Page 179 of Secret Shifters Next Door

“It’s not, but we’ll try to fix it. Are you Miss Santos? Celina?”

“Yes, that’s me. I only got into town ten minutes ago.”

“Oof, I’m sorry Karen was your first experience with Lilly Valley. Trust me, it gets a lot better. Anyway, all I need is your ID, a credit card on file for the auto-withdrawal lease you set up, and your license plate number to register your car with the parking spot that comes with the apartment.”

I went through the registration process in a daze. I was fully drained by the interaction with Karen and took the keys with little fanfare. Becky walked me to the door and stepped into the parking lot with me. She pointed down the street. “Right there is your new place. It’s close, so that’s good. Top floor. If you have any questions, we’re here Monday to Friday, regular business hours.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled.

I went to my car and drove the three blocks to the apartment building. Grabbing my small suitcase, I walked up the stairs to the top floor, found my door, unlocked it, and went in. Without paying any attention to the space that would be my home for the next two months, I walked straight to the bathroom and went inside. The door closed behind me, leaving me in darkness. I leaned back against the wall and slid down to the floor.Thankfully, no tears came, just a bone-deep weariness. The altercation with the woman at the rental office had leached my energy.

After nearly thirty minutes, my vitality levels went back to normal. This was how I’d always re-centered myself when I was younger. Years of living in shitty foster homes had given me loads of deep-seated issues and weird coping mechanisms. It still rankled me that my childhood was so ingrained in me.

Standing, I flipped the light switch on and squinted through the sudden brightness. The room was actually fairly large. There was a pedestal sink with a mirrored cabinet above it, a toilet, and a pretty big shower. To say I was surprised was an understatement. I’d assumed I would be getting a tiny starter apartment for the price. The pictures online looked pretty and apparently hadn’t been camera tricks.

Out in the living area, I found a fairly decent open-plan living room, dining room, and kitchen. Everything was clean and well taken care of. The bedroom was just off the living room, and the king-sized bed took up most of the space, but that was fine by me. The closet was small, but I had no plans of increasing my wardrobe while I was here.

My stomach grumbled, and I glanced at the refrigerator. Groceries were the first necessity. I found a welcome packet for new renters on the little kitchen island, which blessedly had a grocery circular with coupons. The address was on the back, so I tucked it into my pocket and rushed back to my car, not paying attention to the rest of the complex.

The grocery store was small, but oh my gosh, it was gorgeous—small and quaint but still well-stocked. It even carried some specialty items that were usually hard to find in larger cities. Shopping there was a pleasant experience and almost a Zen moment. After picking up the necessities, I was in a much better mood and decided to make a bigger run later.

Back at the apartment, I lugged the three grocery bags up to the top floor before going back for the rest of my bags. I stopped halfway up on my second trip to catch my breath. It would have been nice if this place had an elevator. During this last trip, I noticed there was only one other apartment on the top floor, which I found strange. Layouts like this were usually reserved for penthouses in the city. My place was nice, but it was definitely not a penthouse.

Once back inside, I pulled up the rental agreement and saw that it was, indeed, called penthouse-style. I chuckled to myself. Strange way of phrasing it, but it was basically right. This could be a good thing or a bad thing. What if the person who lived across the hall liked to play drums at two in the morning? Maybe it was for the best, though. I wouldn’t have to have awkward interactions with a bunch of neighbors or make small talk. The mere thought of that stressed me out.

After getting most of my things situated and putting a frozen pizza into the oven to bake, I went back to my front door. A little window at eye level allowed me to look across the hall at my neighbor’s door. I wondered what they were like. My writer’s mind did what it always did: it built a fantasy.

He was a gorgeous, sexy, special agent, only in town to complete a mission. The mission was to watch out for and protect me. Someone rich and powerful had it out for me, and this guy had taken the apartment across from me to make sure I was safe. Bad guys would be around every corner, and he’d swoop in to save me, and we’d go on an adventure at the last minute.

Biting my lip, I sank deeper into the fantasy, my eyes glazing over. We’d run across the country, encountering problem after problem. The rich guy would be on our heels because he wanted me for some nefarious reason. Death was around every corner, and we’d always manage to escape by the slimmest margins.Then one night, the sexy special would confess that he was in love with me. He’d pull me close and kiss me like I’d never been kissed in my life. His hands would roam across my body, slipping under my shirt and?—

I blinked and gently slapped my cheek. Jesus, why did I always do that? It was like when I was a kid and lived most of my life in daydreams. It was also a bit infuriating that I was going down the rabbit hole of a fantasy even though I couldn’t get one damned word out on paper.

“Pull it together, Celina,” I muttered as I pulled the pizza from the oven.

I spent the rest of the afternoon eating my frat-boy dinner, finishing unpacking, and calling to get my internet set up. Even after the awful interaction at the rental place, the day turned out to be pretty nice. Once all my needed items had been taken care of, I did what I came to do. I plopped down on the couch to take a nap and relax. As my eyes drifted closed, I thought all of this was exactly what I needed.

TWO

MILES

The last few weeks of hunting the hunters had exhausted me. But it was in my blood. I was a wolf, for God’s sake. I relished the hunt. It was probably a subconscious part of why I became a private investigator. There was more to relish about this hunt, too. I was hunting the people who were trying to kill me and mine—something neither I nor my wolf could let go.

After the explosion of the warehouse and the discovery of Ryland’s body inside the wreckage, news coverage had blown up. There’d even been a blurb about it on CNN. Nothing about the blast and ensuing fire had sent the authorities in our direction, but I kept an eye on it. A small part of me felt like our luck was running out. We had to be vigilant, not just regarding the hunters but the cops too.

I’d been out on the hunt for nearly a month. First, I did some research, then I spent two weeks running down the leads I’d found. So far, nothing had panned out. The leader of the Hunter organization was still shrouded in mystery. So, when every lead ended up being a dead end, it was clear it was time to come home. Tate had told me as much the day before. So, I was doing exactly that.

Exhausted and depleted, I crossed the border into Colorado. I’d made the drive up north in one straight shot. I’d spent years doing stuff like that—disappearing into the void in search of people and things that needed to be found. Usually, it was all business, but I was more driven this time round. Not only were my friends being targeted, but the hunters had almost killed me.

Getting attacked outside Harley’s house had been one of the scariest moments of my life. Even now, over a year later, I still remember the bullets slamming into me, and the terror on Tate and Harley’s faces as I stumbled into their kitchen, covered in blood and on death’s doorstep. For some, the experience would have been enough to send them into hiding. That wasn’t how I was programmed, though. I was going after them. We were going after them. Nothing would stop us––not even this lack of information.

I pulled into the parking lot of the security firm I owned a fourth of, and slumped back against my seat, happy to be home but almost too tired to get up. After allowing myself five minutes to veg and recover from the drive, I finally opened the door and hauled myself out into the crisp fall air. It was a far cry from southern Oklahoma, my last stop right on the border of Texas. It was colder here, but it was exactly where I was supposed to be. I closed my car door and glanced around. It was strange to feel so good about being home.

Shrugging, I went inside. Kennedy’s head jerked up from the magazine she was reading. “Oh,” she said, eyes wide in surprise. “Hey, Mr. Kelly. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Kennedy, seriously,” I said with a sigh. “It’s Miles. Why am I the only one you won’t call by their first name?”

Blushing, she shrugged. “Uh…because you’re the boss, I guess.”

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