Philstaresatmefor a beat, his brows drawing together, then he heads over to the speaker on the wall and presses the button. “Yeah?”
“Hello, am I speaking with Phil Sullivan?”
“Yeah.” The alpha’s voice is flat, disinterested.
“Mr. Sullivan, I’m Officer Walsh with LVPD. My partner and I have tracked a dangerous fugitive to this location, and we’d like your permission to enter and search the premises.” The voice isn’t familiar, but he’s clearly talking about Wolfie. Or maybe me.
But how the hell did they know to come here? My mom’s association with Phil, and therefore mine, isn’t common knowledge, so there’s way for anyone to track us here unless…
My gaze strays to the discarded collar, and I want to smack myself in the forehead. There must be a tracker in it. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before. It makes sense, though. On the off chance his “champion” escaped, Doyle would want a way to track him down. I’m not sure why these guys didn’t show up at the trailer, but I guess that doesn’t really matter now.
When Phil doesn’t immediately buzz the officer in, Walsh continues, “We’re also here under the authority of the Las Vegas Alpha.”
Great. I guess that answers the question of whether or not Doyle has people on the police force. This situation just gets better and better. I wouldn’t be surprised if Doyle’s deep pockets mean some representatives from the triumvirate will show up next.
The muscle in the corner of Phil’s jaw ticks and he all but sneers into the speaker. “Doyle’s not my Alpha. He has no authority here.” He releases the intercom button and turns to me, shaking his head and walking to my side. “What kind of trouble are you in, kid?”
“Not the fun kind,” I reply.
He lets out a huff of laughter and claps me on the shoulder. “Well, I can only keep them out for so long. Part of the agreement allowing me to maintain an independent territory here is that I cooperate with Doyle if he makes an official request, so they’llbe coming in one way or another. It might be best to pretend cooperation now so I can throw them off and possibly buy you some time.”
I blink at him, opening and closing my mouth a few times. “But you don’t owe us anything, least of all your help if it will get you in trouble with Doyle. Why would you…?”
“Because your mom was my friend and this is my way of looking out for her kid.” He chuckles. “And because Doyle’s an asshole.”
I glance at Wolfie. As much as I want him to have the chance to shift, under the current circumstances it’s probably best he stays as a wolf. There’s no telling how he’s going to react to being human again, and adding more unpredictability into the current situation would not be a wise choice.
“Thank you,” I say softly.
“Don’t mention it.” Phil shoots me a wry smile, then presses the intercom button. “The gate mechanism isn’t working correctly, so I’ll have to come down and open it up manually. It’ll be a few minutes.”
“That’s fine,” says Walsh, a hint of smug satisfaction in his tone. “We’ll wait.”
Phil jerks his chin toward the door and leads us back to the office where the truck is parked. He disappears inside and returns with a stack of cash, holding the money out to me.
“For the car,” he says gruffly.
My gaze darts down to the stack of bills. Even without counting it, I can tell that it’s way more than we agreed on. “But…”
Phil presses the money against my chest. “Just take it. Maggie was…” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do all I could to help.”
There’s not really any way to argue with that, so I don’t. I take the money. “Thanks.”
He gives me a sharp nod of approval, then gestures toward where the narrow track veers away from the office. “You obviously can’t go out the front, but if go that way you’ll eventually reach the back gate. Just stay to the left whenever you hit a fork and you’ll reach the exit in a few minutes. It’ll take me a while to walk down to the front gate, so that’ll give you a bit of a head start.” He claps me on the shoulder. Again. “Take care of yourself, kid.”
Then he ambles off in the direction of the front entrance.
I blink after him, unsure what to think. Phil’s a near stranger to me, but he’s willing to risk Doyle’s wrath to help me get away. That’s way more than I’ve ever expected from anyone, especially someone I don’t know all that well.
Maybe he and my mom were closer than I thought? There has to be a reason why he’s so amenable to helping me—us—when the police are literally at his door.
But I guess that doesn’t matter right now. I’m wasting time.
Wolfie, Raquel, and I get into the truck, me in the driver’s seat, Wolfie back in position with his head in my lap and Raquel squished into one of the small jump seats in the extended cab. I start the engine, back out, and maneuver the truck down the path Phil indicated. He shoots me a wave as we approach the first bend, then he continues strolling down the long drive to the front gate.
I follow Phil’s instructions, staying to the left when the narrow path branches. As we get deeper into the junkyard, the piles of crushed vehicles grow taller, casting long shadows over the ground and looming over the truck. The track between the cars becomes narrower and narrower until the truck is barley crawling along as I try to avoid taking out the side mirrors on any of the junked cars. This area obviously isn’t meant to be driven through—at least not with a full-sized vehicle—and Phil’s estimate of “a few minutes” seems more and more optimistic.
I carefully guide the truck to the left as the path branches yet again and finally catch sight of the fence that surrounds the junkyard. That means we must be close to the back gate. I let out a smallsigh of relief and loosen my white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.
