Page 39 of The Enforcers: NOAH

“Wells and Johnson were part of Beckenham’s team.”

Son of a fucking bitch.

Mina didn’t ask questions about his phone call, probably realizing he wasn’t going to tell her about it. Anyway, she was busy buckling on her holster and shrugging on her vest. She kept her phone in her hand, her thumb hovering over the contact list as if she were debating whether calling back would make things worse.

Noah felt the same way. He knew he should call Nashville, but there was no one there he really trusted. If Brock was shifting, he didn’t want to drag other shifters into it until Mina understood what was going on.

He just hoped his attempts to protect her and Brock didn’t get them all killed.

“Should I call 911?” Mina asked finally.

Noah glanced over at her. “Absolutely not.”

“You know more about this than you’re saying,” she said. “Tell me.”

Noah shook his head. “We don’t have time. We’re almost there.”

She glanced out the window. “You didn’t even ask me how to get to Robbie’s. You knew. What are you, some kind of undercover cop investigating him?” Her breath hitched. “Was everything you told me a lie?”

“No,” he said quietly. “But I can’t explain right now.” He reached over and touched her arm lightly, but she didn’t respond. “I’m on your side, Mina. And Brock’s. Whatever you believe—whatever you see—believe that.”

They were roaring up the road to Robbie’s now, the tires slipping a little on the curves as Noah kept his foot on the gas. The houses were few and set back in the woods, the darkness thick between them. Mina fidgeted, biting her lip.

Noah glanced at the clock. It had been less than ten minutes since Brock’s call—he’d shattered the speed limits getting over here.

But ten minutes could be a long damn time when things were going sideways.

He skidded the Trans Am to a stop in Robbie’s driveway, and Mina was out the door and running almost before the wheels stopped rolling.

Shit. Noah was only seconds behind her, but people could get shot in seconds. He rounded the corner of the house into the backyard and slid to a stop just behind Mina, who was frozen in place.

Brock stood in the doorway of a garden shed, blinking in the glow of a flashlight. He was snarling continuously, and his eyes glowed golden in the dim light. His little body was jerking convulsively.

Three men stood around him in a ragged half-circle, about fifteen feet away from the shed, their backs to Noah and Mina.

“I told you he’s a fucking shifter. He’s gonna change.” That was Briscoe.

“Just trank him, you moron!” It was another man, someone Noah didn’t recognize.

“I can’t trank him, the dose is too high. He’s too little. It’ll kill him.” That was Robbie.

They were so focused on Brock they hadn’t heard the car. Noah started to creep toward them. Maybe if he moved fast enough, he could punch through their line and get to Brock.

“Just let him change and shove him in the shed,” said the stranger.

“What happens if Barnes wakes up and attacks him?” Robbie asked. “He’s crazy.”

“Then grab the kid now.”

They moved in on Brock, who snarled louder. Behind him, Noah heard the click of a gun being cocked, and then Mina said, “Get away from my son. Now.”

The men turned, shocked, and Robbie said, “God, Mina, what the hell are you doing here? You have to go.”

“Not without my son.”

Noah saw the stranger murmuring to Briscoe, and Briscoe’s hand moving toward his pocket.

“Don’t try it, Briscoe,” he said, pulling his own gun. “Just step away from the kid. Now.”