sparring with her uncle Lucas, an alpha (in strength only. He had no interest in actually managing a pack), for as long as she could remember. He’d taught her more about their strengths and weaknesses than anyone outside of pack life should ever know.

If handled properly, this could be a quick, easy way back to real, meaningful work. Except for one thing.

Roan Malek.

The second he realized she was heading into werewolf country by herself, he’d just pop up and teleport her back to safety, as he’d done about a bazillion times since she, well, died and was brought back to life by the miracle of CPR. How he always knew she was in trouble, (or perceived trouble), she had no idea. She had to imagine some serious stalking was involved.

And she had no choice but to imagine it because the stubborn jackass had refused to actually talk to her since…the incident.

She wasn’t going to stew about that now, though. The hurt it caused was damn near debilitating. He’d been such a big part of her life, and losing him like that…

---