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Luke pulled out his phone. “On it.”
Isaiah and Gerard placed a seemingly out-cold Dayna on the lobby’s sofa. It was only then that Deke got a good look at her. He felt his lips part in shock. Her face was swollen and badly bruised. More, she had one hell of a gut wound … like she’d been sliced deep by a knife or claw. “Jesus Christ. What in the shit happened?”
“We don’t know,” said Isaiah. “She was in her car outside. I saw Gerard making a mad sprint to the vehicle and followed him. We found her like this. I think she’s been drugged. I found this near the pedals.” He held up a tranquilizer dart.
Luke took it from him and sniffed the tip. “Pretty sure it’s the drug that not only knocks you out but temporarily suppresses your ability to shift.”
“A scrambler was used,” Isaiah chipped in. “Whoever shot her in her car covered their tracks.”
Luke swore again. “I’ll call our Alphas.”
Deke turned to Gerard. “Why were you running for her car?”
“She called me,” the other male replied, kneeling beside her, his gaze locked on her face. “She said she was in her car in the lot. But her voice was all slurry and weak and … Goddammit, look at her.” He scraped a hand through his hair.
Deke took a step toward him. “What exactly did Dayna say on the phone?”
Gerard swiped a hand down his face. “She said my name. Twice. Told me where to find her. Then I guess she passed out.”
Just then, the elevator pinged.
Helena came rushing out of it and went straight to Dayna.
Vera followed at a more sedate pace, her eyes widening when she clocked the state of the female on the sofa. “What in the world …” She touched her neck. “Will she be all right?”
“She will now,” said Helena, using her healing skills as they spoke. “Who did this?”
Luke shrugged, pocketing his phone. “We don’t know yet.”
Vera let out a humph. “I think we all know who’d happily do this to Dayna.”
Deke felt himself stiffen. “Don’t even think about pinning the blame on my mate for this.”
“She’s perfectly capable of hurting someone this way,” Vera insisted, though she lowered her gaze.
“It wasn’t her,” Deke stated, his cat rising to his feet with a snarl.
Vera stroked her wrist. “How can you be sure?”
“Because she’s in the basement doing laundry.” Alone, he thought. She was alone. While someone was wandering around with a tranquilizer gun.
Unease making his heartbeat pick up, he whipped out his phone and called her. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer.
“What is it?” asked Isaiah, sidling up to him.
Deke felt his nostrils flare. “Bailey’s not answering.” Egged on by his cat, he ran down the hall, passing the elevators, and skirted the corner. Instantly, an overpoweringly floral scent shot to his head like brain-freeze. Scrambler.
His gut knotting, he realized the whole area here—all the way to the nearby side exit—had been sprayed with it.
He vaulted down the basement stairs and then threw open the door. His stomach sank. No Bailey. Her basket sat on one of the folding tables beside a pile of clothes. Her cell phone lay on the floor. More, the usual scents of warm fabric, chemicals, bleach, and hot metal were absent, buried beneath the scrambler’s floral smell.
His cat lost it, letting out rumbly growls that were so loud Deke’s ears rang.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. With panic flapping inside him like a crazed bird and his heart pounding a mile a minute, Deke flicked the security camera a quick glance and then darted back up the stairs. He shoved open the side exit door, finding the alley empty. The scrambler’s scent trail ended here, but there was no sign that a vehicle was parked there recently.
Hurrying toward the security office, he called Finley, knowing she was on perimeter duty.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Have you seen anything of Bailey?”
A surprised pause. “No, nothing.”
He clenched his free hand into a fist. “Who has exited the building in the last half hour?”
“Um, I don’t know. I don’t keep track. I noticed a few. Valentina. Evander. My sister. That’s all.”
“Did you see any vehicles parked in the side alley of my building?”
“No, not while I was passing.”
Cursing again, Deke hung up as he burst into the security office. Ignoring the sickly strong floral scents—fucking scramblers—he focused on the wall-mounted monitors. Nothing but black screens.
Deke spat several harsh expletives and slammed his hand on the desk. He switched the CCTV back on and then dialed Tate’s number as he rushed back to the lobby. “Where are you?”
“On my way,” replied the Alpha, sounding like he was running.
Deke swallowed, trying and failing to beat back the dread and panic that battled for supremacy inside him and his cat. “I’m pretty sure whoever attacked Dayna has Bailey.”
