Page 7

Billie

AFTER A LITTLE bit of back-and-forth on the phone, Xander got one of the pack officers to agree to meet us at the side door on the lower level.

The officer, Franklin “Not Frank” White, is still dressed in his NH State Police uniform: khaki pants and a forest-green button-down (no hat though). He’s a big man built like an aging professional wrestler, tall and wide. The top of his head is mostly bald and surrounded by a ring of short, bristled hair that looks more white than gray against his dark skin. His jawline, though full, suggests it may have once been sharp and defined when he was a young man. His dark eyes may be tired, but they’re far from dull, holding the pointed intensity of a seasoned officer.

The first thing he does after opening the door is bow to Xander and call him alpha. I try not to pay attention; instead, I burrow my face into Jax’s chest, inhaling his scent while he nuzzles his face into the top of my head. However, when Xander places his hand on White’s shoulder, a prickle of energy leaks into our bond, and I half turn to see Xander’s eyes glowing. I don’t know exactly what he feels from the contact, but I’ve got to assume it’s more than just a prickle, because all of a sudden Xander’s asking Officer White about his wife and daughter, knowing their names and that his daughter, Libby, is approaching the age when her wolf will soon be freeing herself.

Franklin’s entire demeanor changes, as if that one bit of shared energy and show of interest from Xander is like a shot of espresso perking him right up. The bags around his eyes seem to diminish, and his already-wide mouth spreads into a warm, welcoming smile. With a skip in his step, he leads us down a hallway in the back that runs the length of the house to one of the so-called interview rooms.

When we enter, it looks nothing like I expected for a police station. In fact, the whole place doesn’t present as a police station at all. From the front, it looks like a multilevel log cabin with a pitched metal roof painted green. The front porch runs the length of the house and wraps around on one side, continuing all the way to the back. There are even four rustic wooden rocking chairs evenly spaced between the four windows, two of which have flower boxes filled with fall decorations. The front of the house sits on the top of a slope similar to the pack house my mates lived in when I met them. The side entrance is housed under the wraparound porch and enters on a level lower.

The room we’re in is set up like a minimalistic home office, but without any computers or lamps. The majority of the illumination comes from the overhead recessed lighting. The major pieces of furniture are a large wooden desk, rustic in design, with six natural-wood chairs, also very large and plain: two behind the desk, two in front, and two set in opposite corners at the other end of the room.

The room is probably about twelve feet by twelve feet, and there are narrow windows like those you’d see in a basement, inset close to the ceiling. They are too small for a normal-sized human to climb through. But a fox might be able to . What makes it feel like an interrogation or interview room is the walls. Though painted a soft blue, they are made of cinder blocks, and the door is steel with a code lock and alarm.

“As I mentioned, we’re here so Jax can give his formal statement,” Xander says from behind me. He was the last to enter. Jax and I both turn around to face Xander and Officer White, who are just inside the door, Ethan having glided in to stand behind us, his arm draped over Jax’s shoulders.

Officer White nods his head and then lifts his gaze above Xander to us and inquires, “Did the three of you witness what happened?”

“We did,” Xander replies.

“Then I’d ask you all to write down your personal statements from beginning to end,” he says more than asks.

“What does that mean?” I query, snuggling into Jax’s chest. “Do you mean from when we realized—” I flinch in pain as my stomach cramps and heat flushes my cheeks with the truth of what I have to admit. “When we realized he was missing until we found him or until his attacker was taken away?”

“Until his attacker was taken away,” White clarifies with a jerky nod while pulling a ring of keys from his belt and walking over to the desk. He flips through the keys and opens one of the drawers, pulling out four packets, four clipboards, and four pens. Ethan steps over and goes about getting one ready for each of us and handing them out. Officer White points to two corners of the room near the ceiling. “I’ll leave the four of you to fill out your written statements in here, trusting you to keep what you write private. Turn the statements over on the clipboard when you’re done. The cameras also have sound, so we’ll be able to hear anything you say. I’ll be back in fifteen minutes, and we can start the interview process, going over the written statements. That needs to be done one at a time. I’m sure you understand.” I want to ask if there’s a way for them to detect our mental link but think better of it.

“Thank you, Franklin,” Xander says as the officer heads toward the door.

He turns around and dips his chin. “I’ll be back shortly with some bottled water. Is there anything else you need, Alpha?”

Nodding his head, Xander stands tall and rolls his shoulders back. “Yes. I want you to ensure the Callahans are kept away from us at all times, as well as Veronica Benton and Councilman Hogan. In addition, I’ll need Luna Ophelia, Elder Ralph, Elder Allan, and possibly Bruce Newman available, including Warren DeLuca and a representative from Kubrick and Associates, for a discussion on pack law when we’re done with the statements.”

Officer White’s eyes go wide, and he pulls his head back just a bit. “Right.” He bobs his head. “I’ll make the appropriate phone calls and will keep this floor clear of any visitors.”

* * *

After we wrote down our statements, we then had to go over them with Officer White, and we could not be in the same room for that. He led us one at a time into another room adjacent to the one we were in, a mirror image but instead of being painted a soft blue, it was painted a soft green.

Jax had gone first, and when he came back, his face was tear streaked and twisted in a mix of pain and fury. I moved to him with open arms, and he jogged the ten feet or so, closing the distance with urgency. We actually ended up sitting on the tiled floor in a corner, with me straddling him, my back to the room, and his face buried against my bare chest, Jax having unbuttoned my flannel with a need to feel my flesh. Ethan and Xander went second and third, and they both took over for me when it was my turn.

This entire process sucks. I know we need to do it, but the reliving of what happened both written and verbally just sucks big ol’ donkey balls. My face looks like all of my mates’ did after meeting with Officer White, tear streaked and pinched in pain and anger. I barely enter the room when Franklin says, “Now that all the statements have been recorded, we can head upstairs.” I ignore the fact that we’re leaving and rush to Jax, who has pushed up to standing from his position in the corner. Ethan steps to the side, and once again Jax and I are in each other’s arms.

“I got you, playmate,” I mumble against his chest. “I got you.”

“I know, Rocky,” Jax assures, kissing the top of my head. “I know, mate.” Then I turn around, and we follow everyone out of the room.

We’re led up a flight of wooden stairs, and the facade of this being just a house continues to an even greater degree. White points down the pine-planked hallway, “Everyone you asked to be here is seated in the dining room just off the kitchen, with Officer Sutherland.” He pauses a second and flicks his gaze to Jax. “As well as Mr. Benton. I”—he blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck— “I tried to keep him in the entryway, but...” He shakes his head, and his lips curl at the edges. “Well, he’s hidden a lot of strength behind that easy smile, and I thought it best to keep him with our luna and Elder Ralph since the Callahans are still down in the holding area with Amber.”

“It’s okay,” Jax says from behind me, his arms draped over my shoulders, squeezing me in tighter. “But if we could clean up first, that’d be appreciated.”

“Of course, of course.” Franklin rushes his reply and points to two open doorways partway down the hall opposite each other. “Please feel free to use the bathrooms, and I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

We follow him, and Jax pulls me into one of the bathrooms. I don’t ask, and I don’t complain or point out anything. Instead, I relieve myself and then switch spots with Jax so he can do the same.

I’m washing my hands while Jax pees. It’s a small half bath painted light gray with a pedestal sink and glass blocks set into a window frame, allowing for some natural light to enter. Before drying off my hands I turn the water to cold and splash my face, trying to cool down not just my skin but my anger. I grab one of the hand towels and wipe my face off, wishing I could wipe away the memories that I just had to relive.

“I’m sorry, Jax,” I whisper, my throat constricting with the reality of our part in what happened. My part. “I’m sorry we didn’t get to you sooner. I’m sorry I got distracted by the party. I’m sorry I didn’t show how much you mean to me, what I’d do if anyone would touch you. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, that I’ve come across as a weak mate.” Because if I’d been more possessive, if I’d shown more of my protective side, more of my aggressive side, then maybe Amber would have thought twice about going after him. She never saw me as a threat, and that’s my fault.

“B,” Jax murmurs over the flush of the toilet, coming to stand behind me, pumping some soap into his hands and washing them under the faucet, with me between him and the sink. “You’ve never come across as weak, and none of this is any of our faults.” He shuts off the water and grabs the towel I used. “But,” he says, and I hear a lightness in his voice. It makes me wish there were a mirror in here so I could see his face. “If you want to make out with me in front of others more often, then I’m all for that, yea.”

Taking the towel from his hand, I run it under the cool water and wring it out. Shaking my head and smiling, I turn around and crane my head back to look at him. His hands land casually on my hips. Reaching up, I gently wipe the wet towel under his eyes, his cheeks, his forehead, and even down his neck, cooling his red flushed skin. “We’ll see, Jax,” I comment, pushing up on my tiptoes to brush my lips over his. “We’ll see just how much you can handle.”

“Is that a challenge?” He grins against my lips, and man, do I love feeling that grin.

“More like a game,” I tease, darting my tongue out to trace the outline of his mouth.

“Love games with my playmate,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me and deepening our kiss.

“Me too, mate. Me too,” I reply breathlessly as we pull back.