Page 39 of The Wild Moon
“Why do you always refuse my calls, Max?” I said, speaking before he had a chance to return to his chair. “It’s like you don’t want to talk to me.”
“In my business, Miss Wetter, it’s easier for me to call when I have an update or a question,” he said with feigned patience. “Otherwise, I’d spend as much time calling clients to tell them I have no updates as I would actually trying to find the people they want me to.”
“So, what update do you have for me, Max?” I asked, all but ignoring his spiel. I knew why he did it. I didn’t care. My money, I wanted updates.
“Nothing, Miss Wetter,” he said with a sigh. “Just like I’ve had nothing for you all these months. I keep telling you they are gone. There isn’t a single shred of anything to indicate that your parents have gone anywhere or done anything. Not one iota, which grates me to say because I pride myself in finding anyone.”
“I know, Max. You come highly recommended, don’t worry. I’m not going to let this stop me from sending someone who might need help to you.”
Max nodded thankfully as he sat back in his chair. He was middle-aged, probably late forties, if I had to make a guess. He shaved his head, though he wasn’t quite bald. I think he thought it added to his image when he needed to play tough guy. While he was in the office, he wore a standard black business suit with a white shirt and, oddly enough, a red tie. It was unusual, but Max wore it well.
“Thanks,” he grunted. “But that doesn’t help me with the fact I haven’t found anything on your parents.”
“You’re still trying, though, right?”
He shrugged. “You keep paying.”
That was his way of saying yes. Max was a reputable sort. Mostly.
“Okay,” I said, taking out part of my winnings from the night before—for once, I wasn’t giving over everything I had. The extra fight with Johnathan had earned me a bit of a respite since Carl had done exactly as I’d asked and bet everything on myself. “Well, here’s this week’s installment. You’re going to keep looking, right?”
“You keep paying,” he repeated. “Though, I can’t promise anything will change.”
So, in other words, he’d keep doing his job, but he didn’t think it likely he’d find anything. But if I were desperate enough, he’d take my money. Like I said. Reputable. Mostly.
“Put more resources on it, then,” I said, making a snap decision and putting half my remaining money on the desk as well.
Max sighed. For a second, I thought he would refuse it. But in the end, he nodded and scooped up the cash. He tucked it away in a drawer and then looked back at me across the desk, arching his eyebrows ever so slightly.
I got the hint.
“Call me with an update next time, Max,” I said as I stood. “I hate coming down to this end of town.”
“Will do, Miss Wetter,” he said.
We both knew he wouldn’t and that I’d be back next week. With more money.
Max was the best in the business. I wasn’t sure what else I could do to track down my parents. If he couldn’t find them, then how could I? I didn’t know the first thing about finding someone who didn’t want to be found. No, I had to rely on Max.
Well, him and perhaps the man I was going to meet with later today. Maybe he could give me some clues.
Assuming he showed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Walkers Bar wasn’t anything special.
That was precisely why I’d chosen it. Set inside an old Victorian-era house in the historic part of downtown Kellar, it occupied both floors. The upper floor was dedicated to tables and a more private, secluded drinking experience. The main floor, meanwhile, had been renovated to be mostly open concept, with a large floor along the right side that could house tables or dancing, depending on the night. I’d been there once or twice over the winter, but I was by no means a regular.
As I walked in, my eyes rapidly adjusted to the dim interior. Although it wasn’t an upscale bar, it was far from a dive. Everything was clean and well-kept. It was simply designed to mimic the look of a house that was two centuries old. A few regulars looked up as I entered, but I let my wolf take over my body language as I strode toward the bar, and the looks faded.
No prey here. I was a predator, and I wanted everyone around me to know it. I had no idea who I was meeting, but I wanted no trouble from anyone else until they showed, so I put on my best resting-bitch-face look and slumped back onto a barstool to watch the door.
“Can I get you anything?” a waitress asked as she passed by on her way behind the bar.
“Water for now,” I said, shaking off my demeanor just long enough to be polite. “I’m waiting on someone.”
“Sure, can do,” she said, moving on, barely having slowed to take my order.
