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“I think we’d better talk to the police,” Zalen said.
His dark eyes were haunted.
THIRTY-ONE
Mia
THE NEAREST POLICEstation was in Lafayette Square, a little more than a mile north of Soulard, across the interstate. This late at night, I’d expected it to be quiet. Instead, the lobby held more than a dozen people in various states of coherence and inebriation—all of them complaining loudly about having to wait, or not getting the help they needed, or not being taken seriously by the harried looking beta desk sergeant.
I cringed back as a wild-eyed, emaciated man with several missing teeth barged into my personal space.
“You! You can get her t’ listen t’ me!” he slurred, reaching a hand toward my face. His foul breath hit me like a toxic cloud.
Emiel grabbed him by the wrist before he could touch me, his grip like iron. “No,” he said simply, staring down at the man with what I’d come to think of as his ‘scary-blank’ expression—the dead-eyed one that promised very bad things to anyone who dared cross him.
Meanwhile, Zalen hooked an arm around my shoulders, tugging me against him. My jolt of adrenaline faded to a faint hangover of shakiness as I huddled inside his alpha aura.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “We’ve got you.”
The crazy-eyed addict gibbered apologies, trying to jerk his wrist free of Emiel’s hold. Emiel let him go, watching himunblinkingly until the man scuttled back to the far side of the room. I focused on breathing, Zalen’s tropical musk going some way toward distracting me from the prevailing smell of stale urine, vomit, and industrial cleaners.
There was a line, of sorts, among the chaos, with two people in front of us. No one else bothered me, flanked by two alphas as I was. I tapped a foot nervously, my thumb running over and over the imperfection of the cracked screen on Nat’s phone, nestled in my jacket pocket.
It was probably only twenty minutes until we got to the front desk, with its protective glass and sour-faced occupant. It felt like two hours.
“Hello. Yes,” I said quickly. “We need to report three missing persons.”
Her jaded gaze flickered over us, the unhappy lines around the corners of her mouth deepening further. Was it because I was an omega with two alphas? A relatively light-skinned woman with two Black men? Both?
I didn’t have time to be angry about it.
“How long ago did they go missing?” she asked, sounding bored.
I hesitated, looking to Zalen.
“About three hours ago,” he said.
She let out a longsuffering sigh. “So, they’re not exactlymissing, as such—now, are they? More like running late.”
I puffed up like an angry hedgehog, ready to lose my proverbial shit on this uncaring beta bitch. Emiel’s hand on my elbow stopped me.
Zalen’s spine was ramrod straight, but his voice was level and matter-of-fact as he said, “The old wives’ tale of needing to wait twenty-four hours before reporting someone missing is, as I’m sure you’re aware, just that—an old wives’ tale. Our two friends, along with this woman’s husband, disappeared from aprestigious restaurant opening in Soulard. I should add that she and her husband own the restaurant in question. You may have heard of it. The Elderflower Inn?”
The desk sergeant eyed him up and down, visibly unimpressed. “Can’t say that I have. As you say, you can file a report if you want to do that.”