Page 38 of The Enforcers: NOAH

“I’m here, baby. We’re both on the way. It’s okay now. You can go in the house.”

Noah was already picking up his clothes from where they’d been scattered on the kitchen floor and putting them on.

“I can’t.” They could hear Brock crying now. “They’re coming outside.”

Shit. Noah grabbed the phone while Mina scrambled into her clothes. “Is there anywhere you can hide?”

“I don’t know—I feel funny…” Brock’s voice broke off into a baby growl, and then there was muffled thumping, as if he’d dropped the phone.

Faintly, they heard a high-pitched snarl, and then a man’s voice said, “What the fuck…”

Noah was already heading for the door. “Mina, stay here.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? That’s my son.”

Noah was out the door already, keys in hand. He unlocked the trunk of the Trans Am and punched the code on the lockbox welded inside it, pulling out his sidearm and spare ammunition.

By the time he closed it up and got to the driver’s seat, Mina was already at the passenger door, with her vest and goggles in one hand and her holster in the other.

“Asshole,” she muttered, getting in and slamming the door. “Like I’m really staying behind.”

Fuck it all. His wolf was snarling inside him, but they couldn’t protect her from this. If Brock was really shifting, then she was going to have to know what was going on sooner rather than later.

Shit was about to get real.

Noah put the car in gear and drove.

They’d barely left Mina’s driveway when his phone rang. He was about to send it to voice mail when he saw who it was.

Drake.

He punched the button, making sure he didn’t hit speaker. “I hope to hell you have something, buddy, because the shit’s hitting the fan here. Like right now.”

Drake didn’t waste time. “I don’t know how much good it will do you, but here goes. That pack in Alaska was an isolated shifter group, stayed to themselves. Rumors were they had witch blood or dragon blood from way back—something that gave them weird powers. Didn’t do them much good though.”

Noah’s heart sank. “Who went after them?”

“Ever hear of Frank Beckenham?”

“Yeah,” Noah said. Shifter-hunting fucker. “He’s dead.”

“And good riddance. He took down the pack—had a group of mercenaries with him posing as ordinary hunters. It was a blood bath.”

Noah felt sick, but he kept his professional composure. Barely.

“Yeah, I heard that part.” He glanced over at Mina. “Any survivors?”

“Nobody knows,” Drake said. “There were some bodies that weren’t found, but they never showed up alive, either, so…”

So they were dead, or underground, or sold into slavery.

“What about the names I gave you?” Noah asked. He had a feeling he knew what was coming, but he needed confirmation.

“Justin Adams was one of the pack—their liaison with the outside world. Aramina Reston was human, some kind of biologist working with him. Unclear what the relationship was, or if she knew he was a shifter. She was there when shit went down, but there’s no record of her memory being blurred by the Council; just a note she was deemed not to be a threat due to her mental condition. They’re keeping tabs on her, but not high priority.”

Fuck it all. Her memories must have been tampered with; otherwise, she would have at least suspected that Robbie Wells might not be Brock’s father. He wondered if it had been done off the record for some reason. If so, the Council was partly to blame for Mina’s “breakdown.” That was not going to go over well when she learned about it.

“And the other names?” His stomach clenched. He knew what he was going to hear.