Chapter 8 – JORDAN
8
JORDAN
T he smell of stale beer and sweaty pheromones lingers in the air as I step into the concert venue. It's been weeks since the attack, but the echoes of that night still cling to every surface.
I adjust my blazer, smoothing out non-existent wrinkles. The disguise is simple but effective—a nondescript suit, hair slicked back, glasses perched on my nose. Just another faceless agent looking to book the space.
My footsteps echo in the empty hall as I follow the beta venue manager on her tour. She's chattering away about capacity and sound systems, but I'm barely listening. My eyes scan every corner, every shadow, looking for anything the police might have missed.
"And over here we have the main stage area," the beta says, gesturing grandly. "As you can see, it's quite spacious. Perfect for larger acts. Like your, uh… what sort of act did you say you were representing again?"
"Holistic jugglers," I answer without missing a beat. If I didn't have a little fun with this job, I'd go nuts.
"Oh," she says warily. "Right. Well, the stage would be just perfect."
I'm sure she's pretty desperate to get this place booked, considering all the recent bad press. Which was probably the only reason I could even arrange a showing on such short notice.
I nod, making a show of jotting down notes on my tablet. In reality, I'm pulling up the security footage I've watched a hundred times, overlaying it with the actual space. Trying to piece together the puzzle of that night.
The beta's voice fades into background noise as my mind wanders to the mountain of fan mail I've been sifting through. Boxes upon boxes of letters, gifts, and god knows what else. So far, nothing but the usual mix of adoration and thinly-veiled lust. A few panties, but other than that technical biohazard, no red flags and no real threats so far.
But there's so much of it. Too much for one person to go through, even with my skills. Maybe I can get Ace to chip in, if I ask nicely.
I'm pulled from my thoughts by the beta's hand on my arm. I stiffen, fighting the urge to pull away.
"Is everything alright?" she asks, concern etched on her face. "You seem... distracted."
I force a smile, slipping back into character. "Just taking it all in," I say smoothly. "Actually, I was wondering if I could have a moment alone? To really get a feel for the space."
The beta's brow furrows. "Alone? I'm not sure that's?—"
"It's for the act I'm representing," I cut in, thinking fast. "Very new age, you know. I need to make sure the vibes are right for maximum chakra flow."
The beta's eyes glaze over, that familiar look of someone who's dealt with one too many diva artist's demands. "Oh. Of course. Take all the time you need. I'll just be outside."
She beats a hasty retreat, as if she's afraid I'm going to break out the singing bowls and crystals, leaving me alone in the cavernous space. Perfect.
I make my way up to the stage, taking the steps that wrap around side. The useless security partition is still there. One velvet rope was torn off its post, an unsettling reminder of a night that could have been even worse.
Standing center stage, I close my eyes, trying to see it from Asher's perspective. The roar of the crowd, the heat of the lights. The sudden chaos as the gas was released, turning his loyal fans into deadly weapons.
My eyes snap open, scanning the room. There, by the exit—that's where I saw the figure moving against the crowd in the footage. I hop off the stage, striding down the center aisle to investigate. But there's nothing left but a few bits of crime scene tape clinging stubbornly to the door frame.
Frustration bubbles up in my chest. There has to be something here, some clue I'm missing. My gaze sweeps the room, landing on the vent system snaking across the ceiling. Interesting.
I make my way backstage, looking for something I can use to reach the vents. A refreshment cart catches my eye. Perfect. I wheel it over, glancing around to make sure the coast is clear before climbing up.
The vent cover comes off easily with the multi-tool I always keep on me. I hesitate for a moment, acutely aware of how screwed I'll be if I get caught. But the potential payoff... I take a deep breath and haul myself up into the vent.
It's a tight fit, even for someone as small as me. The metal is cool against my skin as I shimmy forward, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. My heart pounds in my ears, every creak and groan of the vent sending a spike of adrenaline through me.
Just when I'm starting to think this was a monumentally stupid idea, I see it. A scrap of cardboard caught on a rough edge of the vent. I inch closer, squinting in the dim light. There's something printed on it—the edge of a logo, maybe?
I carefully pry it loose, tucking it into my pocket. It's not much, but it's more than we had before. A potential lead to track down.
The sound of voices below sends a jolt of panic through me. Shit. I scramble backward as quietly as I can, replacing the vent cover just as the beta rounds the corner.
"There you are!" she calls, relief evident in her voice. "I was starting to worry."
I plaster on my most charming smile, smoothing my hair back into place. "Sorry about that. I was just checking if the backstage area is big enough for a group meditation. You know how artists can be."
The beta nods, clearly out of her depth. "Of course. Did you find it all satisfactory?"
"Oh, absolutely," I say, laying it on thick. "Just one question. Do you serve mountain water? It's essential for cleansing the aura before a performance. We'll need buckets ."
The beta's eyes widen slightly. "I... I'm not sure. I can check with our beverage supplier?"
I wave her off. "No need. I'll be in touch about the booking. Thank you for your time."
I make my exit as quickly as I can without arousing suspicion, breathing a sigh of relief as I slide into my car. That was way too close.
My phone buzzes as I start the engine. A text from Asher. I hesitate for a moment before opening it.
ASHER: Great news! Doc cleared Knox for touring. We're back on the road soon. Anything we should do to prepare?
I groan, letting my head thunk against the steering wheel. Of course they're going back on tour immediately. Because why make my job any easier?
Besides not go back on tour? No.
ASHER: You could always come with us. I'd feel sooo much safer.
Pass.
ASHER: Aw, come on, Echo. Where's your sense of adventure?
I roll my eyes.
Must have left it in my other pants. Along with my desire to get crushed in a mosh pit from hell.
ASHER: Harsh. But fair. Just in case you change your mind…
A photo pops up on my screen. It's a ridiculously over-the-top tour bus, all chrome and neon. Another message follows.
ASHER: This beauty could be your home away from home. Private room and everything. Sure I can't tempt you to join us?
I snort, shaking my head as I type my response.
Thanks, but I'll pass. I prefer my investigations less... mobile.
ASHER: Can't blame a guy for trying. One of these days I'll convince you to meet us in person.
A pang of something dangerously close to longing shoots through me. I push it down ruthlessly. Where the fuck did that come from?
Keep dreaming, pretty boy.
ASHER: Oh, I will.
He is relentless .
I set the phone down, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. It's just banter, I remind myself. He doesn't even know me. If he knew the truth—that I'm not some mysterious, sexy alpha hacker, but a plain, damaged omega in hiding—he'd run for the hills.
And that's exactly why I can never let him, or anyone else, get close.
I start the car, pushing thoughts of Asher and his pack to the back of my mind. I've got work to do. A mystery to solve. And I can't afford any distractions.
No matter how tempting they might be.