Page 39 of Pack Deception: Part Two

Seventeen

Summer

Something wet nudges my face;I swat it away. But it does it again, harder this time, and followed by a low whine. Over and over, the nudges don’t stop until finally I let out a loud, frustrated sigh and sit up in my nest.

Shortly after dinner was over, the rest of the pack wanted to continue the celebration. They opened a bottle of tequila to take some shots, and I politely excused myself. All of them tried to object, to get me to stay with them and let loose. But I feigned feeling sick after dinner and went to bed early. What I didn’t say is that I had already spent too much time drowning in self-pity, drowning outtheirvoices with tequila. It became a crutch–bordering on addiction if I’m being honest with myself–so I decided not to use it anymore.

Which means no tequila parties with my mates.

They all stayed downstairs while I came up to bed. All of them tried to follow me, to say that they didn’t need to drink, but I insisted they celebrate Mason and took Nala to bed with me. Nala, who is currently whimpering at the foot of the nest, turning in circles fast and darting to the closed door and back to me.

Well, now I feel a little bad for being frustrated with her. Poor girl needs to use the bathroom. I glance around the nest to see it’s empty. Nobody came to join me after their night, it seems. I was so sure at least one of them would.

I find out why a few minutes later when I follow a sprinting Nala downstairs to the front door. All four of my mates are passed out on the couches in the living room. Brooklyn on the smallest one, Hudson taking up one by himself, and Maverick and Mason fighting for space on the couch across from Hudson’s. I try not to laugh at the open-mouthed snores coming fromall of themor the dozens of beer bottles they must have gotten into after finishing off the tequila.

“That’s why they didn’t make it to bed, huh, girl?” I whisper to Nala, who is standing at the front door, waiting impatiently for me. “Okay, okay. Let’s go.”

I open the front door and let her run into the yard. The whole place is gated, so there’s no danger of her running off into the road. Not that I think she would, anyway. I step outside with her, out onto the sidewalk, not wanting to go into the dewing morning grass. It’s still a little dark out, but the blue-black sky is fading as the gray and pink of sunrise becomes visible. Too early to be awake. Especially for a Sunday.

Even so, I can’t resist her when Nala comes trotting back up to me after using the bathroom, a stick clutched between her teeth. “Oh, alright. But only a few. It’s cold,” I say sternly, cock my arm back, and put all my power behind my throw. A retired police dog surely doesn’t tire easily, so I have to wear her out.

Too bad I’ve never been the most athletic omega in town. The stick makes it further than I thought it would, but she’s got it back to me within seconds; her entire back end is wagging left to right this time, ready for my next throw.

I oblige; the stick going a little further this time. But when she goes to retrieve it, something must catch her attention at the gate down by the road because all of a sudden, the hair on the back of her neck is sticking straight up, and she’s sprinting toward the gate, barking like mad. “Nala!” I yell, trying to call her back. “Nala, come.” She ignores me and makes it to the road, where she runs along a ten-foot area of the gate, snarling and growling at something.

“Dammit,” I huff, and then run through the grass after her. The dew seeps through my socks, but at least the morning chill is easier to bear as my body heats up at the exercise. When I make it halfway, a black SUV pulls out of a spot in front of the entrance to our drive and takes off.

I stop dead in my tracks as a shiver that has nothing to do with the weather spider walks up my spine.

Nala has stopped barking now that the car is out of sight and ambles back to my side.

“Who was that, Nala?” She stares up at me, no longer running for her stick. “Yeah, let's get back inside.”

The feeling like I’m being watched hits me on our walk back up, and I jerk my head back to the street. But there’s nothing there. Still, I jog the rest of the way to the pack house, locking the front door behind us. I slip a little in my wet socks as I hit the tiled entryway. But I don’t walk back up to my nest. Instead, I beeline for the door that leads to the basement. Where Wells will be. Him and Damien and Houston. It’s still early, so Houston won’t be awake for his shift. It’ll be Damien on the clock.

I knock on the basement wall as I walk down the stairs in case any of them are indecent. “Hello?” I call down, walking slowly until I hear a deep voice call back.

“Come on down, Summer.” Damien, definitely not Wells’ voice. I jog the rest of the way down the steps.

The basement is set up like a separate living space. There’s a small bar area off to the right with a mini fridge behind it. Directly in front of the stairs and off to the left is a living room. A small sectional couch in the center faces a TV, and against the far wall is where Damien sits in a swivel chair. He spins away from the dual monitor setup to look at me, and before I open my mouth, Wells pops up from the sectional, looking around bleary-eyed, clearly having just woken up.

“Hey, what are you doing down here?” Wells mumbles, rubbing his eyes with closed fists.

“Oh, um. Well, I was just outside with Nala,” I start.

“I know. I was watching you on the monitor.” Damien jerks his head behind him, where there are indeed several outside cameras loaded on the screen. But when I look, I notice they only reach as far as the gate. Not the road, so they wouldn’t have seen any cars take off.

“Oh. Okay.” Goddess, why do I feel so stupid all of a sudden? It was probably nothing. Just a regular car with a regular, unsuspecting neighbor who was leaving their own street parking spot.

“What’s wrong?” Wells asks, concern lacing his voice. Damien shoots him what looks like a disapproving look.

“Nala started going crazy, and then this dark car just took off from the street. I guess…well. Did we ever figure out where Jade was calling from?”Was that them?Goes unspoken, but by the look they exchange, they know that’s what I’m really asking.

“New York,” Damien says. “Houston’s guy confirmed it came from New York. We also have APBs out on all the cars registered in their names. They haven’t crossed state lines. Their cars haven’t even left New York.”

“But the car out front was a black SUV. They don’t own a black SUV. It could be a rental,” I insist.

“They’d still need to rent it in their names. We’re monitoring their credit card purchases. Nothing like that has been bought recently.”

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