Cristian gave him an ironic smile. “Impressive, Holmes. Anything else?”

Bowman took what he’d found on the trail out of his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Cristian.

It was a charm, a large one, from a necklace or some such, made of solid silver. The design looked Celtic—not the same as the Celtic knot that adorned Shifter Collars, but similar. The silver was old, softened by time; not tarnished, but not bright and shiny either.

Cristian sniffed it. “This is Fae.”

“Yep.” Bowman folded his arms against the cold. “Just lying in the woods, in the mud, about halfway up to the truck.”

Cristian continued to study it. “I would swear that the two men standing in the clearing were human.”

“They were. No scent of Fae anywhere. And yet, the guy in the big boots dropped it. I found it right beside his footprints.”

“Or it was lying there and had nothing to do with him.”

“The ley line is over there.” Bowman pointed to the left, away from the arena. “But I’ve never heard of any gates in it. No standing stones in this woods.” Standing stones often contained an entrance to Faerie. “I doubt a Fae popped out, went for a hike, dropped a piece of silver, and ran back home. We’d smell a trail like that.”

Cristian scowled at him over the charm. “Then what are you suggesting?”

“That a human had this thing in his possession.”

“A human, meaning Turner?”

Bowman nodded. “Why not? If he has studied Shifters as thoroughly as he says, he’s come across the ley lines and the Fae.”

“What is your idea, then?” Cristian asked. “Turner, in his zeal to find out about Shifters, stumbles across a piece of Fae jewelry and passes it to a large man who drives a pickup? Who drops it along the way as he leaves the woods? I think you had not enough sleep last night, Bowman.”

Bowman reached for the charm. He wanted to yank it away, but as much as he’d wanted to hit the man earlier, he knew that starting a fight with Cristian wouldn’t help anything. It might make him feel better, but it wouldn’t do any good in the long run.

Cristian relinquished the silver piece without fuss. “Maybe Turner does not know exactly what it is,” he said.

“And maybe gave it to the other guy as payment for something—like shooting at us the other night? Or killing Serena?” Bowman studied it. “Nothing a Fae makes is free of magic, is it? This thing could have leapt out of the other man’s pocket, trying to stay near the ley line, maybe.”

“And you picked it up?” Cristian asked, eyes wide. “I am wrong—you are a very brave Shifter.”

Bowman ignored his needling and shoved the charm into his pocket. “It’s important. I want to ask”—his throat closed up—“Kenzie what she thinks about it.”

Damn it, he couldn’t deal with this. He couldn’t let her go. Life without Kenzie would be one long road of emptiness.

Bowman closed his fist in his pocket, the charm still inside it. It burned his hand, calling to the tiny piece of Fae magic all Shifters had inside them.

“We should take it to Turner,” Cristian said, watching Bowman. “To see how he squirms when he lies about it.”

“Kenzie knows a lot about the Fae. I want her opinion.” Bowman smiled a feral smile, taking refuge from pain in thoughts of violence. “Then, yes, we’ll go make Turner eat it.”

* * *

“Damn it, Gil, will you call me?” Kenzie growled in her tenth voice mail at him. “You can’t drop a bombshell like this on me and then not answer.” She closed her eyes, taking a tighter grip on her phone. “I wanted to say this face-to-face, but I’m just going to tell you. I don’t care what you said. I’m staying with Bowman, even if it kills me. You’re not Shifter, so you should be all right. I’d appreciate it if you’d just forget all about the mate bond.”

The buzz in her ear told her the connection had cut off before she’d finished the message. Kenzie banged the phone to the counter in frustration.

Gil must be at work, patrolling the roads, catching suspects, bringing them in to jail. He had a job, after all. He might have turned his phone off so he could get on with it.

No, this was too important. Kenzie looked up the number of the police station in Marshall, where Gil worked, and called the main switchboard.

“I need to speak to an officer there, Gil Ramirez,” she said to the woman who answered. “Is he there? Or can I leave him a message?”

“I’m sorry,” the woman answered. “Who?”

“Ramirez. First name Gilbert. I don’t know what rank he is, but he’s a uniformed officer.” Surely the police department wasn’t so large that the operator wouldn’t know who Gil was. He was pretty memorable.

The woman sounded hesitant. “There’s no officer by that name here. Are you sure you called the right police department?”

“Yes. No. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Ma’am, I know every officer in Marshall, Mars Hill, and all towns in this area. There’s no one named Gilbert Ramirez. I’d know.”

“Oh.” Kenzie stilled, cold flowing through her. “I guess I made a mistake.”

“Mmm-hmm. Well, you take care of yourself, ma’am. I have another call.”

She hung up, leaving Kenzie standing in the middle of her kitchen, stunned, clutching the phone in her slowly lowering hand.

If Gil Ramirez wasn’t a police officer in any town around here, why had he been in a Marshall patrol car at the roadhouse the day after it was attacked? Wearing a name tag that said “Ramirez”? With access to the computer database linked from the car? How had he gotten all the information on Serena? And the reports on the forensics on the shell casings found in the woods?

Shit.

Kenzie had always realized Gil was more than an ordinary human. She’d thought his explanation that he was a shaman answered her questions.

But now her heart squeezed in chilling worry. Who the hell was he, really? And why had he come here last night giving her all that crap about the mate bond, making her insane with heartbreak?

Her thoughts whirling, Kenzie flung herself out of the house, forgetting to grab a coat against the cold. But who cared? She strode along the main road through Shiftertown, breaking into a run as she headed for the bottom of the hill and the small house there.