by Piper Vaughn
Was he flirting?
Dylan narrowed his eyes at his mate. No, not flirting. The closer he looked, the stiffer Avery looked. He was probably uncomfortable with Mrs. Odell’s affection. As his mate returned to his side, unthinking, Dylan looped his arm around Avery’s waist and pulled him closer.
Samantha’s eyes grew marginally wider, but Dylan didn’t see shock or disappointment in them. Instead, he saw curiosity and… happiness. She was so overjoyed Dylan thought it was practically a living thing. Then she squealed—actually squealed—and clapped her hands, and Dylan could just about see the schoolgirl she had once been shining through.
At the sound of the alpha clearing his throat, Samantha glanced over her shoulder at her husband, then back to Dylan. “Dylan,” she whispered, quickly. Her glowing grin was reassuring. “I’m very happy for you.”
With that, she winked and made her way across the room to perch on the arm of her husband’s chair.
Once everyone was seated and quiet, Odell focused once again on Avery. “You were saying?”
Then with a confidence Dylan assumed was bolstered by the presence of Samantha Odell, Avery spoke about Otis and Lacey Acker. He told of how she’d gone missing and how he was worried for both Ackers. Then he finished with the information he’d retrieved on his own at the two separate clubs.
“And tell me, son, have you ever met Lacey?”
“No, sir. I… I’ve seen her. Out. At the clubs.”
“So you don’t know that she’s done something like this before?” Odell’s voice was level, even though he seemed to be indulging Avery.
“Well, no.” Avery swallowed hard. “I… I didn’t know that.”
“Hmm. Then let me tell you about our girl, Lacey.” He sat forward, elbows on his knees. “She’s young and impulsive, and I’m pretty sure she falls in love with a different man at the turn of each full moon.”
That wasn’t quite true. Was it? Dylan knew Lacey could be somewhat airheaded and gullible. She was young, as the alpha said, but she wasn’t entirely stupid or careless. Not the Lacey Dylan knew. Admittedly, Dylan hadn’t seen her in months, and it had been even longer since he’d spoken to her in depth.
“The last time she disappeared, which was the second time,” Odell continued, “she resurfaced a couple weeks later, tail tucked between her legs, talking about finding her true love—not her mate, mind you. She’d run off to California with the man and he’d broken her heart. My contacts at the police bureau searched high and low those entire two weeks. An APB was issued. We even had pack members forming parties and plotting out search grids around the city.”
The others in the room nodded, even his father who still scowled like a bear. Dylan held back his sigh. Maybe Lacey wasn’t as careful as he’d thought.
“So because she screwed up once—”
“Twice,” the alpha interjected. “The first time she was gone for a couple days, barely enough time to begin that kind of search, but with the same result. That time I think she was at the beach with her friends.” He looked to Broderick who had his beefy arms folded across his chest. Broderick grimaced and nodded his confirmation.
“Twice, then. Since she screwed up twice, you’re not going to look for her? What if something really happened?”
“Like what? Being sold as a sex slave?” Odell scoffed, and Dylan bristled. It was one thing to deny help. It was another to belittle Avery’s concerns.
“Yes,” Avery croaked. “Exactly that. What if—”
“Do you think I haven’t had people look for her this time?” Odell sat up straight, and Dylan could see his irritation with the entire conversation, in spite of wanting to appease Avery. “I had two of our pack members, both detectives for the PPB, look into it. It was a dead end.”
Odell’s tone bordered on patronizing, and the pity he aimed at Avery pissed off Dylan, increasing his frustration.
“But—”
Again Odell cut him off. “I’m sorry, Avery. If you’re so worried, possibly try talking to the detective in charge of the missing persons cases. Maybe they can help. Though it’s only been a couple of months. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon.”
For the first time, that was what worried Dylan. He was pretty sure Lacey would turn up too, but in what shape?
“But I found a lead,” Avery tried again with less confidence.
“Human trafficking? That’s hardly a lead. There are as many human traffickers in Portland as there are strippers. Maybe more. I’ll admit it could be a possibility.” Odell held up a hand when Avery opened his mouth to speak. “A very slim possibility. She could have just as well run away, which has been exactly the case in the past. Look, Avery, I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.” Finally the alpha stood. It was obvious they were being dismissed.
Avery looked like he’d argue more, but then he only nodded and stood as well. “Thank you for listening, sir. We’re gonna go.”
Dylan ignored the condescending smirk he was sure to find on his father’s face. He took Avery’s hand.
They said their good-byes with promises to Samantha of joining the Odell family for dinner soon. Avery remained sullen and despondent through it all. When they finally stepped outside, Dylan led Avery and Jaden to the curb where he’d parked.
“This is why I didn’t want to come here in the first place,” Avery muttered. “No one listens to the stupid hedgehog.”
Dylan had no one but himself to blame, but Avery obviously didn’t understand why. Sighing, he faced Avery. “It’s how things are done when you’re part of a pack.”
“But I’m not pack,” Avery argued.
“Yes, you are.” It was the first thing Jaden had said since greeting them at the door. His soft argument held an anger Dylan had never expected from him.
By the look of shock on Avery’s face, he hadn’t thought it likely either. It apparently stunned Avery into silence, as he merely stood there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.
“I’m sorry your family sucks, but mine loves you, and then there’s Dylan….” Jaden blushed again and trailed off. “And fuck the rest of the intolerant dickheads in this pack. They don’t matter. You may not understand pack and family, but we understand you, and my mom and dad and I will protect you and love you no matter what.”
When Avery didn’t say anything, Jaden added, “Get used to it,” then stormed back up the drive and into his house.
Yep, Dylan had always liked the kid. For a good reason.
“He’s right, you know?” Dylan smiled when Avery turned back to him in a daze. “You are pack. Besides, being given permission to live in Portland—which technically makes you part of us—you’re… well….” Dylan paused, and for the first time, couldn’t find the words he meant. “Mine. You’re mine. Whether that matters to the assholes who run rampant through this pack, it matters to me and to my crew, and to Jaden and his family.”
A feeling of warmth—not his own—washed over Dylan, and he sucked in a sharp gasp, watching Avery in awe. It was too soon for their connection, the bond of shared emotions, to develop. Wasn’t it? They were only just getting to know each other. His mind darted back to that night in the woods when he’d felt Avery so strongly. It had only been because of Avery’s strong feelings at the time, right? That’s what Dylan had thought back then. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Wonder filled Avery’s eyes, and suddenly Dylan felt the need to slay all his dragons. Knowing Avery, he would jump in on the slaying. So instead Dylan said, “Whatever it takes, we’ll figure something out, okay? We won’t leave Lacey out there alone.” He bent and dropped a kiss on Avery’s lips.
He knew Avery wasn’t going to give this up. Dylan had a bad feeling about the whole situation, and he’d be damned if he sat back and watched him walk into danger. Alone.
Chapter Thirteen
“I DON’T know about this.” Avery shifted from one foot to the other and looked nervously in the direction of the Portland Police Bureau’s Central Precinct. The stretch of sidewal
k between where they’d parked Dylan’s Harley and the building’s front door seemed to span for miles. Avery wanted to hop onto the motorcycle and refuse to get off until they were back at his loft. His meeting with Alpha Odell last Saturday had been a spectacular—and mortifying—failure. He didn’t hold up much hope for the cops.
Though he’d dressed to impress, carefully avoiding his tightest skinny jeans in favor of perfectly cut dress slacks and a tailored, button-down shirt under a slate gray sweater, his gayness wasn’t much of a question. He felt like he had a sign over his head flashing “queer” in neon letters. Back home in Louisiana, he’d been wary of the police. In liberal Oregon, he wasn’t as concerned, but the nerves were hard to shake regardless.
If Alpha Odell wouldn’t take him seriously, why would the police? Would they see a flamey gay boy and dismiss him out of hand?
But what other options did he have? Lacey was still missing, and aside from Mr. Otis, and maybe Dylan, Avery was the only one who seemed to believe something bad had happened to her. He couldn’t back down now, for both her sake and Mr. Otis’s.
Dylan finished affixing the printout from the curb-side meter to the handlebars of the Softail and turned to face him. He raised a hand to Avery’s nape and squeezed gently. Avery didn’t know why that feeling was so reassuring, but somehow, it was. He calmed under Dylan’s touch and the steadiness of Dylan’s emotions. Avery shivered a little and closed his eyes.
Dylan’s grip tightened. “I’m here. We’re going in there together. No one will try to hurt you, and if they did, they’d live to regret it. Okay?”
Avery nodded without opening his eyes, which was how the press of Dylan’s lips surprised him. It was a quick, hard kiss, no tongue. Meant to reassure, not arouse. Still, Avery felt a bit light-headed when Dylan pulled away. He stared up at Dylan wide-eyed.
He hadn’t expected a kiss from Dylan in broad daylight on the sidewalk of a busy street. Not mere yards from the precinct doors, with both officers and regular pedestrians striding past them. Dylan didn’t seem concerned. He smiled down at Avery, a soft quirk of his lips, and his hand was firm on the back of Avery’s neck. For a moment, it felt like they were in their own private world. Avery wished they were. Wished he could be on his hands and knees with Dylan curled above him and buried deep.
Avery whined quietly, envisioning the scene, how it would feel. Not that frotting and jerking each other off weren’t amazing. But he was greedy for more. He wanted it all.
Dylan grinned like he’d read Avery’s mind. “Later. Come on.”
He turned and started toward the Central Precinct’s building. Adjusting the strap of his leather messenger bag, Avery trailed behind him.
The woman at the help desk in the lobby smiled as they approached. “Can I help you?”
Avery lifted his chin, trying not to let his anxiety show. “Yes. We’d like to speak to someone in Missing Persons.”
The woman—Ramona, according to her name badge—pulled open a drawer and started rifling through the contents. “Okay. I have the paperwork right here. If you want to take a seat and fill this out—”
“No,” Avery interrupted, “she’s already been reported missing. We have some information that might be useful to the detectives.”
Ramona stopped digging in her drawer and eyed him. “Well, I can let them know you’re here, but I don’t know if anyone will be available to talk to you right now. You might have to wait a bit.”
Avery glanced at Dylan, who gave Ramona an engaging smile. “That’s fine. We don’t have anywhere else we need to be.”
“All right. Your names, please?”
“Dylan Green and Avery Babineaux,” Dylan answered for them both. “Should we wait here in the lobby?”
Ramona nodded. “Yep. Take a seat. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”
Dylan put a hand on the small of his back, and Avery allowed himself to be steered toward a row of uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. He avoided the one with the dark, suspicious stain and perched on the very edge of the chair next to it. Who knew what germs or bodily fluids might be on these things? The mere sight of some of the other people waiting in the lobby made him want to go home and scrub himself clean.
“Relax.” Dylan grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back until Avery had fully settled in the chair. “You shouldn’t wear five-hundred-dollar pants to the police station if you’re going to stress about getting them dirty.”
Avery gave him a surprised look. “How did you know how much they cost?”
Dylan groaned. “Christ, Av, I was joking. You seriously paid that much?”
“It was actually closer to six hundred with the custom-tailoring.”
Dylan shook his head. “I can’t believe you. It seems so wasteful.”
Avery stiffened despite himself. “Well, don’t worry. My parents cut me off, remember? I make a little above minimum wage these days. No more Dior Homme for me until I turn twenty-five unless I get lucky at the thrift shop again. I bet you’re happy I’ll be eating humble pie until then.”
Dylan didn’t react to his jibe. “So, what’s it going to be until you come of age for your trust fund? Levi’s?”
“Please.” Avery snorted a laugh, then looked around in embarrassment. No one was paying attention to them. He dipped his chin and fidgeted with one of the buckles on his messenger bag. “I know you think I’m shallow. It’s just… you have your motorcycles. I like nice clothes. I like to look my best. It makes me feel good, and—”
“Avery.” Dylan cupped his nape and tightened his grip until Avery raised his head. “You’re right. I’ve spent plenty of money on my bikes. You don’t owe me any explanations. I’m sorry for being judgmental. If it helps, you do look damn good in your clothes.” He pitched his voice for Avery’s ears alone. “And out of them.”
Avery smiled as his cheeks heated. Blushing. He was blushing. How did Dylan do this to him? He wanted to hate it, but he couldn’t. “You’re forgiven.”
Dylan shot him a cocky grin. His eyes were heavy-lidded and he sported a few days’ worth of scruff along his strong jaw. Avery had no trouble imagining how that bristly hair would feel on his thighs or how that smiling mouth would mold to his. If they hadn’t been in a police station, he would’ve been in Dylan’s lap.
To avoid the temptation, Avery looked around the lobby. People watching kept him entertained for a while, but repeated glances at his phone tracked the slow progression of an hour. Then two. Finally, when they’d been there for nearly two and a half hours and Avery was about to leap out of his skin, Ramona called them over.
“Go on down the hall. Third door on the left is an interview room. Detectives Harris and Melnyk will join you shortly.”
The room was empty when they arrived. The only furniture was a six-foot-long rectangular table with two chairs on either side. Avery hesitated once they were inside, unsure of whether to sit or stand until the detectives showed up. The decision was taken from his hands when two men strolled into the room a few seconds later.
One was tall and blond, not quite handsome, with pockmarked skin, broad cheekbones, and thin lips. The other had salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and a stout, doughy body that probably hadn’t seen a gym in a decade.
“Frank Harris,” he said, holding out a hand to Dylan.
Dylan shook and then Avery was offered a handshake. He didn’t miss the slight sneer as Harris looked him over, though.
Tall-and-blond’s expression remained neutral. He inclined his head at them both. “I’m Detective Melnyk. We’re with the Missing Persons Unit. Why don’t you both take a seat?” He gestured toward the table with the legal pad he carried.
Avery and Dylan settled at one side of the table while the detectives arranged themselves on the other.
“Can you both state your names?” Melnyk said. Avery and Dylan both rattled off the information, with Avery being asked to spell out his surname. “So, Ramona told us you might have information about a missing persons’ case?�
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“Yes.” Avery flipped open his messenger bag and withdrew a sheaf of papers. They were the profiles from the website he’d found of all the girls who’d disappeared recently. Lacey’s face smiled up at him from the top page. Her stats were listed next to the picture. “I’m sure the Portland PB is already aware of Lacey Acker, who vanished a couple of months ago. We frequented a couple of the same clubs, and I told her father I would ask around to see if anyone had information about her location.”
Harris arched a dark, bushy brow and eyed Avery like a rat that had scurried across his shoe. “So, what, you decided to play detective?”
Sweat prickled on Avery’s skin. Uncomfortable, he shifted in his chair. “Not exactly. I figured since we ran in similar circles, and I’m not a cop, maybe people would be willing to share with me.”
“And how’s that been going?” Melnyk’s blank expression hadn’t changed.
“Well, uh….” Avery spread out the top few pages in his pile. “One guy at the club mentioned hearing a bunch of rumors about human trafficking. I started researching, and I noticed a bit of a trend. A lot of the girls who’ve gone missing have disappeared under similar circumstances, leaving their possessions behind, and—”
Harris laid a thick finger on one of the sheets Avery had set down and drew it across the table. He and Melnyk exchanged a glance before Harris sighed. “Look, kid, whatever website you found these on needs to update its information. This girl here”—he tapped the paper—“she called her parents a few weeks ago, begging for money. Here they were wondering if she might be dead, but you know where she’d gone? She’d run off to New York with dreams of being in a Broadway show. Last I heard she was doing the walk of shame back home.”
He shoved the page at Avery, who had to slap at it to keep it from flying off the table. His face heated. “Okay. So we can discount her, but the others—”
“A lot of young women go missing,” Melnyk said flatly. “It’s a sad fact of life. They’re a vulnerable sect of the population, much like children. Rest assured, we’re looking into all these cases.”
