Page 59 of Hide or Die

Finally, Beckett turned to me. “Go retrieve our prisoner, please. It looks like we’re about ready to leave.” He shot an expectant look at Dupont.

The lieutenant gestured toward a burly uniformed officer sitting at a desk nearby. “Owens. Escort this...agent...to the cells and transfer the omega to her custody.”

As poorly veiled disdain went, I’d heard worse. Owens retrieved a set of keys with a grunt of acknowledgement. I ignored the contemptuous look he raked over me and followed him into the back, passing through a series of security doors. Our footsteps echoed loudly against the cinderblock walls. Cameras tracked our progress with blinking red eyes—more evidence that after today, there would be no coming back for us.

Though honestly, considering Beckett was out front signing his own name to forged federal transfer papers at this very moment, the camera footage of me springing a prisoner from jail without any legal standing to do so was probably superfluous.

Owens eyeballed me with clear distaste. “So, federal security, huh?”

“Yes,” I replied tersely, having no interest whatsoever in small talk with this beta meat-brain.

“Wouldn’t catch the MPD letting your kind onto the force,” he said, not taking the hint.

“Your loss,” I told him, as we entered a row of holding cells. “I guess there’s no accounting for taste.”

“Fuckin’ hyena bitch,” he muttered, trotting out the old, unimaginative slur for female alphas. I let it slide.

He stopped in front of the last cell on the right. The key clanked in the lock, and he jerked his chin toward the red-haired form huddled in the corner, staring fixedly into the middle distance. “So, is she your little omega girlfriend, or something? Come to get your fuck-toy back?”

That one, I was less inclined to let slide. I loomed over him as he turned to pull the door open, using my slight advantage of height with the full knowledge of how much beta men hated that.

“No,” I said sweetly. My lips pulled back, baring teeth in an expression that was only distantly related to a smile. “She’s not. Do you know how you can tell?”

“Uh...” He took a half-step back, yielding ground without realizing it.

My voice hardened to steel. “Becauseyou’re still breathing.”

I brushed past him without giving him another glance, trying with minimal success to soften my stance as I entered and crossed to the figure curled into a miserable ball in the back. The cell was harshly lit by the same fluorescent tube lighting as the rest of the place. Bars formed three walls, open and unprotected. It was devoid of anything soft beyond the one-inch thick plastic pad on the sleeping bench—all sharp edged metal and hard surfaces.

Omega hell, in other words.

“Ms. McCready,” I said, aware of how stiff my voice sounded. She was no longerMadam Ambassador, and never would be again. Looking down at her dazed face, I was once more amazed by how high she and her sad-eyedodamahad flown before someone finally clipped their wings.

“What—?” she rasped, blinking huge hazel eyes up at me. “How?”

“We’re leaving. Transfer of custody.” I had the worrisome impression that she didn’t really believe I was here. Crouching, I grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet as gently as I could. Bruises in the shape of fingers circled her right bicep, marring the pale, luminous skin. She swayed, my grip the only thing keeping her upright for the first few seconds until she locked her knees.

“You got cuffs?” Owens asked.

I raked a contemptuous gaze over him. “Why? Worried she’s going to overpower you?”

He leveled a glare of hatred at me in return. “Prisoners are s’posed to be cuffed.”

“Then it’s a good thing she’s not your prisoner anymore,” I said, and led my charge out of the cell on stumbling legs.

Beckett met us at the second to last security door, and ran an assessing eye over the smock-clad form in my grasp. “We’re going out the back. I’ll bring the car around.”

He had the manila folder tucked under his arm once more, but no bag or other sign that Leona McCready’s belongings had been returned to her. Of course, it was quite likely they’d dragged her out of her home with only whatever clothing had been on her back—and in the middle of the night, that might not have been much.

Whether she’d realized it yet or not, she’d just lost everything—possessions, money, career...everything. To all intents and purposes, Ambassador Leona McCready no longer existed. Idly, I wondered what would rise to take the place of that lost life.

The car backed up to the rear entrance where Beckett had left us waiting. I bundled my omega charge into the back seat, stretching the seatbelt across her body when she seemed disinclined to do it herself. But when I reached to open the passenger-side door, Beckett stopped me with a look.

“Alex,” he said, gently reproving. “Get in the back seat. She’s in shock, and you’re on omega duty.”

I swallowed the argument that wanted to rise, aware that my reaction was irrational even as a sick sense of dread settled in my stomach.

“You should have brought one of the others along—not me,” I managed.

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