It was another 20 minutes before the cop returned to the holding cell. He was alone once more.

Derrick was gone, probably enjoying his freedom on the outside of these police-filled walls. Well, good for him, Rowan supposed. At least one of them had gotten off easy.

“You’re up,” the cop grunted. “Don’t try anything funny. I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit.”

Rowan looked at the cop’s badge for the first time to read his name. “Don’t worry, Terry,” he said. “I’ll be good.”

Terry just rolled his eyes and sighed, clearly not really caring. “Whatever. Just come on. Let’s get this over with.” He pulled open the cell door with one enormous, beefy hand. He didn’t shift out of the way or do anything that would make it easier for Rowan to get past. He didn’t like that. It was pretty much a power play. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about it except press against the wall to try and squeeze through.

The moment he slid free of the cell, a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. “Come on,” Terry said. “Let’s get going. Don’t have all day.”

It was very difficult to walk when you were being pushed at from behind, propelled in a direction where you had no idea if it was the right way or not. Rowan stumbled, struggled to keep his feet underneath him as Terry shoved him down the hall, past the other empty holding cells, and out through the doorway. Then, they went down through a short series of cramped hallways. These halls were more or less featureless, with no way to really tell them apart from all the others. Half-dead plants had been shoved into the corners and there were plaques and framed pictures of police officers both active and retired.

Random ladders, buckets, and other assorted tools studding the hallways struck him as odd until he noticed that many of the doorways showed empty offices, often littered with wood paneling, disorganized furniture, and other debris. Some sort of renovation was going on, it seemed.

Eventually, they came upon just about the only door in the entire police station that had a label. A sign beside the door knob declared that the room beyond belonged to the Chief of Police.

Uh-oh, Rowan thought. He was pretty sure they didn’t bring every random first-time offender right to the big kahuna. An image of the true situation started to form in his mind, and it wasn’t a picture that he really approved of. Something was going on that he hadn’t been aware of previously. He didn’t like to be taken by surprise.

Then again, maybe this was the only usable office right now due to the renovations. Or both, a happy accident.

Terry reached around him with his free hand and shoved the door open. “Get inside,” he commanded, then shoved Rowan through the doorway.

Rowan didn’t much appreciate being shoved, especially not by some burly human who thought he was a bigger deal than he actually was. However, instead of turning on the cop and attacking as the wolf inside him wanted to do, when having his authoritative alpha nature challenged, he decided it would probably be best to just play along and walked inside the office.

The office was pretty much everything Rowan expected it to be: big, fancy, and mostly impersonal. There were a few more plants in here but none of them were exactly thriving, and their leaves were covered in dust. The air itself was filled with dust, lazy drifting motes illuminated by the sunlight streaming in through the window. Shelves filled with thick books lined the walls, occasionally interrupted by tall, ancient filing cabinets. Pressed back against the window was an enormous desk that had to be worth a fortune, the top of which was covered in a blend of office equipment, books, opened files, and framed photographs. Rowan couldn’t see the pictures held within these frames, not from this angle, but he was willing to bet they were filled with loved ones and various assorted family members. Children, most likely. Possibly a significant other or two.

He was also willing to bet that the person to whom this office belonged wasn’t actually in the room. No one was sitting behind the desk.

That being said, there was someone else in the room waiting for them. It was a female cop, her hair cut into a pageboy style. She didn’t exactly have the face to pull it off, possessing strong, almost masculine features. Her eyes were intense and searching, roaming over Rowan with professional detachment. By the end of that scrutiny, he felt distinctly like he’d been dissected. All of his parts were known to this woman, and all she had to do was just look at him.

This is a woman who’s good at her job. No doubt about it.

Looking at her, he felt as if she could accuse him of a triple murder and he would agree. Her attention made him feel that bad, like he was the worst person on the planet.

“Rowan August?” she said. Her gaze flickered from Rowan to the cop who stood behind him.

“That’s him,” Terry confirmed. He shut the door a little harder than what Rowan felt was necessary and then locked it.

“Well, Mr. August, please take a seat so we can get started.”

There were quite a lot of chairs to choose from, shoved off to the side against the bookcases and lined up in front of the desk. The female police officer sat at one of those seats in front of the desk, her ankles crossed primly. She was balancing a clipboard in her lap; the clipboard appeared to hold only one sheet of paper. Rowan had no idea if this was a good sign or a bad one. Did they need very little to pin him down with something terrible, or did they have very little to accuse him of?

Thinking about all the possibilities in his near future was exhausting, so he decided to put a stop to that and chose the seat behind the desk. He could feel both of the cops staring at him with contempt, their eyes drilling into him from behind, but he found he really didn’t care about their judgment. If he was going to have to sit here, he was going to be comfortable while doing it.

And the Police Chief’s chair was very comfortable, more of a lounger than something that belonged in an office that saw so much seriousness and hardship. The cushions were so deep that he sank down several inches while sitting. Leaning back, Rowan looked at the cops from beneath his lowered eyelids.

Terry heaved an enormous sigh and sat down beside the other cop, leaning forward to rest his hands on top of the desk. His posture was one of interest but his hands were gripping the desk so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“So, Mr. August,” Officer Terry said. “I’m Terry and this is my partner, Officer Melody Whitehead. Mel and I have some questions for you. You can make this easier on yourself by just answering truthfully.”

“Well, I’m sure I will,” Rowan said. His heart started to beat a little faster, his internal tempo picking up. Blood pumped quicker through his veins, rushing in his ears. He had done some not-very-good things for his boss, he knew that, but he was starting to wonder if those things had been even worse than he thought they were. He could plead ignorance but that would be almost like lying, since he knew that his own innocence was nowhere to be found. He’d turned a blind eye. These cops wouldn’t do the same.

“I’m sure you will, too,” Officer Terry growled. “Because if you don’t, it’s considered obstruction of justice and you’ll land your ass in jail. Do we understand each other?”

Rowan swallowed hard. “We do.”

Mel lifted her clipboard and removed a pen from behind her ear. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what you were doing last night, Mr. August?”

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Rowan said. “I did a lot of things last night.”

Most of it was walking and my legs still ache from all of it. But I don’t think it’d be wise to tell you that I went to the other side of the state and back in less than 24 hours.

“Fine,” Mel said pleasantly. She looked down at her clipboard, her eyes roaming around in tight circles while she searched for some bit of information. At her side, Terry sighed loudly and rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling. Good cop and bad cop. Rowan wondered if this tactic was an effective one, or if it was something created by movies that had spilled over into real life just because it looked like it would work.

“At 9:34 a.m., you were spotted entering through the rear door of a closed liquor store. Do you want to tell us what you were doing, entering the property at that time?”

“Seems pretty damn suspicious,” Terry snapped.

“But I’m sure you have a reasonable explanation, don’t you?” Mel jumped in, voice pleasant.

Rowan was beginning to get the idea here. The interest wasn’t in him. Sure, they were making it seem that way, putting pressure on him, but they were really only interested in the store and what might be going on there. If they weren’t exactly aware of his boss’ activities, then they were surely suspicious that something was going on.

“This is all a misunderstanding,” Rowan said. “You see, I work there.”

“You’re saying you’re an employee at that store? The Portsmouth Fine Liquor Depot?”

“Right,” he said. “We don’t have uniforms and our badges get hung up on this hook back in the break room. Mine’s there. You can call and confirm that I work there, when it opens.”

“Yes, we will do that.” Mel jotted something down on her very important piece of paper, pen jumping around. “The question still remains of just what you were doing there when the store is closed. No one else was there at all, except for you. That’s what the caller said, and that’s what we have been able to confirm.”

Rowan told the truth. “Sometimes I run deliveries for my boss. I’ve got a spare key to the building, in my wallet, so I can get in whenever I need to.”

Terry said, “And what exactly are you delivering at such odd hours of the day? And how often are these deliveries?”

Rowan shrugged, then added another truth into his explanation. “It varies. Just when he needs it done. It pays extra.” And then, he lied. “I don’t know what I’m delivering. It’s none of my business.”

He held his breath now, trying to hide the fact that his heart was pounding at this point. Thank god humans couldn’t smell fear or else he would be caught dead in the middle of this lie. As it was, these cops might not fall for it.

A short pause punctuated the conversation, disturbed only by the rapid scratching of Officer Mel’s pen over the surface of the paper. Still holding his breath, Rowan dared to look over at Terry. He expected rage, rough treatment, some sort of aggressive tactic to get him to spill everything that he knew—which really wasn’t all that much, in the grand scheme of things—but all that he saw on the burly cop’s face was disappointment and irritation.

And belief. That was there, too. Grudging, but present. Instead of finding an ace in the hole for whatever investigation they were having on Rowan’s boss, they had just found themselves an insignificant pawn.

Officer Mel finally looked up from her paperwork, pursing her lips. She looked a little doubtful, but Rowan was pretty sure that she believed him, too. “Well,” she said, “that is a bit disappointing. I was hoping to learn a little more.”

Rowan tilted his head. He was honestly curious, and acting like he was clueless seemed like a good way to get some questions of his own answered. “Is there something going on? Am I in trouble?”

“No,” Mel said. “You aren’t in trouble. Not as far as I can tell. Once we confirm that you really do work at the Liquor Depot, you’ll be completely cleared of any suspicion of wrongdoing.” She pursed her lips again, a decidedly unattractive gesture for such a strong-featured woman. “However, you might want to consider finding a new job.”

“Why?” Rowan asked. He perfectly understood the implications, but he wanted to see if she would offer any actual information.

Now she shook her head, closing the door in his face just as soon as she allowed him to get a peek inside. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information. Mr. August, I think we’re done here. I just need you to confirm your address and phone number for me, just like you did in your initial statement when you first arrived. We’ll be wanting to get in touch with you soon, so it would be best if you don’t leave the city.”

Rowan had no intention of doing that. In fact, he was scheduled to work his normal job at the store tonight, and he was probably going to call off from that just to stay home. This was an experience he really didn’t feel like repeating anytime soon. A night of relaxation would help revive him, and maybe he’d think about his situation and decide that he really would be better off finding somewhere else to work.

Or, maybe not.

Less than a minute later, he was allowed to walk out of the police station with only the warning to watch himself and stay on the right side of the law.

Rowan stood on the street and looked up at the sky, which was gray and oppressively heavy. There was no rain or foul weather of any kind in the forecast, and the wind smelled dry and crisp. The sky was simply gray, polluted and featureless as city skies so often were.

The drab blanket above perfectly echoed his mood. He felt tired, distinctly lacking. Home was a long walk from here and he abhorred public transportation with a passion that most people reserved for things they liked. Maybe it would just be best to sit down and wait until this entire screwy situation blew over. He could start over somewhere else, become a different person who didn’t shuttle around questionable goods at all odd times of day.

Right. As if it was that easy.

There were people out walking along the road, as there always were in any part of a city at any given time. They were avoiding him, walking right around him, and he didn’t blame them. He was the creep standing motionless out in front of a police station.

How did this happen to me?

He supposed that was the same sort of thought Derrick had in the aftermath of what he’d done to that other man. Yet, it wasn’t the same at all. Derrick seemed like such a genuine soul, one who definitely didn’t deserve what hardships might come his way now.

And Rowan himself knew that he did deserve those things. This was the path he’d started walking like a fool, enticed by money that he had once needed. He didn’t need it anymore, had gotten himself to a better place in life; yet, he continued to do the same old things because it was easier than changing.

“God, I’m tired,” he muttered under his breath, and then turned in the direction of home. His legs ached abominably, but he reached deep inside himself for his wolf strength and continued on. There was nothing else he could do.

The journey took a full hour, his strength waning fast and making him drag. He felt empty inside and it wasn’t just from a lack of food. He was just empty, missing something vital. What that could be, he didn’t really know. There were so many things he could easily go without, that other people considered a necessity. Was it possible that he was only fooling himself and that he needed those things as well? Companionship, perhaps? A shoulder to lean on, a pack leader to consult with his troubles? A hobby? A career, instead of a dead-end job with suspicious perks?

It was all too much to think about at one time, and so Rowan searched for something else that could keep him going while he plodded on and on.

His thoughts turned naturally to Derrick and their chance encounter. It seemed stupid, almost sinful, to be thinking of the omega he hardly knew, but it really helped. That was how he managed to make his way home without collapsing, letting Derrick’s mournful, soulful face and piercing eyes guide him onward.

Rowan turned down a side road and then he was standing at the entrance to his neighborhood: a trailer park. The area was set up much like any other neighborhood, with a webbing of interconnected roads that culminated at a few exit points. There were overgrown trees and bushes around the perimeter, pressed up against dingy little apartments on one side and a row of office buildings on the other.

For a trailer park in a shabby area of Portsmouth, it actually wasn’t all that bad of a place to live. Virginia was decidedly lacking in hillbillies and country bumpkins, which meant that most of the people who lived in the neighborhood were respectable in their own right. Lots of young couples and new families, and a handful of college students, and one or two elderly men who wanted somewhere cheap to stay without losing their independence.

Rowan’s own trailer was about ten years old and had certainly seen better days, but it was a good, little home for the price. Plus, the owner of the rental company had made it very clear they were aware of all the little problems that could arise from an older trailer. Any difficulties that manifested, from a leaky sink to an entire section of the bathroom wall that had given up the ghost and cracked wide open, were taken care of with little fuss.

Rowan fished around in his pocket for his key and managed to unlock the door on the second try. His hands were shaking, and that only ever happened when he needed to eat.

Stepping inside his trailer, he shut the door and locked it again. Then, ignoring every other need he had, he went to his room and collapsed on the bed. The darkness of an exhausted, dreamless sleep crashed down over him.

Maybe he did dream after all, because when he awoke again 12 hours later, he could distinctly remember having had a conversation with Derrick that was entirely different from what they’d talked about while sitting in the holding cell. He couldn’t exactly recall the content of the conversation or any of the words that had been said, but he did remember those blue eyes locked on his. They had seemed to hold more meaning than any simple words ever could.

Then they had been wolves, and things had happened between them. That would certainly account for his uncomfortable hard-on, tenting the bed sheets.

If this was any other time, Rowan would have stayed in bed to take care of that particular problem. Unfortunately, there were other, more pressing issues at hand that needed to be taken care of. He was so hungry by now that the feeling was almost nauseating.

Rolling out of bed and wobbling towards the kitchen, Rowan waited for the dream to fade from his thoughts. Nothing had happened between them and nothing would happen between them because they had gone their separate ways. Fuck whatever that magical well had hinted at.

Except, he couldn’t say fuck it. And the dream didn’t fade. In fact, its importance seemed to grow with his wakefulness.

That was the bad thing about being a wolf, one of the things about shifter life that wasn’t always so great. Animals needed very little of some things that humans needed a lot of. If two animals met and could tolerate each other, a match was made. They would become mates with very little thought and almost no courtship.

The wolf inside Rowan had seen someone it wanted to be its mate, and it would stop at nothing until it had what it wanted.

Rowan would be incapable of stopping these budding feelings from progressing.

Looks like I’m going to have to find him and have another chat, he thought. But not yet. He had to eat, or his stomach was going to devour itself.