Page 17 of Fire Dancer
When a car pulled into the space beside me, I glanced over, then back at Stacy’s SUV. Then I drew in a long breath. It wastime to build a case or forever drop it. Either way, I would have to live with the consequences.
My wolf growled, and I went with option A. Building a case.
I drew in a long breath, puffed it out again, then dialed the agency.
“Agent Kemper calling for Records & Tracing,” I said when the operator replied.
I waited, tapping my fingers on the dash, then frowning at the reply.
“Unable to process my request? Why?” I asked the guy at the end of the line.
He had no idea, but he promised to look into it.
As I hung up, miffed, Stacy emerged from the coffee shop with a steaming cup and slid back into the vehicle. I started my Jeep to follow it, then hit the brakes as my nostrils flared.
Pippa!my inner wolf crooned.
I whipped my head around just in time to see her screech into a parking spot, leap out of her car, and storm toward a storefront. I threw on the handbrake and left my car, racing after her. Clearly, something was wrong. But what?
I burst into the office she’d entered just in time to see her slap a newspaper on the desk of a bald, pudgy guy.
She didn’t pick him up by the collar, but she did growl. “What the hell is this, dammit?”
My eyes jumped to the nameplate on his desk.Robert Hardy, Red Rock Vistas Real Estate.
The man stuck his hands up. “Now, Ms. Martin—”
So, he knew her — well enough to maneuver his rolling chair to a safer distance.
“Don’t you Ms. Martin me.” She smacked the paper. “What the hell is this?”
“Um, the latest listings?” He sounded guilty already.
Pippa glanced at me with aWhat are you doing here?look, then turned back to Hardy.
“I mean this.” She stabbed a finger at the center of the page.
“Um…a listing?”
Amazing how a grown man could look like a kid with one hand in the cookie jar.
Pippa snatched up the paper and read. “Seventy-eight stunning acres of secluded property along Painted Rock Creek, perfect for your own private getaway or development into subdivisions…”
“That could be any property,” he tried.
“Who else owns seventy-eight acres along Painted Rock Creek?” She scoffed, smacking the paper back down. “How many times have we told you? Our property is not for sale, and it never will be.”
“I only want what’s best for you, your sisters, and Sedona.”
“Ha. You want what’s best for you. So, stop pestering us or…or…” She cast around for something to threaten him with, then glanced at me and lit up. “Or we’ll get a restraining order.”
Ouch.
Hardy tapped the tiny print at the bottom of the listing. “See this? It says we can’t be held responsible for inaccuracies or changes.”
“I’ll show you being held responsible—” Pippa hissed.
I caught her hand before she did something rash.