We never got to drink the rest of the beer.
The call to my parents went about as well as I'd expected. I put them on speaker so Colin could chime in, and he ran interference for me like a boss.
My dad got that grim-voiced thing that meant he was so angry he had to repress it or explode, and my mom went quiet, which meant she was plotting some kind of horrific punishment for whoever had taken those photos.
My mom might not have had any supernatural ability to kick ass, but she didn't really need it. I almost pitied whoever ended up in her crosshairs.
And who that unlucky asshole would be was really the only point of disagreement. I'd come around to the idea that it was too much of a coincidence to get the emails and the photos in the same short span of time.
But my dad was convinced the stalkers had to be a werewolf pack that wanted Fiona as a mate for one of their own. He scoffed at the idea of a human company posing any real threat to us.
