“Yes,” added Bram, his mind racing with what the message might mean. Was Marcy a target now? Had Ager set his sights on her? Would hers be the next body he stood over at a crime scene?
No, roared his demon from within.
“Bram, it’s okay. Dana is safe,” said Harker.
“I need a team dispatched to…” Bram drew a blank as to where Marcy might be. She was somewhat nomadic, going from city to city, never seeming to lay roots anywhere. “I don’t know where she is!”
“Where who is?” asked Harker.
Bram held out the photo to him and pointed to Marcy. “Her! The blonde! This picture is from my study in Grimm Cove. They know!”
“Whoa, take a breath there, big guy,” said Harker. “Let’s practice some calming breathing or something, okay? It’s close to a full moon and my wolf is almost looking forward to having a go at your demon. And what do they know?”
The demon oddly didn’t rise to the challenge. It was as worried about Marcy as he was. He grabbed for Harker. “She’s out there, alone. The Order has their sights on her. This is a message to me.”
Harker looked from the photo to Bram’s face and then back at the photo again. “I already told you that Dana is fine.”
“I understand that,” said Bram, just shy of shouting. “But Marcy isn’t!”
“Okay, calm down. You’re worked up over your daughter’s friends? You said you don’t know where they are?” asked Harker. “I thought you once mentioned one of them lives in California, but I might be remembering that wrong.”
“Poppy,” said Bram quickly. “She’s the other woman in the photo. The brunette.”
“Right then. I’ll reach out to our teams there. Do you have an address?” asked Harker. “I’ll also phone Elis and let him know The Order clearly managed to find their way onto the estate.”
Bram swayed slightly. “This threat is aimed at Marcy.”
“The blonde?” questioned Harker.
Bram nodded.
“You’re taking this threat against her very personally,” said Harker, his tone changing slightly. “This is about more than her just being your daughter’s friend, isn’t it?”
“What?” asked Bram, his mind racing.
Harker’s brows met. “What interest would The Order have in Marcy other than her being friends with your daughter?”
Bram just continued to stare down at the picture.
“Okay, you’re acting odder than usual,” said Harker. “Need me to leave you alone to talk to your other half for a minute? Maybe the demon can help figure out what is happening.”
“No,” said Bram, his throat still tight with worry.
Harker watched him closely. “While we’re trying to figure out what The Order wants with this Marcy woman, we should probably try to wrap our heads around why you’re acting odd about her too.”
“I’ve never met her,” whispered Bram, still running his finger over her image. “At least not face-to-face. I know of her only through pictures. This one is twenty years old.”
“I wish we had a current one of her,” said Harker. “I could send it out to everyone so they can help track her down and protect her until we figure this out.”
Bram stilled. “Call Elis and have him go to my study. There is a box in the bottom corner of the back shelving unit—in one of the locked safes I have. In the box are photos of Marcy throughout the years. There is a three-year gap from years ago when I don’t have any photos because she was off the grid, so to speak, but there are nearly seventeen years’ worth of pictures there. My computer—or as I firmly believe it should be called, the digital devil—has more. The newest is from a few months ago, if that. There are a number of known locations that she’s been at over the years as well. Have those locations checked first. Alert all our teams. Leave no stone unturned.”
Harker stared at him with a curious expression.
“What?”
“Bram, are you telling me you have a collection of photos of your daughter’s friends?” questioned Harker. “And that you’ve been keeping tabs on places they go?”
“Not the brunette—Poppy. I have only a few photos of her. Most are of Marcy,” confessed Bram. “I keep track of her.”
His friend just kept looking at him as if he was waiting for Bram to come to some realization. “Suddenly your ‘they know’ is making more and more sense.”
“What?” Bram shrugged.
“Nothing,” Harker replied before leaning closer. “And your demon, it’s into this whole collection-of-pictures-of-a-woman thing?”
“You are making it sound wrong—dirty even,” returned Bram, not liking where this was going.
“I’m not sure how you make surveillance photos of a woman throughout her adult life sound right,” argued Harker.
“Stop. It’s not like that,” stated Bram, his ire rising.
Harker squared his shoulders. “I need you to hear me and not shut me down.”
Bram took a moment to collect himself. “Yes?”
“This Marcy—the woman you’re so worked up about,” said Harker. “She’s blonde.”
“Yes. What is your point?”
“Bram, the woman you keep dreaming of is blonde,” added Harker. “Is that woman Marcy?”
Bram started to shake his head but stopped, his chest tightening more. He found himself gripping the photo so tightly that it ripped.
Harker lifted his head more. “Is she your mate?”
“Do not be ridiculous,” snapped Bram, the words coming from his mouth at war with his heart. “She’s one of my daughter’s best friends.”
Harker’s phone rang and he answered it, remaining close to Bram in the process. From the sounds of it, the person on the other end was from one of the New York teams. “Right then,” said Harker. “Can you describe the friend who is with Dana this weekend?”
Bram held his breath.
Harker smiled. “Blonde with a blessed chest and walks around barefoot humming songs, looking like a throwback to the sixties?”
Relief moved through Bram. The next he knew, he was tearing up. “She’s there? She’s safe with Dana?”
Harker nodded. “She is.”
Bram lowered his head, offering a silent prayer to a god he’d not been on speaking terms with in over a century.
“Don’t let either of them out of your sight,” said Harker. “If the blonde leaves, have a team shadow her too.”
Bram met his friend’s gaze and mouthed the words “thank you.”
Chapter Three
Marcy
New York City, four weeks later…
With my head tilted, I soaked in the double-ended clawfoot bathtub, humming a song by Prince, doing my best to ignore the sounds of sirens wailing from the street below. There was always so much noise whenever I was visiting my friend Dana Van Helsing in New York City, I wasn’t sure how she managed to get anything close to quiet time. It really was the city that never slept. Limiting my time in the city was a must. There was too much concrete everywhere and not enough greenery for me. When I did visit, long walks through Central Park were often needed. Sometimes, I took my shoes off while there, needing to feel nature under my feet, not manmade roads and sidewalks.