There was a snort from behind Zane, and Brooks turned to see Becker standing there, a sarcastic look on his face. “I’m disappointed you think so little of our esteemed chief. I’m sure he has a better reason for being here than getting his face on camera.”
“Like what?” Zane asked. “It’s not like he has any jurisdiction outside the Dallas city limits or even any valuable insights that might help with the apprehension.”
Becker made a show of thinking about it for a second, then shrugged. “Okay, you’re right. He’s here for the photo op.”
As if on cue, Curtis turned and headed for the press pool, a single U.S. Marshal accompanying him while everyone else stayed by the map board.
Brooks crossed the field to the pop-up shelter, Zane and Becker at his side. Zane grumbled under his breath as he stepped over the divots he’d made in his tumble when the bad guys had been shooting at them. He was still stewing over the way things had gone down, even if no one outside the Pack would ever know about it. As far as everyone else knew, the nearby truck had crashed on its own, and Brooks and Zane had barely gotten here in time to watch the other vehicle disappear after popping off a few shots. Thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed how fast—or how far—they’d run.
“And you have no idea who gave the order to transfer Oliver from administrative separation into the general population?” Gage asked the prison warden as Brooks and the other guys walked up.
The warden, an older man with more salt than pepper in his gray hair, shrugged as he flipped through a folder. “That’s the problem. As far as I can tell, no one did. Everything in his record indicates he was still in solitary, but the guards told me he’d been in a cell in North Block for almost a week.”
“The same cell block as Frasheri and Engler,” Brooks observed.
The warden nodded, glancing his way. “Exactly.”
“Have you figured out how they escaped?” Becker asked.
Another shake of the head from the warden. “We’re still digging into it, but right now, it looks like the escapees got themselves transferred to the Trusty status. How, I have no idea, but it’s possible someone hacked the prison record system to facilitate the change. Regardless, once their status was changed from G5 high-security offender to G1 Trusty, they had unfettered access to the minimum-security areas and the laundry trucks they used to escape.”
Trusty status meant Oliver, Frasheri, and Engler were allowed even more freedom than prisoners in the general population. It wasn’t like they could come and go from the prison when they pleased, but they didn’t have to spend the majority of the day locked up in a cell.
Brooks crossed his arms over his chest. “Even if they were able to change their security status in the prison system, surely one of the guards would have caught on that something was screwed up. Prison guards know who the worst offenders are, and Engler and Oliver are both known killers. Nobody wondered why they were put on laundry duty?”
The warden’s mouth tightened. “We’re still looking into that.”
The man didn’t have to say what was on everyone’s mind. This escape couldn’t have happened without help from the inside, along with lots of people looking the other way.
“I’m more interested in the connection the escapees have to the Dallas SWAT team,” one of the marshals said. A tall, wiry guy, he wore his hair military regulation short and had a slight New England accent. “It can’t be a coincidence they ended up together in prison after getting arrested by Sergeant Dixon’s team.”
Brooks silently agreed. To say that Frasheri and Engler came from two completely different worlds was an understatement. One was a wealthy mob boss, the other a cop from Oregon. Well, a deranged cop, but still law enforcement. They had nothing in common except their hatred for certain members of the Dallas SWAT team. If you threw Oliver into the mix, that angle made even more sense. They all hated SWAT and werewolves. Why not put aside their differences and work together?
The only thing Brooks couldn’t figure out was where the omega werewolves who’d escaped fit in. The omegas had worked for Frasheri on the outside, so they would have been willing to work with him on the inside, too, especially to escape. But why agree to join forces with Engler and Oliver, men who despised werewolves with a passion? And why would Engler and Oliver be down with that? It made no sense at all.
They couldn’t tell the marshal that, though. So Gage disclosed as much as he could about the men who’d escaped together—who they were, what their crimes had been, and how SWAT had taken them down.
The marshal frowned. “I know we’re assuming the escapees are headed to Mexico, Sergeant Dixon, but it’s entirely possible they could go after you and members of your team.”
“That’s very unlikely,” Curtis said, stepping into the pop-up shelter.
Brooks resisted the urge to growl. Apparently, the chief was done posing for the cameras.
Curtis pointed at an area of the map on the board that was well south of Dallas. “We have confirmed sightings of the escapees in Round Rock and San Marcos. It’s obvious they’re making a beeline down the I-35 corridor straight for the border. I have no doubt we’ll have them back in custody by nightfall.”
Brooks wanted to point out those confirmed sightings could have easily been faked, especially considering Oliver and the others had outside help, but he bit his tongue. Curtis might have been a cop at one point in his past, but these days, he was a politician with aspirations for a higher office. He didn’t care about facts. He wanted this situation cleared quickly simply because it would make him look good. Of course, if that didn’t happen, Brooks had no doubt the man would make sure to point out this was actually a state and federal responsibility and had nothing to do with the DPD whatsoever.
A man in a suit whom Brooks recognized from DPD public affairs joined them then, a reporter in tow, asking Curtis if they could get some photos of the command center in operation. Nobody except Curtis looked thrilled with that idea, but no one complained.
Gage caught Brooks’s eye and gestured to the side with his head, walking out of the tent. Brooks and his packmates followed. Once they were too far away to be overheard, Gage spoke.
“Let’s assume Curtis doesn’t know what he’s talking about when it comes to Frasheri and the others.”
“Safe bet,” Becker muttered.
“I’m not buying those convenient—and no doubt anonymous—sightings along I-35,” Gage continued. “Engler’s a former cop. He’s too smart to let people see him that easily. Which is why we’re going with the theory that Oliver and the other escapees might still be in the area and that they might be coming after us until we have real proof to the contrary.”
“We need to put extra security on Jayna and her beta pack,” Becker said, his face clouding with worry. “Khaki, too.”
