Two tan-colored ATVs rumbled into the clearing, both ridden by white men. The first one had shifter energy, but something or someone had stifled it to the point I couldn’t tell what kind of shifter. The stubborn set of his jowls under his aviator sunglasses made me want to guess bulldog, so I settled on some sort of canine. The other one was definitely a gargoyle, a familiar one—Micah Gordon, Lawrence’s younger half-brother. Both vehicles slowed to a stop, and the men dismounted.
“And what do we have here?” The first one swept his sunglasses off. He wore a dark blue uniform like the deputy, but instead of a badge, a silver star winked on his breast. How very Wild West of him, I wanted to say, but as Barton requested, I let him do the talking.
“We were out for a walk and found the body, S
