"Will do. I'll loop you in soon as I have something concrete."
"Sure you want to go in there without backup? He's dangerous."
"I don't think he is."
The first cop snorted. When they got close enough they shut up. After a minute, keys jingled, and I tensed hard, and forced myself to open my eyes slowly, sit up, and try not to act as freaked out as I was. I cringed as the door screeched open.
The door opened, and one man stepped in, smelling faintly of beef jerky and carrying a utilitarian folding chair. The other cop lingered there a moment, hand on the door, watching, and then he shut the door on us with an air of misgiving.
I tried not to flinch at the sound, not altogether successfully. Outside, something was flicked, and the room flooded with bright, hard fluorescent lights. This time I did flinch.
The policeman looked far too confident. Older than me, not as big, he carried himself with about a thousand times more confidence. He was handsome in a rugged way, with knowing dark eyes and sexy stubble. He looked clever, tough, cynical, and strong.
The cop stood watching me for a minute, far too closely. I watched him warily back. If he was going to hit me with that chair, I wanted to be prepared. If I fought back, would they have the excuse they needed to keep me here forever? But even if I just raised my arms to shield my head, it would be better than being caught unawares.
They'd said the lawyers were screaming. That was some comfort, anyway. It meant Vance wasn't leaving me here to teach me a lesson. I didn't think he'd do that.
Besides, I hadn't done anything wrong. I hadn't hesitated when he'd said to do something, and he wasn't mad at me. He was about as happy with me as he ever got. He only smacked me around for show. He wouldn't punish me like this, not with a cop. That was way too heavy-handed; not Vance's style. So why was my heart beating double-time, sinking with the feeling that I'd never get out of here, as I stared at the cop?
He stared right back, taking my measure.
He had a contained strength, a fit build, and looked like he was certain of things and knew his own strength. He also looked like he was usually the smartest guy in any room, and knew it. Maybe he wouldn't brag about it, but he assessed things and trusted his judgment, and other people did, too. I was rarely the smartest guy in a room, and never the most confident.
What kind of expert was he? I hoped not a wolf-spotter. He seemed like the sort of guy you couldn't hide anything from. So far, nobody outside the pack knew I was a wolf. We wanted to keep it that way.
He unfolded the chair and sat down on it, facing me. His knees were apart, so he took up more room. He didn't make himself small. I sat very still on the edge of the bed. I could only hold his gaze for so long, though. It was too strong, too smart—too dangerous.
He didn't seem to have the sheer meanness about him the other cop had, the anger, but there was something relentless here, something almost more dangerous for its calm.
I looked away, my head tilting slightly, automatically, to show a tiny bit more of my neck, acknowledging I'd lost this first battle of wills—the one I hadn't even wanted to engage in. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to hit me with the chair by now, though. It would've been easy to read, a threat of violence on that face or in his scent—aggressive and on edge. Instead he just watched.
As soon as I looked away, he began to speak. "Have you known Vance Dozier long?" he asked. He had a very nice voice, rich and confident and pleasant. I liked the sound of it.
I hesitated, not sure if I should answer that question or not. I didn't want to piss him off—he still had that chair, and he might get violent any second—but I didn't know if I should answer that.
How much did they know? How much could they prove? Probably nothing, so it might be better not to say "most of my life" or anything like that.
He waited for me to answer. It was a very patient sort of waiting. When I risked a glance at him, I couldn't see anything on his face but that patient cleverness. He was getting something from me whether I answered or not, getting a read on my body language in a way most people couldn't.
It made me uncomfortable, even though there'd been plenty of times I wished people could read me better. But not a cop.
"I don't know," I said at last.
"If you had to guess?"
I studied his face, debating. It didn't seem like such a dangerous thing to talk about. What did I know, though?
"Just a guess," he said, real soft. "None of this is being recorded. It won't go on the record. I just wondered...how long? You're pretty loyal to the guy. It would be strange if you just met."
He was full of shit. Anything I said would definitely go on the record.
He waited, and I waited. I was sweating hard, and he hadn't even given me that hateful, hard cop look yet. He hadn't done anything but ask a simple question. I wished it wasn't so hard to know what to say, or not say. Vance would tell me to keep my mouth shut. Yes. I knew that. But it was hard to say nothing with his eyes on me, the cop's quiet eyes.
"I don't know."
"Maybe a year? Maybe more than a year?" He looked at me. I was pretty sure my face didn't give anything away, but after a moment, he said "Maybe closer to a decade?"
I flinched. How much did he know?
"Let's say a decade, then," said the cop, real soft, like he knew it was the truth.
Was he reading my mind? I snuck a glimpse at him, and thought something really dirty about him, something pornographic that would be sure to make a cop flinch if he read it. But nothing. That same bland gaze. He was reading me, but not from my mind. That was almost more scary. Not that I'd actually thought mind-readers existed, but if they did they'd probably work for the cops.
"Probably since you were just a young pup," said the cop, going on real calm and quiet. He had a nice voice, I'll give him that. I almost didn't catch the word "pup." That was an unusual word for a cop to use.
Was he hinting I was a wolf? I kept my face bland. No need to confirm or deny any of it, this time. He couldn't keep reading me forever. Eventually, he'd reach his limits. Especially since I'd gotten my leg to stop bouncing and my face only twitched occasionally now.
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small unopened bag of beef jerky. I'd known it was there, of course, but smelling it now, as he opened it, made me about ten times hungrier than I had been. The scent of that dried meat and flavorings filled the small room, like a third presence.
Immediately I began to salivate, although I knew better than to expect any. I tried not to let my eyes track the movement as he put a piece in his mouth and began to chew, still watching me all the while, like he was getting something from even this.
Dammit. Where were those lawyers? He acted like he had all the time in the world. He hadn't even threatened me with jail time yet.
He ate really slowly, too. I didn't let myself squirm, but I did have to look away. It was hard to meet his gaze for too long. I managed—just—not to duck my head in submission, but he was too damned alpha-like for me to feel comfortable meeting his gaze for long.
"You want some?" he asked at last.
I looked at him quick, shook my head. "Probably poisoned." My voice came out an unpleasant croak. It sounded disused and frightened.
He laughed. "You just saw me eat a piece."
I tried to think of something to say. Couldn't.
"Here." He tossed the small bag to me, only one piece missing. I caught it quick, and glanced at his face, trying to figure him out.
"Don't you want it?" He watched me as I hesitated to eat. It had been hours since I'd eaten. I was ravenous. And I've always liked jerky.
I shrugged.
"It's all right," he told me. "You can eat." And damn it, his relaxed voice giving me permission actually made me decide to do it. I shouldn't be so easy to influence. But the smell was getting bigger and bigger, and my hunger was drowning out common sense, and really, it was just some dried meat. It didn't mean I was giving in and rolling over on Va
nce.
The cop watched me as I ate, faintly satisfied. I did my best to go slow.
"You can wolf it down. I won't be offended."
Great. Another wolf reference. He was teasing me, taunting me with what he'd guessed—or else it was a coincidence. But this cop wasn't the kind of guy who did anything coincidentally.
I didn't say anything, continued to nibble slowly.
"You're probably really hungry, being here most of the day."
I nodded before I could stop myself. I hated remembering so vividly what it felt like to be hungry.
It was good jerky. It felt so good to eat something, but I knew it wasn't going to go far.
Obviously I wasn't going to starve to death one day without much to eat, but it was a horrible memory for me, hunger and nothing to appease it, being alone, knowing I didn't have anybody to take care of me, feeling that I could probably lie down and die on the sidewalk and people would step around me, not even notice.
When I finished, there was nothing left to do but smooth the empty bag out on my thigh, then fold it in half, turn it over, fold it in half again. The room still smelled like meat, almost as strong as ever. I had a tiny piece stuck between two teeth, and it was going to bug me till I could floss.
He was still watching me, and I couldn't meet his gaze. He seemed easier than ever, but I wished he wouldn't stare at me. He was reading too much from me. I wasn't used to that.
I wondered if Vance would be mad at me. Maybe I'd already given away too much. This guy knew—or guessed—I was a wolf. It was hard to care too much just now. I wanted to be safe and okay again. I wanted to eat. I wished he'd stop staring at me.
Vance, hurry up. I'm scared! I'd never actually tell Vance—or anyone—I was scared, of course. He'd hit me so hard if I did. Or worse, he'd look at me with a curled lip and tell me to pull myself together and act my age.
Would he slap me around for being caught? It wasn't my fault, right? But Vance could pick anything or nothing to make a point over, if the guys were watching.
Yeah, he'd probably smack me at least once. And I'd probably flinch and cringe like a stupid frightened pup. I really should stand up to him, tell him I didn't like being used as an example that way. But somehow it never seemed important enough to risk saying when I was actually near him. I didn't want to get kicked out of the pack, not over a little something like not wanting to get slapped around.
I was big. I could take it. He wouldn't ever really hurt me.
He wouldn't leave me here for an example, would he? He wouldn't. Vance could be cold and calculating, but he knew I was a lot more valuable on the outside, backing him up. He didn't trust anybody as much as he trusted me. He needed me...right?
My knee wasn't being still, and I felt the twitch acting up again on my face.
"You can come over here, you know," said the cop, real soft, real gentle. He patted his knee.
I glanced at him quick, then away. But when I looked away, I was showing more of my neck to him. Damn. I didn't want to fight him. I just wanted some peace. I wanted to close my eyes and have everything stop hurting. And I was so damned hungry. I bet he'd given me the jerky just to make me hungrier, hadn't he? It hadn't been nearly enough; I was still ravenous.
"Come here," he said again, insistent but soft, not yelling at me, just asking me to come to him. "Riley."
It felt weird when he said my name, like that was one straw too much, now he knew too much about me. But he'd known my name from the beginning, of course.
I shook my head, keeping my gaze low so I wasn't challenging him at all, not one little bit, even though I was telling him no. "I don't want to."
"All right. We can sit here like this all day. Or you can come over here. If you want to."
I shouldn't want to. He was being too nice for a cop. I tilted my neck, baring it to him. Damn it! I hoped he hadn't read that. I was submitting to him, and I shouldn't. I should wait for Vance. Let him spring me. Let him slap me around till he was satisfied, then he'd let me eat something, and—and—
I felt a small whimper starting up in my chest, and I fought it down.
"Riley," said the cop again, patting his knee.
No. I wasn't a pup. He shouldn't call me like that. I shook my head again, but even that must've looked weak. Why was I so weak? He shouldn't be doing this to me. My eyes were getting damp, and I didn't want to be so weak.
"All right. Can I come over there?"
I shook my head, but it was hesitant, and I bared my neck a little more without quite meaning to.
He got up. The chair creaked with his weight leaving it behind. He better not tell me to go on my knees for him and suck him. I wouldn't do it! Did cops do that? He was too bossy and calm. He was too in charge—and he knew it.
"I'm walking over to you," he said, calm as anything.
I shook my head again, but it was a jerky, hesitant movement, like I wasn't sure I meant it. Too much of my neck was bared to him, and I couldn't take my eyes off the floor. I really should look up and meet his gaze, challenge him, but I couldn't.
"You're all right. Come on now, there's nothing worth trembling about."
Was I trembling? Oh, Vance would be so annoyed with me. I felt a wretched sort of despair slide over me. The cop made a soft, soothing sound, like he was comforting a frightened animal. I wasn't an animal, damn it. I was wolf, yes, but—
"Here now. It's all right." His hand landed on the side of my neck, smoothed down it. I shuddered at the touch. It felt right. He was the strongest in the room, and he knew it, and he wasn't going to hurt me. If I gave in to him, he wouldn't even scold me. I could just tell.
"Come on," he said. "You're all right now. I've got you." He pulled me against him, slow and careful, and I let him, closing my eyes, letting my face rest against his chest. Squeezing my eyes shut, swallowing hard, remembering to breathe. He smelled real. His hand on my neck, and now my hair as well, petting me, was gentle. "That's all right," he said. "You're all right. You're safe."
I wasn't. I really wasn't.
He stayed with me for what felt like a long time, soothing me. One arm around me made me feel grounded, and far safer than any cop should be able to. I didn't have enough pride left in me to resist. I was too ashamed to meet his eyes, but it felt so good to have someone treat me like that. He knew he was in charge. We both knew he was in charge. But he wasn't using that to hurt me or prove anything.
I didn't want it to be this way. But it had been so damned long since I felt safe.
"My name is Justin Barnes. I'm going to get you something to eat," said the cop. "I'll be right back. A big meal, I promise. I'll be right back." He tried to catch my eyes, to show me he meant it sincerely, but I kept my head down where it belonged.
While he was gone, I tried hard to pull myself together, to remind myself why I needed to be strong and not let his alpha-ness affect me, or his nice voice, or the way he'd touched my neck and soothed me. It shouldn't matter. I had an alpha, didn't I?
Except I'd never once thought Vance actually cared about me, just that he treated me better than Eddie. I was useful, that was it. But that shouldn't make any difference, should it?
When Justin returned, carrying a big cafeteria tray, it was heavy with food: simple, hearty fare like institutionally bland meatloaf, mounds of mashed potatoes, and boiled mixed vegetables. It all smelled wonderful to me, but I tried briefly to defy him, my shoulders straightened up and my gaze meeting his, hard, for a moment. A brief moment, it turned out.
His smile was wry. "Don't give me that look. I didn't take long, did I?"
My gaze went down again. Damn it. I felt shuddery and sick inside with the thought of what this cop would make me do, could make me do. While I was here with him, there was no real escape from it.
"Here. Eat." He gave me the tray, and retreated to his folding chair, where he kept an eye on me but said nothing.
At first, I had to choke down the food bite by miserable bite. But pretty soon it was hard to keep
any worries in my head while there was so much to eat and I was starving.
When I finished—every bite—I felt a little better. I raised my eyes briefly to meet his. He'd been waiting for that. He pointed to my arm. "Can I see that?"
He wanted to see my arm? "What?"
"Is that a bruise?"
I pushed my sleeve up and showed it to him.
"What happened?"
There was something weirdly protective in the question. That felt good to hear, though. Too good...
"Nothing," I said in a small voice.
"Is Vance smacking you around?" he said.
How did he know all of this? I looked at him quick, scared, wondering how much surveillance there actually was, what I should be worrying about... But that look had told him everything.
"He shouldn't slap around someone like you," said Justin, like that was the final word on the matter and anyone with a brain would know as much. "You don't have a defiant bone in your body, do you?"
I didn't know how to answer that. I wasn't sure, to be honest. I shrugged.
"He's just beating you down. He should be building you up," Justin observed. "There's only so low you can drive someone before someone else is willing to step in and treat them better." He stared at me, direct and steady, and very pointed.
I swallowed hard, and looked down. "I don't, uh, need a new boss."
"No, you need a new life. Come here." He raised a hand like he was ready to pet me, or grip my neck. I rose and went to him. It wasn't so much a decision as automatic. He rose too, and gave me a smile, like I'd done something good.
It made me feel weird inside, slightly less raw and scared, and I couldn't help almost-smiling back. He gripped my shoulder, surprisingly strong, and faced me from close. He was only a little shorter than me.
"You're scared. I know that. But I can protect you."
I shook my head. Maybe he thought that—he certainly radiated sincerity about it—but that didn't mean it was true.
"Look at me."
I twisted my head, baring my neck, submitting but keeping my eyes low. I didn't want to challenge him. I didn't want to challenge anybody.
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