I get in my patrol car and run the plates dispatch sent me. The results confirm what I already knew.
Callum Whitmore. Rental vehicle. Registered to an address in the city.
My best friend since kindergarten.
The man I'm about to destroy.
I hit the lights and pull out of my parking spot. The Delacroix house is five minutes away. I make it in three, pushing the speed limit in ways I'd ticket anyone else for.
The black sedan is parked across the street from Dorothy's house, engine idling, exhaust puffing white in the cold air. I pull up behind it, blocking any escape route, and step out of my car.
My boots crunch on the gravel. My hand rests on my holster. Not because I think I'll need it, but because I want him to see it.
The driver's window rolls down.
Callum's face appears. Same perfectly styled hair, artfully tousled like he spent an hour making it look effortless. Same chiseled jaw and straight nose. Same smile that makes women swoon and makes me want to put my fist through it.
He's wearing a designer jacket with a watch that catches the fading light. Everything about him screams money and entitlement and the absolute certainty that the world will bend to his will.
"Nacho!" He sounds delighted. Like we're old friends running into each other at a bar. "What are the odds?"
"It's Sheriff Negrorio." I plant my feet and cross my arms. Let my scent roll out—leather and rain, dark sugar and ironwood,alpha dominance that makes it clear who's in charge here. "And the odds are exactly one hundred percent because I got a report about a suspicious vehicle and here you are."
"Suspicious?" Callum laughs. "I'm just checking on my fiancée."
"Ex-fiancée."
He waves a hand, dismissive. "Semantics. We had a little disagreement. She got emotional. You know how omegas can be."
How does he know that she’s an omega?
The casual cruelty of it makes my jaw clench so hard I hear my teeth creak. My alpha snarls, wanting blood.
"What I know," I say slowly, letting the threat show, "is that you're parked outside a private residence, watching the house. That's stalking. It's a crime."
"Stalking?" He puts a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'm concerned about her. She ran away from our wedding. She's clearly not thinking straight. I'm here to make sure she's safe."
"She doesn't want to see you."
"Did she tell you that?" His smile turns patronizing. "Because I think she's just confused. She does this sometimes. Gets overwhelmed. Makes impulsive decisions. But she always comes back to me in the end."
He leans out the window slightly, and I catch the full force of his cologne. Expensive. Cloying. Trying too hard to cover up what he really is underneath.
"She knows she's nothing without me," he adds.
What the fuck?
Jessica said almost the same thing in my office. He's been telling her that. Drilling it into her head until she believed it.
I step closer to the car that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eyes.
His smile falters.
"Here's what's going to happen," I say. My voice is quiet. Controlled. The voice I use when I want someone to understand exactly how serious I am. "You're going to leave Largo Waters. Tonight. You're not going to contact Jessica. You're not going to contact her mother. You're not going to drive past their house or send messages through friends or show up at places where she might be."
Callum's smile doesn't waver, but shifts in his eyes. A flicker of uncertainty. His cologne can't hide the spike of unease in his scent.
Good.
