Shift Happens (A Carus Novel Book 1) (12 page)

“Um…” came my intelligent response. Mel’s lips trembled and I tried to ignore the tears streaming down her face. Too much of a possibility they’d start running down mine any minute.

“Mel?” a low baritone spoke behind her. “Do you know her?”

Mel turned around to reveal a nice looking Hispanic man. “Dan, this is Andy.” She turned her megawatt smile on me. “Andy, this is my mate, Dan.” She leaned in. “My true mate.”

Still unable to find my words, I nodded at the man. I recognized him as one of the Weres who held the net over me when I was captured the second time. He gave me a brief nod before he went back to frowning. “I know her name, Mel. She’s the one Wick captured and had to bring before Lucien. Are you saying this Andy is the same as...”

“…as my Andy. From my last pack. Yes.” Mel squeezed my arms again. “We looked for you after, you know. The girls. When we couldn’t find you, we split up and went our own way.”

“Oh,” I said.

“Your last pack?” Wick interrupted whatever Mel would say next. She turned and nodded at him.

Looking around, I realized every Were had stiffened at the mention of Dylan’s pack. Mel must’ve told them about it—the forced unions, the rapes, and the humiliation. My heart thumped against my breastbone. I smelled the burnt cinnamon of their anger and the salty, sickly sweet tang of my fear.

I squeezed my eyelids shut, and whispered my new mantra,
Dylan’s dead.

Wick turned to me. “You were in the same pack as Mel?” he asked. His sweet rosemary scent, overpowered by burnt cinnamon rolled off his skin in storm waves that hit my face, one after the other. I wrinkled my nose at the smell and looked away, unsure of what to say.

Mel reached over and rubbed Wick’s arm, comforting him. He removed her hand, but squeezed it before letting it go. “You were in Dylan’s pack?” Wick asked me again, spitting the other alpha’s name. He waited for a response making it clear he wouldn’t let this go.

Stay cold. Stay untouchable
. I couldn’t feel right now, or I’d break down. This wasn’t my home, not my pack, not my people. I couldn’t trust them. Not even Wick.
Stay strong
. Squaring my shoulders, I turned to face him. “I was his mate.”

If the room was quiet before, it was deathly silent now. The scent of Wick’s anger rose and spread through the room, setting everyone on edge. Every head turned to me. Every eye locked on my face. No one dared move.

“That explains a lot,” Wick said quietly. “It’s a good thing he’s dead.” His fists clenched. “I wish I could have done the honours myself.”

“Well good,” I bristled. “Now that we have that out of the way, I have some more investigating to do.” Flashing Mel the biggest smile I could muster so she’d know it wasn’t personal, I stalked out of the room.

“Welcome to the Supernatural Regulatory Division Employee Hotline. My name is Amy and I will assist you with your call.” The computerized female voice droned on, “For workplace injury including the loss of limb or accidental death, please say, ‘injury’. To request supplies, such as spell ingredients, weaponry and silver ammunition, please say, ‘supplies’. To report a crime involving a Supe, please say, ‘crime’, or hang up and call the Supernatural Disaster Hotline at 1-800-555-2424…”

My nails tapped out the tune for the Star Wars anthem, the one they play for Darth Vader, while I waited for the option I wanted. If Amy was a real person, I could at least visualize punching her in the face. The idea of slamming the computer operated voicemail machine repeatedly against the floor, however, provided some therapy.

“For all other queries, please say, ‘other’ and wait for the next available SRD representative,” Amy finished.

“Other,” I sighed.

“Did you say injury? If yes, say ‘yes’, if no, say ‘no’.”

“No,” I growled.

“My mistake. For workplace injury including the loss of limb or accidental death, please say, ‘injury’. To request supplies…”

“Other,” I spat into the receiver. There was no way I would sit through her listing off all the options again.

“Did you say office? If yes, say ‘yes’, if no, say ‘no’.”

“No.”

“My mistake. For workplace injury including the loss of limb…”

“OTHER!” I held the handset back and shouted into it.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Please hold, while I transfer you to the next available representative.” For a computer, Amy sounded a little put out.

“Oh for the love of God,” I cursed and sat back in my chair, well, Wick’s chair. Despite the high level of comfort it provided, I wanted to rest in my own lounger, in my own home. Then I could wander around in my underwear and drink milk straight from the container—without judgment.

The phone blasted out some classical electric fusion music some musician on speed composed back before the Purge. It did nothing to soothe my nerves. My fist needed to sink into something.

“Supernatural Regulatory Division. My name is Patty. How may I direct your call?” A woman’s real voice cut off the music.

“Hi, Patty,” I said as calmly as possible. “This is Agent McNeilly. I am a contractor under Handler Landen. I don’t know his last name. He’s dead and I’ve encountered difficulties with my last assignment…”

“Agent
Andrea
McNeilly?” the woman’s sharp voice cut me off.

“Yes,” I stated. How many Agent McNeillys were there?

“Please hold.”

This time the music was pop from my adolescent years. Normally I would have hummed along, but this time a string of curses escaped instead. It didn’t help my current mood. Sparring would relieve some of my pent up stress and other frustrations, but playing fisticuffs with Wick was no longer an option. I didn’t trust either of us to behave in close proximity.

“This is Agent Booth.” The woman’s husky voice scratched my ear through the receiver. Too many cigarettes. That or she’d gone clubbing with her girls the night before and had no voice left. “Is this Andrea McNeilly?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I need you to answer a few security questions to confirm your identity before we can proceed.” Her fingers tapped away at her computer.

“Okay…” This wasn’t standard procedure. What was going on?

“Please tell me your employee number, month and day of birth, your mother’s maiden name and your safe word.”

“16113, May 15
th
, Anderson and Serendipity,” I listed the answers quickly. When I was a child, I’d read a book with a purple dinosaur named Serendipity. I didn’t know what it meant until I looked it up years later. Serendipity—by chance. Regardless, it had always been one of my favorite words and became my safe word for the SRD when I joined fifteen years ago.

“Thank you, McNeilly. I’m relieved you contacted us voluntarily. Turning yourself in is the right thing to do.”

“Turn myself in!”

“Well…yes. Isn’t that why you contacted us?”

“No.” I clutched the phone tightly. “What is it you think I did?”

There was a long pause. “McNeilly, where is Landen?”

“He’s dead.”

“I see.” Booth’s tone was flat. More clicking sounds came from her end of the line while she vigorously typed something on her computer.

“I tracked him down after the last assignment he gave me went bad.”

“I see.” There was another long pause. More clicking.

“What the hell is going on?” I asked after I realized Booth still stewed on what I’d said. Taking a deep breath, I focused on relaxing my grasp on the phone before continuing. “I’ve followed every order given to me since the start of my employment. I’ve submitted debriefing statements to my handler and I’ve maintained a low profile, just like I was hired to do.”

“McNeilly, we haven’t given you orders for two years.”

The synapses in my brain stopped firing. I sat in silence while a weird fuzzy sensation moved up my back.

“You can play dumb all you want, but you and Landen have been wanted by the SRD for the last two years for going rogue.”

The handset fell into my lap. I stared straight ahead but couldn’t see a thing. How the hell did this happen? If that son of a bitch Landen wasn’t already dead, I’d track him down and peck out his eyes.

“Agent McNeilly?” the receiver croaked. I picked it back up. “Agent McNeilly? Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I’m still here…” I wiped away the sweat forming on the bridge of my nose. “I’m not sure what to say. I’m shocked. I swear I had no idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when Landen gave me an assignment, I assumed it came from the SRD.”

“Are you honestly trying to tell me you weren’t aware the orders Landen issued you were outside SRD initiatives?”

“Yes! Of course, I wasn’t.” Something cracked. I paused and looked at the phone and realized I’d gripped it too hard again. “How would I know otherwise? My contact with the SRD is through my handler. The only reason I’m contacting you now is because he’s dead.”

More clicking. “Hmm. Yes. I can see how this could happen. We might need to amend our Handler-Contractor protocol. Could you please hold?” Without waiting for a response, music from my parents’ generation came on.

I can tell you what to do with your protocol
. This woman was either an absolute pain in the ass, or a much needed ally. And I couldn’t tell which.

The music snapped off, but before Agent Booth’s voice could scratch my ears off, I spoke. “What do I do now?” I took a deep breath. “I’m innocent.”

“You need to come in so we can sort this out. Will you consent to a lie detector test to prove your innocence?”

“Absolutely.” I sounded more sure than I felt. This could be a trap. Or did Agent Booth believe me? I’d prefer to do almost anything else than place myself on a platter for the SRD, but I had no choice—I needed to go through with it to get answers. At least a lie detector test would work to my advantage, if Booth spoke the truth and they actually administered one.

Agent Booth tapped away at her computer again. “Tomorrow at two o’clock in the afternoon at our Vancouver branch. The building is downtown. Will you come in voluntarily?”

“Yes.” There was something with the way she phrased the question that had my warning bells going off. My chest constricted. My wolf snarled.
Danger! Danger!

“Do you need directions?”

“No.”

“Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Please wear something comfortable. It will be a long inter…view.” Weak save. She had started to say interrogation. “Please be prepared to list all your actions for the last two years.”

Click.

If the music had come back on, it would’ve been playing the anthem for the
Twilight Zone
.

Pacing back and forth, I tramped a path into Wick’s perfect carpet while my brain fried cell after cell trying to think of alternatives. No way around it—I’d have to ask Wick for a favor. My heart did a weird flip thing at the admission. Crap.

My plans to avoid Wick and whatever existed between us would have to be put on hold. Oh, I knew what manifested with our wolves. But blatant denial made it easier to cope. I couldn’t give in to my wolf—she’d led me wrong before. Bringing my mountain lion so close that my claws and teeth ached to elongate, I mustered the courage to confront the alpha Werewolf.

I found him in the living room, lounging on the sofa, flicking through the TV channels, pausing barely long enough to recognize the show or commercial before moving on, telling me he channel surfed more out of habit than an intent to find something. It contradicted his dominant personality. Most alphas picked something and stuck to it. Maybe he had a lot on his mind as well. I walked around to face him.

Hands on hips, I stated, “I need a favor.”

Wick’s eyebrows rose. Then a slow smile spread across his face. “Oh?”

He wasn’t going to make this easy for me. I closed my eyes, held my cat close and pushed on, trying not to notice how sexy he looked sprawled on the sofa. “I need to borrow a vehicle.”

“What for?” he asked. He didn’t know about the interview.

“None of your business.” I wanted the car to retrieve some decent clothes from my place and to go to the SRD headquarters. The last thing I wanted was to show up bedraggled and disarrayed from taking the fifty-two window sports coupe, the loser-cruiser, the city bus.
Ugh
. I spent more than twenty years using the bus to get around. Without fail, I ended up sitting beside a nut job every time—the drunk who’d pissed his pants or the man who hadn’t bathed in weeks. The idea of stepping onto public transportation, even one more time, set my teeth grinding.

“That attitude will get you nowhere.” Wick’s deep voice jumped my thoughts away from the local transit. He undressed me with one look. I tried not to envision what it would be like to throw my body on top of him, rip his clothes off and rub against his hard muscles. I failed.

“You can borrow a car…” Wick said. His smile grew and I waited nervously for the condition that would make me say, ‘oh shit, why did I bother asking?’ From the sparkle in his eyes, I knew it was coming.

“But it will come at a cost,” he said. Bingo.

“What do you want?” My heart took a bulldozer to my chest and the little devil on my shoulder nudged me knowingly—I knew what Wick wanted, because it mirrored my own desires.

Wick straightened up in his seat. His deep brown irises flecked with gold. “A kiss,” he said.

I groaned, knowing I was doomed the moment he named his price. “Fine,” I bit out. Leaning in, I gave him a chaste peck on the lips.

Wick laughed. “I should have specified.”

“But you didn’t. Too late now.” I held out my hand expectantly, trying to get him to hand over the keys by sheer force of will. Now would be the time to develop Jedi mind tricks.

Wick stood, unfolding to his full height. Like a thrall, my fascination and desire held me in place as he stepped closer. My wolf panted as his fingers caressed the side of my face and brushed a stray tendril of hair back.

“A kiss from me,” he said, his voice a soft whisper. “That is the price I demand for your favor.”

I hesitated.

“You have to let me kiss you, Andy.”