Armed with new certainty, the agent swivels back to the sheriff. “We need to see the man you just arrested immediately. He has critical information about an attack that occurred today downtown.” He gestures to me. “This is his lawyer, Callisto Wren.”
I don’t even want to think about the attack because I’m pretty sure it’s a result of the hit order I requested gone wrong. But that’s a problem for after I see Zack.
The sheriff glances my way in recognition. “As soon as due processing—”
“Now,” I demand, alpha domination creeping into my tone. “This can’t wait.”
And then I hear it. Distantly, distorted by the walls between us, Zack cries, “Cal-ee!”
Emotion wells up inside me, chilling and prickly. Zack’s calling for me. I fling out my hand. “Hear that? He needs me.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to calm down. “Please. He’s an alpha assigned to my care, and he can’t speak properly.”
The officer’s brows jump as if he doesn’t agree.
As I speak, my mind darts through possible solutions. Asking for an interpreter won’t help since relatives don’t count, and no one else is going to understand the feral. I don’t want to say Zack’s dangerous, so I settle for “He’s not socialized. He doesn’t understand legal processes yet. You need to let me see him so I can explain things. Please.”
If I tell Zack he needs to stay in a cell for a few days and then I’ll take him home, will he even listen? So long as he gets a cell on his own here in the police station, surely he’ll be okay.
But I need to move fast. “What is he being charged with?” I demand.
An officer sidles up to the sheriff and hands him a document on a clipboard. The sheriff scans it, and then circles his fingers around his mouth, stroking a non-existent goatee. “I’m sorry to inform you, but Zackary Jones is no longer in our custody. He’s been charged with grievous assault and dangerous alpha conduct, denied bail, and transferred to Laversham Alpha Lodgings.”
I lurch, grabbing the counter to stabilize myself. It’s impossible to process and charge someone that fast. The words come from a distant mountaintop, soaking into me like raindrops, meaning arriving one piece at a time. They were ready and waiting to scoop Zack up.
Someone orchestrated this.
“Shit!” I push myself away from the desk and run, my leather shoes slapping loudly on the tiled floor. Adrenaline flushes through me as I skid out through the door and leap down the three steps to street level. The black-and-white Alpha Lodgings car rolls slowly out of the underground garage and along the street, taunting me. I can’t see into the back, but instinct tells me Zack’s inside. The agent behind the wheel glances my way, and the tinted window buzzes down low enough for him to salute.
Rage blinds me, stealing my breath. An image of me flinging myself at that window and smashing his head into the glass overlays the cityscape.
He’s familiar.
I swivel on leaden feet to track the car’s progress, my heart pounding in my chest. He’s the agent who tracked Zack all the way from Darinian. The fucker who was so desperate to take Zack back.
Zack grabs the bars behind the officer’s head. “Cal-ee!” he shrieks. “Want Red! Go home!”
I lurch forward but the driver rolls up the window and zooms away. My heart sinks.
“What’s going on?” Agent Pierce asks, catching up.
Nausea boils up through my stomach, and I race for the nearby trash can and hurl what remains of my lunch. I’m good at piecing together the story of what happened—my golden career requires that skill. But I can’t make any sense of today’s happenings.
“Sorry, Pierce,” I mutter, wiping my mouth and digging into my pockets. “This is where we part ways. I’ll be in touch.” I race down the sidewalk, each impact from my footfalls shuddering up my body in warning. Guilt squeezes my lungs. Whatever this mystery is, it must be my fault.
Ten minutes later, I slam into the beer-laden haze of the pub where I arranged the hit on Ray. The wizened granny barkeep takes one look at me and slips her fingers in her mouth. With a piercing whistle, she summons Dodge, who crooks his fingers to call me into the back room.
“Told you he was bad news,” the woman shouts at our backs.
Dodge grunts and ushers me away from the lunchtime patrons. “Why are you here?” he asks the moment the door shuts behind us. “I suppose you want a refund—?”
“What happened?” I interrupt.
“Come again?” He crosses his arms over his broad chest and leans against the table. “You got real nerve barreling in here like we owe you something.” His dark eyes bore into me.
An uncanny premonition seizes me. He doesn’t know why I’m here. “The hit,” I mutter. “Did you do it?”
His head flicks back, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Was only a deal if you lost. But you didn’t.”
My strength dissipates and I stagger, catching myself on the back of the closest chair. With effort, I lower myself into the seat and rest my head in my hands. Sweat pools between my fingers.
