by Paige Tyler
She stopped short of the conscious dog, assessing not only his damage, but the injuries of the other two animals. Tears stung her eyes. Their ears were tattered, their faces and necks torn and lacerated, and their chests and shoulders matted with thick, clotted blood. But at least they were alive. All three of them needed urgent care though, and likely hours of surgery. How they’d been able to drag themselves this far was anyone’s guess. If she was going to help any of them, she had to deal with the conscious guy first.
“You did a good job hiding out under this car, but I’m here now, and you need to let me help you,” she told him.
She moved closer to the dog inch by inch, speaking in a calm but assertive voice that she hoped the pit bull would take as authoritative and alpha-like. It took five minutes to get close enough to touch the dog, and by then, the poor guy had dropped his chin to the dirt in exhaustion. She gently ran her hand along his back.
“Come on, baby. Let’s get you out of here.”
Lacey worried the dog wouldn’t want to leave his friends, but he was too tired to resist her prodding hands. Or maybe he actually trusted her. Either way, he let her nudge him out from under the car, where two of Wendy’s coworkers met them with glove-covered hands. Both officers were good with dogs, having a gentle, calming energy about them that kept the pit bull from getting upset as they moved him away from the car.
Another cop handed her a length of plywood, which she used like a makeshift litter, gently moving the dogs on it one at a time, then sliding them out. In full light, all three dogs looked even worse than she’d thought. How the heck had they made it through the night?
She looked up to see Wendy and another cop leading the old man away in cuffs. The caretaker complained the whole way, alternating between stating that he had no idea where those dogs had come from and declaring that he didn’t see what the big deal was.
“They’re just dogs,” he grumbled.
Lacey focused her attention on the injured animals, knowing that if she didn’t, she’d give in to the urge to throw herself at the wasted piece of humanity and rip him to pieces. The other officers left her alone as she worked to get the three dogs stabilized for the trip to the clinic. They usually did that—one, because they knew there wasn’t a lot they could do to help, and two, because they knew she hated to let anyone see her cry. She always cried when she worked on abused animals.
As she set up IV lines and treated the worst of the lacerations with trauma foam, she mentally tallied the extent of the dogs’ injuries. They were looking at a lot of surgeries and care. The owner of the clinic where she worked provided everything she needed for the surgeries at cost—that had been part of the agreement when she’d taken the job—but she’d also cover some of the cost of caring for the animals herself. Wendy and her ACS team would come up with donations to cover the rest. While there were too many people in the world who were horrible to animals, there were also just as many who were amazingly generous.
For reasons she couldn’t really understand, Lacey found herself thinking about Alex as she treated the injured dogs. The big cop had stopped by the clinic every day since their first meeting under the guise of buying food, treats, and toys for that adorable pit bull mix of his, but it was obvious he’d come to see her—and ask her out. She was flattered. The guy was sinfully gorgeous, with an unbelievable body and a voice that made it hard not to stare at his mouth every time he uttered a single word. It didn’t hurt that he had an adorable Northeastern accent, either. She’d be a big, fat liar if she said she didn’t enjoy talking to him. But she had no intention of going out with him—be it for dinner, lunch, or coffee—and she’d turned him down politely each time he’d asked.
Unfortunately, Alex was making it darn hard to resist. He was always so relaxed and casual, and when he smiled at her, she couldn’t help smiling back, even as she hated herself for sending mixed signals. And then the other day, he’d shown up with flowers. She didn’t think guys even did stuff like that anymore. While the bouquet was beautiful, she hadn’t kept them. The way she saw it, if she wasn’t going to entertain his repeated offers for a date, it didn’t seem right to keep the flowers, no matter how sweet the gesture happened to be.
Wendy thought she was insane, of course. “He’s gorgeous, charming, muscular, and has all his teeth, not to mention a job. You obviously like him, so why the hell won’t you give him the time of day?”
Lacey wished she could explain it to her friend, but it was too complicated to get into. The truth was, while there was a part of her that desperately wanted to give in and go out with Alex, she knew it would only lead to trouble. She had no doubt that if they went on a date, she’d have a wonderful time. She was also just as sure that if they ended up in bed together, she’d enjoy the hell out of it.
The problem was that Alex didn’t strike her as the kind of guy looking for a quick roll in the hay. They’d go out, have fun, maybe end up in bed at some point—then he’d want to keep seeing her. She supposed there were a lot of women who would love to have a relationship with someone like Alex, but she wasn’t one of them. She’d never been in anything even remotely resembling a long-term relationship with a guy, and she didn’t imagine she ever would.
She couldn’t go out with Alex because she feared the date would go so well he’d want another one.
God, that made her sound crazy. Maybe she was. But if so, she had her reasons. After all the deadbeats her mom had gone out with after her dad left, she didn’t have a high opinion of men in general. In her experience, they didn’t stick around.
Lacey was still musing over those thoughts as she finished getting all three dogs ready for transport. They were weak, but the IVs had already worked miracles on them. She was just getting ready to transfer them to her SUV when she looked up and saw Wendy heading in her direction. Behind her, there were two men who couldn’t have stuck out more in a junkyard if they tried. Both wore suits and ties, though the clothing worn by the older, more frail-looking of the two was obviously much more expensive than that sported by the younger, powerfully built guy with him.
“This is Mr. Bensen, the owner,” Wendy said, her voice tight as she motioned to the older man. “And this is his chief of security, Mr. Pendergraff. They were of the opinion that we must have been mistaken about someone running a dogfight on this property. They were quite surprised that we found injured dogs, and insisted on seeing them.”
Bensen had an unhealthy, yellow-brown cast to his complexion that screamed medical issues in Lacey’s mind, but she forgot about it as the man gave the injured dogs a disdainful look. It was like he was offended the animals had the audacity to bleed on his property. The dismissive expression on his face was enough to make her hate the man. He’d known about the dogfighting all right. His only surprise was that his people had failed to clean up properly.
She turned her attention to the other man—Pendergraff—and had to stop herself from taking a step back. The man had pale skin, platinum-white hair, and cornflower-blue eyes with dark pupils. As a medical professional, Lacey knew she shouldn’t let the man’s genetic condition affect her, but he was scary-looking as hell. It wasn’t just the man’s albino condition that freaked her out, either. It was the ragged scars across the left side of the man’s face and his dead, emotionless stare. He regarded the dogs as if they were discarded junk like the rest of the stuff in this place. She could definitely see a man like him running a dogfight.
“How do you know these animals were hurt in a dogfighting event?” Bensen asked caustically. “Maybe they slipped through the fence and got in a fight with each other. They’re dogs. That’s what they do.”
Lacey advanced on the old man so fast that his albino security guard took a step forward to intercept her.
“That’s not what they do,” she ground out. “It’s what sick, depraved people make them do. They put them in chains, then choke and goad them until they’re half-mad from
pain and fear. Then they put them in a small pit with another dog. They attack each other because they think they’re about to die.”
Bensen raised a brow. “You certainly don’t have to get so excited about it. Or look at me like I’m the culprit. I run over a dozen different business endeavors in this city and don’t have the time or the inclination to keep an eye on every one of them. If someone here was responsible for staging a dogfight, you can arrest them.”
“We will,” Wendy assured him. “We took your caretaker in for questioning, but I’d be interested in knowing where you were last night.”
Bensen laughed as if that were the silliest question anyone had asked him. “Not here, I can assure you. I was at a party with several investors. The mayor was there as well. I can give you his number if you need to verify where I was.”
“That might just be necessary,” Wendy said. “But before we do that, I’d appreciate if you and Mr. Pendergraff could come down to the station to fill out a statement and get this all straightened out.”
Pendergraff didn’t blink. Bensen, on the other hand, looked like he’d just sucked a lemon.
“I have an hour or two to spare, but then I need to be on my way,” he said. “Unless you actually intend to arrest me for this?”
Wendy didn’t answer but merely pointed the men toward the exit. “I’ll call you later to find out how the dogs are doing,” she said to Lacey.
“What about Bensen? You know he’s fully aware that someone was holding a dogfight on his property.”
Wendy sighed. “Yeah, you and I know it, but I doubt I’ll get a chance to prove it, not with Bensen’s money and connections. The DA isn’t a big fan of prosecuting these kind of cases to begin with, and he’s definitely against it if the defendant doesn’t fit his idea of the typical person who runs a dogfighting ring. I’ll be lucky if Bensen spends an hour at the station.”
Lacey felt her hackles rise. People like Bensen thought they could get away with anything. “But you’ll still investigate him, right?”
Wendy shrugged. “I’ll do what I can. We don’t have the budget or manpower to conduct any real investigations. Plus, the DA will scream bloody murder if he hears we’re looking at an upstanding citizen like Bensen.”
Lacey seethed at the unfairness of it all as she helped the ACS officers carefully move the dogs to her SUV. She wished there was something she could do to help Wendy catch this asshole. But all she could do was care for the dogs he’d almost killed.
* * *
Alex slammed on the SUV’s brakes and slid the SWAT vehicle to a halt in front of the big five-story building on the RTC campus. A moment later, Max and Brooks arrived in a second SUV, parking beside him and Remy. This part of the campus was almost eerily quiet. Then again, you’d expect that after a school had been put into lockdown.
Brooks got out and strode over to meet the elderly campus security guard and a DPD patrol officer heading in their direction. Typically, Mike or Xander would be heading up the response team, but since Brooks had already been running the crew as part of the drug task force, Gage had put the Pack’s big senior corporal in charge.
“What do we have?” Brooks asked as Alex, Remy, and Max pulled weapons, tactical vests, and radio gear out of the SUVs.
“The assailant was seen going into the science building about ten minutes ago,” the uniformed officer said. “He was half naked, staggering around, bleeding, and swinging a big knife at anyone who got near him. He cut several people, but we have no confirmed fatalities. My partner and I cleared out a few stray students running around, then locked down the campus, including three classes in there.” He jerked his thumb at the science building. “One is on the second floor, and two are on the fourth. All the rooms have heavy metal doors, and we thought it safer to leave the students in there rather than risk bringing them out when we didn’t have a good location on the assailant.”
“Good call,” Brooks said. “If all he has is a knife, he’ll never get through those doors. Do you have a perimeter set up around the building?”
The DPD officer nodded. “There are three exits, and we have officers on all of them.”
“Any chance the guy slipped out before the perimeter went up?” Brooks asked.
“Don’t think so,” the cop said. “A lot of people saw him go in, and no one saw him come out. Unfortunately, no one knows where he came from.”
Alex loaded his M4 carbine, checking to make sure the safety was on, then slung it over his back. Taking the radio headset Max held out, he slipped the bud in his ear. By the time he and the other guys were ready, Brooks was on the line and calling out orders.
“Alex and Max, you two head into the building and get me a situation report. Remy, you figure out where the hell this guy came from. I want to make sure all that blood he had on him was his own.”
The uniformed officer gave Brooks a dubious look. “You’re going to clear a building that size with just two of your guys? Want a couple of us to go in with you?”
Brooks shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but if that guy is bleeding as much as you say, it won’t be very hard to track him down in there. Plus, we really need you to keep the perimeter clear of people.”
But it would be difficult to do with regular cops along for the ride, Alex thought. He was heading for the front door of the science building with Max when the campus security guard spoke.
“What about your other guy?” he asked Brooks. “You think he can figure out where this crazy guy came from by himself?”
As Max pulled open the main doors of the building and led the way in, Alex glanced over his shoulder to see Brooks grin. “Officer Boudreaux was raised in the swamps of Louisiana. If it walks, crawls, or slithers, he can track it.”
Alex’s mouth twitched. Understatement there. When it came to finding someone, Remy was the best. The big front doors clanged closed behind him and Max before Alex could hear any more, but no doubt the cop and security guard thought Brooks was insane.
As the quiet of the building surrounded them, Alex and Max drew their pistols and moved toward the big central staircase that dominated the entryway of the science building. Max’s nose was better than his for sure, but in this case, it didn’t matter. The distinct metallic scent of blood was something that any werewolf could pick up, no matter how crappy their sniffer was.
There were dark red droplets about every three feet along the floor, with a few smears here and there along the walls, as if the man had put his hands out occasionally for balance.
“We have a track,” Alex said softly into his mic. “Heading toward the second floor.”
“Roger that,” Brooks said. “Witnesses only saw a knife, but I still want you two to be careful in there.”
“Copy that,” Alex answered.
He and Max climbed the stairs, covering each other as they moved higher. Like Brooks said, no one had seen a gun on this guy, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have one. If the guy was so inclined, a stairwell like this was the perfect place to ambush some cops. But the blood droplets—and the man’s scent that accompanied them—kept leading straight up the stairs without any indication that the guy had even hesitated at the second- or third-floor landing.
“Where the hell was this guy going?” Max whispered.
Alex shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
When the trail led straight past the fourth floor, then the fifth, Alex wondered if maybe he and Max had missed something, but then he saw the bloody smear on the railing leading up to the roof.
“The guy’s on the roof,” Alex said into the mic. “Looks like he headed straight there the moment he entered the building. Anyone have a visual on him from down there?”
“Negative,” Brooks’s voice came back a moment later.
The door to the roof was wide open, blood smeared all over the inside of it. A quick peek outside r
evealed a gravel-covered roof and a knee-high wall that was probably there to keep people from accidently falling off the five-story building. No sign of the guy, though. Maybe he’d passed out. If all the blood they saw was his, that was a distinct possibility.
He and Max stepped onto the roof and cautiously made their way around the side of the stairway enclosure, only to stop in their tracks. The man was standing on the far side of the roof. White with dark, shaggy hair and a light scruff along his jaw, he couldn’t have been any more than twenty-five. He was wearing a pair of plaid golf shorts and nothing else, and he was bleeding from dozens of cuts along his chest, stomach, arms, and legs.
As Alex watched, the man stabbed the tip of his long kitchen knife into the muscle of his upper forearm, slowly cutting upward until he’d opened a serious gash two inches long. Then he poked his fingers into the wound and dug around like he was looking for something.
Max stepped back a few feet, whispering into his mic as Alex slowly walked toward the man. The crunch of his boots on the gravel distracted the man from what he was doing, and he jerked his head up to stare at Alex with unfocused eyes. Muttering something unintelligible, he lunged with the knife, slashing it back and forth through the air. Clearly, he didn’t want Alex coming any closer.
Alex released his M4, letting it hang from the strap as he held up his hands. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want to help. Can you put down the knife?”
The man cocked his head to one side, reminding Alex of a confused animal. Alex wasn’t sure if he was on drugs or had mental issues, but he was leaning toward the former.
“Drop the knife, guy. We can deal with this.”
Alex tried to make his voice as soft and soothing as he could, and for a moment, it seemed to work. The man’s eyes cleared a little, and his arm started coming down. But then his gaze darted to the air over Alex’s head, and a look of pure terror came into his eyes. He viciously sliced at the air in front of him with the knife, then flailed at himself, uncaring that he was gashing his arm.
