15. Resa

Chapter 15

Resa

T he Lucas Security headquarters meeting room does not have a lock. Garrison twists the handle and steps aside, holding the door open.

It's windowless, like the computer room, with a massive conference table taking up prime real estate in the center, and gives off the private security vibe I'd expected when Vaughn first brought me here.

On one stark white wall is an almost wall-size noticeboard with not even a hint of pen marring its perfect surface. It smells like them. All of them, and it's the source of my biggest hesitation in following Garrison into the room.

I might not trust alphas or want any near me, but my god, do these alphas smell like heaven to me.

"We can do this in another room if you prefer?" Garrison offers.

It's an innocent question.

I think.

Yet it feels like a challenge. Like he doesn't think I can do this.

I still have my knife, so if I need to protect myself, I will protect myself.

I walk past him into the room and take a seat at the big round table.

The door closes with a gentle click and Garrison's steps are surprisingly quiet for such a large man as he rounds the table and takes the seat directly opposite.

I lean back, keeping a tight grip on the knife in my lap.

He slides a gray folder, a thicker version of the one containing the NDA, to the center of the table. Not my side, but in no man's land. "Jerome Walker went missing three days ago. The cops didn't suspect foul play and assured his parents that, like any other college student, their son would return with a sore head from a college party in a day or two. This was despite his parents informing them that Jerome's heat started and he was going to his usual clinic. There was no trace of him at the clinic. The police checked and so did we. His parents felt the police weren't doing nearly enough to find their son, so they came to us."

With what's going on with Asylum, I don't blame them for thinking the worst. "Do you think an alpha grabbed him?"

Like what happened to me?

He shakes his head. "I don't."

"Because?"

He taps the edge of the file with his index finger, drawing my attention to his powerful hands. It is not a comfortable thing to notice while sitting this close to him. "Something in there tells me he's alive, and that his disappearance has nothing to do with the Asylum."

"And that something is?"

"I don't know yet."

"Oh."

Amusement softens the hard angles of his face. "So, as you can imagine, I've hit a roadblock with the case."

I flip open the file and come face to face with a young man in his early twenties with short burnished red hair, smiling green eyes, and pale Irish skin dusted with freckles. He's slim, wearing a navy graduation gown, probably from high school.

Before I can turn another page, Garrison says, "His parents gave us the photograph. We like to blow up a picture of our clients, so we always remember there's a real person behind our cases. It's surprisingly easy to get lost in details and lose sight of what truly matters when you do a job like this for years day in day out."

"You mean desensitized?"

"Not exactly." His expression is thoughtful. If I didn't know he was the boss, that look would have convinced me I was dealing with the man in charge. "We do what we do because we like solving mysteries and finding solutions to problems. The photograph reminds us of our end goal."

As he pushes to his feet, my fingers tighten around my knife.

"Take your time with it. I'll grab us something to drink and be back in a few minutes."

He leaves, giving me time and space to go through the information they gathered on twenty-year-old Jerome Walker, an omega who left his dorm one Friday afternoon and never come back.

It is a strange feeling to dig through a person's past to work out what might have happened to them. I understand why Garrison refused to share anything without me signing an NDA and why Vaughn was so vague. It's personal. Too personal.

Even with permission, I still feel like I'm doing something wrong.

In a way, I appreciate the distance it gives me between my problems. Finding Dexter Pieter is starting to feel like a pipe dream, but maybe I can help find Jerome Walker.

Nothing jumps out at me from his college schedule, the interviews Garrison conducted with Jerome's parents, pictures of his parents' home and his dorm.

I flip through yet more interviews with Jerome's friends, including one with Tobias, his college dorm mate. Since they shared the same free period, he spoke to Jerome before Jerome left for the heat clinic.

It all looks ordinary. He has more books than I thought a college student would take with him, but that confirms he was more of a reader than a partier.

If he didn't go to his heat clinic, and he left his car on campus, where did he go?

Garrison returns as I'm flipping through the file for the second time. He has two white mugs. Tea, from the minty scent wafting from one steaming cup, and coffee from the other. Black. Not life-giving strong like Frost was drinking, but strong enough.

"I wasn't sure what tea you might like. Hope peppermint is okay?" He pushes the mug to the center of the table, close enough for me to take, but doesn't encroach on my side.

An alpha who respects my personal space.

Hmm.

He returns to his seat as I take a small sip of my tea and set my mug aside to flip through the folder. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be looking for."

"Anything unusual."

"But I don't know him. How would I know what is usual for Jerome and what is not?"

The faintest hint of… something filters in his gaze so briefly I nearly miss it. Interest? Pride? Something else.

"What is it?" I ask.

The corners of his mouth tilt up in the barest hint of a smile. "That is a very astute question."

"Not really," I deny, hiding my pleasure. Despite Vaughn's belief I was a straight-A student, I was not. I hated school, and I didn't try to hide it.

My teachers were in agreement that I was a grade A pain in the ass. I found it boring, though I might have cared more if they taught us something that would be useful when we left. What was the point in learning things I would never need to use?

"Vaughn complained about me setting him homework. All he wanted was to be out rescuing someone or solving a crime."

I push my tongue into my cheek to hide my smile. "And Blaine?"

"Asked where I was keeping the rest of the info." His voice is dry. "The answer to your question is we all see something different. I'd like to know what you see."

As he lifts his mug to his lips, the rich scent of coffee drifts my way. I stifle a shudder when a memory of the last time I drank the stuff hits me between the eyes.

The Keurig broke one day at work and all we had was a big ol' glass jug of the drip stuff. It also happened to be the day we ran out of caramel creamer. One sip and I will never make that mistake again.

But Henry…

I wrench my mind back to my task.

I focus on the present. The now. And only the now.

"So I just look through this file?" I ask. "Don't we have to go investigate?"

He shakes his head. "The answer is there."

"How do you know?"

"It's like a puzzle. Some pieces fit perfectly together. Others have been wedged in and aren't right. Sometimes you don't know it until the end, sometimes before. The answer is there."

He looks so confident I can't help but believe him. "So, no physical investigation like ever?"

"Sometimes. Not this time."

This is turning out to be one of the most interesting conversations I've had in my life. "You sound like a cop."

His smile is faint. "Not a cop, though I once knew a very good one who taught me a lot."

I realize then how much I hate it when people don't tell me everything. It makes me crazy to know more. Even things that are probably none of my business. Especially things that are none of my business.

"And if he's dead or someone took him?"

"He's alive."

"But how can you be so certain of that?" I ask, getting frustrated. Maybe I'm not seeing something. Maybe I just don't have any instincts and I wish I did. If I'd had those same instincts, maybe I would have known not to step foot in the free heat clinic that ruined my life.

He points his chin at the file. "I've been over that file several times. Something in it tells me he is alive. Everything we need to know is in there. I feel it."

"But you don't know what that something is?"

" Yet ," he adds. "You have fresh eyes and a different way of looking at the world, Resa. Keep hold of the file. I have a copy if I need it."

I'm positive I won't find anything important, but I'll try. "Okay."

"We have a party that we're working this evening," he says, placing the mug down. "It's to celebrate a new Ever Safe location opening soon. Rune has asked if we want to cancel it. Only they would know why, since Rune is a friend, and I told him you were here with us."

I study him, reading between the lines. "This is you asking me what I want. Isn't it?"

A smile lifts his lips, softening the hard planes of his face. "Like I said, astute. And yes, I am."

Is it weird to hate alphas and yet to feel pleased at Garrison's approval?

Probably.

"Will Everleigh be there?" I hadn't believed I would see her again.

He nods. "Did you want to speak to her?"

"I might." But… "Are these parties usually eventful?"

"Not usually." He takes a sip of coffee, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. "The party to celebrate Everleigh becoming Pack Ashe's omega resulted in us throwing a woman out."

"For?"

"Upsetting Everleigh," he says.

That doesn't tell me anything at all. "What did this woman do to upset Everleigh?"

He shrugs. "You'll have to ask her. Cian gave a sign that he wanted her gone, so we got rid of her."

A pang hits me. By pang, I mean a throat punch. To have someone care so much about protecting me they don't need a reason. Just one sign and they're gone.

Just like that.

I focus on the file, head down, flipping through the pages and barely taking anything in. All so Garrison can't see the want in my eyes because I think that's something I would kill for.

Not the throwing someone out part.

The caring.

I push myself to my feet, closing the file because I'm doing a shit job at hiding my emotions. "If Everleigh is going to be there, I wouldn't mind speaking to her."

"Resa?" I must be imagining the concern rumbling Garrison's voice.

"Yeah?" I try to avoid meeting his eye, but his gaze hooks mine for a split second and I get the sense he saw far more than I wanted him to.

"If there's anything you want, I'm here."

No, I mentally say as I walk out. There is nothing I want from you, Garrison Brewster.