Page 41 of Wild Cub

“Who’s looking into it, Miss Tessa? They people you trust?” A simple question and a loaded answer.

“Sam, Aggie, Reva, and my friend Jackson. He’s got his men surveying, I think.” Thinking that it might be wrong to call him friend, but Jeremiah doesn’t need to know the extent of my relationship with him.

“What men?” Jeremiah’s eyes grow wider. He’s hiding something and the silence speaks louder than words.

“Jackson has his crew looking into it,” I ramble off, feeling like it’s beside the point.

“What crew, Miss Tessa?”

I avert my eyes, knowing how Jeremiah will take it. “Wolves. At least that is what the patch on his jacket.”

Jeremiah stumbles back, shocked, worried, angry, all wrapped up into one expression. “Child, that is not a club you want to mess with. Why? Why?” He’s yelling now, more worked up than I’ve ever seen him. “Miss Tessa, they are bad people, not ones to trust. Don’t trust them, even if your own life depends on it.”

I’m exasperated now. “I don’t have the power, Jeremiah! People rely on me to do the impossible and the moment I get sucked in, I’m powerless. What would you have me do?”

Silence falls between us, the truth out in the open now.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Tessa. You have power, you just haven’t seen it yet.” He sinks down, as if I wounded him. “I’ll get you the evidence. Then people will see.”

He turns to walk away. “Jeremiah, please don’t. I don’t need you to get hurt or get yourself into trouble.”

“That’s the thing, Miss Tessa. People are already getting hurt.” He walks away before I can respond to him.

Everything seems to be spiraling. I’m not a detective or police, but things aren’t adding up. Someone is taking people like a plague. A million questions spiral through my head. Where are these people going? Who’s taking them and why? Is this trafficking? Why is it that people expect me to be the one to solve this? I’m one person with normal limitations.

I shake it off and continue to do what I do best: do the best I can and be content with that. I’ve worked enough to know what I can control and what I can’t. I drive home and turn off my phone for the rest of the night. My system feels overwhelmed. I have not heard from Alexander, not knowing if he found something useful or not. Sleep finds me into a dreamless sleep.

The morning comes, and I feel like a train hit me head on and left me in the dust. I turn my phone on and wait for the antics to start. Seamus sits at the end of the bed, staring at me with his head tilted, and I know damn well I’m being judged. “Let the games begin, boy.”

My phone starts to light up like the Fourth of July. I have missed three phone calls: one from Britt, one from momma, and one from Alexander. Fifteen emails, most likely junk. Ten text messages, five of which are Alexander concerned about my lack of response. I may have to come to terms with the fact that he’s overprotective, and that I unfortunately put him in a situation that requires his participation. Jeremiah’s words resonate again in my head. I guess we’ll be having a difficult conversation. “Seamus, mommy might just run away with you to an island and call it a life at this rate.” I have a feeling that tonight will be a long night.

I head into the office, thanking God that it’s Friday and I can focus on getting myself back together. The hotline is holding steady, and I say good morning to my team before heading into my office. I walk through and notice a man sitting at my desk.

“Good morning. Can I help you?” Translation: what the fuck are you doing in my seat. He’s typing away, wires popping out of places I’m sure they shouldn’t be.

“Oh. I’m sorry ma’am. They just told me to come in here. Sorry. They said I can work here.” He fumbles around his words and his movements.

“Who said?” Daggers shoot out of my eyes.

“Carla. Sheldon? I think.” He’s sweating profusely.

I beeline for Sheldon’s office. Carla stands behind Sheldon, looking at his computer. “Sheldon, a heads up would have been nice.” Is she always with him?

“Oh, Carla said she sent you an email.” Sheldon appears baffled. I may not be a fisherman but something’s fishy.

Carla, cool as a cucumber, slinks her way across the room. Scrambling for her phone to check her email and looks back at me, “I’m so sorry. I thought my email was sent.”

“Okay. Why do I have a random man sitting at my computer?”

“We got an alert that your system has been tampered with, and someone may have gotten ahold of your files and client system. We called technical support to make sure there isn’t a bug in the system. We’re still analyzing, but your computer is in quarantine. We’ll figure it out. I think you need to be more careful with your computer. Let’s hope that it wasn’t a hacker and the confidentiality of the system and folks are safe.” I can see the factitious smirk on her face.

“Okay. I appreciate the heads up.” I turn to leave, and I can hear whispers. The fear starts to ruin me.

They’re blaming me, as if I had something to do with this. I’m just as worried as they are, even more probably. My body starts to shake with the racing thoughts ofwhat if.

Returning to the hotline, I sit in a random chair and slump down. I’m tired of giving myself damn pep talks in my head. I take one step forward to get knocked five steps back. I lean over, placing my face in my palms. Someone clears their throat. I look up to see Sammie handing me a cup of coffee.

“You look like your life’s motto should be the middle finger.” I know that should make me laugh, but I just zone out, staring into nowhere. I see Sam’s mouth moving, but words fail to translate. Information overload. Sam jolts my body.

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