My work was not nearly as rewarding or exciting as catching a group of maniac pyros. I was doing mind-numbing, never-ending paperwork. Anything else that no other detective wanted to do had my name written all over it. Standing felt good. My ass was sore from sitting on the hard chair for hours, the same as I did yesterday and the day before. The same thing I’d been doing for over two weeks now.
Grunt work sucked. Desk duty sucked. But it was necessary.
This was the first step on my own personal journey to redemption. I’d do the work without complaining, no matter how long it took. My only family was here. I wasn’t going anywhere.
With caffeine and the reminder of why I was here, I felt energized enough to leave the breakroom and get back to my menial tasks. As soon as I sat down, a throat cleared near me.
Officer Daniels loomed over me. “Hey, can you make a fresh pot of coffee?”
“What? Seriously?”
“Yeah, some of us have our hands full on the Accelerant case.” Guess he was helping some of the detectives. He smirked. “You can brew us a fresh pot. You’re not busy, right?”
My phone rang, saving me from this conversation and further humiliation. “I better get that.”
“Agent Temple speaking.”
“Hi, I’m calling because my agency is assisting someone on one of your cases. Do I have the right person? This involves an illegal auction.”
“I’ll transfer you.”
Apparently some people still had my name as a contact person for the Brokers case. She had the right person, just the wrong time frame. Chase and Agent Frost were on the case now. I was no longer involved on any matters with the Brokers, the rescued people, or the buyers and mates still out there that others were trying to track down. I’d also been bumped down from a senior agent to a junior agent again.
I transferred her to the right contact person. The phone on the desk next to me rang once before it switched and connected to his cell phone.
I had wondered about John a few times while stuck at my desk, but my hands were tied. He had my number. Aaron would request me if he needed my assistance, regardless of any DSA protocols. The passing weeks made it clear. I wasn’t needed there.
The phone rang again. “Agent Temple speaking.”
“Hi, I’m with the Better Tomorrow Rehabilitation Center, calling about our patient involved in a case—”
“Yes, I can transfer you.”
“I’m looking foryou,” she insisted, despite being mistaken. “This is Lysander Temple, right?”
“I’m afraid I’m no longer involved with—”
I stopped speaking as a commotion occurred on the other line. Two people carried on a conversation away from the receiver, followed by some muffled sounds as the phone changed hands.
A new person spoke. “Did you know you’re hard to get a hold of for a guy stuck at your desk?”
The voice was familiar. “Chase?”
“Yeah, dude. Get down to the rehab center now.”
“But I’m not on the case anymore.”
“That doesn’t matter.” The urgency in his voice grabbed my attention. “We need your help with John Davis. Hurry.”
~
Lysander
Rushing over to the rehab center while my mind spun with potential disaster scenarios, I asked the first staff member I found for John Davis’s room number and was instead diverted to the head of the facility’s office. Having no time to smile and shake hands with the smiling older woman in a smart blazer proudly displayed in a picture in the lobby, I planned to poke my head in and make an excuse to rush off.
Opening the door, I stopped short when seeing Merritt Slate glaring at me from behind a desk littered with cutesy knickknacks and family photos. The strong aroma of potpourri in the overly feminine office only seemed like half the reason the Director of the Ashvale DSA appeared so agitated.
“Did something happen to John Davis?” I demanded immediately. “Is something wrong?”
