Chapter Seven
CAINE
Dylan had moved in two days ago.
He was avoiding me. Good. I didn’t need any more distractions.
He wasn’t eating, only pacing his room until he passed out, sick with discontent.
Last night, he’d wandered aimlessly to the kitchens as if sleepwalking.
I’d suspected it was in search of food, but he’d trawled the cupboards, lifting out ingredients—flour, sugar, butter.
It was only when he was halfway toward the oven that he’d hesitated, a sigh sagging his shoulders, before he returned his fare and traipsed back to his room.
He had wept for an hour.
I knew of his actions because of the CCTV throughout the house.
I’d also had a camera installed in his room while he was collecting his belongings.
For safety purposes. It was . . . discreet, motion-sensored and connected to my phone, so it alerted me whenever there was activity.
It was set up in such a way it wouldn’t ding for every subtle flinch, else I’d get nothing done with how much he fidgeted.
It only tracked purposeful movement, whether it was walking in or out of the bathroom—where there was window access—or through the door.
It didn’t pick up his tossing and turning in bed, or when he sat on the windowsill tearing at his fingernails.
It was a precaution to ensure no one tried their luck, or in the event he collapsed from exhaustion or starvation and needed medical attention.
I didn’t care what he did while he was here, didn’t particularly care about him in general, but it would be of no benefit for him to waste away.
I had no desire to be stuck with a child.
Speaking of . . . I hadn’t found her. Much to my irritation.
Wherever she’d been taken, it was locked tighter than a fucking duck’s arse.
My entire workforce was on it, every single eye, ear, and nose treating this as their top priority.
The pack was on high alert, but operating under the instruction to keep it on the down low.
I didn’t need outsiders catching a whiff of what was going on.
That a daughter of the Devereux family was out there and I had no idea where she was—or who’d taken her.
They’d have a field day, realizing I’d been made a fool of for two years, and even though I’d deployed every ounce of my power, she’d vanished into thin air.
My first act after returning from the Den was having the head of my surveillance division and my tech specialist shot.
Neither was responsible for the footage being interfered with, but they hadn’t noticed the fault either.
For two years. They were no longer of use to me, and within three hours their positions were filled.
The systems were recalibrated and hardened with increased cyber protection, providing the assurance no one, not even MI6, could fuck with them again.
The only person with access, other than myself, was my new tech specialist. I had to trust they would do a better job of monitoring for security breaches, since they were aware of the consequences if they didn’t.
I’d left the two dead reminders beside their desk to drum it in.
Surveillance patrolled every digital avenue: CCTV, bank transactions, certain areas of the dark web.
They sent thermal drones over the city, giving us an advantage in the skies as well as on the ground.
Between them and my field team, I’d expected even a hint by now, a lead we could follow, but nothing.
At this point, I suspected a rat, a disloyal mutt who was filtering our moves to another pack to use them against us.
I would have stayed ignorant had the omega not been so stubborn, and it pissed me off and impressed me in equal measure. I’d asked Finn for the dates of Dylan’s visits, to trace back and weed out who had accessed the control room.
They’d wiped those records clean too, it seemed.
“I’ve heard no whispers,” Aaron announced with a sigh, his arms braced on my desk. On top of the reports. “Nobody’s talking. Not about this, at least.”
“I found nothin’ either,” Tobias—my tracker—tagged on, unmoving from his stiff military stance by the wall. “Whoever has her, they’re thorough.”
I abstained from gritting my teeth. “There has to be something.”
My brother straightened. “Look, at risk of sounding like an arsehole—”
“That wouldn’t be like you,” Tobias commented.
Aaron grinned proudly before returning to his point.
“Do you trust this omega? That there even is a kid and he’s not sending you on a wild goose chase for .
. . I don’t know, shits and gigs? Let’s say someone found out about your history and offered him money to get in here, cause a stir, and report back on our reaction?
We could be playing right into these bastards’ hands, expending all our resources on a farce. ”
It had crossed my mind, especially after the first twenty-four hours passed without a peep.
He could have left the Den, run his existence into the ground, and decided to exploit the Alpha who’d taken his first heat.
The rules at the Den were simple, no exchange of details, but there were ways to find people if he had the motivation.
Revenge, for example. Bitterness for being abandoned there without a mating bite and the promise of a life where he’d never have to lift a finger again.
Except . . . his sadness. It didn’t appear false, unless he was an exceptional actor. Though I couldn’t imagine how he’d feign his scent being so acidic. My brother was a beta, he couldn’t smell how it permeated every damn room. But I could.
“He’s not faking,” I said. “No omega could pull off a stunt to this extent.”
He slumped into the chair in front of my desk. “Right, so he has no idea he’s a chess piece, and some clever bastard out there has your daughter. That all we’ve got?”
“That’s the extent of it.”
He sighed again, his head lolling backward. “You definitely suspect the Veenstras?”
“They have the resources,” I confirmed. “And the audacity.”
Tobias and Aaron snorted in unison.
“True, but they’ve never tried anything before,” my brother carried on, his voice strangled with the arch of his neck.
“They’re not in second place for nothing.
Would they really risk losing what they’ve spent decades building?
And why wait so long?” He raised his head.
“Two years, Caine. That’s an age for them to sit and observe, fucking with your shit and praying for an opportunity. Do they have nothing better to do?”
I hummed. “Clearly not.”
The hacking of our systems wasn’t common knowledge.
I’d kept that to Aaron, Tobias, and Raegan—my right hand as well as my shield.
Everyone else only knew the basics: I’d slept with an omega, he wound up pregnant, we had a daughter, and she’d been taken.
That was it. They didn’t ask questions. They were trained well.
The less they knew, the less fodder to be tortured out of them by other packs.
It was how it was done, and always had been. I might not be a stickler for tradition, but in rare cases, old habits worked, and there was no need for change.
I studied the latest report again, the words starting to distort.
It was all shit, essentially a page of “we haven’t a fucking clue where she is.
” I set my elbow on the desk, propping my head on three extended fingers from my left hand.
The position allowed for my pointer finger to dig into the spot that pulsed without making a spectacle of it.
Headaches were standard for me, a blend of strain from my eye, lack of sleep, and the constant bullshit vying for my attention, but they’d become worse in the last two days.
I’d slept even less than usual, occupied with finding my daughter, but also plagued with the frustration Dylan brought out in me.
His scent. It wasn’t the same as the first time we met, fresh and oddly soothing.
It was dominated by the stench of anxiety and distress, the sour notes really dampening my mood.
And manipulating my ability to focus.
“Torin wanked me off in your chair, by the way,” Aaron stated.
I stared at him blankly. “Assuming I didn’t already know since there are cameras in here, showing every perspective, why are you telling me right now?”
He shrugged. “Lighten the mood. A distraction.”
My brother knew about the headaches. The insomnia.
My scent dysfunction. All of it. Not necessarily because I’d given him the information in so many words, but because he was perceptive.
Hence why he was my scout. “I don’t have time for your nonsense,” I said, waving dismissively.
“If you’re not going to help, bugger off. ”
He huffed a laugh, uncaring of my attitude.
He was accustomed, and oftentimes even enjoyed it.
“Well . . .” He brought his hands down on the chair arms. “Guess I could go have another listen, eh? Give me a call if you find anything. I wanna help plan.” He grinned savagely.
“And kill the fucker who took my niece.”
I nodded in acknowledgement, and he left with a spring in his step.
“One day he’s going fuck the wrong person and end up dead in a ditch,” Tobias drawled, and I hummed an assent, my eye socket twitching with the reminder of his last doomed seduction attempt.
He pushed off the wall, uncrossing his arms before ambling toward the door.
“I’ll head back out too. Retrace Dylan’s steps.
There’s always something left behind. They didn’t just evaporate into the ether. ”
Tobias had experience in the detective field, and the nose of a bloodhound. In the past, he’d managed to uncover evidence in obscure locations that even specialised investigators had missed. If even he was struggling, it was a graver situation than I thought.