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“After what Melinda told us she did for her,” shrugged Smiley, “it’s the least we can do.”

“She did something for Melinda?” asked Alain, his grip not loosening any.

Melinda? Who’s Melinda?

“When the Faucherians captured Melinda and took her to Cordelia, Grace helped her escape,” said Smiley. “Didn’t she, Pierre?”

Pierre. Smiley must be Louis.

Pierre opened his backpack. “She did.”

I did?

Pierre took out a gadget, like a wand, or one of those hand-held scanners at the airport.

Or a Taser. Why would a werewolf need a Taser?

“Grace gave her something that helped her to escape from the attic they’d locked her in,” said Pierre. “We owe her.”

Wait. Melinda. The cipher? The woman she’d given a pouch of herbs to as she was leaving Cordelia’s manor house the day she’d been given this assignment? She had helped her. It wasn’t much, but Grace would take it.

“I did help a woman.” She hadn’t done it to be thanked, or for any sort of leverage. She’d done it because it was the right thing to do. Because even as she’d found herself mired in Cordelia’s sadistic web, if she could help someone else break free, she would. But she was sure going to use it if it helped her now. “You can’t kill me now. Not after I helped your…” Her gaze skipped between the two of them. Was Melinda their friend? Sister? One of their mates? “Not after I helped Melinda.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Louis held up his hands. “Who said anything about…?” He turned on Alain. “Tete de nœud, what did you say to her that she’d think we’re here to kill her?” He shook his head. “We are not going to kill you, Grace.”

They weren’t? “You…you aren’t?”

“Of course not.” Pierre looked offended she’d suggest such a thing. “We’re taking you into pa—”

Alain cleared his throat.

“Onto our family property,” continued Pierre, barely missing a beat. “A location we’d prefer to keep private for security reasons.”

“We have a lot of investments that are quite sensitive in nature,” said Louis.

They weren’t very subtle. “You know, I know y’all shifters, right?”

Louis and Pierre froze. Alain quirked an eyebrow.

She speared a look at Alain. “Not when I spiked your wine, but I figured it out back at your apartment. You growl a lot.”

He met her gaze, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“She spiked your wine?” Louis grinned. “Oh, I like her. Shame it didn’t work. Might have taught this connard a lesson in humility.”

“D’acc,” said Pierre. “She knows. So”—he held up the device in his hand—“we’re taking you into pack territory, Grace, and we need to scan you in case you have a GPS tracking device or a bug on you. That’s all. No killing.”

Oh. Well, that sounded…reasonable. They wouldn’t find anything. The only thing anyone could’ve used to track her was her phone, and it was in Alain’s sink back in Paris, broken and wet.

“Besides,” said Louis, “even if we did want to kill you, we’d have to go through Alain, and no one messes with a werewolf’s— Ow!” He rubbed his shoulder. “What the fuck, Alain? What was that punch for?” But despite his protest, his smile only got bigger. “See what I mean, Grace?”

She was finding it harder and harder not to smile at his antics.

Pierre shoved his backpack at his twin. “You’re asking to get punched again, Louis.” He switched on the scanner, taking a step toward her. Alain blocked him.

“Here then.” Pierre held the scanner out to Alain. “You do it.”

Alain snatched the scanner from Pierre. “Hold these.” He shoved the archive boxes at him.