Alpha Micah Black: Homecoming

Chapter29

“Frankie… What’s wrong?” George asked, panicking at the urgent call.

I re-wrapped my sandwich, crinkled closed the chip bag, and placed them in the takeout bag provided. Our Code 7 was unofficially officially over. George quickly re-wrapped his sandwich, too. It's not so easy to do when you’re on the phone with a distraught mate.

“Okay, calm down, breathe,” he carefully said. “Where are you?” A pause. “Don’t let anyone into the apartment until Sergeant Black and I get there, okay?” He gave me a worried, but meaningful look. “We’re on our way.”

1:14 PM, 1319 1/2 J. Butcher Blvd, George’s Upstairs Apartment

No matter how quickly you leave for somewhere important, there are always snafus to get in the way. What should have been a quick twenty-minute ride without lights, took us closer to an hour. This only aggravated George’s wolf. He pulled into the drive quicker and harder than his usual careful self. After placing the SUV in park, he fled the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. I turned the engine off, watching him rush up the stairs to his apartment. With the keys in hand, I grabbed my uneaten lunch and followed.

Upon entering his apartment, I placed the takeout bag on the countertop. George held his mate tightly as she trembled in his embrace. They were seated on the couch. Damn. What the hell spooked her?

“You’re okay now. I’m here,” George whispered, comforting Frankie. He rocked her gently while giving her kisses on her head. “You’re okay.”

Small flashbacks of seeing my little gem terrified entered my mind. It makes me wonder if she came across what visited The Broken Badger. After another five minutes, George had Frankie calm enough to talk to us.

“So, tell us, what happened?” I automatically inquired, seating myself in the matching chair. “Take your time.”

Just like with Jewel, she took deep breaths before finding her voice. Hey, they’re both redheads. How can I not think of my daughter during this time? I’m heavily invested in this situation.

“Please don’t be angry with me, George, but I went to where my uncle was…” she began, trailing off. George let loose a quiet growl. I sent a look in his direction to calm down. I’m curious as to what exactly happened to Detective Officer Roger Oren. His picture is on the Badger’s “Wall of Remembrance” for a reason.

“Please, continue,” I said.

“I went to where my uncle was… Where he took his last breath,” she explained. "I miss him."

“Why the hell did you go there, Frankie?” George grumbled. “That area of town isn’t safe for you to be wandering around…alone.”

“Have you forgotten that I’m an investigative reporter? I’ve gone to many places alone,” she argued, emphasizing “alone”. “And that was before we officially met!”

“And have you forgotten the many times your uncle had to leave a crime scene to go save your sorry ass?” George argued back. That does explain why George handled the mess I left him with well. Ole Roge prepared him for it. Who knew?

“That’s not fair, George!” she protested.

“Whoa,” I interjected and then whistled. “Time out you two! Your fighting isn’t going to help anyone.” George and Frankie immediately crossed their arms in front of themselves. They huffed, leaning hard on the couch. “Let’s forget about the location for now. Frankie, what did you see or find that made you unnerved?” I took the lead in asking the questions on this one. George is too emotionally involved to think clearly.

“I’m not sure what I saw, honestly,” she confessed. Her anger or frustration with her mate temporarily subsided…for now.

“Just do your best to describe whatever it was,” George added, encouraging her to continue. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving her his support. “I’m right here.”

“Okay,” she whispered…nervously. “I’ll try.” She took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. “After looking around the alley and where the brick piles were, I was strangely drawn to a building catty-cornered to the crime scenes.”

“Do I want to know how you found the information containing the location of the crime scenes?” George asked in a concerned tone.

“George…” I warned, throwing one of my eyebrows up. “Please, continue Frankie.”

“Well," she sighed. "Besides some boxes and building materials, I noticed small tufts of dark-colored dog hair in various places. Like it was shedding,” she mentioned.

George and I knew exactly who those “dog” hairs belonged to… My cousin, Dylan Blackwater. But she knows about werewolves. That couldn’t have been what freaked her out.

“They’re technically wolf hairs,” George corrected his mate.

“Oh…really?” Frankie noted, suddenly acting chipper.

George gave his spunky redheaded mate a warning side glare.

“If you two don’t stop interrupting each other, we will never get through this,” I stated, rubbing my face out of frustration. “Besides the wolf hair, what else was there?”

“A large bloody dog…um, wolf paw print,” she recalled. “I took a photo of it with my phone.”

“Frankie…” George scolded. “You can’t use that for any of your podcasts. You promised.”

“George, stand down,” I commanded. “Cut her some slack. I have full trust in her to do the right thing with it. Please, continue, Ms. Harlow.”

She gulped, catching the intent of my statement. She shifted closer to her mate for comfort.

“I’ll delete the photo, Sergeant. I promise,” she replied. “But it was when I took the photo that I realized I wasn’t alone…”

That got both George’s and my attention. I sat straighter in the chair and leaned in to listen intently to what she had to say next.

“There was this… I don’t know… strange muttering sounds? I turned the flashlight on and pointed it in the direction the noise came from.” She paused, letting out a nervous sigh. George held her close to him and gently kissed her temple. “There was… I saw…”

“It’s okay, Frankie. You’re doing well. Keep going,” George lovingly encouraged his mate.

“That’s just it, George. I don’t know what I saw,” she balked. Tears formed in her eyes. She began to tremble again.

“You have to try, Franny. We don’t know what we’re looking for if we don’t have any descriptive information on it,” George gently stated, pressing her for more details.

“Franny? Really, George,” she balked. “It’s Frankie. I prefer to be called Frankie.”

“I know,” he replied sweetly. “It got you out of your head, though.”

“Asshole,” she whispered.

But our wolf hearing easily picked up on it. George and I hid our small snicker.

“Try closing your eyes and visualize what you saw as best as you can,” I suggested. “George will stay close.”

“Okay,” she sighed. She grabbed George’s free hand and held tight to it. His arm still held her close to him. She closed her eyes and began, “It’s not quite a solid figure… but, it’s not a shadowy one either. It had a dark cloak covering it. It floated, but it didn’t.” She paused to catch her breath. “It was gathering those wolf hairs… But then, it sensed me watching it.” She squeezed George’s hand tightly, nearly cutting off the circulation in his fingers.

Fuck. I'm disturbed by the description. It’s too f*****g familiar for my tastes.

“It suddenly turned, looking directly at me.” Her voice began to waver. “My g-d! The face… George!”

“Shh, I’m here. You’re okay,” he said, comforting her. However, his face reflected my own. This entity….

“It rushed at me screeching so loudly. I used my arms to cover my face. Then it disappeared into nothing…”

Fuck. f**k. Double f**k. Unknowingly to his mate, George’s face paled as he pulled her closer in his embrace.

“Thanks, Frankie. You did well,” I commented, letting out a long sigh. I stood to stretch my legs and to shake off the heebee jeebees. Only my gut, wolf, and hair alerted me to an eerie presence nearby.

“George,” I quietly grunted, trying to get his attention. “George.”

“What’s going on?” Frankie asked, picking up on my worried tone.

“Is there a window that has a view of the street?” I inquired.

“Yeah, my room. It’s in the back,” he answered.

I padded my way into his room. Of course, it was impeccably neat. I ducked near the window and used my firearm’s muzzle to pull the curtain back. George and Frankie must have moved from the couch and followed me. They were hunched down too.

“What is it, Mike? What’s out there?” my partner asked.

“A vehicle parked across from my house,” I replied. “Is it the same one you and Isaiah saw?”

George subtly peeked out his window. The same rental car sat in its annoying spot.

“Yeah… It’s the same one, Mike,” he answered. “What are you thinking? Do you have a plan?”

Do I have a plan? Of course, I have a plan. It’s the same damn plan I have every day while working for the police force. Survival. By trying to stay alive and returning home.

“Call dispatch. See if either Kyle or another patrol officer can run interference for us to give us time to escape,” I instructed. George called in with our request.

“I’m not staying here by myself,” Frankie immediately protested.

“Of course not. You’re coming with us,” I noted.

“Dispatch says the nearest cruiser is ten minutes away,” George reported.