Page 44 of Captive Omega

“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.

---