The Alpha's Mute Mate
I sign, then realize the futility and pull out my phone to type instead.
Before Raymond can answer, a voice cuts through the morning air—high-pitched, saccharine, and instantly recognizable.
"Good morning, everyone!"
No. Please, no.
I turn slowly, already knowing what I'll see.
Kimberly sashays toward us, her blonde hair perfectly curled despite the early hour, wearing skin-tight leggings and a crop top that shows more skin than is practical for a tracking mission. Her lips curve into that practiced smile, the one that never reaches her eyes.
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