Page 70 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
“Yes, sir,” I say, wiggling the mouse of my computer to wake it up.
A knock sounds on the frame of my door twenty-five minutes later. I lift my gaze from the computer and smirk.
“Five more minutes.”
“You sound like my goddamn teenager. Let’s go.”
“Ricky sounds like a good kid,” I joke, grabbing the stack of papers, the tumbler, my keys and wallet.
“Smartass,” Riley mutters. He walks to the front doors, and I shut my office before jogging to catch up. “I’ll drive.”
I simply nod because I expected that. He likes to be in control, and that means he sits behind the wheel whenever we go places together.
The drive doesn’t take long. Riley grills me about the raid the whole way. I stick to the truth, for the most part. Technically, Whitney coming to our house happened after the raid. I’m not lying when I say she was being checked out by the paramedics last I knew. Asher was supposed to drive her home. I’ll have to lie about that part—say he dropped her off at her house. My gut clenches at the thought. Lying to the Omega Council isn’t the smartest thing to do, but I’m not about to throw Asher to the wolves. That man can’t lie for shit.
I don’t know what her home life was like, but I’m guessing her parents are assholes. That might work to our advantage.
Once we get out of Riley’s car, Riley stops talking. His features pull into a hard mask of don’t fuck with me. I follow his lead, walking into the building and to the elevator. I press the call button, listening to the engines whir as the elevator descends. The doors open and a woman stops at the sight of us.
“Ma’am,” Riley says, letting her off before we get in.
The floor we get off on reeks of pissed off omega. My upper lip curls, but I force it back down, refusing to react. I have to be cold and calculated here. There isn’t room for emotions.
The captain stops outside of a shut door and knocks, shooting me an appraising look. The back of my neck prickles in warning. Does he suspect me? There’s no way he can. If he had something, he would have told me by now. Riley doesn’t like to sit on information, and he likes me. Riley was the one who trained me, and he’s sort of like a father to me. He’s given more shits about me than my real father, and has been a lot kinder too. If anyone deserves to be called dad by me, it’s Riley. I doubt he’d put me on the spot. The slim chance that he brought me here to watch me burn isn’t comforting, but I have faith in him.
A woman with a sharp nose, hair pulled up in a tight bun, and a smile that’s closer to a sneer than a grin opens the door. “Come in,” she says, scent sickly sweet.
“Camila, I’m Captain Riley and this is Sergeant Post.” Riley stands behind the cushioned chairs in front of her large desk.
The omega puts her hands on her desk and stares at him, tipping her head to the side and fluttering her eyelashes. “Please, sit. Would you like some coffee?”
I almost snort at the thought. She doesn’t know who she’s talking to.
“I’m good, thanks.” Riley takes his seat and looks back at me, tipping his head toward the other one.
Camila’s hawk-like gaze zeroes in on me. “They sure do make you officers tall.”
“Post is a sergeant, ma’am.” Riley doesn’t give her room to bullshit, and I admire him for that. He has a way of making it clear that even though we may be beneath the high pack, they’re not going to put us down.
Me? I’d just be pissed and short with her. Guess that’s why he’s the captain. He’s good at schmoozing.
“Oh, of course,” Camila says with a quick laugh.
“And he’s damn good at his job. We brought you a copy of the report, in case you missed the one I sent earlier.”
I hand her the report and sit, spine straight and face blank.
“I did read that, but I’m a little embarrassed to admit I didn’t understand most of it.” She gives an impish grin that doesn’t reach her eyes.
She’s trying to play us.
“That’s all right, ma’am. I can explain it to you in layman’s terms.”
The slightest of scowls is her only reaction. She doesn’t like being called stupid.
“Please, call me Camila,” she finally manages.
“Of course, ma’am.” I shake my head. “Sorry, Camila. What would you like to know?”
