The Bureau (A Cage for Men and Wolves Book 1) (10 page)

"I'll deal with your laptop later," he said to Elliot. "And you, get your ass up to dispatch." He dismissed his older son with a wave of his arm.

As Dom left the room, Clover boldly glanced toward the door, hoping to get a glimpse of his back. Instead, she found him watching her. He wasn't fooled. It seemed he hadn't placed her yet, but she knew it was only a matter of time.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Clover raged as she followed her new 'owner' down a deserted hall, finally free from Montgomery Sr.'s office.

"Tell you what?" Elliot snapped, not slowing down.

Clover grabbed his arm, yanking him around to look at her. Hitting Rainer wasn't an option, but hitting Elliot might be satisfying.

"That
you
having a slave would be such an upset? And that your brother is a famous werewolf killing
machine!
"

"And when was I supposed to tell you that?" He shook her hand off. "Before or after you
bit
me?"

Clover was taken aback by the anguish in his voice. He'd seemed to be handling the situation well, but she guessed it wasn't surprising he'd been hiding his
real
panic.

He must have seen her shock—recognized the transparency of his emotions—because he stifled them again, and turned away. "Come on, you're going to draw attention."

As they reentered a more populated area, the distraction of other workers was welcomed. Instantly, Clover noticed that most of the uniforms now shared the white shoulder guard Elliot wore, and figured they were close to his department. She wondered what Elliot did, exactly. They were working against the clock, though, and with Rainer on her heels again, she didn't have time to waste on curiosity.

She hoped the red-shouldered agent had made a bigger impression on her than she'd made on him. The time it took between being picked off the street and being sold to an owner was her shield right now. Some werewolves spent months in the finishing schools where they were broken, then retrained as obedient slaves. She knew he would recognize her eventually, but for now he was wracking is brain for a girl he'd met months ago, not someone he'd chased down a sewer a few days ago. She only hoped she could find her family and be gone before he saw through her.

As they turned into a wide room with lines of small cubicles, Clover expected to march to the back and into an office like the one Elliot's father had. They did pass a few rows of tiny cubicles, unfortunately, they weren’t going to an office. In the back corner of the room there was a larger cubicle with six desks set up in it, each with its own computer. Elliot set his bag down beside one of the middle monitors.

"What is this?"

"What do you mean?" Elliot’s replacement bag looked limp without its laptop as it slouched beside the computer screen.

Clover had expected some sort of privacy. He was the boss's son, after all. She'd assumed someone with his status would have a real office—
or at least his own damn cubicle
.

"It doesn't matter," she decided, reminding herself that they didn't have time to worry. "Let's just get this over with." Clover peeked outside the group cubicle, relieved that they had gotten there early. At least she wouldn't have to worry about the flock of eavesdroppers they'd dealt with in Montgomery's office. "What are you waiting for?" she demanded when she realized Elliot had only been watching her from his chair. "Look them up!"

"What do you mean 'look them up'?"

"Are you stupid?" Clover leaned over him and jabbed her finger against the computer mounted over his desk. "Get on there and find them!"

"It doesn't work that way."

"Well what do you need? I have all their information. My parents are Weston and Laurel Rhodes. R-H-O-D-E-S. You also need to look for Reed and Anise Rhodes."

"Wait, Clover..." Elliot’s voice took on a subtly apologetic tone that she didn't like. "It doesn't work that way. I can't just look them up."

"No. No, it's fine. I have more than just their names. What do you need? Their height? I can estimate that. I can tell you what they look like. Their birthdays. Whatever it is, just tell me what you want."

"I..."

Clover could see in his face that he was trying to be gentle with his words. She wasn't angry any more. Panic wasn't the right word either. She was desperate, and sad because she already knew what he was going to say. "I can't just pop on here and search them. The records are all locked and classified. I don't have that kind of clearance."

"Isn't your dad the boss or something?" she shouted before she could censor herself.

"Shhhh." He looked around her to be sure they were still alone. "That doesn't mean anything, alright? I’m not even a full employee yet. I’m still doing my residency."

“No. No, no, no. Because if that was the case, wouldn’t you have one of those stupid little triangles on your uniform?”

              Elliot’s hand moved to his pocket, then presented a small yellow pin to her in the shape of a triangle. “I don’t like putting it on until I’m here. People don’t treat you as well if they know.” He sounded embarrassed.

“You are seriously kidding me, right now.” Clover stood up again and swore furiously, digging her knuckles into her forehead, trying to put her temper on lockdown. “God, you're so useless." She closed her eyes to hide the sting of angry tears. "I should have bitten your dad or something. Then at least I'd be getting somewhere."

"You'd be dead already if you'd tried that." Elliot's tone was icy at best as he pinned the triangle beside his name on his uniform.

Her comment must have boiled his sympathy away, but her temper hissed to get out and she didn't care how he felt. She opened her mouth to remind him that—considering his currently situation—he wasn't really in a position to question her hostage-taking abilities. She was interrupted by a voice she didn’t recognize before she got the chance.

"So the rumors are true."

Noisy heels filled the space and Clover found herself irrationally annoyed by the repetitive reactions she was getting. Didn't these people have anything better to do with their time?

"Mrs. Pierson." Elliot’s posture changed as the woman approached them. He slouched, like he wanted her to know that she wasn’t worth his full attention, and his voice cooled to the point of disinterest.

"Elliot." She returned the favor, flipping her intricately braided and greying hair over her shoulder, coming to a stop on one hip by the entrance to the cubicle. "Any reason you didn't report this to me sooner?" She spared half a glance for Clover.

"I was dropping my things off. I was coming to you next."

Pierson wore a constricting pencil skirt in place of the slacks she saw many of the women wearing, and she wore a brown shoulder pad that matched the uniform Clover was wearing.

"This will be the only time I'll come to fetch her from you, Mr. Montgomery." The woman's voice was instantly venomous. "Starting tomorrow you will check her in
upon
arrival, is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am.” His politeness was an obvious formality.

"Come." Mrs. Pierson barely glanced in Clover's direction before marching out of the cubicle.

Clover gave Elliot a look that urged him to do something, but was only met by a cold shrug of his shoulders. Her mouth fell open as she realized that, in that moment, he was childishly paying her back for calling him useless. He was actually retaliating against her, and his nearly imperceptible grin told her that he was enjoying himself.

"I won't say it again," Mrs. Pierson seethed when she realized that her charge was not instantly on her heels.

Not wanting to raise alarms more than she had, Clover did as she was told and hoped Elliot's rebellious streak wouldn't go as far as turning her in to his father. Leaving the cubicle, and her only assurance of safety, she followed the woman and her fascinating braid down the hall. Clover tried to keep track of where they were going so she could make it back to Elliot's station in case of emergency, but it wasn't long before she was effectively lost.

They were on a much lower level of the building now, maybe even in a basement level if she'd read the elevator correctly. She guessed that this woman, Mrs. Pierson, was in charge of the indentured werewolves that were brought into the Bureau. The way she'd spoken of "checking her in" and the matching brown she wore on her shoulder guard made it clear, even to an outsider like Clover.

"Where are we going?" Clover figured she was stepping out of line, but hoped the submissive tone she'd put on would help ease the transgression.

It didn't. In a single, swift motion, Mrs. Pierson’s arm swung around with the twisting of her body, striking Clover's cheek with the back her ringed fingers. The blow hadn't been strong enough to knock Clover off her feet, but it echoed and made her stumble. She felt a spot of blood when her hand covered her throbbing cheek. One of Mrs. Pierson' rings had punctured her skin.

"How dare you speak without direction?" She looked honestly shocked that she'd been addressed at all.

Another worker walked unbothered past them, their shoes sounding loud in the silence. Pierson seemed unimpressed as she took the time to really look at Clover from head to toe.

"I don't know where you came from, or what that mollycoddle of yours lets you get away with, but when you're under
my
charge you will stay silent, unless directly addressed. Do you understand?"

It was hard for Clover not to hit the other woman back. She'd never let something so outrageous go unreturned before, but she nodded, looking down in a play of submission. Pierson seemed satisfied and continued her march through the growingly unkempt hallways.

Certain now that they were in the maintenance halls of the building, Clover was unsurprised when the pristine, white walls gave way to cinderblock. At the center of these bare halls was a massive storage room. Uncovered pipes and wires formed a messy grid on the ceiling that ran down the walls to rows of valves and circuit breakers. While the room was expansive, it felt cramped as every indentured werewolf in the building was teeming inside it, gathering rolls of garbage bags, mop heads and large push-brooms. Mixed in the sea of brown uniforms were little points of black—agents who wore the tan should guard were breaking the unpaid workers into smaller groups.

"Connell." Several of the tan-clad figures froze as Pierson summoned a young man in black who trotted toward them.

"Ma'am?"

"This one is Elliot Montgomery's," she said shortly. "Log her and take her with your crew."

The red-haired man called Connell took Clover by her arm and guided her to a small desk hidden toward the back of the massive room. Sitting at the desk, Clover began to sweat as Connell tapped away at his keyboard, his eyes scanning Clover's papers. She wondered just how talented Fisher
was
at falsifying these things. How much practice could he possibly have had? She might not know much, but she was sure werewolves weren't lined up to sneak into the Bureau. She expected flashing lights and alarms as the system realized she'd never been picked up at all.

Then the keyboard went silent and Connell handed the folded papers back to her. There had been no alarms, and he seemed unsuspecting, if not bored. She let out the breath she'd only just realized she'd been holding. Following the poorly postured young man, she returned the documents to the small pocket on her shirt. Maybe Fisher deserved all those watches after all.

The sounds of cart wheels and garbage bags was steady, but no one spoke as Clover followed her new keeper toward a smaller group she assumed was the red-head's crew. Upon first glance she thought the four werewolves were all women, but as she neared them she realized one was a young man. He must have been
very
young. His features were effeminate, though he was taller than Clover. It was only his male-issued uniform that made her certain. Two of the others were older women, probably in their late forties, and the fourth was a foreign girl closer to Clover's age with straight, coal colored hair and dark circles under her upturned eyes.

Each of them glanced at Clover as the two approached, but no one spoke. Instead, they obediently turned back to their work. They gathered their equipment with a familiarity that suggested they'd been doing it for a long time. Each of them moved efficiently, though not enthusiastically. At once, Clover noticed the black-haired girl walking with a distinct limp, her dark eyebrows drawn into a rigid line as she moved. There were any number of reasons for such an injury, and Clover hated that her mind was cataloging the possibilities.

"Has our on-site werewolf protocol been explained to you?" Connell seemed less harsh than Pierson, but his voice was decidedly not sympathetic either.

"No," Clover admitted.

"Of course the
future Director
wouldn't bother." 

Clover had expected Elliot to have a reputation inside the Bureau, but she was surprised it was a poor one. Of course she thought people might be jealous of his position, but she wondered if this freckled agent knew that Elliot worked in a cramped cubicle just like everyone else.

"Alright," he continued, his tone more commanding now. "You will work efficiently and silently. You will not get in the way of Bureau workers and will stay within sight of your chaperone at all times. That would be me. We're designated Crew 47 and we'll be working region 2-5-9 today. You can shadow Jeannette." He motioned to one of the older women who had curly, straw colored hair. "And for God's sake, have him read you your pamphlet when you get home."