Prologue
Jude
“Got one,” Derek says, nodding toward a figure slumped against the brick wall of a closed storefront. “He looks toasted.”
The snow falls heavy on Peachtree Street, muffling the sounds of New Year’s Eve revelers spilling out of bars and restaurants. My breath fogs in the cold air as I scan the crowd with my partner. We’ve been on patrol for nine hours and my feet are numb in my boots.
The man Derek spotted is in his forties, unshaven and wearing a thin jacket with patches on the elbows. His breath reeks of whiskey when we approach, and he can barely focus his eyes. My wolf picks up his scent. He’s human, seems to be no threat, just drunk off his ass on the last night of the year.
“How are you doing tonight, sir? You okay?” I’m taller than him by a few inches, so I bend down to his level while Derek stands back, arms crossed.
“Oh yeah.” His words slur together. “No problems here.”
I purse my lips, studying his flushed cheeks and glazed eyes. “Have you been drinking, sir?” The answer is obvious, but I ask anyway.
The guy grimaces. “I may have had a drink or two.” His statement is punctuated by a comical hiccup.
Derek sniggers. “This guy’s like a cartoon drunk.”
I give my partner a chiding glance. Derek is a good cop, but he lacks empathy. To me, that’s one of the most importantqualities a cop should have. At the very least, a police officer should care about people.
“My wife’s been sick,” the drunk guy mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. “All I want is to forget for a little while, you know?” His eyes are pleading as they meet mine. “I’m broke and the hospital bills just keep piling up. Can’t I have just one night to forget about everything? Is that so wrong of me?”
Derek chuffs. “How about your wife? Does she get to forget about all the problems while you’re off getting soused? She’s the one who’s sick.”
The drunk guy’s flush deepens. “You don’t get it,” he says gruffly. “Nobody does.”
“I get it,” I volunteer, meeting his gaze. “You’re having a bad time of it and you need to let off some steam. That’s understandable. The issue is that public intoxication is against the law. Plus, it’s not safe. You could fall down or someone could rob you.”
Scowling, the guy waves me off. “Ain’t no one going to rob me.”
It’s not lost on me he didn’t argue about the falling down part.
Derek shifts his weight. “We should take him in. He’s plastered.”
The man’s eyes well up. “You’re going to arrest me?” His voice wobbles. “Why? I didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just a guy with problems, that’s all. You’re going to make everything worse by locking me up?”
I hesitate. “You can’t be out on the public sidewalk drunk.”
He nods. “Okay, then I’ll go home.” He swallows loudly. “Please don’t take me to jail. I’ll go home and sleep it off. How’s that sound?”
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Marcus,” he says quickly. “Marcus Dougherty.”
Exhaling, my breath hangs in the chilly air. “You promise you’ll go straight home?”
Derek makes a disgusted sound.
“I promise.” The guy holds up one calloused hand. “Scouts honor, officer.”
Something in his voice gets to me. Maybe it’s the genuine despair in his bloodshot eyes. Maybe it’s because it’s New Year’s Eve and I’m thinking about fresh starts and second chances. My wolf settles, reading no danger from this broken man.
“You got a way to get home?” I ask.
The guy nods. “I can walk. It’s just a few blocks.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Derek says under his breath. “This guy’s trouble. I can tell.”
