Things were good for a few short weeks. Rowan was unused to having a particular emotion one way or another when it came to his life. Things came and went without anything occurring that could be considered of particular note. Even such events as a close call when making a delivery for Mr. Storm, or getting temporarily detained and shoved into a holding cell, just wouldn’t have made that much of an impression on him. Shit happened and then it was over with, his life resuming much the same way as it had been before.

But things were different with Derrick.

Derrick made everything good. Despite the fact that the other wolf could occasionally be distant or uncommunicative, especially in public, he opened up more and more every day. The ice which covered his gaze had stopped being a mask that he hid behind so often, though occasionally the coldness sprang up again when he was feeling uncertain. As the days went on, that was less and less.

They spent as much time together as they could, joking, teasing each other, or just spending time together in silence. If their conversation happened to stray into the realm of something a little more serious, such as their future together, they guided it back toward a lighter topic without much in the way of awkwardness. The fact that they both wanted to talk about it said something significant. Just, neither of them felt as if they had any right to broach that subject when they were still in the early phases of getting to know each other.

That was how Rowan felt, and he knew Derrick leaned in a similar direction. He could feel it, that magnetic pull between them whenever they touched physically or mentally.

Rowan took on no further jobs from his boss, which was easy enough to do because nothing was being offered to him. He didn’t talk to any of the other employees about it because he didn’t know if any of them were in on it, so it was just him and the silence. Part of him regretted the loss of extra cash. The rest of him rejoiced at always being so well-rested that he could enjoy time with Derrick without having to force it.

As for Derrick, the press had stopped bothering him. He still had occasional bouts of doubt and despair, especially when Rowan was there to listen to him, but for the most part, he’d begun to find ways to occupy his free time. He went shopping and cooked ambitious meals—which Rowan usually ate with him—and frequented galleries, museums, and a few local concerts by small-time musicians trying to break out.

“Nothing special,” he usually said, “but they’re trying.”

The undercurrent to this statement was usually a little self-demeaning, Derrick blaming himself for not trying to break out and do the same for himself. Rowan always pretended not to hear it. He had discovered that Derrick only tended to go deeper into his bouts of moodiness when he was allowed to stew in his own thoughts, to really mull them over. Moving on to something else was the best way to keep it all at bay.

The only thing truly bothersome during all this was that Rowan kept having an odd feeling. It was that same sort of dread he’d experienced before running into those reporters in front of the Bright Heights apartments. Like he was being watched. The sensation was more intense at some times than others, a burning at the back of his neck upon some occasions, but nothing more than a tingle at others. When he looked around, there was never anything to be seen.

Trying to tell himself it was just a coincidence didn’t work. More likely was the idea that the invisible watchers were police officers in plainclothes. And the most concerning option, the one he didn’t like to think about? It might be someone his boss knew, someone who might have a score to settle. A person never knew in this kind of situation.

A person never knew, until the truth was staring you right in the face.

Derrick was off visiting a small art gallery called Dust to Dust, which apparently was run by another wolf shifter. The artist’s paintings gained attention every once in a while, whenever he won an award or produced a particularly fine piece. After that, he and Rowan were potentially going to meet for lunch.

That was potentially, and not a given, because Rowan had received a text this morning from Mr. Storm. The boss had left a package in the back room of the liquor store, by his office door. He wanted Rowan to deliver it to a home somewhere in Norfolk, Portsmouth’s twin city across the river.

Rowan couldn’t quite recall the address off the top of his head, but it ended up not mattering at all because he never made it there.

But, he didn’t know that at the time. At the time, as he set out to the Liquor Depot, he was only wondering just how long it would take for him to get to that house and back. If he could make short work of this, then it wouldn’t be any problem at all to come back and have lunch with his new favorite person.

As he rode up to the store, he scanned the perimeter with his superior vision. He didn’t see anyone who might call the police on him again, which was good.

In retrospect, it wouldn’t have mattered. The cops were already there, waiting for him inside. Three of them, shining high-powered flashlights in his face as he moved through the dark of the back room. Their presence took him so by surprise that he could only stare blankly into the light like a deer in the path of an oncoming vehicle. Someone else working at the store must have helped them inside. Either that or the cops had an expert lockpicker at their disposal because Rowan hadn’t noticed anything amiss when he unlocked the door and went inside.

“Hands up,” one of the cops commanded. Rowan groaned as he recognized that crisp, professional tone. It was Officer Melody Whitehead, the female cop with the pageboy haircut. One of the two who had questioned him about his reasons for being here the first time he was caught coming in.

Which meant that her partner…

Moving slowly, Rowan lifted his hands up into the air. Another figure moved forward through the darkness, holding his flashlight right in Rowan’s eyes. “Don’t try any funny business,” the cop snapped.

“Nice to see you again, Officer Terry,” Rowan said.

“Quiet,” Terry barked.

Rowan shut up obediently, letting his arms be yanked behind his back so that handcuffs could be snapped around his wrists. They went on a little tight, metal digging into his skin. The pressure quickly grew uncomfortable but Rowan just gritted his fangs and told himself to bear it.

A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed that the package left by Mr. Storm had been taken, presumably confiscated as evidence. Sighing, Rowan sent a silent apology to Derrick that he wouldn’t be able to meet up for lunch. Maybe not for a long, long time, depending on how this whole thing went.

He didn’t think it was going to go well, because the third cop he couldn’t identify started to read him his Miranda rights as they dragged him out of the liquor store and to an unmarked cop car parked two buildings over. The whole way to the police station, Rowan berated himself for not being more careful.

Then again, all of this probably would have happened the same way. The only difference would be that he would look much more suspicious for someone who had previously professed to not know anything.

The cops didn’t take him to a holding cell this time. He was escorted directly to the Chief of Police’s office, and this time the Chief was there waiting for him.

The Police Chief was a balding man in his 40s, with a tired expression and exhausted green eyes that looked as if they had seen far too much. Rowan looked right at him, inspecting him at the same time as he was being similarly scrutinized. Being in charge of protecting an entire city, managing an extensive police force and dealing with the daily consequences that came with all that, was probably more than enough to age a person before his time.

“When do Police Chiefs usually retire?”

The words were out of his mouth before he even really knew that he was going to say anything. Behind him, guarding the door, Officer Terry let out a derisive snort. Officer Melody was back there as well, but she made no comment of any kind. The bad cop and the good cop, always.

The Chief of Police quirked up the corner of his mouth in an expression that should have looked like a smile but more rightly resembled a grimace. “Depends on how many punks we have to deal with in our lifetime. You think I’m nearing the end of my rope, Rowan August? What if I were to tell you that you’re nearing the end of yours?”

Rowan resisted the urge to shift around in his seat while those prying eyes were upon him. Showing any sort of restless behavior would be used against him, no matter what these cops were trying to pin on him. “The question is, are we tied together?”

“Fucking cooperate!” Officer Terry snarled from the doorway.

The Police Chief held up a hand in his direction, silencing him. “That’s an astute question for someone like you, Rowan.”

“What do you mean, someone like me?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you since that day two weeks ago. But we’ve had our eye on you even longer than that. You and the rest of the people you work for. Did you know that?”

“Did these two,” Rowan gestured with his chin in the direction of the cops behind him, “know that when they got me the first time? Playing dumb, pretending they didn’t know I worked there?”

“I’m supposed to be the one asking the questions here.” However, a contemplative sort of look momentarily softened the harsh edges of some of the Police Chief’s wrinkles. He folded his hands together on the desk and leaned forward over them, revealing his badge for the first time.

Archibald Hemmingway. Holy shit, Archie, do I feel bad for you, being seated with a name like that. You must have been real bully fodder in school.

Chief Archibald mulled over what he was going to say in much the same way as a cow mulled over grass, chewing the words, tasting and re-tasting. “But, no. We didn’t know you worked there. We hadn’t discovered that, mostly because there are just too many of you to keep track of. Our resources are divided here. That might be where you’re able to help us.”

Rowan blinked with surprise. His blood pressure had felt like it was about to go through the roof, stress making his heart hammer wildly in his chest no matter how hard he had been trying to appear innocent. He’d been expecting a great many things from this conversation but this just wasn’t something that had occurred to him as a possibility.

“Me? Help you? How?”

“First, I’m going to have to get all of the information out in the open so that you can make an informed decision. I’m not one of those bastards who would only tell you what you want to hear. That’s manipulation and not once in all my years as a cop have I ever done so.”

This outburst seemed a little off, until Rowan caught sight of a little flicker in Chief Archibald’s gaze. For a moment, only a moment, the Chief had been looking at one of the cops behind him. Probably Terry, if he had to hazard a guess.

The fact that Terry, with his bad-cop attitude, didn’t comment on this…just cemented things for Rowan.

“In any case, we know that you have been making deliveries for the man who runs the Portsmouth Fine Liquor Depot, a Mr. Daniel Storm. These delivers are small, typically infrequent, always in-state. They usually contain legal goods. But not always.” Chief Archibald held up a hand that was speckled with dark liver spots. “The needles, when you went to Wyndale, being the most recent. Before that, you have transported moderate quantities of chemicals and certain medications that are harmless when taken normally, but which also serve other functions. Does this sound familiar to you?”

“The needles weren’t the most recent,” Rowan said.

“Correct. The fake roses were. But the needles were illegal, and that is mostly the category that we’re able to concern ourselves with. Even if we know the purpose of the other items.”

“The purposes of the roses, being…?”

Was that surprise, in the Chief’s gaze? “Irreputable places sell the roses with needles fitted inside them.”

“Oh.”

“You said before in a statement that you were unaware of what you were delivering. You retract that statement now, don’t you?”

“I guess I do,” Rowan said, very cautiously. “If you want me to help you, I have to be honest, don’t I?”

Another grimace from the chief, but this time it seemed just a little bit more like an actual smile. “You’re catching on. See, we’re aware of how far this operation extends even if you aren’t. Your boss is insignificant in the long run, but if we bring him down, it will at least give us a chance to get more information from him to work our way up. You understand?”

Rowan nodded.

“We would be willing to turn a blind eye to your involvement in this if you help us bring your boss down. That’s the deal here. If not, we have enough evidence to hold you until we can manage to actually get a trial. Since this is a very large-scale operation we’re investigating, we would be able to deny you bail. Jail time for who knows how long. Then you would have your own separate trial, followed by more time in jail. Which option do you choose?”

Rowan really didn’t need to think it over. He had been getting so used to imagining his future a certain way and if he didn’t go along with what the cops wanted, he would never get that future. He didn’t actually have an option. “I’ll help you. Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”

“Good.” Chief Archibald nodded and cracked his knuckles. His eyes suddenly seemed more focus, more intent on this game that he had instigated. “We know that your boss has been shipping illegal goods through you, a few other employees, and a handful of others across Portsmouth and the surrounding cities. Unfortunately, he’s incredibly good at covering his tracks, and we can’t get anything on him. Can’t get a warrant. No true proof that would stand up in court.

“However, if a concerned employee was to stumble across some incriminating papers or other evidence…Do you see where I’m going with this?”

“Of course I do,” River replied. “But it can’t be just anything, can it? It has to be something that explicitly states what he’s doing, directly tied to his name. Something exactly perfect.”

“Correct.” Chief Archibald narrowed his eyes. “It has to be exactly perfect. Absolutely right. You know a lot about this, don’t you?”

“I used to read a lot.”

The Chief didn’t seem to trust that statement, but it was the truth. “Fine, then. You know what to do. There’s no time limit on this, so don’t rush it and fuck up. I’ll give you my personal number. You are to notify me the instant anything happens. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“If you decide to disappear or talk to Mr. Storm about this…We will know. Is that clear?”

Rowan repeated, more emphatically, “Yes.”

“Good.” Chief Archibald scribbled his number down on a piece of paper and then pushed it across to Rowan. “Terry, uncuff him.”

Grumbling a little under his breath, Terry nevertheless obeyed the command of his superior. Rowan rubbed his raw, chafed wrists; the sudden rush of blood to his fingertips made them feel both hot and as large and clumsy as sausages.

“But wait,” Rowan said.

Chief Archibald looked at him with faint bemusement. “What is it? Most men like you would have bolted out the door as soon as you were uncuffed.”

“Well, I’m not exactly the kind of guy that you think I am.” But, that was the kind of thing a suspicious punk would say to defend himself. Rowan lifted one arm to rub the back of his head. The tension he was feeling didn’t ease, but his fingers were buzzing now with returning blood, and he needed to stretch them out or else it would drive him crazy. “I’ve got someone I want to be there for.”

“Ah.” That didn’t seem to convince the Police Chief, but Rowan didn’t really care. “Anyway, you had something to say?”

“You guys took the package that I was there to get and deliver. How am I going to explain what happened to Mr. Storm without him getting suspicious of me? I’ve never failed a delivery before, and you guys weren’t exactly subtle when you dragged me out of there. Someone might have noticed.”

Someone probably noticed, is what I’m saying.

The Chief just smiled and shook his head. “Actually, we already thought of that. This raid has been in development for quite some time. We made sure that there was no one in the nearby buildings. Anyone who might be inclined to inform your boss of this event has been, well, given reason not to.”

Rowan understood.

“So, the story you will tell your boss is that you arrived to find the place had been broken into in an expert manner, and the package was missing. Repeat that information back to me.”

Rowan did.

Chief Archibald nodded. He stood up and that was when Rowan realized that the man was a little heavier than he had initially thought. The Chief was one of those humans who carried all their weight in their lower half. Pear-shaped, so to speak.

“I think we’re done here then. Unless there’s anything else?”

“I don’t think so. Does this mean I’m free to go?”

“Until I say otherwise, yes. You are. But don’t take this for granted, Rowan August. It could all come to an end faster than you can even think.”

He had no doubt about that, but he wasn’t just about to let it happen without a fight.

Rowan also stood, just as the Chief walked by. One of the cops by the door flinched a little as if they expected him to make a funny move or something. Chief Archibald paused by him for a moment, then moved on. If he’d been considering shaking Rowan’s hand to seal the deal, he had obviously decided against it.

Maybe that was for the best. You didn’t shake hands with criminals. You didn’t get more involved with them than you had to.

Officers Terry and Melody Whitehead slid to either side of the door so they weren’t blocking it. The Chief opened it and gestured for Rowan to step through. “These two will take you back to within a block of where you left your motorcycle. Unfortunately, you’ll have to walk from there.”

“I don’t mind some walking,” Rowan replied.

The Chief didn’t respond and shut the door as soon as Rowan had stepped through. Officer Melody shot her temperamental partner a warning glare, telling him to be quiet, and then gestured to Rowan. “Come on. Let’s get you back.”

Through the entire ride, no one said anything, although Terry did sigh a lot from the front seat. Rowan ignored it and tried to convince his racing heart that this was all over and that there was nothing else to worry about. Being in the back of the cruiser again was understandably making him nervous. Part of him believed that Terry might just take the law into his own hands and shoot him, or do something else equally as fatal. And that would be the end of it, because Mr. Storm wasn’t going to look for his missing employee. And Derrick…

Derrick would never know what happened, because he had no idea about any of this. All he knew was that Rowan had been busted for trespassing, nothing else.

I need to fix that, he realized. These past few weeks had gone so well that he ignored the consequences that might come from being in a relationship with someone so pure as Derrick. That needed to change. Something might happen. He might need help, especially now that the situation had gotten a lot more serious than just a little bit of occasional trespassing and sketchy deliveries. He had just agreed to put his life at stake.

Yes, Derrick deserved to know.

“Hey! Criminal!” Officer Terry barked. “We’re here, are you deaf? Get out!”

Rowan looked up, a little startled to find just how many things had happened since he dropped deep into his thoughts. The cruiser idled in the middle of a nondescript street where most of the business were permanently closed. Officer Melody had stepped out and come around to the back where Rowan was to hold the door open for him.

He didn’t think Melody was all that bad, so he took the chance of flashing a smile in her direction while climbing out of the cruiser. She didn’t return it, but neither did she look as if she wanted to smack him over the head with her baton, so at least that was something.

As soon as he was clear of the door and standing on a dusty sidewalk that was in dire need of maintenance, Officer Melody went back around to her side of the cruiser. The cops drove off. Melody waved. Terry flipped him the bird.

Alone once more and glad of it, Rowan reached into his pocket for his phone and pulled it out. It was just a shitty flip phone, the kind you could buy for $15 at Walmart, but it was the only kind that he could have without needing to replace it every couple of months. Shapeshifting screwed around with electronics in subtle, yet devastating ways. The more intricate and delicate something was, the more likely it was to just stop working in the presence of a shifter. A huge annoyance. Sometimes, phones, iPods, and other devices just completely disappeared during the process of turning into an animal and back. Yet, clothes never did. You either kept them or shredded through them in the process. That suggested some sort of dissonance, a separation in the line of what people considered to be part of them and what they didn’t.

But that was for smarter people than him to figure out. He couldn’t have cared less about the mysteries of being a shifter right now. All he wanted was to hear Derrick’s voice.

But first, he texted his boss exactly what the Police Chief had told him to say.

Then, and only then, could he dial Derrick’s number.

Derrick was usually pretty good about answering his phone within the first couple of rings, but this time the tone kept buzzing on and on without ceasing in Rowan’s ear. A hard knot of worry formed deep inside his stomach. Something must have happened to him.

The call went to voicemail but since Derrick hadn’t set his voicemail up, he couldn’t leave a message. Frustrated and growing more worried with each second that passed, Rowan hung up and tried again.

This time, there was a familiar clicking sound in his ear after only two-and-a-half rings.

“Hey!” Derrick said cheerfully.

Rowan’s knees went a little weak at the sound of the other man’s voice. The worry that had been tightening inside him suddenly let loose, and he had to support himself against the nearest building in order to stay standing. “Hey, Derry,” Rowan said. His voice was thin with relief but he hoped that the effect might be diminished when traveling through the phone.

“Are you okay?”

Well, this is it.

“Yes,” Rowan said. “I’m…fine. But I think you and I need to talk about something.”

“Oh.” He felt the ice closing in, threatening to segregate them from each other. “Okay. When?”

“Not over the phone. We were going to meet for lunch. I’m suddenly very available.”

Some of the caution ebbed from Derrick’s voice as he started to get the idea that their impending important conversation might have little to do with him personally. “Okay. Where do you want to meet?”

Not somewhere in public.

“I’ll come to your apartment. I’ll pick up a couple subs. We can have a picnic on your living room floor.”

“Rowan, I don’t like this. What’s going on?”

“Just be there, and I’ll tell you everything. Okay? Talk to you soon.”

He hung up quickly before Derrick could ask any further questions, mostly because he was afraid he would start spilling all his secrets while standing right out there in the open. That wouldn’t do.

Jogging lightly, he made it to his bike in only a minute and hopped on. His phone vibrated with furious texts from his boss. He didn’t answer them. One difficult thing at a time.