Page 75 of Alpha Queen
"We found it," Apollo said without preamble. "The house on Oakridge Place. They kept her here, but they've cleared out. The place has been professionally sanitized, no evidence."
"On our way," Ares replied, his voice taut with urgency.
Apollo pocketed his phone and turned to his team. "Keep searching."
They searched the house for nearly an hour with nothing new to show for their efforts when a sharp knock at the front door startled everyone. The team exchanged tense glances, hands moving instinctively to their weapons.
Apollo motioned the others to stand back. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of a human male, alone, anxious, but not threatening. With a slight nod, Silas positioned himself out of sight but still in striking distance, and Apollo opened the door.
A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses stood on the porch, his brow furrowed with concern. He wore a cardigan despite the unusually warm evening, and his hands fidgeted at his sides.
"Can I help you?" Apollo asked, his voice neutral as he positioned himself to block the man's view of the interior.
The man peered around Apollo's shoulder, trying to see inside. "I should be asking you that," he replied. "Who are you people? I've been watching all evening, different groups coming and going from houses all over the neighborhood."
Apollo straightened to his full height, allowing a hint of his natural authority to surface. "We're looking for someone," he said. "A missing person."
The man's eyes widened. "You're police?"
"Something like that," Apollo replied. "Where do you live, sir?"
"Just there," the man pointed to a beautiful two-story home one property down. "I'm Douglas Whitaker. Been here twelve years."
Apollo studied him for a moment. "And you've been watching this house?"
Whitaker nodded, glancing nervously over his shoulder. "There have been strange things happening here for months. Cars and vans coming and going at all hours. Black SUVs with tinted windows. Men in suits carrying things inside. Never the same people twice, it seemed."
Apollo's pulse quickened. "When did this start?"
"About six months ago, right after the new owners moved in. Though I never actually saw the owners, come to think of it." Whitaker adjusted his glasses. "It was always these... workers, I guess. And they were careful, always parked in the garage, never left anything in the driveway."
Cherry appeared at Apollo's side, strangely composed despite the intensity in her eyes. "Did you ever see a young woman? Silver hair, about this tall?" She held her hand up to indicate River's height.
Whitaker hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe. Late at night. They were helping her from a car to the house. She looked... unwell. I almost called an ambulance, but then I thought better of it."
"Why?" Apollo asked.
The man swallowed hard. "Because of the way they were holding her. Not like someone who was sick, but someone drunk, maybe."
Stiff footsteps tapped on the floor from behind Apollo.
"Mr. Whitaker." Ares moved beside Apollo, his eyes intense as he studied the man. "Do you recall any details about these vehicles? Make, model, anything distinctive about them?"
Whitaker looked between the brothers.
"I have better than descriptions," Whitaker replied. "I wrote down the license plate numbers."
Ares and Apollo exchanged a glance, hope flaring between them like a sudden flame.
Whitaker adjusted his glasses. "I'm a retired accountant. Details are important to me. When things didn't seem right, I started keeping records. Dates, times, descriptions... and the license plates whenever I could see them clearly."
"Where are these records?" Apollo demanded, fighting to keep his voice steady.
"At my house." Whitaker gestured toward his home. "In my study. I've been collecting them for months."
Ares moved out the door before the man finished speaking. "Show us, please."
Apollo looked at Silas. "Round everyone up and meet us back at the house."
