Chase
A charred mark on the pavement stood out under the fluorescent lights of the gas station parking lot. Only the burn and a faint odor of smoke remained after the impromptu pyrotechnics show. I stared at the burn and thought about where everything went wrong.
The night had started out normally enough: I’d been running late.
“I know, I know.” Putting one arm in a jacket sleeve and hightailing it out the door, Assistant Director Stone watched me like a hawk even though she was a wolf shifter like me. “I’m going.”
“Hurry,” she ordered, opening the precinct doors for me.
To her, I wasn’t Chase Slate, Senior Agent. I was perfect Agent Merritt Slate’s reckless little brother.
Being late wasn’t even my fault. The boss and his top agents were deeply embroiled in a once-in-a-lifetime career making or ending case. A tangled puzzle of intrigue and corruption that required dedication and finesse. It meant a lot of picking up slack and wrangling rookies for those of us whoweren’ton that case.
"Not that I’m complaining."
The one worthwhile case I did have involved everything that brought me to detective work in the first place: excitement, solving mysteries, and standing up for people who sorely needed protecting. So, as I cruised around a curve on the wrong side of 70MPH, I ignored the doubtful voice in my head that sounded suspiciously like my older brother.
How much does this really matter if you’re making a pitstop? You’re already running late.
I’d be quick. IthoughtI’d be quick and arrive at my meeting just in the nick of time.
That plan hadn’t exactly worked out.
After placing my to-go order and sending my partner a text, I’d noticed the fidgeting, distressed guy in the corner booth.
Aside from bags big enough to drive a Buick through under his eyes, he was attractive. Wide blue eyes met mine, and he had full lips and dirty blonde hair. Maybe I’d have time to cheer him up and get his number before they called my order up.
People often felt compelled to give me their number. What could I say? I was a friendly guy.
But he brushed me off. It was probably nothing. Certainly nothing that needed professional assistance and nothing I had time for…
I went out the same exit as him, just in case. Trusting my instincts rarely led me astray. This was no exception when I ended up in the right place at the right time to save him from charbroiling.
The flash fireball caused a lot of ruckus. I handled the scene, turning on the charm and getting things squared away quickly, eager to find the guy before he bolted—oh, he was still here. At the corner of the gas station on the edge of the lot’s light.
Remembering how he jumped earlier, I cleared my throat to announce my approach. “Hey, you alright?”
He still startled, like pulling himself from his head required major effort. “Oh, uh. Hey.”
"Exciting night, huh?"
"Mhmm." He kept staring off into the darkness.
“Is your car around here? Do you need a lift?”
“What? No…” The weak blue of his eyes flitted towards me. Were they brighter when not so stressed and frazzled? “Not sure I can… can…”
"Drive?"
“Oh, are you leaving?” He turned away, almost disappointed. “It’s fine. There’s no need to wait here with me.”
"Are you alright?"
"Of course."
"You’re shaking," I pointed out.
“Oh.” He brought a hand up to his face, eyes widening, and a strangled noise escaped his throat when watching the digit tremble. He laughed bitterly. “God, I’m a wreck.”
