Page 129 of The Alpha's Second Chance Mate

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, the limp-wristed response all I could muster. My wolf whined at the anger in Trent’s eyes.

He turned the truck onto the highway and gunned the engine headed for North Crest.

“Get your shit together, my man,” Trent said, shaking his head.

Silence descended upon us. Trent pushed the truck nearly thirty miles over the speed limit, getting us to North Crest in record time. In an attempt to salvage some of my self-respect and pride, I decided to extend an olive branch and get things back on track.

“Uh, what do we think the plan should be?” I asked.

Langston tucked his phone away as Trent parked on the curb and glanced at me. “Your call. I’m here to help. What do you think the best route would be?”

It took every ounce of strength I had to keep from sighing in frustration. It would be nice if the guy could act at least a little bit like an asshole. It would make my desire to act like a jerk less embarrassing. Shaking my worries away, I spoke with a bit more confidence.

“If Dallas brought Ashton here, then Kyle might work in this area. It could be his base of operations or something. We ask around, be subtle about it, see if anyone knows Kyle or has heard of him—or Dallas, for that matter. See what we turn up while we wait to hear what Zayde might turn up.”

Langston and Trent shared a look, both nodding appreciatively, and my shoulders relaxed a bit.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Langston said.

“Yeah. Let’s do this,” Trent said, opening his door.

Not wanting to split up—unsure who or what might be lurking around the corner—the three of us stayed close, strolling the main street as we did. Langston was from Iowa, and Trent and I had both been away so long that I wasn’t worried that anyone in town would recognize us on sight. Trent and I had been busy trying to fix our pack, so we’d had no time to adventure around and explore the old stomping grounds.

Since it was a weekday, the town was pretty quiet, but Langston spotted a coffee shop that had quite a few patrons.

“What about that?” he asked. “We could see if anyone’s up for a chat. Pretend we’re just passing through and getting a drink.”

Nodding, I crossed the street, and Trent and Langston followed. The café wasn’t bustling, but there were more people here than we’d seen out on the street. The three of us stood in line to order, and while we did, I took stock of the place. Three younger women were waiting on and bussing tables, and one guy was behind the counter. Of the customers, four were women and six were men. Most were paired up, but a few were sitting by themselves. The singles would probably be easier to speak to than the couples.

After ordering, we spread out, taking up spots around the shop and doing our best to blend in. It didn’t take long for me to see Trent and Langston chatting up two women. Leaving them to it, I glanced at the table across from me. A man who looked to be in his early thirties was readingTheWall Street Journal.

“An actual paper?” I asked, grinning at the guy. “Don’t see that too much anymore.”

He frowned at me in confusion before looking down at the newspaper and smiling. “Oh, yeah. I prefer to actuallyhold the paper when I read it. It’s not the same reading it off a phone or tablet.”

“I get you.” I sipped my coffee. “I’m actually passing through town. It’s a nice neighborhood you have here. Do you live around here?”

The guy nodded even as he skimmed his paper. “I do. I work in the bank down the street.”

“Awesome, this is a great place. My buddy has actually been trying to get me to move here for a while. I thought it was too small for my tastes, but after visiting, I think it might be a nice quiet place to settle down.”

At the mention of a friend, the man’s interest was piqued, and he looked up from his paper again.

“You know a local?” he asked with a surprised smile. “Well, I know pretty much everyone in town. We’re the only bank. Who’s the guy?”

I waved him off. “You probably don’t know him. He tends to keep to himself.”

He folded the paper and set it aside, his polite grin turning into a full smile. “No, seriously, I’m sure I know them. Who are they?”

Giving him an exhausted but good-natured sigh, I smiled back. “A guy I went to college with back in the day. Kyle Alexander. Ever hear of him?”

His smile died as quickly as if he was a machine and I’d just pulled his plug from the wall. The grin became a cold andemotionless expression. Not only that, but there was a look of fear in his eyes that sent a chill up my spine.

“Huh,” he finally said, grunting the word, and grabbed his coffee, tucking his paper under his arm.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.

“Never heard of the guy.” He stood up so fast that he splashed coffee on his pants. He hurried toward the door, ignoring the spill, and rushed out.

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