12. Resa

Chapter 12

Resa

I 'm breaking into a computer room and things are not going well when someone clears their throat behind me.

I whirl around.

Vaughn is grinning at me, delighted. "Are you breaking and entering?"

I tuck my knife behind my back. "No."

He cocks his head, frowning as he studies the metal handle. "A door like that needs a thinner knife, and you'd need to slip it between the door and frame to find the bolt. Trying to turn the lock will only break the tip of the knife. Any knife."

He's not seriously telling me how to do it.

Is he?

"I wasn't breaking and entering." I stick the knife into my back pocket and show him my empty hands. "See?"

"Well, if you were doing what I thought you were doing, you'll never get in that way. You want to unhook the bolt from the bottom up." He pulls a thin knife from his pocket and places it on a small black side table. "Anyway, I'll see you around."

How can someone in jeans and a tee be pulling out knives like he's in combat gear?

And he walks away, whistling.

Leaving me with instructions about how to break in, the means to do it, and wondering—not for the first time—how many knives he keeps on him.

I give it two minutes, listening to make sure Vaughn has actually gone, and this isn't some trick. When no one appears, I hobble over to the table, snatch up the knife and go back to fighting with the door.

Even with instructions, I'm no closer to getting the door open. Vaughn made it sound easy. Slide the knife between the door and the frame and unhook the bolt by lifting up. Easy.

It isn't easy.

"You're not lifting it high enough."

I squeal.

My feet leave the floor and I slam my shoulder into the door as I whirl around, dropping the knife with a loud clatter.

It's Vaughn, leaning on the wall, arms folded and eyes narrowed in concentration, giving me the impression he's been there a while.

Caught red-handed. There's no denying what I was up to.

With my heart still in my throat from the shock he gave me, I watch him, waiting for his response.

"I'll show you."

As he strolls toward me, I back away. I tell myself I'm giving him space to work, but I'm not sure who I'm fooling. I'm certainly not fooling myself.

He picks up the knife and delivers a masterclass in breaking and entering. Honestly, if I didn't have my heart lodged in my throat from the shock he just gave me, I'd be more impressed than I am.

One firm motion upward makes something click. He pushes the door open with a flourish to reveal a small windowless computer room with three computers on one side, a round table with four chairs in the middle, and a corkboard with pins on another wall. "See?"

He pockets the knife and bounces his gaze between the computer room and me. "Did you want to use a computer?"

"Garrison said I could look around."

"And you can." He holds the door open even wider.

"Why do you have a locked room in your house?"

The only way I'd known it was a computer room was the glass panel beside the door, otherwise it would have been just another locked door in this masculine black wood and white marble mansion.

"Because this is home. It's also Lucas Security headquarters. You'll find we keep some doors locked, which will give you a clue which part you're about to step into. It means you're liable to walk into somewhere with confidential information."

"So this is a part I should stay out of?"

He winks. "Maybe. I'm happy to bend the rules if you are."

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I consider what—if anything—I plan to tell him. I need to track down Dexter Pieter and I'm wasting time creeping around trying and failing to break into rooms when I have a grinning beta eager to help me.

The sooner I tell Dexter Pieter everything the Asylum has been doing to omegas in the city, the sooner alphas like Nathaniel Lang can spend the rest of their lives rotting in a rat-infested cell. Then maybe I'll get another step closer to changing this world into one that treats omegas better than it does.

But that's going to involve a level of trust. Anything I tell Vaughn has a high probability of working its way back to the alphas in this house.

Just enough information, Resa. But not too much. Nothing that exposes any vulnerabilities.

"The phone you gave me doesn't have the internet and I don't have the Wi-Fi code. I'm trying to find Dexter Pieter. I need to talk to him."

Whether he wants to talk to me is going to have to be a tomorrow problem. Five minutes. That's all I need with him. If he doesn't want to listen? Well, then I'll know he's part of the problem, as rotten as the alphas in the city.

I'm not sure what I'll do then. That can be a next week problem to chew on.

If I make it to next week.

"Well, why didn't you say so?" He motions me into the room. "Come on. Grab a seat."

I hurry to catch the door before it slams shut.

Vaughn doesn't notice as he thumps into an office chair and boots up a computer. "I'll leave the door unlocked from now on and the password so you can come in whenever you want."

So maybe he does notice.

I hover at the round table in the middle of the room. "I thought you said you locked some doors."

He tosses a grin over his shoulder. "I don't mind bending some rules." The computer beeps and he turns to face it. "A man like Dexter won't be easy to track down, but I guess I could?—"

The door swings open. Garrison gives me the briefest of glances and, instead of ordering me out of a place I shouldn't be, turns to Vaughn. "Vaughn? What are you doing?"

"Tracking Dexter Pieter. Resa needs to speak to him."

I brace myself for Garrison to question why I want to speak to the head of the Council.

Garrison walks over to the computer and leans over Vaughn's shoulder. "You wouldn't find him there. He rarely works in his office."

Frost wanders in, sipping on a mug of coffee with fumes strong enough to bring someone back from the dead. "Ooh, new project. What are we doing?"

I back out of the way of a rapidly filling room that's a little too small for me to be comfortable in with so many men.

"Tracking Dexter Pieter. Need his home address or a work schedule." Vaughn twists around in his seat. "Do you still have that backdoor into?—"

"Yeah, move over." Frost leaves his coffee on the table and drops into the chair beside Vaughn, nudging him out of the way. "Why are we tracking Dexter Pieter?"

"Resa wants to talk to him," Garrison explains.

I wait for the obvious question no one is asking me.

Why do I want to talk to Dexter Pieter?

"Oh, okay." Frost types for a couple more seconds and points at the screen. "See that key? You want one of those to?—"

"Won't work," Garrison interrupts, hands in his pockets. "That's a government building."

They all fall silent.

"We could ask Blaine," Frost suggests. "He might know a better way."

"He won't come in here now." Vaughn sounds distracted as he takes over at the computer.

Blaine works here, so why doesn't he come into the computer room? I'm not sure what compels me to ask, "Why not?"

"Room's too small," Frost says.

He's right. It is too small. I'm backed up against the wall farthest from the computers. Four people in this room and it feels jam-packed.

They're all bumping shoulders as they crowd around the computer, and I remember the way Vaughn leaned over to grab his coffee in the kitchen and how Blaine leaned out of the way so their shoulders didn't touch.

An alpha who doesn't like to be touched. Because of his scars? Or because of something else?

I'm falling asleep in front of the computer after Vaughn, Garrison, and Frost went off for another meeting. I'd thought it was strange it came so soon after they just had one, but whatever. It gave me the room to continue my search for the head of the Council.

I've been coming to the realization Dexter Pieter is a ghost.

What man has a government office he never works in? Has no direct number? Never attends public events, sending another official who works in a completely different office instead?

And why are there literally no pictures of this man on the internet?

I'm exhausted, but I'm not defeated.

A soft throat clearing nearly makes me fall out of my chair. It does, at least, wake me up fast.

Garrison is standing just outside the open door holding a thin gray folder. His distance probably has something to do with the fact I like to keep my knife close.

He waits until he has my full attention, then lifts the folder. "I have a case you might be interested in."

I stare at him.

Am I dreaming this?

In what reality do people—notably private security company owners—brandish folders to real estate assistants only good for making the coffee?

When I don't respond, he continues, "You're going to be here for a while."

I open my mouth to deny any such thing. Then I remember how many hours I wasted getting nowhere in my mission to track Dexter Pieter, and the way my feet only stop throbbing when I take my weight off them.

Here, I have a chance to find Dexter Pieter. Out on the streets, O'Brien will find me and end me. Which means for the present, here, in a house filled with alphas, is where I need to be.

I close my gaping mouth.

Again, he lifts the folder. "This is an NDA. All of my staff sign it, and I enforce it. We deal with people's lives, learn personal, vulnerable things that they trust us to keep to ourselves. Sometimes working two cases is helpful. Gives you time to mull over one while working on another. So, if you get tired with your Dexter Pieter case, maybe you can help with this one."

My Dexter Pieter case?

Why does that make it sound like I'm some kind of detective, and why do I get a thrill at the thought of having a case?

Before Garrison, Vaughn, and Frost left to talk over another case, Vaughn said he'd help me again. So did Frost, but I'm aware that I'm not their priority here. They likely have a workload that doesn't involve tracking down the most important man in the city just so I can talk to him.

I'm curious despite myself. "What case is it?"

As if I know the first thing about cracking cases.

He leans into the room and I tense, preparing to stab as he tosses the folder on the table before retreating. "Sign it and we can talk."

I eye the folder, pondering the possibility of signing my life away because I was too lazy to read the small print. Because the last time I read a contract all the way through? Never happened. Not even once.

"And Resa?"

I pull my gaze from the file and meet his hazel eyes.

His expression is so serious I instantly brace myself for what's coming. "If there's something you don't understand or need clarification, you can ask any of us, or research it yourself. Your choice. There are a lot of things I let slide, but this is not one of those things. Don't sign anything unless you know what you're signing."

Is he a mind reader?

Then he leaves.

I look at the thin gray folder. My fingers prickle as I stare, desperate to know what it contains. He said an NDA, but maybe there's stuff about the case he forgot to take out.

No, Resa. You're here for one thing. Not that. Leave it alone. Focus on your thing.

I turn back to the computer where I spend another thirty frustrating minutes stabbing at the keyboard and getting hung up by everyone I call as soon as I say I want to speak to the man in charge.

It all goes the same way, no matter how nice, friendly, and polite I am. We reach the point in the conversation when I have to actually say why I called.

"I'd like to speak with Dexter?—"

Click.

Suddenly, I'm listening to a dial tone.

Every. Single . Time.

I return my new cell phone to my pocket and stare at the computer. Now what, Resa? When I start thinking that shaking the monitor will lead to answers falling out of it, I realize I might need a break.

I push myself out of my seat and hobble over to the file.

If Sadie knew how much walking I was doing… yeah, she wouldn't be pleased.

The contract isn't long. Only two sheets, and the language is surprisingly easy to understand. No big words threaten to send me to sleep or make my eyes glaze over. Annoyingly, there's not a hint of information about the case he was talking about, and I hoped there would be something.

He's already signed it. Garrison Brewster.

Brewster ?

"So where the hell is the Lucas from?" I mutter.

I'd assumed Lucas Security meant Garrison was Garrison Lucas. He's clearly the one in charge here. What guy wouldn't want to name his business or his pack after himself? Especially an alpha?

Evidently not this one.

I'm still studying the strong slopes of his signature when Vaughn swings the door open and hangs in the doorway. "Hungry?"

"No," I deny, as my stomach lets out a mournful howl. It's really pathetic. I should have known two bites of a cold pancake was hardly going to see me through to lunchtime.

His expression doesn't change, so maybe he didn't hear it?

"Well, I am. Come on. I'll make you something for lunch."

"Why?"

"You're hungry. I'm hungry. Let's eat."

Okay, so I guess he heard it.

He leaves, giving me the option to follow or continue staring at Garrison's signature.

I follow, taking the NDA with me.

Vaughn has his head in the refrigerator as I hobble into the kitchen and take a seat at the island. "What case were you working on?"

"Oh, just the usual," he says.

He couldn't have been more vague if he'd tried.

"Why doesn't Blaine like people touching him?"

He flashes me a quick grin. "Ah, noticed that, did you?"

"Yes." I wait for him to tell me something I don't already know.

Vaughn pulls out a package of ham, sniffs it and returns it to the refrigerator, muttering, "Yeah, not risking that."

"So, where's everyone else?"

He continues to poke around the contents of the refrigerator. "Around."

And god help me, his vague answers are like an itch inside my brain. I want to know more. I need to know all the stuff he isn't telling me.

"Garrison said he has a case he's working on. He wanted my help," I say, hoping to prompt more out of him than I'm getting.

"I'm happy to talk it over once you've signed that." He nods at the file I left on the island. "Business is business. Not even a beautiful and oh-so distracting omega can convince me to squeal."

"You said you didn't mind breaking rules." I say nothing about his compliment or flirtatious behavior. If I don't notice it, I'll stop liking it. And him.

" Bending rules," he corrects me as he pulls out the makings of a sandwich. "Breaking that rule is one I might not survive if Garrison found out I was running my mouth."

What the hell kind of case requires that level of secrecy? I'd tried to catch Sadie in a lie about them working on super-secret government cases, but maybe my guess wasn't that far off? Maybe they are. And maybe I get to work on it too?

My excitement is an electric current crackling up my spine.

I cast a rapid glance at the kitchen doorway—wanting to make sure Garrison isn't standing behind me eavesdropping. After confirming the coast is clear, I lean toward Vaughn. "Are you saying Garrison would kill you if you told me about the case?"

Vaughn aims a lopsided grin my way. "Turkey and Swiss cheese?"

That's when I know I'm signing the NDA. I cannot handle not knowing.