Page 81 of Omega's Fever

I blink at her, startled. Is it that obvious? My hand goes unconsciously to my still-flat stomach.

“Thanks,” I manage.

She pats my shoulder with one hand and moves on to other customers. The crackers help, as does the ginger ale. I make myself eat slowly, mechanically, eyes never leaving the nursing home entrance.

Then I see her.

She’s smaller than I expected, more compact. Her hair is different from the photo—shorter, darker, pulled back in a neat bun. She pauses at the employee exit, scanning the street with the kind of hypervigilance I recognize from Kellen. Satisfied, she starts up the street.

I fumble for cash, leaving a twenty on the table. The door sticks again as I push through it, the bell jangling my departure.

“Penelope!”

She’s halfway across the street when I call out. The way she freezes tells me everything. She spins, eyes wide.

Then she sees me. She frowns, looking me up and down, then I see a moment of realization in her eyes.

“You’re Kellen’s omega.” It’s not a question. She can probably smell him on me despite the distance.

“Milo.” I’m breathless from the sprint, from the weight of everything I need to ask her. “Milo Warren. Please. I need to talk to you.”

She glances around again, that same careful surveillance Kellen does. Her eyes linger on the coffee shop, the empty lot, the few pedestrians. “Not here.”

We end up back in the diner, but this time in a corner booth far from the windows. Dolores doesn’t comment on my sudden return, just brings two mugs and a fresh pot of coffee without being asked.

“I’ll have tea,” I start to say, but Penelope is already pouring herself coffee with hands that shake slightly.

“He took a plea deal.” The words tumble out before she’s even settled. “Ten years. He’s throwing away ten years of his life, andI need to know why. We were winning. The case against him was falling apart. Then he talked to you yesterday and suddenly he’s giving up. What did you say to him?”

Penelope sits back in her seat and studies me. “I can smell Kellen on you. That’s the only reason I know who you are. You’re asking me something I’d only really trust Kellen enough to talk about. Why hasn’t he told you?”

I breathe out through my nostrils, frustrated, and shake my head. “I really don’t know. I can’t understand it. At first, he refused to talk to me about you and another person at the club. You two were the only ones who hadn’t turned on him. I was hoping you would testify but he just refused to let me try contact you. He was just insisting that he’d just go to prison and that would be the best way to protect me, protect everyone.”

Penelope’s mouth twists. “That sounds like Kellen.”

She wraps both hands around her mug like she’s trying to absorb its warmth.

“He’s stubborn,” I say. “So damn stubborn. When we found out about the baby, I thought I’d finally managed to persuade him that he has to fight to stay out but then he goes and does this. I don’t know what changed his mind.”

Penelope looks around, then seemingly satisfied that no one was looking at her, she says, “We were talking about the real books. Not the fake ones the police have. Cobb kept two sets—one for show, one with actual names and numbers. And there were security cameras all over The Pit. Good ones, digital, with off-site backup. If those recordings still exist, they’d show who was really running things.”

“And Kellen wasn’t.”

“God, no.” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Kellen would break up the occasional bar fight upstairs, collect his pay for the cage matches, go home. That’s it. Everyone knew the real boss was—” She stops, glances around nervously.

“Cobb Sewell.”

She flinches at the name. “We don’t say it out loud. Not even now. Not even here.”

“But you told Kellen where to find this evidence?”

“No.” She pushes a strand of hair back, a nervous gesture. “We don’t know where any of it is. But we told him who would.”

I’m confused. Why would Kellen find out about evidence that could take Cobb down and then decide to ignore it? If we had this kind of evidence, it would solve everything.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “It could free him.”

Penelope takes a sip of her coffee and frowns. “I don’t know. He did have a reaction to the name Haymore though. I wondered if he knew something.”