Zoe falters for just a moment at the sight, and without thinking, I place my hand at the small of her back.I’m here. We’re here. You’re not facing this alone.
To my surprise, she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she draws a deep breath and squares her shoulders before stepping through the broken doorway.
The interior of the gallery is even worse than I expected. It’s not just the missing art, it’s the destruction. Display cases have been smashed, glass crunching underfoot as we enter. Smaller sculptures have been toppled, and what looks like red spray paint mars one of the far walls.
“Oh God,” Zoe breathes, her composure cracking slightly at the sight.
My arm instinctively slides around her waist, steadying her. “Where’s Helen?” I ask, scanning the room.
Zoe points to a small woman with platinum blonde hairwho’s gesticulating wildly as she speaks to a plainclothes detective. “There.”
Before we can move in that direction, Helen spots us and rushes over, her face a mask of distress.
“Zoe! Thank God.” Helen’s hands are shaking. “The Sparne pieces! They took the centerpiece and damaged three others. And the Mosseau—” Her words cut off as she finally sees us. Her eyes widen. “You brought... company.”
“Helen, these are...” Zoe starts.
“The Sterling pack,” I say, extending a hand. “Everett Sterling.”
Helen’s hand comes up to shake mine on reflex, but her face has gone pale. Her gaze flicks from my face to Tristan’s, to Diego’s, to Dane’s. Then it lands on Zoe’s throat.
On the four fresh claiming marks.
Her jaw goes slack. All the air leaves her lungs in a silent rush.
“You...” she stammers, her eyes flicking between the marks on Zoe’s neck and my face. “She’s... you’re...” She seems to run out of words entirely, her mouth opening and closing silently like a fish.
A siren wails outside. Helen flinches, blinking hard. She looks from the broken window back to Zoe, her voice tight and too high.
“The police... they need the inventory lists. The values.” She won’t look at Zoe’s neck again. “I don’t have it. I just don’t.”
“Show me what’s missing,” Zoe says, her voice calm and solid. She straightens, and my arm, which is still wrapped around her waist, falls away as she steps past Helen, all business.
The instinct to pull her back, to keep her tucked safely against my side, is so strong I almost growl. My alpha hates this.
As Helen follows Zoe toward the main exhibition space, I catch my pack brothers’ eyes and give a slight nod. We’ve donethis a hundred times before. Split up, handle different angles, and somehow make sense of the chaos.
Dane, predictably, beelines for the broken front door, crouching like some kind of brooding, tactical ninja to inspect the lock mechanism. Security is his thing, and he’s already muttering to himself about “incompetent alarm systems” and “rookie-level break-ins.”
Tristan, meanwhile, swaggers over to the plainclothes detective.Swaggers. He’s all charm and lazy grins, the kind that make people spill their secrets without realizing they’re doing it. “Hi, I’m Tristan Sterling,” I hear him say, his voice oozing honey. “Mind if I ask a few questions? Just, you know, for my own peace of mind.”
God help us all.
Diego is already with Helen, radiating big golden retriever energy as he puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and murmurs soothing words. He can calm anyone down. Even a gallery director who looks seconds away from a full meltdown.
And me? I scan the room, looking for the guy in charge. It doesn’t take long to spot him: tall, grey-haired, with a face that says, “I’ve seen it all, and honestly, I’m tired.” He’s frowning at the defaced wall like it owes him an apology.
I stride over, trying to keep my pace confident but not too aggressive. “Detective?”
He turns, eyes widening slightly when he sees me. “Mr. Sterling? I didn’t expect to see you here.” He glances past me to the rest of the pack at their various positions in the gallery space.
I smile, offering my hand. “I’m here with Zoe Clarke, the assistant curator.”
His handshake is firm. “Detective Forbes.” He pauses. “I wasn’t aware the gallery was one of Sterling’s investments.”
“It isn’t.” I let the pause hang for a beat. “I’m with Ms. Clarke.”
His eyes flick to Zoe, who’s crouched near a shattered display case, her brow furrowed in concentration. “I see. Well, Mr.Sterling, this looks like a straightforward break-in. Nothing too fancy.”
