27. Callisto
Chapter twenty-seven
Callisto
Alarm closes around my throat as if an icy hand chokes me while I rifle through the evidence boxes and case files. But it’s too early to panic since things are undoubtedly chaotic in the OCB’s legal department with so many cases pushing through. The information has to be here somewhere.
The degree we can charge people involved in the black-market hub depends entirely on what activities they undertook, from guarding to supplying at the lower end of the severity scale, to selling omegas and procuring haze at the upper end.
But any case needs evidence to stand on, and that’s where we have a giant problem.
“Hey, Avery? You there?” I crane backward to look out into the main conference room, where the paralegals read through more evidence and compile individual case files.
“Here.” She gets up from her seat and adjusts a hairpin barely restraining her bangs. “What’s up?” The efficient paralegal marches into my office, showing no signs of annoyance that I’ve disturbed her.
“Do I have copies of all the omegas’ statements?”
Avery frowns and leans past me to dig through the files. After comparing the contents with details on her tablet, her brows snap together. “That’s all the statements we have registered, but it’s not all the omegas listed in the rescue report.”
I groan and massage one knuckle into my forehead. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
I grind my teeth for a moment before answering. “None of the omegas tried to leave and were detained. At the deposition, every single defendant denied holding the omegas against their will.”
Avery mouths my statement silently to herself, her eyes widening with alarm. “And proof of captivity is the primary justification for the harsher sentencing.”
I nod and wave toward the box with the scent sample. “We can prove they distributed haze, and with the first omega from Darinian City, her statements prove exchange of money but only for the one handler plus the accountant. None of the other omegas’ statements mention haze extraction or even confirm they were held against their will.”
Avery squeezes her eyes shut and massages her forehead. “Seems like those bastards brought the psychological A game. You’ll have to go down that path and get more detailed statements.”
I hum under my breath and reach over to lift out the vial of golden haze oil. Just the sight of it sends a tingle through my loins as I recall the powerful reaction I had to the scent. For some reason, it reminds me of the omega who crash landed on me last week.
“So where did the haze come from?” I muse. This means we have a hole in the case, and I don’t like it.
Avery leans against the glass wall dividing the rooms. “Maybe from omegas who got sold before we raided the place? It’s been operating for something like thirty years, from what we can tell.”
I grit my teeth, holding back an unhappy rumble. “Has forensics confirmed which omegas the haze came from? We can track the statement backward. Maybe the omegas are too scared to testify.”
Avery sighs. “Or it could’ve been done in their sleep or even removed from their memory. Forensics is investigating some pretty weird drugs found onsite. They seem to be linked to memory loss. But about the haze, hang on.” She flips through her tablet. “Lab report came in yesterday. It’s all from the same female omega.”
I blanch. “All from one? But didn’t you say there were hundreds of vials?”
She nods sadly. “I thought I already forwarded the forensics statement to you. I’ll do it now.”
A shudder trickles down my spine as I think of the sheer volume of abuse in that damned place. My brain ticks over enough for me to process everything Avery said. “Wait. More omegas were rescued, but we don’t have their statements? Why not?”
She shrugs. “Not sure. I’ll get you the omega center’s details and you can check with them.” She drags her finger across her screen a few times and my phone vibrates in my pocket. “The only one I can see missing goes by the designation O-11.”
I unlock my phone. Even the name sounds inhumane. And if the pieces fit together, it means that one omega’s been drained of every drop of haze she’s ever produced. The most I’ve ever heard of an omega producing haze under ethical conditions is ten vials per heat.
I need to find the evidence and put these fuckers behind bars, so they can never destroy lives again.
“Thanks, Avery.” I save the new contact info and dial the number as the paralegal leaves.
The line clicks on. “Laversham Omega Center, you’re speaking with Noelene.”
“Hi.” I introduce myself, and provide my barrister license number, before explaining my call. “I need a statement from an omega known as O-11 since we’re missing it.”
Silence hangs heavily in the line as I finish my request. “Still there?” I ask, thinking maybe the call dropped out.
“Yes. Unfortunately we’re unable to provide a statement from O-11 as she’s disappeared.”
My stomach swoops. “Disappeared? How’s that possible?”
“We’d like to know that too. Leave me your number, and if we find her, we’ll try to get the statement you need. Although, I should warn you, she initially declined to speak about her ordeal.”
As I hang up, it strikes me that the runaway omega must have a good reason not to trust centers. It’d take guts and a lot of resourcefulness to give the Omega Center the slip. I mean, their security is top-notch. To escape, you’d have to have a lot of experience, surely. Perhaps she’s the one the haze belongs to.
I flop back in my chair with a sigh and my gaze falls on the vial of haze. A strange longing to uncap the bottle and fill my senses with that beautiful aroma floods through me, stirring my cock. I reach for the evidence bag and stroke my fingers along the plastic.
At the same time, I wonder what Ricky’s doing with Red. I can probably guess, seeing their first encounter sent him into rut. Would his cute, polished look come undone when he’s fucking? I bet his reserve evaporates, especially with a woman like Red in his grip. She’s the kind of omega who’d give any alpha wet dreams. Heat floods through my cock and it pressures my pants, just to make my point.
The phone vibrates in my other hand, shocking a violent twitch out of me. The bag slips from my fingers. I snatch for it but miss, and the package lands on the desk with a smothered crack.
“Shit!” I hiss, juggling bag and phone. “Hello?”
“Callisto, it’s Simon. Just wanted to let you know, your mother’s in the hospital.”
I clamp my lips together as a flood of annoyance washes through me. He’s not referring to the kind of hospital where people go for surgery and stitches, but rather the shrink on standby and plenty of sedative kind.
I rub my forehead. “Thanks for letting me know, Simon. What set her off?” A clinical, unfeeling question, really, but I can’t help myself.
“I’m not sure exactly what started it, but she was agitated this morning and then she backed the car into the garden bed.”
“Didn’t she have a driver?” I snap. “Or one of you?” If she wasn’t feeling well, why get behind the wheel at all?
I shouldn’t be this way, but can’t she just get better? It’s been years since Dad died and she’s done boatloads of therapy. I mean, is anxiety even an actual condition worthy of hospitalization? It’s only blown up in the last decade or two like some kind of fad. Can make good grounds for a defense case, though, when needed.
Simon gets a waspish tone in his voice. “I don’t think that’s the real issue here. She could’ve called a driver, but she was in a hurry for something.” He’s not my biggest fan.
I grit my teeth to hold back a sigh. “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. Are they allowing visitors?”
“Lector’s in with the doctors now. I’ll know more when he gets out.”
I trace the outline of my leather laptop case. “Could you send me a text when they’re allowing visitation?”
“Sure. I’ll get going now.”
While I’m deliberating on what to say as a goodbye, he hangs up the line. I drop my phone on the table. “Great fucking timing, Mom. Did it have to be in the middle of these cases?”
My conscience answers me in a small voice that sounds suspiciously like Ricky: would it have made any difference when it happened? She’s your mom.