Page 45 of Captive Omega

Again, he lifts the folder. “This is an NDA. All of my staff sign it, and I enforce it. We deal with people’s lives, learn personal, vulnerable things that they trust us to keep to ourselves. Sometimes working two cases is helpful. Gives you time to mull over one while working on another. So, if you get tired with your Dexter Pieter case, maybe you can help with this one.”

My Dexter Pieter case?

Why does that make it sound like I’m some kind of detective, and why do I get a thrill at the thought of having a case?

Before Garrison, Vaughn, and Frost left to talk over another case, Vaughn said he’d help me again. So did Frost, but I’m aware that I’m not their priority here. They likely have a workload that doesn’t involve tracking down the most important man in the city just so I can talk to him.

I’m curious despite myself. “What case is it?”

As if I know the first thing about cracking cases.

He leans into the room and I tense, preparing to stab as he tosses the folder on the table before retreating. “Sign it and we can talk.”

I eye the folder, pondering the possibility of signing my life away because I was too lazy to read the small print. Because the last time I read a contract all the way through? Never happened. Not even once.

“And Resa?”

I pull my gaze from the file and meet his hazel eyes.

His expression is so serious I instantly brace myself for what’s coming. “If there’s something you don’t understand or need clarification, you can ask any of us, or research it yourself. Your choice. There are a lot of things I let slide, but this is not one of those things. Don’t sign anything unless you know what you’re signing.”

Is he a mind reader?

Then he leaves.

I look at the thin gray folder. My fingers prickle as I stare, desperate to know what it contains. He said an NDA, but maybe there’s stuff about the case he forgot to take out.

No, Resa. You’re here for one thing. Not that. Leave it alone. Focus on your thing.

I turn back to the computer where I spend another thirty frustrating minutes stabbing at the keyboard and getting hung up by everyone I call as soon as I say I want to speak to the man in charge.

It all goes the same way, no matter how nice, friendly, and polite I am. We reach the point in the conversation when I have to actually say why I called.

“I’d like to speak with Dexter?—”

Click.

Suddenly, I’m listening to a dial tone.

Every. Single. Time.

I return my new cell phone to my pocket and stare at the computer. Now what, Resa? When I start thinking that shaking the monitor will lead to answers falling out of it, I realize I might need a break.

I push myself out of my seat and hobble over to the file.

If Sadie knew how much walking I was doing… yeah, she wouldn’t be pleased.

The contract isn’t long. Only two sheets, and the language is surprisingly easy to understand. No big words threaten to send me to sleep or make my eyes glaze over. Annoyingly, there’s not a hint of information about the case he was talking about, and I hoped there would be something.

He’s already signed it. Garrison Brewster.

Brewster?

“So where the hell is the Lucas from?” I mutter.

I’d assumed Lucas Security meant Garrison was Garrison Lucas. He’s clearly the one in charge here. What guy wouldn’t want to name his business or his pack after himself? Especially an alpha?

Evidently not this one.

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