Page 5 of Jesse (Pecan Pines #6)

Jesse

Assured that Beck would remain at the pack house, I headed straight back to the festival grounds, the sinking feeling in my gut growing heavier with every mile.

The place wasn’t as lively now. A few food trucks were still open, but most people had either packed up early or drifted away after word spread of the ‘incident.’

You couldn’t keep shifters and humans from sensing something ugly in the air, even if they didn’t know the full truth.

I made a beeline for the security office, a squat little trailer parked near the festival’s main entrance. The lights were still on inside, buzzing faintly against the night.

When I knocked, the door swung open almost immediately.

The guy inside was Frank Morton, according to the patch on his chest. He barely blinked at the sight of me. Guess the sheriff or Cooper had called ahead.

“Jesse Briggs?” he asked, voice low and a little scratchy.

“That’s me.”

“Come in. Was told to expect you.”

I stepped inside, and immediately regretted it. The whole cramped space reeked of cheap cologne. Old Spice, if I wasn’t mistaken.

The kind that stung your nose and tried to claw its way down your throat. I wrinkled my nose, trying not to gag.

“Sorry about the smell,” Frank said, misreading my reaction. “Air freshener’s busted.”

Sure, I thought grimly, but didn’t correct him. My gut said otherwise.

I focused instead on the wall of monitors, wires snaking across the floor, a half-eaten sandwich abandoned on the desk. Something about it all felt...off.

Frank shifted awkwardly, wiping his hands on his pants. “Look, uh...about the footage.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What about it?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s trashed. Sabotaged or something.”

“Sabotaged how?” I asked sharply, tension rising under my skin.

Frank flinched, held up his hands.

“Not my fault, I swear! Whoever did it knew what they were doing. They wiped the system clean, overwrote the last twelve hours. Like...scrambled it. Nothing but static and junk left,” Frank explained.

My heart hammered faster. Twelve hours was enough to erase whatever the hell happened before the body turned up.

“How did this happen?” I demanded, stepping closer.

Frank swallowed hard, clearly debating whether he could just disappear into the wall.

“I’m not mad at you,” I said, lowering my voice. “But I need to know exactly what went wrong. Every detail could help.”

He hesitated, then sighed. “Took a smoke break. Ten minutes, tops. Left the office door propped open. I figured, hell, it’s a festival. Who’s gonna mess with security?”

I clenched my jaw. Ten minutes. That’s all it had taken.

“You didn’t see anyone go in or out?” I asked.

“No,” he said, face going a little pale. “Could’ve been anyone.”

“Great.” I exhaled hard through my nose, fighting down the frustration boiling up.

Frank quickly added, “I can still give you what’s left. Copy of the ruined files. Maybe someone smarter than me can salvage something.”

“Do it,” I said. “Email it to me and give me the original tape too, just in case.”

He nodded, turning to the cluttered desk and grabbing a battered external drive and a plastic evidence bag with the ruined tape inside.

He handed them over like they were made of glass. I was halfway to the door when something nagged at me.

I paused and turned back. “Hey, Frank, you wear Old Spice?”

He blinked, confused. “Me? Nah. Can’t stand cologne. Makes my wife sneeze.”

A shiver crawled up my spine.

So the smell wasn’t him. It was the perp. Whoever slipped in while Frank was outside, masked their scent with that cloying cloud of drugstore cologne.

Smart. Sloppy, but smart.

I gave him a tight nod. “Thanks for your help.”

Then I stepped out into the cool night air, heart still hammering, the ruined tape clutched tightly in my hand.

Somewhere out here was a killer who knew how to cover their tracks, and who wasn’t afraid to make a bloody mess to get what they wanted.

I headed toward my car, exhausted and itching to get the hell out of here.

The ruined tape and the lingering stench of cheap cologne were still swirling in my head, and I needed a hot shower. Or maybe a drink. before my skin stopped crawling.

I was fishing my keys out of my pocket when I noticed it. The faint, warm glow of lights coming from Beck’s food truck.

I frowned, my steps slowing. That couldn’t be right. Beck should’ve been safely holed up at the pack house with Jackson.

With an overprotective brother like Jackson, there was no way Beck should’ve been allowed to just wander off back to the festival, especially not after what had gone down earlier.

My instincts flared hard. First things first. I tugged out my phone and hit Cooper’s number. He picked up almost immediately.

“Hey, it’s me. Just got out of the security trailer,” I said, voice low as I paced a tight circle near my car, keeping one eye on the still-lit truck. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Try me,” Cooper said.

“The footage is trashed. Someone slipped in while the security guard was on a smoke break. Overwrote the files. No usable footage.”

There was a long beat of silence. I could practically hear Cooper grinding his teeth on the other end.

“Send me everything you got,” he said finally, voice tight. “Even if it’s junk. We’ll have tech look at it.”

“Already on it,” I said. “Sheriff knows, too. I’ll forward the email once the security guy sends it over.”

“Good work.” Another pause. “Get back here soon. We need to figure out next steps.”

“Yeah. Will do.”

I hung up and shoved the phone into my pocket. My gaze drifted back to Beck’s truck. For a second, unease crawled up my spine. Was it the killer?

Coming back to clean up whatever they missed? Stupid move if it was, but desperate people made desperate mistakes.

I crept closer, muscles tense, steps light against the gravel. And then I caught a scent on the breeze. Not the heavy stench of Old Spice this time.

No, this was something different. Warmer. Cleaner. Something that snagged my attention and tugged at the pit of my gut before I could stop it.

Beck.

Relief loosened my muscles, but something else, something far more dangerous, stirred too.

There was something about Beck’s scent that...got to me. Made my wolf settle down and my heart kick into a different rhythm.

It was comforting in a way I couldn’t explain, and God help me, I found myself looking forward to spending more time with him. Even if he couldn’t stand the sight of me.

Beck had made that perfectly clear back at the pack house.

He barely tolerated being in the same room with me, much less working with me for the rest of the festival. But still, he agreed.

He hadn’t run. He hadn’t crumbled. Another wolf might’ve curled up and hidden after finding a body stuffed in their damn fridge. Not Beck.

He had guts. A lot of it. More than some enforcers I knew, and I admired him for that that. Quietly, I approached the truck, boots crunching on the gravel.

The closer I got, the stronger Beck’s scent grew, and the more something inside me relaxed, even though logic told me I should still be on high alert.

I knocked lightly on the food truck door, not wanting to startle Beck.

"Beck? It's Jesse," I called, keeping my voice calm.

I waited. Ten seconds. Fifteen. Nothing. My gut twisted. Something felt off.

I tested the door handle. It was unlocked. Gritting my teeth, I stepped inside, the familiar metallic scent of the kitchen hitting me instantly.

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh and too bright in the small space.

Beck was crouched in front of the freezer, scrubbing at the inside walls with a fury that made my chest tighten.

His movements were frantic, almost violent, like he could scrub away what had happened if he just worked hard enough.

Bleach fumes burned my nose, and from the ragged way Beck was breathing, it was getting to him too, but he didn’t stop. Didn't even seem to notice me.

"Beck," I said again, louder this time.

No response. His knuckles were white around the sponge, his arms straining as he attacked invisible stains on the metal.

I moved closer, crouching down beside him. Maybe if I helped, he’d snap out of it.

I reached out, grabbed one of the lower freezer doors to check if it needed cleaning too, and ripped it clean off the hinges with a sharp crack.

I froze, staring at the door hanging uselessly from my hand. Oh no.

Beck finally seemed to register me. He jerked back, his wild eyes locking onto the door, then onto me, and for a second, he looked like he might punch me.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he barked, voice hoarse with anger and something rawer underneath.

“Beck, I was just trying to help—" I started, but he was already on his feet, shoving past me so hard my shoulder slammed into the counter.

I spun around in time to see him stomp down the truck steps, fists clenched at his sides, shoulders tight with frustration.

"Beck, wait!" I called after him, but he didn’t even look back.

Without thinking, I followed, jogging down the steps and into the night.

His scent was easy to track. It was spiked sharp with fury, salt, and something broken that hurt to smell. I found him behind the truck, pacing like a caged wolf.

I slowed, raising my hands in a gesture of peace. "Hey. Look, I'm sorry."

Beck whipped around to glare at me, chest heaving.

"I didn’t mean to mess anything up," I said, taking a step closer. "I saw you scrubbing and... I thought maybe if I helped, it’d take some of the weight off your shoulders."

He stared at me, something flickering behind those stormy eyes.

"And yeah, okay, I screwed up," I added, managing a sheepish smile. "You can yell at me some more if it'll make you feel better."

For a long, taut moment, I thought he might actually take me up on it. But then, Beck's shoulders slumped, some of the fight bleeding out of him.

"You just don’t get it," he muttered, voice rough. "It’s not about the mess. It's... it's all ruined. I built that truck up from scratch. Every damn thing. And now—" He broke off, jaw clenching hard.

I hated seeing him like this. Hated knowing he was hurting and there was nothing I could do to fix it. Almost nothing. Then an idea sparked, fast and reckless.

"You’re not out of options," I said, stepping closer. "We’ll use my truck and we can participate as a team in the competition. I’ll sort things out with the organiser.”

Beck raised a brow, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “You’d do that for me?”

I ignored the jab and pressed on. “Of course. With the two of us cooking, we’ll definitely win. Just don’t serve that brisket.”

His mouth opened, closed, like he couldn’t figure out what to say.

"You’d let me work your truck?" he said, voice wary.

I shrugged, trying to play it casual, even though my heart was hammering like crazy.

"Yeah. We’ll call it a joint venture. Two wolves, one truck. It’ll work,” I told him.

A slow, reluctant smile tugged at the edge of his mouth and dang, it hit me harder than it should have. The way his face lit up when he did made my chest feel way too tight.

He hesitated another second before nodding, short and sharp.

"Okay," he said. "Deal."

I grinned, something wild and stupid sparking in my chest.

"Good. Come on," I said, jerking my thumb over my shoulder. "There’s a café still open down the street. Let’s talk about food.”

Beck’s eyes widened slightly, whether at the invitation or the realization he had no better options, I wasn’t sure. But after a heartbeat, he fell into step beside me.

His shoulder brushed mine as we walked, and the jolt of heat that raced down my spine had me gritting my teeth. This is business, I reminded myself. Strictly business.

But when Beck glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, something guarded but curious lingering there, I knew I was in more trouble than I cared to admit.