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She’d said it like a verdict. Like I’d failed a test I hadn’t known I was taking.

Now she was gone, I was obsessed, and I couldn’t make myself care how pathetic that made me.

I had to find her.

I started at Paws, Claws & Fangs because it was the only place in town where I’d ever felt marginally welcome. Dean was wiping down the bar when I walked in, his massive frame moving with practiced efficiency.

“You’re early,” he said without looking up. “We don’t open for another hour.”

“I’m not here to drink.” I slid onto my usual stool. “I need to ask you something.”

Dean finally looked at me, his dark eyes assessing. “About the redhead.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” I swallowed, despite the fact that my body didn’t technically get thirsty anymore. “Carolina. Do you know her? Do you know where she lives?”

Dean’s expression shuttered. “I know who she is.”

“And?”

“And you should let this go, Logan.” He returned to wiping the bar, his movements sharper than before. “She’s not someone you want to get involved with.”

“Why not?”

He didn’t answer. He kept scrubbing the same spot on the counter as if enough elbow grease might erase the entire conversation.

“Dean.” I reached out, my hand hovering over his arm. “Please. I just need to talk to her.”

“What happened last night,” he said slowly, “is that you got lucky. She could have done a hell of a lot worse than disappear on you.”

He walked away before I could ask what that meant.

The pattern repeated all morning.

Mrs. Chen at the grocery store suddenly needed to reorganize canned vegetables when I mentioned Carolina. The librarian remembered an urgent appointment in the back room. The coffee shop barista stopped smiling and developed an intense interest in the espresso machine.

Everyone knew Carolina Fortman.

No one wanted to talk about her.

It was like she’d cast a spell over the entire town. Considering she was a witch, that might have been less metaphorical than I intended.

The more everyone avoided my questions, the more determined I became to get answers.

I found Mack Kingston in the private restoration garage behind Kingston Security, elbows-deep in the engine of a vintage Mustang. He was the closest thing I had to a friend, a billionaire bear shifter whose human mate had taught him exactly how little species, status, and other people’s opinions mattered when fate made up its mind.

“Mack.” I leaned against the workbench. “I need to ask you something.”

“Shoot.”

“Carolina Fortman. What do you know about her?”

The wrench slipped from his hand and struck the concrete.

Mack swore, then pulled himself out from beneath the hood. “Where did you hear that name?”

“She was at the bar last night. We talked.” I hesitated. “Then she disappeared on me. Literally. Snapped her fingers and vanished. I need to find her.”