Alpha Micah Black: Homecoming

Chapter7

With less than an hour to spare, all thanks to that damn she-wolf, I hustled upstairs to shower. No less than a minute later, I heard the front door slam shut…hard. A sharp pain ripped through my chest, seizing my breathing momentarily. My wolf forced its way through and grabbed hold of the nearest wall. My claws ripped and tore the sheetrock. f**k. Now, how in the hell am I going to explain that to the insurance company?

Pushing through the pain, I finally made it to the shower. My clothes were left shredded on the floor. s**t! Sadly, the water didn’t help my situation. I made haste and got done with what needed to get done. Stepping into my bedroom with the towel hanging around my waist, the damned she-wolf’s scent hit my nostrils…again. f**k…this isn’t going to be easy. She’s not my mate, Amber Howell. She shouldn’t be here. The guilt began to gnaw at my insides…again. It seems my wolf and I disagree. The only problem with that is “I am my wolf. My wolf is me.”

Quickly getting dressed, and yes, I’m wearing the damn regulation necktie, I ran downstairs and to the front door. George pulled up and honked the horn, alerting me to his arrival. My ass didn’t even hit the seat before he turned to me and said—

“What the hell happened, Sergeant? You look like shit.”

“Can we just go to our appointment at the university? I really don’t want to get into it right now,” I grumbled.

“Sure.”

February 25th, 1:07 PM, Admissions Corridor, Wolfdale City University

George and I stood impatiently behind a small group of visiting high schoolers. Their expressions varied between excitement and apprehension as they chatted among themselves. Appre…hun? I only wanted to talk with the Dean of Students, Ms. Mildred Bradenton. But the department’s phones were ringing incessantly. Incessantly? I don’t use that word. From the one-sided conversations, we could only assume parents were calling to check on the safety of their young adults. Thanks to our costume freak, aka the Grimm Reaper, students have gone missing from the campus for some time.

The graying-haired receptionist, Ms. Lillian Roberts-Miller, frantically tried to keep control over the current predicament. She had the high schoolers’ accompanying parents lead them to nearby seating.

Finally…

George and I approached the desk.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” the frustrated receptionist snipped.

“We’re here to speak with Ms. Bradenton,” George answered.

“Do you have an appointment?” she inquired.

“We don’t need one,” I said, showing her my badge.

“We’ve called ahead,” George politely told Ms. Roberts-Miller.

From a doorway further back, a woman roughly in her early forties (I know, it isn’t nice to tell a woman’s age) waved us to come to her office.

“Lillian, it’s okay. Please let the detectives through,” she hollered out to the receptionist.

“Thank you,” George and I spoke in unison.

Ms. Mildred Bradenton’s Office

Her spacious office was kept clean and orderly, unlike my workspace. A long row of file cabinets lined one wall, while a bookshelf holding thick ring binders occupied the other. Various houseplants dotted various spots around the room. The bright afternoon sun shone through the large windows behind her. Sitting on the floor next to her desk was a small stack of boxes. Two vision boards were on display. One was with the current “Spring Fling” festivities about to happen on the campus, while the second had the beginnings of the next “Halloween Bash”.

“Please, have a seat, detectives,” Ms. Bradenton said, directing us toward the cushioned chairs in front of her desk.

“Thank you, Ms. Bradenton, for seeing us on short notice,” I politely stated. See…I can be nice.

“Please, call me Millie.” She insisted. “What can I help Wolfdale City PD with?”

“Okay…thank you, Mille,” I began. “Would you have a list of the students that have gone missing within the past year or so?”

“Detective—”

“Sergeant is fine,” I interrupted her.

“Okay, fine.” She paused. “Sergeant, I have boxes of the students’ files. Has there been more success in locating any of them?”

“Unfortunately, Ms. Bradenton…” George began. Millie shot one of her eyebrows up. “Ahem, Millie… We can’t disclose any information now. However, one student may be part of an active case.”

“Oh… How terrible,” she mumbled. “But with the Privacy Act in place… I’m afraid I’m not able to share any more information. I hope you understand.”

“What if you sent out emails or letters to the parents asking their permission to share their students’ information with the Wolfdale City PD?” I suggested.

“And we can get the proper subpoena to obtain the files,” George also stated. “That way… all legal ends should be covered.”

But, before we could continue, my back pocket buzzed, alerting me to an incoming text message. It was from Demon, err, um… Demi Mason, my favorite forensic minion.

The message: We came up with a way to identify our POI, apart from using DNA.

Finally, some good news and the best lead for the case to move forward.

“With nothing else to discuss, we had best take our leave,” I stated, getting up from the comfy chair.

“Thank you again, Millie, for seeing us on short notice,” George, ever the gentleman, replied, extending his hand to shake the Dean’s hand.

“Thank you, detectives, for trying to find out what could have happened to these students,” she gushed. “I finally have some sort of answer to give their parents.”

“We’ll work on getting the subpoenas ready,” I told her, heading toward the door.

“I’ll get in touch with the chancellor and see what we can do on our end,” she stated.

“Thanks again.”

2:37 PM, 5657 Bradbury Ave, Ricco’s Pizza Parlor

Smells of tomatoes, garlic, basil, onion, cheese, and freshly baked bread permeated the air of the pizza parlor. Servers filled low glasses of soda or brought out hot trays of pizza. Patrons chatted with each other while they were enjoying their lunch. Unfortunately for me, two sets of eyes stared at me while I devoured my last pizza slice.

“What?” I asked with my mouth full, causing the cheese and sauce to drip onto my chin.

“You mind telling us what the hell is wrong with you, Sergeant?” Isaiah spouted off.

“What are you yakking about, Barton?” I threw back a question to him.

“Water cooler talk says you tossed Tiffeny out of your house today,” he griped.

Tiffeny… There’s that name again. And that damn pang tightens around my heart still.

“Is that the b***h’s name? What of it?” My mouth spat out, causing George and Isaiah to spit out their sodas. With widened eyes and jaws dropped, my colleagues stared at me in their disbelief. “She shouldn’t have been in my house,” I continued.

“That “b***h” as you called her is Chief Edwards’ daughter, Mike,” George gruffly reminded me, using the air quotes. “She’s also your mate,” he whispered.

Before I could give a rebuttal to that claim, my cell phone rang. It was the forensic minions with the results of their impromptu test.

“We’re needed back at the station,” I replied harshly. “Let’s go.”