Palm flat on the door, I push through without knocking before they can discuss my mental state further.
The conversation stops abruptly as I enter.
Chase straightens in his chair with a small smile, knowing that their little conversation will have sold me on the case already, while Tripp and Van gawk at me like I’m a wild animal that’s about to tear their immaculate office apart.
“For fuck’s sake,” Van mutters, as I cross to the boardroom table, eyeing the flimsy-looking office chairs and opting for the sturdier leather one at the head.
Jake’s hunched at the far end, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. When he raises his bloodshot hazel eyes to mine, there are dark circles underneath, and the dried blood on his collar only adds to the exhausted look of a man whose world has been turned upside down.
He looks me over, and I wait, remaining still long enough that he seems to decide I’m not a complete loose cannon. A brief nod, and I’ve passed his assessment.
“We’ll get her back.” I assure him, holding his worried gaze.
The bruising on his face is fresh for a human with no rapid healing abilities. He put up a fight, but someone worked him over well.
“Bodhi.” Chase’s professional mask slides back into place while Van and Tripp struggle to process my dishevelled state. “Thanks for coming.”
I accept his handshake with a nod, acutely aware of Tripp and Van’s scrutiny from across the room.
Their eyes catalogue every twitch, every subtle sign of the war raging inside me. They’ve worked with shifters long enough to recognise a man hanging onto his human side by a thread.
“Please sit.” Chase gestures to a chair designed for normal-sized humans.
Jake’s bloodshot eyes lock onto mine with a mix of hope and uncertainty.
“What do you need from me?” I have the bare bones of what’s going on. This man’s wife or girlfriend has been kidnapped and is being held hostage. I need to go undercover to find out where and try to break her out without revealing what I am.
Chase is probably already in the process of creating new identities for them or working with the authorities to ensure they’re protected.
“He can still speak. That’s something, at least.” Tripp rubs a hand down his face. Bringing me in was clearly not his first choice.
Chase exchanges a glance with Beau, who gives a slight nod. “As you may have heard, we have a serious situation that requires your... unique skill set.”
Tripp raises his eyebrows but says nothing, unconvinced I have any unique skill set other than being huge.
Chase slides a file across the desk.
“Nikolai Kozlov,” Chase says as I flip open the folder with fingers that feel too big, too clumsy for such a delicate task. “He’s russian, built a criminal empire across three states, operates about forty miles from your clan’s territory.”
So, he definitely knows my father then.
“What’s he done?” Each word requires conscious effort, like flexing long-forgotten muscles. I try to look at the photo Chase has in his hand, but he keeps it angled away from me.
“Extortion. Illegal gambling. Prostitution. Money laundering. And loan sharking, of course,” Chase says. I’mguessing from the way Jake flinches at the last one, that’s what got him into trouble. “But the specific situationwe’reconcerned with is that he’s taken a hostage.” Chase tips his head toward Jake. “Emma Wilson, 25, as collateral for Jake’s outstanding debt.”
Jake makes a wounded sound from across the room.
I glance at him, then back at the photo.
“Jake and I did two tours together. Him and Emma are good people who shouldn’t be mixed up with the likes of Kozlov.” That’s Chase’s way of explaining why he’s going above and beyond for this man, and why he’s not giving him a harder time for creating this mess.
“If Jake doesn’t pay his debt in five days, Emma will be put to work in one of Kozlov’s brothels to pay the debt.” Chase frowns, not enjoying spelling out the last part in front of her husband. “And most likely, both of them will be killed and made an example of.”
Jake rubs his hand across his forehead and squeezes his eyes shut.
Chase places the photo in his hand onto the black table, face up, and slides it over to me.
Carefully, I pull the picture closer. Honey-blonde hair. Green eyes that seem to look straight at me. She’s beautiful.
