by Tamara Hogan
Tia struggled to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. “Not for me,” she gasped. “I’m going to walk out of here under my own goddamn steam.”
His fingers were at her wrist, taking her pulse. “Do you feel faint? Weak?”
“No. My ear really hurts, and I…can’t stop shaking.”
“Just stay here for a moment. Let me check you out.” His eyes and hands roved her body. “Any cuts I can’t see?”
“No, just my neck and ear. The ear hurts more.” Her T-shirt looked like a blood-soaked sponge. “How bad is it?” she asked. Wyland had his thoughts locked down tight.
“Superficial lacerations on your neck, but I’m afraid you’re going to need a few stitches in that earlobe.”
She reached for it. “It’s still attached?”
“Don’t touch it.” He grasped her wrist. “No need to risk infection.”
“It…burns.”
“I think the tip of his blade caught your earring when you fell.”
“He ripped my ear piercing? Seriously?” She glanced over toward Dom, who was still out cold. Sure enough, her sterling silver hoop lay next to his elbow, all bent all to hell. “Bastard.”
His lips flattened to a white line. “It could have been worse. You could have been killed.”
“Nah.” She smiled at him. “I could feel you thralling him. Between that and the stun gun, I was pretty sure we had him.”
“Indeed.”
The smile died when she noticed his right ring finger had a noticeable crook. “Your finger’s broken.”
He examined his own hand, palpating the area around the break. “Transverse fracture at the neck of the fourth metacarpal,” he concluded. “A quick set and splint should do it.”
It had to hurt like the dickens. “The ER’s going to be busy tonight.” So would the hospital’s security team. It wasn’t every day someone pulled a switchblade in the same room as an Underworld Council member. The hospital’s security chief was going to have a very long night.
Over at her desk, Mila hung up the phone. “Security’s on the way.” She made her way over to Dom. She looked down at him, hands on hips. Then she pulled back her foot and kicked him in the balls.
Dom groaned, clutched his groin, and curled into a self-protective ball.
Wyland sprang to his feet.
Mila pulled back her foot to kick him again, but she tripped and stumbled. Wyland caught her, and led her back to her desk chair. “Bastard.” Tears started to fall.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked.
“I’m not,” she sniffed, pushing him away.
Oh, she was hurt, all right—but neither of them could help heal the kick Mila had just taken to the heart.
Wyland hesitated at the side of the desk. How can I help her?
Just give her a tissue.
He did, murmuring words of comfort and patting Mila’s shoulder so awkwardly that she fell in love with him all over again. After several minutes, Mila sat up straight, blew her nose, and gave a decisive nod.
“Steady?” Wyland asked.
Mila glanced at Dominic, still curled up like a shrimp on the floor, then looked away with a sniff that had nothing to do with tears. “I’ll be fine.”
Take her at her word, she advised, pushing slowly to her feet.
“I’d rather you stay seated.”
She pointed to the visitor’s chair across the desk from Mila. “How about there?”
After a slight hesitation, he agreed. Once seated, she helped keep an eye on Dominic, who lay on the floor, still cupping his balls.
Wyland strode to Mila’s office door, peered down the hallway, then looked back at Dominic. “Where the hell is Security?”
“Calm down,” she soothed. “He’s not going anywhere.” Dominic seemed too quiet, too quiescent—or maybe he was just scared to death of Mila’s pointy-toed shoe, which had proven to be the most effective weapon in the room. “Poor kid. Between the GPL crap, his father’s accident, and Krispin Woolf, he’s really messed up.”
“Let the jailhouse psychologists figure it out.” With little regard for his broken finger, he reached into his jacket pocket for his phone. “I’m calling Gideon.” He swept a gaze over her ear, neck and shirt. “You’re pressing charges, right?”
She hesitated.
“Tia.”
“Yes.” Whatever was wrong with Dominic, assault with a deadly weapon wasn’t the way to fix it.
“Everyone, hands where I can see them.”
Commander Gideon Lupinsky stood at the door, his flat cop gaze taking in the details of the room: Her, bloody from the ears down. Dominic, lying on the floor clutching his balls. The stun gun, lying next to the bookshelf. His gaze went back to her neck. “Where’s the blade?”
Wyland set his phone down, then held his hands clear. “I kicked it under the desk.”
Lupinsky quickly patted everyone down, indicating that one of the uniforms should do the same with Dominic. He asked another officer to recover the knife. “Took care of this situation all by yourself, did you?” he said to Wyland, gesturing to his broken hand.
“By no means.”
“The stun gun’s mine,” she blurted. “It’s perfectly legal to use in self-defense.”
Lupinsky lifted a brow. “We’re clear here,” he called to the security team.
“Clear,” said the officer crouching beside Dominic.
“Ms. Quinn, why don’t you take a seat and tell me how you got those wounds?”
“Gideon, can’t the questions wait?” Wyland asked. “She needs medical treatment.”
Lupinsky’s gaze pinned her in place. “Ms. Quinn, who cut you?”
“Him.” She pointed at Dominic, still lying on the floor. “Dominic Reese.”
Lupinsky gestured to the uniform, who rolled Dominic onto his stomach and cuffed him. “Do you know why he pulled the knife?”
She glanced at the security guards, then lowered her voice. “I’ll need to make my statement in a confidential venue.”
Lupinsky’s gaze sharpened. “Certainly.”
“Medical treatment first,” Wyland said, scooping her into his arms.
“Hey, I can walk.”
“I know, but humor me.” He carried her from Mila’s office to the hallway, where three white-sheeted gurneys waited. “Let’s get you downstairs.”
Where she’d have to get her ear stitched up.
Needles.
A shiver wracked her frame. “Will you…” Thrall me? Take me away, take me out of my head when I start freaking out?
“Whatever you need.”
When he wrapped his arms around her, she burrowed into his embrace, allowing the strong thump of his heart to steady her. “Ah, crap.” She pulled away, ignoring the curious glances. “I’m getting blood all over your shirt.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll go downstairs, get fixed up, and then go home.”
She eyed his crooked finger. He needed treatment, too. “Home sounds great.” Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and suddenly she was glad for the gurney. As she lay back, she heard Wyland issuing orders for Mila and Dominic, and then their little caravan was on the move. The gurney’s bum wheel rattled as the orderly pushed it down the hall, but Wyland walked by her side, holding her hand.
When they paused by the elevator, her teeth started chattering.
Wyland stroked her hair. “Just relax…”
“Damn it,” she muttered. “Cut by a man holding a switchblade to my throat, but the thought of a tiny needle gives me the vapors.”
“Relax…” Sleep now…
His voice was a featherbed—soft and safe, promising the sweetest of dreams. Closing her eyes, she snuggled into the gurney’s hard mattress. The elevator chimed, and then she knew nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Several days later, sitting in Sebastiani Security’s corner conference room with Lukas, Jack, Bailey, Chico, and Gideon Lupinsky, Wyland tried to focus on Gideon’s report, but he wasn’
t having much luck. His thoughts kept drifting back to Tia’s cheery wave, and to the soft, clinging kiss she’d given him as they’d parted ways in the garage earlier that evening. She’d asked if she could take one of the SUVs to Stillwater, but she hadn’t mentioned why she needed to go, or how long she’d be gone.
Dread sludged through his system. Was she moving back home?
He shifted in the chair once again. The damned thing felt like it had sprouted tacks.
“Something to add, Wyland?” Gideon inquired.
“No. Please continue.” Now that Dominic Reese was in custody, how could he keep Tia from moving back to Stillwater? How could he keep her, period? Bloody hell, her independence—one of the traits he’d come to most appreciate—was about to circle around and bite him on the ass.
Gideon flipped to the next page of his report. In the last hour, the Commander had covered the high points of the case, going over Tia’s interview transcript, Mila’s, and his own. With each moment that passed, his role in this meeting became more complex. Doctor, lawyer, eyewitness, yes—but victim? No. His fractured finger was a self-inflicted injury. Regardless of what their law might say, Dominic pulling a weapon in a Council member’s presence shouldn’t carry a heavier penalty than actually using the weapon on Tia. She was the one who’d been assaulted, whose throat looked like a crazy quilt.
She was the victim here.
“After being examined at the ER, Mr. Reese was transported to Central Holding, where he was processed and once again read his rights,” Gideon said. “He declined legal representation. I was about fifteen minutes into our interview when a lawyer showed up and asked to speak privately with her client.”
“Isn’t that convenient,” Lukas muttered.
And it’s the law. “Who’s representing him?”
“Penelope Winton Miller.”
“Krispin Woolf’s personal lawyer?” Jack’s eyebrow climbed. “That’s overkill for a case like this.”
“Not if the Alpha thought Dominic might be charged with assaulting a Council member,” Wyland said. Perry Reese had worked for Krispin Woolf for years. Maybe Woolf was stepping in because Dominic’s father couldn’t. He said as much, adding that while they’d been in Mila’s office, Dominic had said that the Alpha had rejected Dominic’s plea that he be allowed to end his father’s life. “Apparently Woolf told him using The Old Ways would be too visible, too risky.”
Bailey looked horrified. “Does that mean that if Perry Reese wasn’t so high-profile, Woolf would have signed off on the idea?”
“I don’t think so.” Chico levered himself away from the brick wall, then dropped into the open chair next to Jack. “Say what you will about the Alpha’s business practices, but I think he finally realizes times are changing.”
Gideon snorted. “More likely he realizes forensics is changing.”
“That, too,” Chico acknowledged. “But I have to tell you that, among the wolves, Lorin Schlessinger bonding with your brother—one of those quote/unquote ‘damaged Lupinskys’—was a game-changer.” He cast a sheepish glance at Gideon. “No offense meant.”
“None taken.”
His response made sense. Of all his immediate family, only Gideon was healthy.
Or…was he?
Gideon had literally been the first responder the night Tia was assaulted, arriving at the same time as the hospital security team.
Gideon had already been in the building.
Why?
“During our interview, Mr. Reese seemed fixated on the issue of pure bloodlines, genetic purity, and how the Underworld Council had devolved into…what was the phrase he used?” Gideon swiped at his tablet. “Ah, here it is. A ‘nest of nepotism.’ One minute he was spouting the old-school GPL line, next he was apologizing to the Alpha, and then he was railing about Ms. Quinn. Before the lawyer arrived, Mr. Reese admitted he’d been following Ms. Quinn for months, since before she moved to Stillwater. He also admitted to breaking into her home, and leaving the garter snakes in her bedroom.”
Wyland barely quelled a full-body shudder.
“Well, whether the violence against a Council member charges stick or not—” Gideon gave him a careful glance “—assault with a deadly, with multiple witnesses? No way he’ll walk.”
Not if he had anything to say about it—and thankfully, Mila was cooperating with the prosecution.
“He probably thought the snakes would give Tia a damn good scare, but why do that? To what end?” Lukas asked. “I don’t get it.”
“I don’t, either.” Gideon set his tablet on the table. “The only thing he accomplished with that stunt was to give Ms. Quinn reason to move to the most heavily guarded private home between the Twin Cities and the Wisconsin border.”
“Which might have caused him to escalate.” Wyland looked down at his splinted finger. “Going from scaring someone with garter snakes to cutting them with a switchblade is a significant leap.”
“No shit,” Chico muttered. “And why contact Tia in the first place? Did he really think she’d help him bring down the Council? Expose our existence to humanity? The dude is delusional.”
Did the delusion go beyond Dominic? How much indoctrination, or radicalization, might the Genetic Purity League be responsible for inflicting upon its members? The Council must find out.
“Reese will be psychologically assessed before I can question him again—” Gideon’s phone blipped. “Hang on a second. Might be the lab.” As Gideon read, a satisfied smile grew. He glanced at Jack. “Looks like your hunch was right.”
“What hunch?” Wyland asked.
“Mila Stanton was running a test during our interview,” Jack explained. “When the test finished, I caught a momentary glimpse of unencrypted patient data, which she quickly blocked from view. I figured if I could see the data, other visitors might, too.” Jack tapped his pen against the table. “Given how frequently Dominic visited Mila at work, it made me wonder whether he might have seen Bailey’s data, then sent her a letter.”
And what of Mila Stanton? Her punishment was his to decide—her work lapse had a confidential Council impact—but nothing he’d considered could possibly be as effective as the punishment she’d already inflicted upon herself.
Maybe Mila would be willing to provide some helpful information about the GPL. Yes, he’d give her a chance to help.
“It also appears as though Perry Reese’s home office printer was the one used to produce the threatening letters,” Gideon said. “Each letter has the same half-centimeter ink deposit located in the lower left corner. The test pages from Perry Reese’s printer are a visual match.” Gideon set down his phone. “We’re still combing through the computers, and have yet to interview other family members about their use of the office.”
“That poor family,” Chico murmured.
“We’ll also test the switchblade against the nick pattern you discovered on the door at the Archives,” Gideon said. “All in all, I think we have our man.”
Thank the universe.
“How is Tia doing?” Lukas asked him.
What was Tia doing? “She’s healing well. She’s already back at work.” She’d bounced back quickly, having slept through the short procedure to repair her lacerated earlobe. The plastic surgeon he’d called in hadn’t been pleased about Wyland’s very close supervision.
“And Mila Stanton?”
“Fine.” After examining her at the ER, Mila’s mulish expression told him not to bother with his usual lecture about telling her parents about her health problems. This time, he’d listened. Mila’s comments to Dominic about her little sister Katarina had burrowed into his brain, a tiny sliver he couldn’t quite dislodge. As Tia would say, something felt…off.
Lukas gestured to his hand. “And how are you?”
“Fine.” The splint didn’t hinder his work, and he was burying himself in it. After all, if he and Tia didn’t have a spare minute to talk, she couldn’t tell him she was leaving.
Leaving him.
Lukas turned towards Gideon. “What do you need from Sebastiani Security? As always, our resources are at your disposal.”
Wyland’s phone vibrated. Fumbling it from his jacket pocket, he quickly read: I’m back home. Meet me at the Archives?
She was back. Back home.
Bailey leaned over. “No sexting during meetings.”
“Why not? It’s most invigorating.”
She blinked.
Pocketing the phone, he started packing his briefcase. “Does anyone need anything more from me?” When he pushed his chair back from the table, no one looked surprised. All those times he’d left meetings to respond to emergency calls were paying off.
“Hope it’s nothing serious,” Lukas said.
“Quite serious, actually.” His urge to see Tia was as serious as a heart attack.
“This patient requires his personal touch,” Bailey said blandly.
“Indeed.”
Lukas’s gaze ping-ponged between them. It was time to leave.
“Hey,” Bailey whispered. She caught his uninjured hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Go get her.”
He kissed her cheek as he rose. “I’ll do my best.”
As he walked toward the lobby, the idea burst from his subconscious like a submarine surfacing at sea. He knew exactly what he had to do.
What was that phrase Chico always used before a difficult job? ‘Go big or go home?’ He had to go big or go home. Take the home run swing.
Nothing less would do.
Yet another mechanical hum behind her.
Tia stopped typing, swung away from the computer screen, and shot the shifting shelving unit a death glare. What the hell was Wyland doing back there, playing Tetris with the furniture?
What was his deal?
Yes, when he arrived, he’d kissed her hello—a very nice kiss hello—but as soon as he laid it on her, he’d disappeared into the stacks, processing the latest batch of books and manuscripts as if the centuries-old paper would burst into flame if he moved too quickly. He seemed withdrawn, remote, and his thoughts were on lockdown.
