Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 25: Flights of Fancy

"You’re banned from leaving your home."

Penelope’s announcement comes the moment I open my door. It’s not unexpected, so I let her in without comment.

"I thought you couldn’t find coverage tonight."

"I closed the bar. It’s not as important as my best friend’s life." Shoving a bulky black bag into my arms as she flounces into my apartment, she continues, "There’s something weird going on, and we need to figure out how to learn more about it. Right?"

"Right." Wary of her upbeat attitude, I follow her into the living room, watching as she falls into an armchair with a deep sigh, as if the weight of the world was pushing her down.

"Police determined it was a drunk driver. Nothing nefarious." Throwing the bag to the side, I settle onto the couch. Pulling my feet under me, I fight back a yawn. Worrying about everything and wondering about Logan kept me up all night. Now I’m zero answers closer to the truth, but more exhausted than ever.

"You told Scott you aren’t coming in today, right?"

"Messaged him before I went to see Logan." Grabbing one of my throw pillows—super cute, but made of an uncomfortable burlap material—I nuzzle my chin into it for a little rest. "I was intending to just come in a couple hours late, but..."

"Almost dying has that effect on people. I’m sure the rumor mill is exploding at work."

Thinking of how no one seemed to notice I was there yesterday, I shake my head. "I don’t think anyone knows I’ve even been gone. They probably thought I just took some PTO for a mental health break."

I’m not particularly close to anyone, so it isn’t like I’d be bombarded with questions any other time. Unless it’s for work, anyway.

That makes me wonder—if I did disappear, how long would it take someone to notice I was gone? When would someone come around to check on me or have questions? It’s an unsettling thought.

At least I can rely on Penelope.

"Well, McFlirty last night—"

"What’s with the sudden Mc-nicknames?"

"Never mind. McFlirty last night seems to have a little beef with your McSexy." Penelope leans forward, her aquamarine eyes glittering with the power of gossip. "Want to hear?"

"No." But I scoot a little closer.

"McSexy’s an outsider. Brought in out of nowhere. No one’s really sure how he got the job; no one can confirm where he last worked. People are pretty salty about him getting the only open sergeant position in the past couple years. A lot of people were gunning for that promotion."

"Let me guess—including your McFlirty?"

She nods.

"It isn’t unusual for a company to hire out." Resting my elbow against the arm of the couch, I yawn. "And he’s not obligated to tell anyone where he used to work. Maybe he just wants to have a clean start."

"But that’s the thing. Rumor is, he never had an interview. No hiring process. He just came in one day, straight from the top."

My brow quirks. That’s interesting. "But is any of that information confirmed, or just people spreading gossip?"

"I don’t know. I didn’t sleep with the guy. Just listened to him while he stared at my tits and drank too much vodka cranberry." She grimaces. "Of all drinks."

Not only is it a favorite among the college-aged, it’s a humorous nod toward the younger crowd of fangsters—newly turned vampires. You can always find them with a vodka cranberry in hand. Or a Bloody Mary, but I guess that one’s too on the nose to be hip these days.

Or something. I’m not super hip myself.

"Is he a vamp?"

"No. Human, as far as I can tell. Though—you know, he’s pretty pale. Anyway, it doesn’t matter." Flapping her hand in irritation, Penelope continues, "McSexy’s pretty popular in the department, but there’s a group of them out to get him. Hitting a doctor while on the job was the last straw, but they’re also accusing him of fraternizing with witnesses." She points one perfectly manicured, crimson French tip at me. "You."

"Witnesses?" I grimace. "I haven’t witnessed anything. He came around to ask me about a case."

"Same thing. It’s against department policy. People are lobbying to get him fired. But..."

"But?"

"That wouldn’t be enough to get him detained, and definitely isn’t enough to get him fired. Isn’t that curious?"

Tilting my head, I think about it. "Doesn’t sound very fireable, but I’d have to see their HR policies to know."

"Trust me, it isn’t. The things that happen in the SED—you can’t just get lobbied out of position because disgruntled coworkers want you to be. If you look at how he’s hired, it looks like he has some sort of influence on his side, right?"

Fascinated with her thought process, I nod along. "Sure." She’s spending a lot of time on this, but none of it’s standing out as particularly gossip-worthy to me. Maybe I’m broken. Or not connecting the dots properly.

I think we’ve already established that I’m not meant for mysteries. I’m more of a behind-the-scenes engineer; I like facts and magical technology. Not all this shit with creepy serial killers and bizarre company secrets.

"But it would take someone up the ladder to throw someone like that into jail, don’t you think?"

"He’s in their holding cells, not at the correctional facility," I interrupt, remembering Meredith’s quick explanation.

Penelope stares at me, leaving me a little defensive. "What?"

"Really? That’s the detail you’re going to focus on?"

I wilt a little under her gaze. "I was just saying..."

"The point is, they can’t just take him into any custody if he’s got the power to come into the company the way he did, right?"

"Right."

"And he acted weird about the cameras when you visited him, right?"

I nod, repeating once again, "Right."

"Don’t you think that means someone way higher up on the shark-o-meter is out to get him? That maybe he’s trying to protect you from someone’s radar?"

Nonplussed, I stare at Penelope, whose cheeks are flushed with excitement through her mental mapping of the situation.

"Or... maybe he’s just a dick?" I offer. "Or there’s someone involved in this case. Wouldn’t that make more sense than having some sort of inter-office conspiracy over the company’s hiring practices?"

"But what if he’s some sort of highly influential family member, and this is all a part of their politics, where someone’s trying to tear them down? The rich are crazy. It’s good you rejected him. You don’t want to be involved in all of that."

"Penelope..." Pressing my fingers against the bridge of my nose, I struggle to find the words to deal with her flights of fancy. "I don’t think I have to worry about any of that."

"Right. Because he’s protecting you. So, what I’m thinking is, we look into all the influential families of shifters and figure out which one he’s from. Once we know that, we’ll have a better view of—why are you shaking your head?"

I groan. "I think you’re on the wrong track. You’ve come up with this insane theory out of nowhere, all from a drunk coworker who has it out for him. Have you looked into any of this at all?"

"No." Looking a little sulky, Penelope sits back. "But I think I’m onto something here."

"Maybe." Appeasing her made-for-TV plotline is all I can do. "I guess we can look into that angle. But how would that fit into the dead supernaturals and the mole?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know."

Damn. I’d hoped she’d come in with some theories that were actually useful. Rubbing the bridge of my nose again, I sigh. "Since you aren’t working tonight, do you want to come check out the addresses of these victims with me?"