Pack Deception: Part Two, page 18
“I’m going to go to the bathroom before we leave.” I stand up, and he goes to follow me. “It’s right there, Wells. You can watch me the whole way.” I don’t know why, but it always feels weird when he stands right outside the women’s restroom waiting for me to finish. It isn’t illogical, but it makes me feel self-conscious, like he can hear every bowel movement I make.
His gaze is stern, but he relents, sitting back in his seat. “Don’t be too long or I will charge in there after you.” At his words, I hustle to the bathroom.
It’s a good thing I only had to pee, I think as I’m washing my hands a few minutes later and eyeballing the door through the mirror, imagining Wells charging in any second. Only, I don’t see him in the mirror. I see a mop of long blonde hair and striking blue eyes coming through the door. From the smell of her, she’s a beta, can’t be much taller than five feet, and is absolutely beautiful. Not wanting to be the creep that stares too long–which I’m sure she gets a lot–I look back at my sudsy hands.
Coconut and creme fill the space beside me as I feel her walk up to the mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her fluff her hair in the mirror and adjust her clothes. She’s wearing a completely white outfit. A uniform it looks like. I think the kind that chefs wear.
Maybe she works here.
“Ugh. I had to have a bad hair day today of all days.” Feeling like this is sort of permission to stare, I look up from my hands and smile at her. There isn’t a hair out of place. It’s all long blonde curls, coiffed to perfection.
“Your hair looks amazing,” I reassure the stranger. “Big day?”
“Sort of,” she shrugs, still fiddling with her hair. “I’m meeting my ex here. I haven’t seen her in a while. She dumped me for someone else.” Her blue eyes darken a smidge before she plasters on a smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I guess that didn’t work out though?” Since she’s meeting her here, I’d hope not. It would be hard to sympathize with this woman if she’s openly admitting to cheating.
“Oh, no. This is sort of our thing. We break up and get back together all the time. The time apart makes the sex that much better when we do get back together.” She winks at me, and I have to force a smile. Sounds toxic to me; but who am I to judge?
“Well, good luck. You look great,” I reassure her and turn away, waving my hands under the air dryer to my left. A few seconds later, I feel a sharp sting in the back of my arm.
“Ow! What the…” The stranger is standing right behind me. She pulls her hand behind her back and looks at me with chagrin.
“I am so sorry. I’m so staticky. I must have shocked you when I walked by.”
I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what her deal is. The throbbing in my arm that is still very much present doesn’t feel like it was caused by static. “Static?” My tone drips with disbelief.
“Yes, static.” Why does her voice sound so forceful? Heat washes through me, starting at my head and traveling through me to my toes. My head swims a little, and I sway, catching myself off the wall.
“Woah, easy. You must have had some bad food for lunch. Maybe you need to go home and lie down.” Yeah. That makes sense. The steak did taste funny. I’m nodding along to her words as she ushers me toward the door.
“Your car is waiting in the alley. Your pack will be with you soon.”
I nod, and a smile stretches across my face, cheeks burning, with the thought of my pack. I love them so much…
Wait.
Why can’t I remember their names? And why is my head still fuzzy? And where is Wells?
That steak really must have been rancid. Black spots start to appear around the edges of my vision and the heat is ratcheting up another notch, but I keep walking toward the side door that leads to the alley.
Once I make it to the car, I can pass out. Sleep off whatever I feel attacking my immune system right now.
A black SUV idles right outside the door. I try to walk toward it, but my vision blurs, and I stumble. Where there was one SUV a moment ago, there are now two. The sun beats down on me, making me squint. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t see anything.
The ground that felt solid now moves with me. I throw my hands out to brace my fall when the asphalt dances beneath my feet, but it doesn’t help, and my face slams into the rough pavement.
I groan, trying to move my arms so I can push myself off the ground. At least into a sitting position. But where there should be two arms, it feels like they’ve been replaced by weighted sandbags, and I can’t move.
“Motherfucker. Can’t make anything easy,” someone grumbles.
“Just grab her and put her in the car,” another voice says. Suddenly, I’m being lifted by someone…male. That’s about all I can tell. If I could move my head even an inch, I’d see who it was. But as it is, my head is lolling around like it’s a heavy weight being held up by overcooked spaghetti.
“More trouble than she’s worth. You assholes should listen to me more often,” the first voice says again.
“Just shut the fuck up and drive.” The words are coming through a tunnel now, echoing and distant. My body jolts as the car takes off, and everything goes black.
Twenty-One
Brooklyn
When my phone goes off, I smile a little to myself, hoping it’s another selfie from Summer. She looked stunning in the first one. So fucking happy that my alpha purred in my chest.
We did that, she seemed to say.
The omega I met that first day in Pen2Paper Press is a whole different person than the one that moved into the pack house; than the one who sent a selfie in the group chat a moment ago. That omega was shy. Quiet. Scared.
This one is flirty and fun. Full of life.
It makes my blood heat that we were able to do that. To help our omega in that way. Bring her out of her shell and make her feel…well, loved.
So I’m smiling ear to ear when I pull out my phone. Only, that smile drops when I see Wells’ name on the screen. Somehow before I pick up, I know something is wrong.
I bark, “What is it?” as I pick up.
“She’s gone. I don’t know how it happened. She’s gone,” Wells is panicking, out of control.
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
It was the middle of the day. She had security with her. Security that is supposed to keep her safe.
This is a sick joke. “Where are you?” How I manage to keep my voice even, I don’t know.
“RJs. I–” I hang up before he can say anything else and look around the conference room I’m in alone, waiting for my meeting to start with the editors at Punk'd Publishing. We’re supposed to be meeting in five minutes to discuss the rights to one of my clients’ next graphic novel. I’m the first one here, so I don’t even hesitate to get up and run out the door. Shooting a quick text to my client to let her know an emergency came up, and then one more to the group text to meet at RJs–911–I’m barreling out the front door of the publishing house and flagging down the nearest cab.
Please let her be okay. Please. I send up a quick prayer to the Goddess and jump in the cab that screeches to a halt in front of me.
Wells meets me at the front door when I beat the rest of the pack to the restaurant. Maverick and Hudson are the furthest out since they’re working on the house in Naperville today, but Mason should be right behind me. In the text I sent, I told them all the information I know, which is really nothing, but I’ve ignored all their calls. They’ll have to wait until I can figure out what happened.
Which is what Wells starts in on before I can even ask. “This way,” he says, and I follow him as he relays what happened. “Summer went to the bathroom before we were getting ready to leave. I had a view of the door the whole time. The whole time. Then something caught my attention. It was her previous alpha. Jade Monroe. And she was making a beeline right for the bathroom.”
That fucking bitch.
“So I jumped into her path to stop her from going in there after Summer. She started raising her voice, causing a scene. I had the manager make sure she left out the front door. Then I went straight to the bathroom to get Summer. But she wasn’t there. I looked everywhere. There’s a door to an alley at the end of the hall, and I looked all over outside, too. Nothing. She’s gone.”
“Did anyone else see anything? Are there cameras?” I can feel the panic start to overwhelm me, the blood long since drained from my face.
“They’re pulling the tapes now,” he says grimly. And that’s when I realize it’s where Wells has led us. We’re in the manager’s office where the beta at the computer has several screens pulled up. Half a dozen camera angles visible.
“Did you find anything?” I bark, and by the grim look he gives me, I know he has. And it’s not good news.
“There’s a video of her coming out the back alley. She looks intoxicated. Like she can’t walk. And then two guys come into the frame, one picks her up, puts her in a car, and they drive off. That’s all we have. No license plate. We do have a shot of the guys, but they keep their heads down, so it’s not really clear.”
He plays back the video, and Wells and I watch Summer stumble outside. The manager was right, she does look drunk. Or drugged…
The growl that slips out of me when she faceplants onto the concrete in the alley, and then just lays there until that piece of shit drags her away, promises violence.
“What about inside? Do you have that video?” Wells asks the manager, who has started to wring his hands and shake his head.
“We’ve got a camera in the back, one out front, in the kitchen, and one on each of the tills in the restaurant in case of theft. But this hallway leading to the bathroom doesn’t have any. When she leaves your table, I can’t see what happens next until she appears in the alley.”
“I want her picture out there. Plastered all over the news and social media,” I tell Wells. “I want the whole world looking for her,” I growl.
He nods and pulls his phone out while he leaves the office to make a call. “Damien might be able to reach out to someone at OPS. Someone he used to work with maybe. I’ll check. He’s on his way here already.”
That’s right. Damien is ex-OPS. Houston, ex-military. Wells, ex-detective. I pray anyone of their pasts can be useful right now.
As Wells leaves, Mason bursts into the office, eyes darting around frantically before they land on me. “What happened? Where is she?” He’s near hysterical, but I fill him in on everything we know so far. On the verge of a panic attack, I put a little bit of a bark behind my words as I tell him to calm the fuck down. His body obeys, and his breathing evens out as he shoots me a grateful look.
When he’s able to think straight, he looks over to Wells who has just walked back in. “Did she drink at lunch?”
“No. She had water.”
“Someone can still spike water,” I point out.
“Or the food,” Wells agrees.
“Well, they’d have to work here then. Wells, you talk to the kitchen staff. Mason, come with me. We’ll talk to the kitchen staff.”
“Did you get a hold of Damien?” I ask as we leave the manager’s office.
His brows knit, concern shining in his eyes. “He said he’d call. But I guess he left on bad terms. He likely doesn’t hold any sway anymore.”
My heart sinks, and we all break off at the end of the hallway. Wells goes to the bar area, and before Mason and I can walk back to the kitchen, Maverick and Hudson have joined us.
Mason fills them in on everything as I throw open the swinging double doors that lead into the back. It’s noisy back here: people shouting orders at each other, fires burning, the sizzling of steaks, and the sounds of knives hitting cutting boards as vegetables are chopped.
My eyes roam the staff, all in black uniforms, except one. The head chef wears white. I start to advance on her until I get a good look at her face, and I stumble. Mason steadies me, and then his eyes follow my line of sight before I feel him stiffen beside me.
“Tatem? What the fuck is she doing here?” Mason’s voice is soft, suspicious. I shoot him a confused look.
What is she doing here? Last I heard, she still worked at Woodlands across town. A small family-owned farm-to-table business. While we’re all staring, she must feel the attention on her because she turns from where she’s talking to a young man in a black uniform. Her eyes lock on mine, and a blindingly white smile takes over her face. Where once that smile may have made my heart beat a little faster, when I used to think she was one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met, it now does nothing for me. My heart rate doesn’t spike anymore, and when I stare at her, she seems so…ordinary compared to my mate.
Tatem walks right up to us and leans into me, apparently going in for a hug, before Mason tugs me back and inserts himself between us. “Don’t touch her,” he hisses, glaring at my ex-girlfriend. I don’t do anything to dissuade him. To reprimand him. Instead, I give his forearm a grateful squeeze for pulling me away when my body was in a temporarily frozen state of shock.
There is no small amount of ire lighting up Tatem’s eyes as she glares back at my beta–who she never got along with, no matter how hard I tried to get them to reconcile their differences. Mason wouldn’t budge.
Always insisted she was rotten.
“Bite me, Mason. I can hug an old friend if I want to,” she retorts.
“No. You can’t,” I say automatically. When her eyes shoot over to mine in shock, I continue. “When did you start working here?”
There’s a quick pause while she glances at Mav and Hud behind us, and says, “A couple weeks ago. Shortly after you broke things off, I got the call. I got the head chef position I had applied for.” There is no small amount of pride tinting her voice, but when none of us congratulates her or praises her in the way she’s used to, a dark look flits across her features. There and gone.
“My mate was just in here. We think someone tampered with her food, and we need to know everyone who touched her plate. Our security will talk to them.”
Tatem’s back goes ramrod straight, and she looks right at me. “Well, nobody in my kitchen would tamper with anything.” She practically sniffs the air indignantly. “But if you know the table she was at, and what she ordered, I can pull the ticket and find out.” Then she pauses like she’s not sure if she should say what she wants to say next, but does anyway. “Is your mate okay?”
Mason stiffens again at the way she says mate. Through semi-clenched teeth. My own hackles rise at the tone, and I say, “She’s fine,” in a cold voice, and turn around to go get the table number and what she ate from Wells.
We’re all back out in the main area of the restaurant when my phone vibrates. But it’s not just mine. Hudson, Mav, and Mason’s ping, too. Looking around, I realize everyone in the restaurant is pulling their phone out. With a frown, I open my lock screen to see an omega alert flashing across it with Summer’s picture lit up, clear as day. My eyes pop open. That was incredibly fast. We haven’t even called the police yet, and the pull you’d need… I look at Wells. But he’s shaking his head.
“I got it out to the news stations and put it up on all the social media platforms, but this wasn’t me. Or Damien.”
“I called a friend from the car and asked for a favor,” Mav says from behind me. We all look at him with various levels of shock on our faces. He shrugs. “I didn’t know if he could do it, but his packmate works at OPS. So it looks like he pulled it off.” He’s talking about Omega Protection Services. Who is this guy, and how does he know Maverick enough to call in favors with him?
“Some of you are going to have to go back to the house now,” Wells starts to say and holds up his hands when we’re all poised to object. “When OPS gets involved, they send agents to your house to ask questions. They also stick around so they're present if any useful tips come in.”
They all look at me. As pack alpha, it’s my job to call the shots. In our pack, I rarely have to make calls like this because we’re all usually on the same wavelength with everything. But not now. Now, everyone wants to be out here actually looking for our mate. Nobody wants to wait at home twiddling their thumbs. But one look at Hudson, and I know he will fight me tooth and nail to stay out here. There’s an edge to his eyes that tells me now is not the time to try to pull rank on him. He’s riding a vicious, vulnerable wave that is ready to take out everything in his path.
“Maverick, you and Mason head back to the house. It was your contact, and there should be two of us at the house. Just in case.”
They look at me for a minute like they want to argue, but then nod. “Houston will be there, too. He’s already working with his friend about tracking where that SUV went after leaving the restaurant. Damien will stick around here with me to talk to staff and guests to see if anyone saw anything.”
“We’ll drive around and look for her in the meantime,” I tell Hudson, and his eyes shudder in relief. Doing something.
He needs to be doing something.
Right. We’ve got a plan.
We’ll get her back.
We have to get her back.
Twenty-Two
Maverick
Houston’s contact lost the car when it went into a parking garage a few streets away from the restaurant. He thinks they may have switched cars in the garage and then pulled out without anyone the wiser.
The same contact told us the searches Damien and Wells had him do into Pack Monroe’s friends and family led nowhere. Before I could throw something at the lack of any usable information, he went on.
A charge to a private detective, he’d said. There were several payments for the same amount. Made every few weeks for months. To one person.
