Free Ordinaries: Shifters Book II (Shifters series 2) by Douglas Pershing, Angelia Pershing Page A

well,” I start to say.
    “Where is she, Tanner?” she says, sounding serious.
    “We . . . left her at the White House,” I tell her, trying to look as sorry as I can.
    “You left her!” she screams.
    I totally don’t expect it as her fist slams into my jaw, and I spin to the ground.
    –RYLAND–
    So, I’ll skip back to the house in just a moment because not much happens on the way other than Mole Man’s nervous paranoia being completely obnoxious and making me want to punch him. I do, however, have to tell you about crossing the border back into America.
    It isn’t frightening or anything like I thought it might be entering another country. Canada is in many ways a lot like America. Plus the border is pretty low-key.
    The problem was that we snuck into Canada because it was a pretty poorly planned vacation on the part of Marcus and Alena, our new “guardians” for the time being. By the time being, I mean the remainder of the war. I’m not letting my parents get involved in this mess.
    So on the way back, Kai is forced to let Clay drive. I suggested that perhaps it would be a better idea to let the adult drive across the border so as not to look suspect, but of course Mole Man doesn’t have a license. Or know how to drive what he refers to as an “inferior bah-bah-bah-bloody death contraption.”
    So, Mole Man hides in the backseat of the Jeep, burying himself in mounds of papers and books that he absolutely demanded we bring, muttering to himself in another language.
    I turn to Clay and mouth, “Is he speaking Alien?”
    Clay laughs, nearly swerving into the next lane.
    Mole Man lets out a squeal that could deafen—well, moles. Moles are deaf, right? I don’t know.
    Kai mutters something under his breath about being a better driver.
    “No, he’s speaking Russian,” Clay says after reining the death contraption in.
    “He’s Russian?” I ask, confused.
    Clay shrugs.
    We pull up to the border at this point.
    “Umm . . .” I say, looking at Clay with wide eyes. “Do we have passports?”
    Clay shrugs again. “I do.”
    “How are we supposed to cross the border without US passports?” I snap as I watch an agent sauntering over to our car.
    “Border?” Mole Man shrieks as he jerks upright in the back.
    Kai has to restrain himself from knocking out the overenthusiastic mammal. “Yes, we’re going to America.”
    Mole Man resumes his squealing, a deafening high pitch noise that makes me cover my ears like a child. This is the second time today I have been forced to resort to this demeaning pose because of an overgrown rodent. “What are you doing?” I scream.
    The border guard is now running toward us, panicking. His hand slides to his gun. I feel my stomach drop. We cannot afford extra attention right here.
    “Sir!” the officer is trying to shout.
    All traffic is stopped as the other officers converge in our direction.
    Clay is smiling casually as though nothing is wrong and we are simply out for a Sunday afternoon drive.
    “Officer, I apologize for my uncle. He has a panic disorder. Agoraphobia, you know.” Clay somehow manages to say this casually despite the scream in which he has to speak to be heard.
    “How do we make it stop?” one of the officers is shouting.
    “We need to get him down to the hospital.” Clay blushes with embarrassment. “Sorry.”
    “Just let them through, Albert,” the officer snaps.
    Albert, the officer at our car, is scowling. “Fine, just go!” he says, waving us through.
    Once we are past the border, Viktor stops his screeching.
    “What was that?” Kai snaps.
    Viktor blinks his tiny eyes. “I am not allowed into this country.”
    “Ummm . . . why?” I ask sarcastically.
    “Apparently, here it is no good to order weapons-grade pl-pl-plutonium,” Viktor states absentmindedly before diving back into his papers.
    As I said before, the rest of the drive was awful, and I will spare you the boring details. Onto the house . . .
    We burst through the