Page 59 of Faith and Fury

“We’ll sweep the block,” Caleb says, “call me if you run into any trouble.”

Maverick shoots me a wink before getting to work. His new assistant, Delia, is already swabbing the manhole for samples—a stoic, no-nonsense alpha whose company suits me just fine.

Caleb at my side, we walk the street. The sky has mellowed out into dusk, which means more foot traffic—office workers clocking out for the day. I check one face after the next, searching for anything, anyone, familiar.

Though the people we’re after don’t exactly hold nine-to-fives.

The sidewalk narrows. It’s easy enough for Caleb to carve out a path—no-one’s stupid enough to get in his way—but I’m not so lucky, as an alpha in a fancy suit knocks onto me.

“Sorry,” he says blandly.

I bare my teeth—habit, really—assuming that’ll be the end of it.

Until a big, angry hand grabs his shoulder.

I snap up to see Caleb, his expression black as night, glaring daggers down at the alpha. “Again. Like you mean it,” he rumbles.

The alpha nearly drops his briefcase. He blurts out a more sincere apology.

Sneering, Caleb lets him go.

I don’t even watch the alpha scurry off, sucked into Caleb’s aura—crackling like a bonfire. He smells of smoke and kindling, making my omega dizzy.

“Here,” he grunts, shrugging his jacket off and draping it over my shoulders. “Put this on.”

Numbly, I do as I’m told.

My inner omega purrs incessantly. Normally she hates being given orders, but if he’s going to keep protecting me, showing the world what I’m worth … then maybe I’m okay with it now and again.

We check out the local bars in case there are any bookies are on the prowl. Caleb sneaks me expectant sideways looks, but no-one stands out.

God, could I be any more useless?

“C’mon,” he says, “time to regroup.”

Keeping my head down, not wanting him to scent my shame, I follow Caleb back to the manhole.

We find Maverick basically squaring up with some alpha in maintenance overalls. Delia hovers behind him, her eyes brightening with relief when she sees Caleb.

“I don’t care who you work for—you’re not going down here,” the maintenance worker snaps.

“And I told you,” Maverick returns, “‘careful’ is my middle name.”

“That ladder is non-functional. Being careful isn’t gonna stop you from breaking your neck.”

Caleb intervenes—“Non-functional?”

The maintenance worker puffs his chest out. “Now who the hell are you?”

Caleb whips out his ID. “RDF. I’m guessing my colleague here didn’t think to show you a badge.” He shoots Maverick a meaningful look.

Maverick grins sheepishly, pulling out his ID, and Delia follows suit.

Finally, the maintenance workers takes it down a notch. “Right. Fine. Well, like I said, there’s no getting down this way. Ladder’s rusted.”

“When’s it getting replaced?” Caleb asks.

“Maybe soon. Maybe later. You know how it is.”

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