Page 13 of Shaped to Be Yours

“She will, but we can’t hide down here. I want to! I really want to.” Jason hugged me and, looking down at him, half on top of him, I saw a glow to his eyes even after he’d banished the rest.

One of these days, I was going to see the full wolf.

“We should probably go see who it is. And I should apologize.” Jason grimaced.

“You should.”

“But I amnotgiving in about testing.”

Convincing him otherwise wasn’t going to be easy.

We smoothed out our clothes and hair, and I straightened my glasses. We could hear Sandy chatting with someone at the front door when we went upstairs. I didn’t recognize the new voice. It was deep. Resonant. Almost Idris Elba like but without the accent.

“Uh fuck,” Jason grumbled.

A man very Idris Elbalookingstood in the entryway with Sandy.

“Whitmore.”

Jason’s handler, agent, whatever he was, looked over at us as we neared the door. “Hello, Mr. Bosco. We should chat.”

Chapter 3

JASON

“You do not get cookies.” I moved the plate closer to Ricky and away from Agent Asshole.

“Don’t be rude, honey.” My mom,the traitor, pushed the plate of cookies back toward him. She’d gotten coffee for all of us, inviting Whitmore in like his presence was not the government’s stamp of disapproval on my existence.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bosco.” Whitmore turned a smile on my mom that he’d never given to me and claimed a cookie. He even tore it in two and dunked one half in his coffee like a boss.

Dickhead.

I did not like tall, dark, and hunky eating my mother’s cookies!

“As I was saying, my presence here is not meant to be an invasion, just a precaution. The randomness of my check-ins isan unfortunate necessity, but I will never drop in too late or too early unless given probable cause.”

“Probable cause,” I repeated. “Like I’m some criminal.”

“You are the one who decided on ‘parole,’ Mr. Bosco,” Whitmore said with implied air quotes, “instead of full cooperation.”

I huffed. I knew there was no point in arguing, but I still really wanted to.

“For today, besides getting to see your lovely home,” Whitmore returned to my mother with that smile again, “all I need is for your son to download a surveillance app.” He wasn’t even wearing hisMen in Blacksuit today but a turtleneck sweater and long jacket like whenever Bond went casual.

Wait. Surveillance app? “What app?” I flattened my hand over my phone before Whitmore could grab it. No wonder he’d asked for me to take it out.

“An ankle monitor is also an option,” he said.

I hated this guy. But he had me cornered. I had to let him take my phone. “Why didn’t we do that before I left?” I shoved it at him.

“A lot could have happened between there and here.”

“You were testing me?”

“And you didn’t deviate from the plan but followed everything as agreed. Well done. The app is your reward. As minimally invasive as we can offer.” Once done, Whitmore slid the phone back to me with the app launched. From my side, it looked like a map with my location marked by a blue pin. Then he showed me his phone, and the difference was his version showed two pins, one blue and one red.

“Can you hack my phone with this? See my emails, other apps—”

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