Page 19 of Wings
My free hand clenched the laptop's edge. "Is there a problem with my schedule?"
"Not exactly. We need you to come in for a meeting tomorrow before your shift. There's been an anonymous complaint regarding medication diversion. Security will need to interview you as part of our standard investigation protocol."
The words floated through my brain without finding purchase. Anonymous complaint. Medication diversion. Security interview. Each phrase perfectly professional, perfectly reasonable, perfectly timed to destroy my life.
"Of course." My voice ran on autopilot while my mind screamed. "What time should I come in?"
"Three PM would be ideal. Simply check in at the main desk and ask for Director Harrison. He'll be conducting the interview along with our head of security."
"I'll be there."
"Excellent. And Miss Mitchell? This is merely routine. We investigate all complaints thoroughly, regardless of merit. Please don't let it cause you undue concern."
Undue concern.
Like being accused of stealing medications—which I actually did steal—was just a minor inconvenience. Like my nursing license and freedom weren't hanging by whatever thread this anonymous complaint had cut.
"I understand. Thank you for letting me know."
"Have a pleasant day, Miss Mitchell."
The line went dead. I set the phone down with exaggerated care, like it might explode if handled roughly. My laptop screen had gone dark, draft four abandoned mid-sentence.
Anonymous complaint.
Three years of perfect extractions, and suddenly—the morning after I encounter Gabe Moreno in a parking garage—someone decides to report suspicious activity?
The walls of my apartment seemed to contract, pressing closer with each breath. Someone knew. Someone who wanted me scared, off-balance, looking over my shoulder. Someone who understood that threatening my job was more effective than any physical threat.
But who?
My hands shook as I opened the laptop again. The half-finished resignation email mocked me. Thirty days notice assumed I'd have thirty days of freedom. Assumed I wouldn't bein handcuffs by tomorrow afternoon, my carefully constructed new life unraveling thread by thread.
I highlighted the draft and hit delete with more force than necessary.
New email. New approach.
"Doc, we have a bigger problem than the new pickup arrangement."
Chapter 5
Wings
I’dbeenatchapela lot, recently. Even so, I still felt nervous.
Duke sat behind his scarred wood desk like a judge at the end of days, fingers steepled, eyes cold as steel. Thor flanked the door, hand resting casual on his cut where his piece would be. Tyson occupied the corner where shadows gathered thickest, still as a sniper waiting for the shot.
"So. Tell me about Kiara Santos." Duke's voice could've frozen hell over.
"Met her seven years ago," I said, keeping to facts like they could save me. "She was dating my twin brother Alex. Sweet kid, pre-med student. Smart. Kind. Way too good for him."
"Go on."
"She tried to help him get clean. Couple years of that dance—rehab, relapse, promises, broken promises. I left for the Army right after high school. Haven't seen her since this morning in the garage."
Duke's expression didn't change, but something in the air shifted. Like the moment before thunder when all the birds go quiet.
"That's the resume," he said. "Now give me the real story."
