by Aiden Bates
Josh’s final call before he’d been stabbed had taken place just minutes before it had happened. Another number from outside his contacts. Another number to drill into my brain.
I heard the door to the break room open and close. A glance at it told me that my new detective friend had polished off all the cinnamon rolls he had quarters for—so I had to act fast.
I popped the sim card out as quick as I could. A quick press of the power button locked it again. A few jumbled numbers into the lock screen locked the phone again—shutting the police out for good this time.
“Any luck?” the detective asked, peering over my shoulder.
I offered him the phone with an apologetic cringe.
“Real sorry, officer—thought I had it. But…”
The detective glanced down at the phone, frowned briefly, then placed it back into the evidence bag. “Nah. It’s all right—like I said, it’s tough work. Even for detectives like us, huh?”
I laughed. “Guess so. Still…I feel bad about not being able to help more.”
“Ah, what can you do? Cases like these…I hate to be the one to break it to you, but they go cold more often than not. Appreciate you trying, though.”
“Appreciate the opportunity. I’ve always fancied the idea of being a real officer, you know. Just…ain’t easy, is it?”
“Maybe someday.” The officer’s chest puffed out again as he gave me an encouraging smile. “Don’t give up. And, hey. Do me a favor and give me a call if you do turn anything up? The department’s doing all they can, but…”
“Of course, Detective.” I took the man’s card, palming it into my pocket along with the sim card. “Anything I hear, you’ll be the first to know.”
I left him with a handshake and a smile—the kind that died on my lips as soon as my back was turned. As I scribbled the numbers onto my notepad back in the Mustang, an awful sickness turned over in my stomach, metallic, slick and cold.
This wasn’t random. And if I wanted to know more…
I held my phone and took a deep breath, dialing one of the numbers and holding the air in my chest as I listened to the call ring through.
Something was going on here. Something bad—something far more sinister than what the police were letting on.
4
Nick
I had my reports for Salinger Image Consultants ready by noon that day. Big surprise—the internet still liked cat pictures and personal interest stories as much they ever had. Big butts, washboard abs and lots of image editing were all still very much in. Salinger’s issue was that they were still thinking things through in the old-school style of marketing. People were becoming less interested in seeing Salinger’s superstar clients in perfectly photoshopped, obviously staged pictures. They wanted something real. Something aspirational, but genuine. And now that I was getting the numbers to finally back that up, eventually they’d have to take my word for it if they wanted to continue seeing the likes and follows on their clients’ profiles to rise.
I was just about to break for lunch—I’d been craving something salty all day, and there was a rasher of bacon the fridge alongside a wheel of Camembert that had my name all over it—when my phone buzzed atop my desk.
Immediately, I froze.
It had been doing that all morning, and all morning, I’d been trying to forget about it.
A quick glance at the screen told me it was the same number that had been calling all morning too. Every half hour on the dot. Just like clockwork. They didn’t leave a voice mail, the way any of my clients or potential business opportunities would have. Didn’t send a follow-up text. Just called. And called. And called some more.
A quick search online had told me the area code was from Miami, which only made me more nervous.
What would someone from Miami want from someone like me?
I sat mulling it over for a few minutes before I gave up. Whoever it was, if they didn’t want to leave a voice message, then they obviously didn’t need to talk to me all that bad. But as I set about frying up some bacon in the kitchen and toasting bread for a sandwich, my phone only buzzed again. And again. And again. We’d quickly moved from the every-half-hour point to the every-five-minutes point—and thanks to my connections with my real, actual clients, I couldn’t place my phone on silent.
Finally, I pushed my sandwich into the oven to let the cheese melt and flipped my phone open in frustration. Taking a deep breath, I let my annoyance fade out before I finally answered.
“Hello?”
“Hi there.” The voice was deep and dark. A little husky, like a bad boy love interest on Omegas of Our Lives. Definitely Alpha—and definitely too hot to be a telemarketer. “Sorry to bother you, but can I ask who I’m speaking to?”
“You can,” I said cautiously, swallowing hard at the way the voice on the phone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. “But you’d get a lot further if I knew who you were first.”
“Ah. Shit, right.” The man cleared his throat. “This is Harper King. Joshua King’s brother. Mind if I have a minute of your time?”
A shiver ran down my spine, sending tendrils of panic racing through my chest all the way through to my fingertips. “I…don’t know if I can help you, Mr. King. I barely knew Joshua, and—”
“You didn’t? Because, see, this is the last number Josh called before…”
His voice trailed off in a way that made my heart pang with pain. Before he was killed. But that must have been a mistake—I hadn’t spoken to Josh that night.
“I don’t recall talking to him that night,” I said softly. “I’m sorry, Mr. King. That must be some kind of mistake.”
“Call me Harper. Please. I understand that this is a bit of a Hail Mary here, but…are you sure? Nothing you can think of? No phone call you can remember?”
I sighed, mentally retracing my steps from that night. I’d gone into Arlington General just before dinner to have my four-week pregnancy check-up with Dr. Lemon. Came out of it starving. Picked up a burger on the way home. Was so hungry, I had to pull over to eat it in my car. When I got back, I’d found Josh’s note beneath the door. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t trust anyone.
My heart skipped a beat. Josh’s note hadn’t said anything about a brother. I could half-remember him mentioning a few siblings at one point, but no names. Nothing to go off of that could confirm for me that this Harper King person was anything more than a clever pseudonym. Someone pretending to have been close to Josh so he could figure out what else Josh had known—and who else he had told.
“If there was a call, I must have missed it,” I told the man—which technically, wasn’t a lie. Now that I thought about it, there had been a call to my phone that night. But after reading Josh’s note, I hadn’t felt like answering it—or anything else, for that matter. That note had left me scared to the point of a panic attack.
When Josh’s murder had shown up on the news the next morning, I knew I’d been right to be afraid.
“That’s…dammit.” Harper—if that was even his real name—sounded genuinely disappointed at the lack of information. Not like some hired thug who’d failed to dig up the dirt he’d been looking for. No, he sounded like a man who’d lost a brother. A man who was doing anything he could to put the pieces together so he could find some kind of explanation as to why.
“I’m sorry, Mr. King. Really, I am.”
“Please—call me Harper. Haven’t heard the phrase Mr. King since my dad died.” There was a long pause, then: “Would you be willing to meet with me? I don’t mean to be a bother, it’s just, there are so few leads on this case, and if you could give me anything at all…”
“I don’t think I have anything to give you,” I told him. That time, it was an outright lie.
“You were likely the last person Josh contacted, Mister… Sorry. I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t give it to you.”
Another pause, then a short laugh. “Yeah. All right. That’s fair. These a
re tense times—I get that. But you weren’t keyed in as a contact in Josh’s phone. He obviously had your number memorized. Maybe you two were…”
“What? Lovers?” It was my turn to laugh. Joshua King had been handsome, sure. I’d even had a little crush on him for a bit—that soft brown hair and those charming green eyes of his could’ve brought just about anyone to their knees. “I was sorry to hear about Josh’s death as anyone, Mr. King.”
“Harper.”
“Harper.” I ran my tongue over my lips. “But our relationship was strictly professional. I can assure you of that much.”
“But you admit, you two had a relationship.”
I could hear the triumph in his voice as he said it. As soon as the words came out, I knew I’d been caught.
“I…am I a suspect in this?” I asked, changing the subject as fast as I could. Until I knew who this man was—until I could prove that he was really Josh’s brother, and really had only good intentions in mind—discussing things with him any further was dangerous. Over the phone or otherwise.
“’Course not. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this whole mess. Figure out who—how—why—”
“The police might be able to help with that,” I pointed out. “Have you spoken to them yet?”
“Have you?” he asked, a tinge of challenge in his voice.
Don’t trust anyone. Not even the police—this goes deeper than either of us ever imagined. Josh’s words rang true in my head again.
“Of course not,” I told him.
“Yeah? Good. I think that might be a good thing.” Harper sighed. “Look, I get that you’re scared. I had to bury my little brother yesterday. The police…they’ve been no help, either through incompetence or intentionally. These are scary times. I know that as well as anyone. But if there’s anything you can give me—anything at all—”
I held my breath, closing my eyes and letting my mind race through possibilities. Either Harper King was exactly who he said he was, and when he got here, he could prove it—or he wasn’t, and he couldn’t. In that case, I could have 911 ready to dial—and a tire iron in my hand to fend him off when he finally got here.
He said the police hadn’t been any help. Josh’s note corroborated that story. If Harper was really Josh’s brother, I couldn’t turn my back on him. Not after everything Josh had tried to do for me.
Not after I’d missed that last call from Josh—the call that might’ve saved Josh’s life if I’d actually answered it.
“Okay,” I relented. “Okay, I’ll meet with you. Just today. Just for…just for Josh. Do you have a pen and paper ready?”
“Always.”
I gave Harper my address, hoping that I wasn’t making a huge mistake. When I heard the knock on my door twenty minutes later, my heart skipped another beat.
If this was a mistake, it very well might be my last.
“Yes?” I popped the door open, leaving the chain lock in place. Through it, I could just barely make out the black of a leather jacket. The gold of a belt buckle. A broad-shouldered figure wearing them, taller than me by five inches or more.
“Harper King. We spoke on the phone?”
My mouth went dry. There was that voice again—the sound of smoked whiskey served warm and neat.
“Do you have an ID or something I can see?” I asked through the crack in the door. “Driver’s license, passport…”
“Do I look like I’m under eighteen or something?” There was a smirk in the man’s voice.
Under any other circumstance, I might’ve even found that funny.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “I know I must seem paranoid, but—”
“Nah. I get it. Believe me.” Reaching into his pocket, the man produced a driver’s license. The picture on it alone told me that his story must’ve been true. Harper King. Six feet, four inches. Born July 18th. He was thirty-seven and the spitting image of Joshua. If Josh had made it to that age, I could entirely imagine him looking exactly like the face on Harper King’s ID.
“Okay,” I said with a nod, undoing the chain and opening the door. “I believe you. Sorry about that—and, ah. Thanks.”
As I handed the license back to Harper, I looked up to meet his eyes. Green flecked with gold. Just like Josh’s had been. But there was something more relaxed in Harper’s gaze than I’d ever seen in Josh’s. Something more…casually domineering. Friendly, but stern.
I blinked, feeling my heart skipping beats for a whole new set of reasons as Harper took his license from me, replacing it in his wallet before reaching out a hand for me to shake.
“Nice to finally meet you…”
“Nick,” I blurted out, leveling my hand toward his. I hesitated for a moment before I placed my palm in his fingers, feeling his calluses against my skin as he squeezed firm and shook twice. “Nick Paulson.”
“Mind if I…?” Harper nodded toward the living room behind me, not letting go of me yet.
Suddenly, my palm was sweatier than I’d ever felt it. I pulled it away as quick as I could, then backed up so Harper could enter.
“Of course. Come on in.”
5
Harper
I wasn’t the kind of Alpha who was unaccustomed to being around handsome Omegas. My line of work had involved rubbing elbows with bona fide celebrities at points, especially when I’d been Black-Wolfe’s man. In the PI business, it had been much of the same. Attractive people tended to attract more than just attention. Where shapely legs and good looks led, trouble often followed.
But there were handsome Omegas, and then there was him. Clad in a pair of sweats and a comfy sweater UCLA that kept out the chill as he closed the door, he might as well have been wearing Armani or Versace. Model good looks hid just beneath the thick, dark frames of his glasses. At first glance, he was a computer nerd—one of those tech guys who’d found a startup in Silicon Valley in a few years and make a killing off of it. But with a second glance, I saw the way he glowed. An Omega’s build, but still tall enough he could’ve walked the runway if he’d been inclined. Cheekbones, chiseled jawline, soft lips and an elegant nose—like something out of a Calvin Klein ad.
Hell. If Joshua hadn’t been dating this guy, then it certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying. If this had been Miami—or anywhere other than the site of my ongoing investigation into my youngest brother’s murder—I would’ve asked him out for a drink at the very least.
Unfortunately for me, this wasn’t Miami. The only questions I had to ask of Nick Paulson were the furthest thing from cheesy pickup lines.
“Nice place.” I strolled in, looking around Nick’s living room and whistling lowly. He had taste to spare—and enough money to fund it. Flat-screen mounted expertly on one wall. Surround sound set up and a plush brown suede couch to watch it on. Green cashmere throw draped over the leather armchair in the corner. Accent pillows in earthy tones. The coffee table was stainless steel and reclaimed driftwood. The art print on the wall, abstract but moving.
The place was homey and cozy, but high-end. Classy. He had books on display on the shelf over the fireplace—old sci-fi, Heinlein and Asimov—instead of DVDs. Potted plants instead of kitschy knickknacks.
“It had better be.” Nick laughed, more for punctuation than genuine amusement. “I’ll still be paying off the mortgage on it for the next ten years or so.”
Tasteful—and a homeowner to boot. I stared at him for a moment, guessing his age. “So you’ll be, what? Thirty-five by then?”
“Close. Thirty-seven.” Nick placed himself on the couch, moving with the same care of a man who’d recently broken a bone—though a quick scan of the place didn’t reveal any crutches or arm slings. “So. You had questions for me?”
“A few, yeah. Don’t want to take up more of your day than I have to.” That was a lie. Looking the way he did, I would’ve been more than happy to take up his whole day plus some. But this wasn’t a social call, I reminded myself. This was an investigation. “Josh come around here much? Be
fore…”
“No,” Nick said, cutting me off before I had to go reminding us both of the way my brother had bled out in an alleyway. Alone. “A couple of times, sure, but nothing frequent. Like I said, we had a professional relationship.”
“What kind?” I eyed his glasses again. “You some kind of…editor?”
“I work in data,” Nick revealed. “Grammar and punctuation were exclusively a Josh thing. I’m more of a numbers guy. He interviewed me once for a story he was trying to put together.”
“Just the one meeting, then.”
“Several, actually. The work that I do…I see patterns in things, you know? Keywords, online buzz—you can get a real sense of the state of the world we live in if you know what hashtags to comb. Search terms to keep an eye on.”
“You were helping him on his story,” I guessed.
“As much as I could. The leads he was following, I was already collecting data on.”
“For your work?”
“Personal interest,” Nick admitted. “I had, ah. Skin in the game already, I guess you’d say. We were partners in it for a little while—but then, I don’t know. Something happened. Josh started getting a little distant. Keeping me out of the loop.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the tension that had been building in my muscles there ever since I’d gotten the call to come ID Josh’s body. Something happened. That was never a good sign. And if Nick had stakes in Josh’s story too…
“This is for that birth control thing, then.”
Nick nodded, the color draining from his face a little. “That’s the one.”
“Still remember when the recall hit the news. I’m an Alpha, of course. Didn’t affect me, but—”
“Your boyfriend?”
I shook my head. “I tend to fly solo. But friends of mine, sure. Couple of Omegas I know ended up in a bad way because of it. That heat they went into after they took those pills… One of them’s going to end up a daddy by summer because of it. Can hardly imagine…”