Big Bad Becker: (An Outlier Prophecies Novella) (The Outlier Prophecies)

by Tina Gower

  The guy scraped the calluses on his fingers along his arms, his chest rolling forward as if he was remembering his big body shoved in that small airplane seat.

  “So you took her wings to remind her never to fly away again.”

  The guy’s attention snapped to Ian. “That’s not why.” But he shrunk into himself again, perhaps realizing that it was exactly what he'd done. “It happened so quickly. I didn’t have her mother’s address. She told me to wait and she’d come to me. I waited for hours, pacing off the steam. Then she starts in with the bad news once she’s here. She liked me, but…you know, that but.

  "That’s when I stopped listening. Stopped being able to rationalize. She couldn’t find a job in Montana, she wanted to move home. I lost it. She couldn’t leave me. I needed skin. Badly. Then it was like my brainstem took over. It was like drowning. I was thrashing around, trying to get to the surface. And the city. The lights. The noise. That metallic smell. You know what it's like.”

  Ian didn’t know. Wolves didn’t usually like cities, but Ian had been practically raised in one. His dads enjoyed weekends at baseball games, fighting the traffic, museums, restaurants, Time Square. So he'd adapted. When he was a kid, Tony had noticed that loud sounds made Ian skittish, so he’d let him wear noise-cancelling headphones. They pretended he really liked music, but it would really be the soothing sounds of rain through the speakers. Drew would pick Ian up and hold him tight when people got too close. After a while, he’d learned to filter out the sounds, bodies, and smells.

  But he knew the panic. The never-reaching-the-surface drowning feeling. He’d gotten the same crippling thoughts when Kate mentioned him finding a new pack.

  “What stopped you?” Ian asked.

  “What?”

  “You could have gutted her. What stopped you?”

  His eyes went big, then confused. “I don’t know. She screamed, and I suddenly thought I would kill the person who’d hurt her. But it was me. I'd done it. I held her down to stop her struggling and I think it worked. Her being close to me. I got what I needed. It calmed me.”

  Ian shivered. Gods, it was sick.

  “If we’d done that first. She knows how werewolves are. The older we get, the more set in our routines. If she’d just have let me…”

  Ian gripped his thigh. Fuck. “She’s not responsible for you.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts. Shut up.”

  “Hey man, you know how it is—”

  “I said shut up.”

  The guy threaded his fingers through the mesh of the backseat cage. “What’s your problem? I’m sorry, okay. I’m the one who asked you to cuff me. Remember? She knows my first instinct is to protect her.”

  “You’ve done a shitty job.”

  “I wasn’t myself. I stopped.”

  “Because someone called the police. And hearing that was enough to jerk you out of it.” If he’d been as far gone as he said, even that threat might not have been enough to stop him. Too many witnesses. But that was Ian’s cynical side.

  Gods, he knew the tempest of emotion he fought minute to minute. But he didn’t want to give this guy an inch. He didn’t want to justify anything this guy had done.

  Lipski marched over from the tangled knot of police, opened the door, and slid into the driver's seat. “Ready for your free ride and complimentary stay in our wonderful jail, courtesy of Angel’s Peak taxpayers?” He started up the cruiser.

  The guy punched the cage. “She’s not pressing charges. I heard her. You have to let me go.”

  “Did you now?” Lipski held up the tablet. “But you’re a repeat offender.”

  Ian’s muscles tensed at the news.

  “They were all misunderstandings. I can explain. The local cops are hard on shifters.”

  “We need to hold you until we get all the evidence.”

  “But I heard her. I asked you to cuff me. I cooperated.” He punched the cage again and again.

  Lipski snorted. “I have no idea what you thought you heard. I heard something different from Myra. She says someone attacked her. Besides, werewolf super-hearing isn’t admissible in court. Goes both ways. I’ve got to hold the suspect she points out as the potential attacker. Not sorry.”

  “Pig.” The guy spat the insult like he’d taken a bite of something rotten.

  Lipski shot the man a look of pity in the rearview mirror. “Gremlin-troll, actually, but I can see how you might have gotten confused.”

  Ian rolled down the window. The smell of Myra’s blood coming off Garret’s mouth was too much. And this guy was barely enough wolf to need pack. What if Ian got to this point some day? What if he became uncontrollable, unpredictable?

  He'd gotten close. Hells, he’d gone over the edge. It was only Lipski’s quick thinking—knocking him out with a tranquilizer and calling his dads—that had saved him from doing something really stupid. But Lipski wouldn’t always be around.

  The guy, Garret, growled in the backseat, his eyes glowing gold again as he blew air out his nose.

  Lipski tuned the radio to a classical opera station. “Maybe that will settle you.” He sang along in terrible Italian. Ian grimaced. Lipski shrugged. “What? Angela likes the classics.”

  “It’s horrible.”

  “It’s art.” Lipski waved his hand in the air with a delicate flourish. His mouth tipped into a grin when he caught the annoyed look on Ian’s face.

  Ian shook his head and hung his head slightly out the window, ignoring the raging wolf in the backseat. His chest expanded, bringing in air.

  And a scent hit him hard.

  His gut recognized it first, turned and flopped and sank inward. His core curled into itself, his shoulders rounded in preparation for a fight. It was the guy who’d been snooping at Kate’s. He was somewhere close.

  “Stop the car.” Ian’s voice came out deep and low. He barely recognized himself. “Stop.”

  “Beck. I can’t—” His partner turned toward him and his eyes grew wide. “Shit. Ian.” He slammed on the breaks.

  Ian yanked the door open.

  Lipski called out after him. “Ian, you can’t go out like that. Calm down. Take a minute. At least tell me what the fuck this is about. Is it the opera? I thought you could handle some teasing. You were doing so good the last few weeks—”

  “It’s not the fucking opera.” Ian’s eyes must have been glowing bright gold. He could see the reflection off the car paint. “You can dance at the ballet for all I care.” Ian closed his eyes and took another whiff, catching another faint trace of the man. “I got something I have to do.”

  Another call cackled from Lipski’s radio. A breaking and entering three blocks away.

  “You should get that.”

  “I can’t. I’ve got to deliver this wolf to the jail. You were supposed to help me.” Hank crossed his arms.

  Ian shook his head. “I’m not on duty.”

  “Seriously? The guy who never stops working decides to take a vacation? Asking for day shifts? Sleeping away from the break room? What the hells is going on with you?”

  Ian’s gaze flickered to the wolf in the back of the squad car. “You can handle that wolf on your own. You know them better than I do.”

  “You’re going to throw my own words in my face?” Lipski's face contorted into scowl. “Come on. Tell me what you’re up to, so I know I don’t have to worry about knocking you out again.”

  “You don’t have to worry.” Ian sniffed. There. Right there. He jogged in the direction it came from. “I promise.”

  “The B and E is over there.” Lipski flung his hands the direction of the call. “Why don’t you handle that on the way to your errand.”

  Ian cursed. He wanted to tell Lipski what he could do with his scheduling demands, but the crunch of the tires as the car pulled away let him know he wouldn't need to bother. Good.

  He ran faster, trying to catch the scent before it disappeared like it had last night. How had the guy done it? Magic? Bu
t he hadn’t smelled any magic. A few creatures could pull that kind of trick without it, though, so it wasn't like he could narrow down the potential suspects.

  A few more blocks of houses at full run and he recognized the cookie-cutter architecture and stucco siding of the neighborhood he'd driven through earlier. The place where Kate said something fishy was going on was down the street. He still didn’t have a warrant, but with a broken window and a concerned neighbor, he had the probable cause he needed to leap into the house if he wanted.

  But only an idiot would do that without circling the perimeter and checking to see if there were any threats inside. Ian straightened his vest, thankful for its thick protective weight. But without a helmet and the rest of the necessary gear, not to mention backup, he'd need to be cautious. Gods, would he have been able to think this clearly without having so many pack sessions the last few weeks? Even though he’d been drained from the domestic violence call, he still had the energy to deal with this and not let the panic of a potential threat to Kate overwhelm him.

  There. The scent again. He let it fill his nostrils. As it became stronger, he could catch the path the person it belonged to had traveled. It was like a trail of smells had been seared into his olfactory by the adrenaline, leading him away from the house.

  He crept forward, letting the smells tell him what direction to go.

  And cursed when red and blue lights cut through the darkness, reflecting off every window. Shit. The B and E. He backed away slowly, blending into the shadows. Morales and his partner Leaf were taping off the area. If Ian walked through the center of it they’d want his help. But he needed to go through them to follow the trail. He sucked in a breath, took a slow step forward.

  Morales noticed Ian instantly, as if he were wearing bells. “Officer Becker! Thank gods. Did you get the call? We could use you.”

  “I did.” Ian scanned the scene as if he cared. “Lipski dropped me off.”

  Leaf scratched at his slightly pointed ear, the guy had heavy amounts of Elvish DNA, and the high-and-mighty attitude to match. Leaf wrapped yellow tape around a tree and kept unrolling, his eyes fixed on the perimeter. “Always got your paws in every case.” He said in a low, unenthusiastic tone.

  Ian bristled at the backhanded compliment. He fingered the yellow tape. “Mind if I?”

  “No. Go ahead.” Morales waved him in. “Tell us what you get.”

  “Thanks.” He ducked under the crime scene barrier, picking up the scent again. But not as strong. The trail had already started to dissipate. He furrowed his brows, annoyed.

  “…Kid keeps me up all hours.”

  Morales had followed him inside and was chatting to his left. Ian shook his head. “I’m sorry—” He meant about not paying attention, but Morales gave him a pat on the back and a friendly smile.

  He patted again. “No, man. No need to be sorry. The little squirt is adorable. I’m glad you were able to take a few of those early shifts for me. Any time I can return the favor, let me know. Maybe not in the next six months…”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Ian turned away, clenching his fists. He'd lost the trail completely this time.

  “But I’ve got a shift coming up this weekend, and the wife was hoping we could get to the beach for a little while. If I didn’t have that shift…”

  Ian squinted into the dark, seeing some movement. A cat? “It’s fine. I’ll take it.”

  “Oh, man, that’s…thanks so much. I don’t know how to repay you—”

  “Don’t…” worry. He nearly repeated his earlier words, but his gaze caught a rustle of moment as a shadowy figure climbed over a fence two houses down. “Shit.”

  He tore off after the guy.

  “Ian? What’s wrong, man? If you can’t take the shift, maybe I can…”

  “I’m in pursuit of the suspect,” Ian yelled it over the pounding of his heart, but he had no way of knowing if Morales heard. He didn’t want to lose the scent.

  Ian lunged over the first fence, sliding down hard and getting a splinter lodged into his palm. “Fuck!” He shook out the pain. It burned and throbbed with little zings of nerve jabs.

  He reached for his radio to call for backup, but his fingers tapped against his vest. Right. He didn’t have a radio because he wasn’t working a shift. If it hadn’t been for the whole Kate thing—his choosing to spend any extra time with her at her apartment or finding excuses to linger around the Accidental offices—he probably would have been. He was naked without his radio.

  He ground his teeth against each other and pumped his legs faster, pressed his boot against the next fence post and used his momentum to hoist himself over. The scent was much stronger now—the unmistakable juniper and brine he’d smelled at Kate’s apartment. The weird precision breathing pattern as if he were synchronizing it with a group and had to get it just right. The guy twisted his face around and—yep. It was the guy from Kate’s place. Ian hoped he was enjoying his last breaths of air, because he was a dead man running.

  Ian launched himself forward as the guy scrambled over the next fence and slammed into his back, wrapping one arm around the guy’s neck, his elbow bent and locked. Squeezed.

  “Mother fucker,” Ian bit out, his spit splattering all over the guy’s pale, baby-smooth face. “Why were you at her apartment? What the hells do you want?”

  The dude reached around, his fingers prying at Ian’s arm, but he was too weak to accomplish anything. Air wheezed out of his lungs like an untied latex balloon, stretched and slowly deflating.

  Ian gripped one of his fingers, unbent it, pulling it back on itself until a satisfying crunch vibrated against his palm. “Oops. You didn’t need that, did you? I swear to every god, I will break each and every one until you confess.” He knocked the guy’s body against a tree. Once. Twice. The guy fell like a sack of potatoes, and Ian cuffed his wrist to the fence.

  The porch light came on. “Oh my Gods!” A woman stood at her sliding glass door, owl-eyed and blinking.

  Ian dug into his pocket for his badge and held it up. “Police. Please go back inside, ma’am, and lock your doors.”

  She fumbled for her lock and snapped the curtain back into place, but left the porch light on. It shone in Ian’s eyes like a spotlight. Pain jabbed him right behind his eyeballs.

  He covered his face, waiting for his night vision to adjust to the flood of lights. “Damn it.” He went for his phone, wishing Morales had enhanced hearing. The guy would have followed, but Ian was afraid he’d lost him in the maze of backyards. It was shitty and inconvenient that most other officers at Angel’s Peak Police Department, except Ian and Hank, could talk long distance without a phone. Not that it would do any good with the pollution of sirens and night sounds, making it difficult to tease out anything of importance.

  He dialed dispatch, not waiting for their intro spiel. “Officer Becker here. I need backup—”

  He heard the shadow before he saw it. A light thud on the soft grass behind him. Morales? No—didn’t smell right. It didn’t smell at all. He spun around, furrowing his eyebrows as a man who looked similar to the one he’d just taken out met him in two steps. He jogged backward, reaching for his gun, and tossing his phone to the ground as it continued to connect to dispatch. “Hands where I can see them.”

  He glanced at the other man, still cuffed to the post. He could hear Morales calling for him in the distance. “Stop. On the ground now. Get back,” he hollered, hoping Morales would hear him.

  The man raised a long metal pipe and with a perfect, practiced swing he whacked Ian right across the face.

  And that was the last thing he remembered.

  Chapter 9

  The concussion benched Ian for three to seven days, per the doctor’s note. If it had been up to him, he’d have spent those days snuggled next to Kate. Pack would have healed him faster than he could have on his own. Lipski’s frequent visits were no substitute. Yet, even when he dragged his heavily drugged body to Kate’s apartment, he didn’t have t
he guts to go in. Or the coordination to climb, apparently. He’d tried and landed on his ass, so he took that as a sign that he shouldn’t. Remembering what they told him at the clinic about repeated injury causing seizures or something, he decided to just keep watch hidden in her parking lot.

  In the morning, she’d leave for work and he’d make the long trek back to his place on foot. ‘Cause doctor’s orders, he couldn’t drive, so Lipski had taken his keys. Probably smart, since Ian never followed rules.

  Blurry vision, confusion, splitting headache, throbbing eye socket where the lead pipe had left a shiner—he was lucky he made it back each morning.

  He tossed his house key into the bowl by the door.

  “Where the fuck have you been?”

  Ian grabbed his head, as Lipski’s voice ricocheted off his skull. “Hells. Do you mind?”

  “I do mind. When I come check on you, I expect you to be in your bed resting.”

  “I went for a walk.”

  Lipski crossed his arms and pinned him with a glare. “All night?”

  Ian punched his palm down on his counter, instantly regretting the throb in his temple that followed. “Gods, did you have me followed?”

  “I can’t believe you’d do anything that would jeopardize your recovery. No, wait. I can. But I expected you to show up for shifts, not wander the streets on the other side of the city. Where are you going?”

  He shrugged out his coat. “Nowhere. I just need to think.”

  Lipski let out a long breath. “Whatever. Anyway, here’s the report on that case for Accidental. When the warrant came in, we found electronics lifted from three different shipments that had gone missing in Canada. Nobody was looking this far south for them, so there you go. You’re a hero for some tech company. Sign here and here.” He tossed the file on his kitchen table.