Page 18 of Alpha Rising (Secrets of the Northland Shifters)

“That’s not a good way to start.”

I let out a breath. “Just listen to me without reacting. Then we can talk about it in more detail once I’m done.”

He shifted restlessly and pulled me closer to him, making a protective cage around me with his strong arms.

For a second, I reveled in that sense of security, even knowing no pair of arms could protect me if DaBruzzi’s men came calling.

“I used to work for a patent attorney.”

“I know. You told me that before.”

“Right. Well, the office was on the edge of downtown Chicago. Not in a bad part of the city, but not in a fancy high-rise office suite either.”

He didn’t interject, but I could sense the mountain lion crouching low inside his skin, watching me carefully, assessing my ever move.

“I was sick one week. Nothing serious. Touch of the flu. But it put me behind, so I got approved for overtime and I stayed late one night to catch up on the work I’d missed.”

Reese’s arms tightened becoming immovable iron bars.

“Time got away from me, and it was after midnight by the time I closed up shop.” I laughed a little, nervously, remembering how dark it was. “Anyway…the parking lot I used was a couple blocks away from the office. It was an open lot, not a garage, and I had to pass an alleyway that was behind a dry cleaners.”

By now, energy was rolling off Reese in waves. He thought he knew where this story was going, so I corrected him quickly. “No one hurt me.”

“Then what happened?”

“I saw something I wasn’t meant to see.” My skin prickled at the memory.

“Tell me.”

“Men. Loading women into the back of truck. Not a pickup truck. A…the kind with a back gate that rolls down and is secured with a padlock.”

“Human traffickers.”

I nodded.

“And they saw you watching?”

“One of them did. But by then I was getting into my car.”

“Did they follow you?”

I shook my head. “They couldn’t. Then I contacted the police.”

“Good for you.”

“I told them what I saw. And I had the truck’s license plate, too. They found the truck not too far from the city, but by then, the people in the back were gone.”

The corners of Reese’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“The dry cleaning business was a frontfor something else, obviously. The FBI tracked the business and the truck back to a man named Carmine DaBruzzi.”

“DaBruzzi,” Reese said. “I read about this case in the paper.”

“It’s getting national attention. The FBI have been on him for a while. They’ve been building a circumstantial case for a few years, but this is the closet they’ve got to putting him away, and I’m the only witness to the people being put in the back of the truck.”

I could see the comprehension dawning in his eyes.

“John Riordan,” I said, “the man you overheard me talking to on the phone a few weeks ago, isU.S. Deputy MarshalJohn Riordan. He’s the one who first put me in a safe house, then trained me and arranged for my employment in Evergreen.”

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