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Tracker(Rylee Adamson #6)(17) by Shannon Mayer

Liam thought back to when he’d seen Valley in London, before they’d left. There had been a distinct smell of rot about him, but at the time he brushed it off.

“He’s working with a necromancer.” The words slipped out of his mouth as his brain put it all together.

Milly started in her seat. “I don’t know about that. Why do you think he’s working with a necromancer?”

“He smells like death.”

Pamela’s heart rate kicked up several notches and the smell of fear rolled off her. The last time she dealt with a necromancer had been ugly, at best. She peered back at him, obviously trying to control her fear.

“Are we going to be dealing with zombies again, do you think?”

Before he answered, they were pulling into the parking lot of the “library.”

“We’re going to find out,” he muttered, stepping out of the Jeep, the two witches following closely.

He looked down at his clothes, loose t-shirt, ripped jeans, scuffed sneakers. Not exactly the Gucci suits he’d been used to for so long. The other Fed’s might be more bothered by his clothes than he was. To be fair, it was likely his old coworkers would be more bothered by the fact he was no longer human. He couldn’t help the grin that slipped over his lips.

This could be fun. He paused for a split second.

Good lord, Rylee was turning him into a delinquent in no time flat.

“What are you smiling about?” Pamela moved up beside him.

“Just thinking that Rylee has changed us all.”

Milly snorted. “She is the catalyst. She’s going to change the world whether she wants to or not, and with that, she with that will of course alter all those around her. I have seen it in myself, seen her change me even when I wasn’t sure I could. She has changed us all. You included, Agent.”

He ignored her and took the lead, pushing his way through the heavy, bulletproof glass doors. The secretary, Diana, if he remembered correctly, looked up from her desk as they stepped in. She’d been working here when he’d been in the department.

She adjusted her glasses. “I’m sorry, the library is closed for renovations.”

Liam saw her hand slide under her desk, no doubt for a gun. He said nothing, waited for her to recognize him. It took another few seconds.

“Agent O’Shea? Oh my god, we’d heard that …” her words stumbled to a stop and her face flushed a bright red.

“That I’m not human anymore?” He arched an eyebrow at her.

Diana nodded. “Obviously, that isn’t true if you are here. Are you bringing in new … recruits?” Her eyes slid from Milly, obviously pregnant, to Pamela far too young for any sort of recruiting.

“Not exactly. I need to speak with Agent Valley. Is he in?”

Diana shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, he’s not. He’s on medical leave. You can speak with Agent Ingers; she’s taking over things while Agent Valley is out of commission.”

Liam’s mind raced. Agent Valley had been fine just a few days ago, so what could have happened so quickly that he was now on medical leave?

“Agent Ingers would be fine.”

Diana pointed to the waiting room chairs, which he chose to ig Ce cn="justnore. An itch started between his shoulder blades and his wolf was suddenly on high alert.

He’d never heard of an Agent Ingers, which meant she’d been brought in from somewhere else. That might not work in their favor at all, depending on her views of the supernatural. Though if Valley had approved the new supervisor, she was likely going to be someone they could work with.

They waited for almost half an hour before Agent Ingers strolled into the room. She was a stunning woman, as tall as he was but far slimmer, her body fit and toned. Mocha-colored skin, blue black hair and dark brown eyes that would give Milly’s a run for their money when it came to drawing men. She took him in with a single, cool glance that seemed to skip over him, dismissing him.

She smiled at them and held out a hand that was perfectly manicured, her skin soft and without any callouses. She smelled of sweat and gun oil, with a hint of witchcraft hovering around her. Almost like she had tried to scrub the scent off her. Shit.

“So, you are the infamous Agent O’Shea.”

He didn’t bother to correct that he was no longer an agent; every part of him ready to walk away from this.

“Yes. These are my friends.” He didn’t name the two girls and when Pamela opened her mouth to introduce herself he shook his head ever so slightly. The same smell of rot that had hovered on Valley lingered here too, stronger with Ingers’s entrance. He didn’t know the woman well enough to trust her yet—even if she was with his old FBI team—with Pamela’s name, or even Milly’s. He took another deep breath, his nose crinkling with the sour scent. Maybe a sickness was running through the department, maybe that was what he picked up on.

“If your ‘friends’ don’t mind waiting here, we can speak in my office.” Agent Ingers gestured to the back of the department. As they walked through the nearly empty building, it hit him what was off. When he’d worked here, they’d had twenty-five agents. In the short walk, he’d seen two: Ingers and Diana.

“Has the department been downsizing?”

“A flu has run rampant through the department.” She shook her head. “It has not left us with much staff.”

The itch between his shoulders intensified. She was lying; he smelled it on her, a sour bite in his nose that competed with the growing scent of witchcraft.

“Really? I haven’t heard anything of the sort going through the city.” He let her get further ahead of him, wanting space between them. Now it was more of a “how much information could he get and still get them all out” situation. Thin ice, this woman was thin ice in a heat wave.

“Well, you haven’t been around much, have you?” The words were spoken with a soft intensity he really didn’t like. Ingers didn’t like him, and he was betting it had nothing to do with him leaving the department, and a hell of a lot to do with not being human.

They were in her office, but he didn’t shut the door. She sat at her desk and leaned back, her hands hidden from him. He heard the nearly silent click of her releasing the safety on a gun.

“If you’re going to shoot me, you better fucking well make it count.”