Parker's scent was only one of several, and I parsed through them as I crept forward, keeping to the shadows and slinking on my belly through taller tufts of grass and bits of undergrowth.
Bill Kimball was there. So was his younger son, Jackson. There were two other scents I vaguely recognized but couldn't put names to, one from Kimball's and one from Parker's pack.
Since Adam was dead, and Parker didn't have a shaman of his own, there wouldn't be any magical interference in my eavesdropping.
As I snuck around the corner of the building, looking for an open window, I caught another familiar scent: Colin Kimball. He wasn't inside. His smell was coming from down the hill behind the meeting room.
Curious. He might be on guard, but with his father as the de facto pack leader, he'd be able to delegate that to someone else, right?
