Page 92 of Stolen Omega

The plan’s going to work, and when she remembers us, he’ll be glad I brought him out here with us.

The three of us were made to be a pack. Fate brought us together once, and it helped pull us back together now. Nothing gets to tear us apart again. We’re not leaving the island until we’re a bonded pack.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Archer

There’s a guy in an off-white shirt smoking a cigarette out in front of the hotel. I know he’s a cop before I’m close enough to clock his holster and badge. He’s been on the job long enough to have seen some shit, and it shows in his face. I doubt anything would come as a surprise to this guy.

He gives me a once over as I stop in front of him. “You must be James Archer.”

“Got it in one. You must be the lead detective on the case.”

“Hector Pascal,” he introduces himself, with a curtsy. “Head of the celebrity crimes division.”

He looks like he hasn’t shaved in a few days, and he’s doused in cheap cologne, probably because he hasn’t had time to shower in a while. Add a sarcastic attitude on top, and I doubt Alma Ortega is going to be impressed.

He stubs out his cigarette on the side of the sleek, silver trashcan and drops it to the ground beside it.

The sidewalk in front of the luxury hotel is power-washed clean.

He knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s waiting to see how I react.

Am I loyal to those rich assholes he can’t stand having to serve?

I’m not in the mood for games, but he has no idea what my relationship is with Zelena, and I don’t intend to allow him the chance to find out.

“I’m guessing Zelena’s parents haven’t arrived yet.”

“Well, you know, it’s way more important to make sure you look perfect for the press than it is to rush straight out to speak cops and security guys when your only child goes missing in the middle of the night.”

“The press?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

He snorts. “What? You don’t know?”

Fuck. “They’ve organized a press conference?”

“Not yet, but they’re going to,” he confirms. “As soon as they’ve spoken to you.”

Right. As soon as they’ve questioned me over how I could let such a thing happen.

“Do you have any leads on the van, yet? Or Harry Castle’s car?”

He shakes his head. “We’ve got an alert out, so the old guy shouldn’t be able to get too far. His passport will be flagged if he tries to get on a flight, and we’ve got every traffic cop in the surrounding areas on the watch for his car.”

“It’s possible he has a counterfeit passport. One that could go undetected.”

“Well, now, that’s news to me. Where does an old man get a fake passport that’ll fool airport security, exactly?” He raises his eyebrows at me, waiting for the answer.

“Have you looked into his personal finances?” I ask.

He laughs. “We know a half mil went into his bank account a few days ago, if that’s what you mean. I’d be interested to know how a glorified celebrity bodyguard would know something like that.”

“I didn’t say I knew he’d taken a payment. I asked because I suspected he had.”

“And you went out to his house to look for him because of a hunch.”

He doesn’t believe me, but it doesn’t matter.

---