We step out into the hallway, where several police officers are gathered with a group of armed guards. One officer is hunched over a laptop, monitoring a live feed from the building’s security cameras. I can’t see enough from my vantage point to spot where Ava is on the screens, and the knot of anxiety and fear in my stomach only tightens.
“Tell me what happened,” I say roughly.
Henry’s expression is more serious than I’ve ever seen. “When I came out the door, Ava was walking past with a man at her side. He had his hand firmly on her elbow and was standing much too close. Given what I know about you two, it immediately struck me as off. Then she mentioned needing a stuffed tiger when she was ill this weekend, and I knew she was signaling for help. Since I’m assuming she was in heat this weekend?”
Nausea forces acidic bile into my throat. I give a terse nod, closing my eyes to get myself under control before finding the strength to speak again. “Do we know who he was? Where did they go?” I ask quietly.
“NYPD is running facial recognition now. He’s an alpha, that much I could tell, but not anyone I recognize. The good news is, they’re still in the building.”
I grit my teeth. “Do we think he targeted Ava specifically, or was she just a random woman he took hostage?”
Henry shakes his head. “We’re not sure yet. But we will get her back, Mark. I promise.”
The guards and police give us quizzical looks when we join them. I can practically feel the unasked question hanging in the air. They want to know what the hell I’m doing out here. I ignore it, leaning forward to get a clearer look at the camera feeds.
“Where is she?” I ask the guard closest to me. He looks familiar. Nick something, maybe.
He points to one of the squares and clicks to bring it into a larger view. “Best we can tell, she’s in the hallway by the storage closets. We don’t have eyes on her yet, but he’s paced through there a couple of times.”
“There are several blind spots over there,” I say, more to myself than to him, as my gaze tracks the empty stretch of hallway. “She must be in one of them. We’re positive she didn’t get away from him?”
He nods and splits the screen, fingers moving quickly over the controls to pull up recorded footage. Ava appears, turning the corner with the man pressed tight against her side. His grip looks brutal, like he’s afraid she’ll take off if he loosens it. She’s probably going to have bruises. My jaw locks. A low sound rumbles out of my chest before I can stop it.
The room goes quiet. A few of the men glance at each other. Henry steps closer, voice low. “Mark. You gonna be able to keep it together? We can’t handle an alpha losing control right now. She can’t afford us having to split resources to babysit you.”
I shake my head and suck in a breath through my teeth. “I’mfine.”
Footsteps approach from behind us. Two men and a woman join the group, each in black tactical vests with NYPD ESU patches. The largest of the men is armed with an assault rifle strapped across his chest in a way that speaks of complete ease and familiarity with the firearm. The other man, I recognize immediately.
“Lieutenant Mulligan,” I say. “I’m glad to see you.”
And I am. I’ve worked with ESU before. There’s a saying in New York—when we need help, we call 911; when the cops need help, they call ESU.
“Mark,” he says, studying me carefully. “Why are you here?” There isn’t any judgment in his tone. Not yet, at least. Right now, he’s just assessing how I fit into the equation.
“Ava and I are bonded,” I say quietly. The reaction is immediate. Heads snap up, and everyone’s eyes widen. “It’s a very recent development,” I add.
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me you’re an alpha with a fresh bond, and your omega is being held hostage? Who the fuck let him out here?”
Henry clears his throat. “I did, sir. It was that or he caused a scene in one of the courtrooms.”
“Jim, I’m handling it,” I say. “But that’s my mate. Every one of you knows you’d be the same way if it was yours. I can help. I know that hallway. I know Ava. Please,” I beg.
He exhales slowly. “Can you track her scent?”
“She wears some pretty heavy-duty neutralizers,” I say, thinking it through. “But if she’s scared enough, it should bleed through. If that’s the case, yes, absolutely.”
“Get him a vest,” he snaps to the nearby officers. Then he looks at me. “If you weren’t trained in ride-alongs, I wouldn’t even consider this. And I swear to God, I’ll shoot you myself if you force my hand.”
I nod. The good ole boy system worked in my favor—this would never have worked for most people. I don’t have time to feel badly about it. A vest is shoved into my hands, and I strap it on quickly, fingers not quite steady.
An officer to my right is holding a tablet. He clears his throat without looking up. “Lieutenant, we have a probable ID. Appears to be Joseph Simmons. Extensive record. Most recent charges were drug distribution and weapons violations.”
My stomach drops. The name is familiar. “Does he have a brother named Christopher?”
The officer taps the screen a few times. “Yes. He’s at Rikers.”
“Then he’s targeting Ava directly,” I say. I might be sick. “She was the attorney on that case. I won, but it wasn’t the charges I’d hoped for. We suspected mafia ties, because it didn’t make sense how he could even afford her firm, but we could never get proof.”
