19. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Dana
It takes three days before I'm able to convince Pierce and Beckett that I can go to the mayor's house. In hindsight, Pierce was right. If we had just gone to the mayor's place, I wouldn't have gotten shot and Pierce wouldn't have had to fill out an incident report.
The flip side is that we wouldn't have found out about Councilman Hunt's corruption. I wouldn't have a brand new mating mark to go with my brand new Valla, either. The gunshot wound is worth it. I'd do it all over again if it meant I got to keep this bond with Pierce.
I've always wondered what it felt like for Omegas to be so utterly claimed, both inside and out. I thought they might feel pinned down. Controlled. Oppressed. I don't feel any of those things. Between my ties with Beckett and Pierce, the only thing I feel is full and fiercely protected.
I also feel very well-fucked.
We were supposed to take my car today. I was even going to let Pierce drive. I've been feeling guilty about having his driver take us all over the city for my case and I thought it would be nice to give him the day off. Pierce crushed that idea pretty quickly, though. He told me his driver enjoyed detective work and that it would break his heart to have the day off. Who am I to break the driver's heart? Especially when his car is nicer than mine.
Beckett is another problem this morning. He has good points that I'm having trouble countering, too.
“Listen,” he says, “I wouldn't let him in my house.” He motions at Pierce. “No offense, but I wouldn't. Neither would you. Nobody would unless they already know him. The mayor might know him, but Celia doesn't. There isn't an Omega with any amount of common sense who would let an unknown Valla into their house.”
I can't argue with that. He's right. The elusive Valla aren't known for their indoor etiquette. After hearing about what Pierce did at Councilman Hunt's home, I'm more convinced than ever that the mild-mannered man sitting next to me in the seat of this car is a well-performing farce.
“No one is suggesting that Pierce knocks on the door, Beckett.”
“Which leads to my next point,” he continues. “There were people waiting to shoot you behind the last door you knocked on. The people involved in this know you. They already don't like you. Let's assume the mayor is as corrupt as everyone else in this heap of a city. He's not going to answer the door, and neither will Celia. His men, who don't like you, will be waiting for you to knock. I can't handle you getting hurt again, Dana. I really can't.”
I can't argue with him on that point, either. I would also rather not get shot again. It's unpleasant. It hurts. It's already starting to itch. But what he's suggesting is simply unacceptable.
“It has to be me.”
“No,” Pierce and I say at the same time, for the tenth time.
Beckett is unperturbed. “You're both being unreasonable and ridiculous. Sending me is the best chance at finding Celia.”
I don't like it.
I hate it.
But he's right.
Sending him to the door would yield the highest success. He's a mentor from CCOE doing a house call on one of the people he mentored. There is no reason for anyone to deny him entry, and that's the problem Pierce and I are having.
“I'm not being unreasonable, Beckett. I'm being logical from an Alpha and a detective standpoint. Let's say they let you in. They close the door behind you. You are essentially trapped in the house and we're trapped outside. Anything could happen to you.”
“Nothing will happen to me, Dana,” he argues. “Let me do this. It's the smartest way. And if I don't come out directly or text you, you and Pierce can break the door down and come in after me.”
Pierce squeezes my thigh and I know I'm going to let Beckett go to the door. It's going to go against every instinct I possess, but he's right. Sending him is smart. “Fine,” I tell him. But if the door closes behind you, you will have ninety seconds to send me a text confirming that you're safe, and you will need to send me a text every ninety seconds after that or I will break down the door and drag you out whether she's in there or not.”
“Understood.” He smiles at me and nods at Pierce. “I'll text as soon as I'm inside. I'll probably call and leave the phone on mute. Would that make you feel better?”
“Yes,” Pierce agrees.
“Smart you,” I tell him, leaning into his side.
I don't feel as confident watching him walk to the door alone once we get there, though. Beckett isn't a pushover as an Omega. He might not go around looking for fights, but he's every bit as assertive as he needs to be. That doesn't make me feel any better about the fact that there's about to be a door between us.
I watch him knock on the door and check his phone while he waits for someone to answer. The door opens and a man steps outside, pulling the door closed behind him.
“That counts,” Pierce says lowly. He's every single bit as protective over Beckett as I am. That's one of the things I love most about the bond I have with him. Beckett is his because Beckett is mine. “He has thirty seconds to send a text or wave.”
“We said ninety seconds,” I say without looking at him.
“We lied,” he says, shifting in the seat.
I'd laugh if I wasn't so happy to be on the same page.
Beckett continues speaking with the man at the door. The man cautiously nods while constantly scanning the street.
“Fifteen seconds,” Pierce says.
Ten long seconds later my phone chimes with a text asking me to send a picture of Celia. I send it while Pierce restarts his thirty-second timer.
I watch the facial expressions of the door man change from cautious to confused to anger and the right back to cautious. He turns to open the door for Beckett to follow him inside.
I thought I was going to be fine with it.
I thought it would be okay.
I was wrong. The second the door shuts Beckett inside the house my hand is on the door handle.
Pierce is no better. We're both out of the car and rushing across the front lawn, gun in hand, before we're anywhere close to the thirty-second mark. To my credit, I pound on the door politely.
The same man opens the door, glaring holes through Pierce and me. “Who the fuck are you?” he growls.
“You have my Omega,” Pierce snarls.
Another man comes up behind him. “Celia isn't your Omega. Get the fuck off our porch.”
“Not her.” Pierce's snarl is a full and terrifying growl now. The Betas barring the door both look down in submission. “The male.”
“I'm here!” Beckett calls from inside. “I'm okay. No incidents!”
Pierce closes his eyes and I watch him regain his composure, piece by piece until the brutality written on his face smooths into something less threatening. I take a breath to calm my nerves. I'll never need to act on my anger if Pierce is around. He'll have the world burned down before I ever light a match.
“She's here,” Beckett calls again. “She's okay.”
“Bring her out,” I call back. “I just need to confirm her safety.”
“No offense, Alpha,” one of the Betas says without meeting my eyes, “but she can't come outside. We're under strict orders to keep her out of sight for the foreseeable future. You're welcome to come in, though, since your Omega is inside.”
“Fine.” I move to step around him, but he stops me.
“Not the Valla.”
“Are you going to stop him?” I ask, smirking. “Move aside.” He turns to allow me entrance, but I pause again. “Where is your Alpha?”
“The mayor is at his office in the city until this afternoon.”
“Get him on the phone. Video if possible. He needs to be aware of what's happening.”
“I'm already here,” the mayor's voice sounds from the phone the other Beta is holding up. “Dana? What happened to you?”
“Hello, Frankie.”
“Oh god. Frank, please. Celia isn't a fan of other women calling me Frankie.”
“Noted,” I say. “Don't worry about me. Listen. I've got some questions for Celia. Do you mind?”
“If she doesn't mind, I don't mind. But I'm staying on the line.”
“Good.”
I step further into the front room to find Beckett sitting on a couch with the girl I've been looking for. She looks perfectly well.
“Are you Celia Westover?” I ask.
She purses her lips daintily. “I'm Celia, but not Westover.”
“What do you mean?”
She gives me a flat look. “My last name isn't Westover. It's Cassell. Why are you looking for me?”
“Your father hired me to locate you.”
Her eyes narrow. “My father is dead. He sent you, didn't he?”
“He?”
“That man. The Omega who grabbed me from the dressing room at Breakers.”
I pull up Mr. Westover's social media on my phone and show it to her. “Is this the man who took you?”
“Yes,” she snips. “He grabbed me from behind when I was walking back out to my chaperone. He put something over my face and I fell asleep. When I woke up, I was tied to a bed in his house.”
Why would an Omega take another Omega?
“I didn't know his name,” she continues. “He wanted to give me to some Alpha he knew. Like I was some kind of present.”
“How did you get away?” Beckett asks.
“I waited until he came to take me to the bathroom and kicked him in the face when he untied my feet. He wasn't expecting me to do it, that's the only reason it worked. I kicked him in the face and made a run for it. I didn't even have shoes. I didn't have a phone anymore, so I couldn't call anybody for help. I ran to the center because that's what everyone always said to do. Run to the center because they'll keep you safe. I didn't have anywhere else to go, anyway.”
“Where does the mayor fit into this story?” I ask, tipping my chin in the direction of the phone displaying his face.
She smiles. It makes her entire face shine. “He came into the counseling building at CCOE when I was walking out.”
“What were you doing there?” I ask the mayor.
“Dropping off donations,” he answers. “The city donates to the CCOE nesting fund twice a year. I like to take donations personally when I can so that people can see that there's an actual person involved in running the city instead of just a faceless title.”
“We saw each other in the entryway and that was that,” Celia adds, beaming at the mayor through the phone.
Well, that ties everything up nicely as far as Celia is concerned. I'll have to turn in Mr. Westover, but anything that happens with him is none of my business. I'll keep his money, though. There's only one more question I have for Celia, and it's rude and unavoidable.
“I have one more thing,” I tell her, making sure to raise a brow at the mayor. “There's no way to ask this without just asking this. I'm not trying to insinuate anything, but I know how old you are, Frank. I can't leave her here until I know how old she is.” I give her a small smile. “You look every minute of seventeen. Please tell me you aren't seventeen.”
“No,” she says, laughing. “But I'll take the compliment. I'm twenty-four. I'm just cursed with a baby face.”
I give the mayor a look. “Twenty-four.”
“What would you have me do, Dana? Reject her because she's a few years younger than I am? We're a match. It would do far more damage than good to deny us the connection.”
“I'm young, but I'm not a child,” Celia says, all humor gone from her tone. “I'm not leaving him.” She turns her head to show a healing bite mark. “He's mine.”
Well, like she said, that's that.