Page 34 of Pack Rivals: Part Two
“That’s so wrong,” I tell her. “You are a book abuser.”
“Nope, it’s a sign of how much I love my books. I also love you, Bea, but …”
“But?” I say.
“You need to shower.” She crinkles up her nose.
“You don’t think this new look suits me?” I ask, smoothing down my wayward locks.
“You’re not hipster or grunge enough to carry it off,” Courtney says, “now if it were me …”
“Okay, okay, I’m going.”
I’m halfway to the door when Courtney says:
“I like that Nate dude, by the way.”
Yeah, I do too. That’s half the problem. If I hadn’t liked them as much as I did, the betrayal wouldn’t have been as devastating.
8
Silver
I slidea coffee and one of those oversized donuts covered in sugar and shit towards Sampson and reclaim my seat beside Connor.
Sampson grins, and drags it towards him, lifting it to his mouth.
Connor leans in to whisper in my ear. “You know this dude from the army?” He asks as we watch Sampson demolish the thing in three mouthfuls, sugar tumbling down his chin.
Connor insisted on coming with me to this meeting. I don’t know how long this temporary truce between our two packs is going to hold up, but for once I actually appreciate the presence of a second pair of intelligent ears. Finding out who was behind Bea’s kidnapping is my number one priority. I smell a very big rat in all this and I won’t be content until that rat is strung up by its tail.
I nod.
Once upon a time, Sampson owned the tightest set of abs in our unit but since quitting the military at roughly the same time I did, and joining the cops instead, he’s let that shit slide. Not that I’m complaining. Some cops want money, girls or drugs in exchange for information. Sampson, donuts.
“What can you tell us?” I ask him, taking a sip from my own black coffee.
Sampson wipes his mouth with a paper napkin.
“You ain’t going to like it, Silver. There’s not much to tell.”
I exchange a look with Connor. “Why’s that? You have a culprit under police guard at the hospital and an entire clinic full of evidence.”
Sampson brushes sugar and crumbs from the front of his shirt. He’s not dressed in uniform. His shift doesn’t start until later.
“The injured doctor has lawyered up tight. He’s not saying one word to us.”
Connor grunts in irritation. “How hard have you tried? Have you turned the screws on that motherfucker?”
“That motherfucker lost an eye. And tightening the screws looks like piddly shit in comparison. No, he’s not talking.”
“And the clinic?” I ask.
“Well, that is interesting.” He wipes his fingers on the napkin and tosses it onto the tabletop. “There was nothing there.” Connor and I stare at the man like he’s talking gibberish. He laughs at us. “It had been cleared out.”
“What do you mean?”
“Someone knew we were coming and did a very thorough job of clearing out any kind of evidence.”
