Not-So-Secret Secret

Logan's eyes darken, his jaw tightening. There's something dangerous lurking beneath his charming exterior.

It should scare me. Instead, it sends a thrill of excitement through my body.

"My intent," he says, voice low and controlled, "is to discuss a matter of utmost importance to the Supernatural Enforcement Division."

I blink, taken aback, as my brain flashes to the conversation I had with Mike this morning. The rumor mill always knows so much. "I thought you were here for an anti-magic security consultation."

"We're here to connect with you. Nicole d'Armand." He throws his wallet onto the table between us.

Oh. It's not his wallet.

It's his badge.

Supernatural Enforcement Division. Badge 21536. Sgt. Logan Everett.

"We believe there's a mole in your department."

My blood runs cold. "What?"

"Someone's been leaking sensitive information about security measures to outside parties. We need your help to find out who."

Sliding his badge back to him, I shake my head. "You must be mistaken. We have had no reports from customers about their security systems being breached."

He doesn't miss a beat. "Kind of hard to report any breaches when they're dead."

Dead?

My mind reels, struggling to process this bombshell.

"What do you mean, dead?" My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper.

Logan leans forward, his green eyes intense. "Three of your clients have been found dead in the past month. All of them had recently upgraded their security systems."

A chill runs down my spine. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of disbelief. "That's impossible. We would have heard about it."

"The deaths were made to look like accidents. We've been keeping it under wraps to avoid tipping off the perpetrator."

I frown, my mind racing. This doesn't add up. Why am I only hearing about this now? Even if the deaths were accidental, we would have heard something.

But first, let's start with this whole super-secret project nonsense.

"You said you're keeping this information under wraps, right?"

He nods, leaning back in his chair.

I hold up one finger. "First. There was a private meeting that might have been regarding this secret project this morning. Second, rumors are flying around the office, saying it has something to do with you guys. For a secret, it's pretty out there."

"Son of a bitch."

Logan's face darkens, a storm brewing behind those green eyes. His jaw clenches, muscles twitching beneath tanned skin.

"Excuse me," he growls, voice low and dangerous.

He's out the door before I can blink, leaving me in a whirlwind of confusion and... something else. Something that makes my skin tingle and my heart race.

I barely have time to process what just happened when his head pops back in, expression sheepish.

"Sorry, where's your boss's office?"

The question catches me off guard, but I recover quickly. Without a hint of remorse, I point down the hall toward Scott's domain. "Third door on the left."

Logan nods, flashing a brief, predatory smile that sends a shiver down my spine. Then he's gone again, striding down the hallway with purpose.

I can't help but watch him go. The way he moves... it's like sex in motion. Sleek. Powerful. Dangerous. Every step screams alpha, and I find myself mesmerized by the flex of his shoulders beneath his tailored shirt.

He has to be a shifter. It's kind of rude to ask these days, but there's no way he isn't a predator-shifter. Wolf, probably. They're usually wolves. He doesn't have that rough, lumbering look of a bear shifter, and isn't prowly enough for a feline.

At the idea that Scott, a beta, is about to get reamed by an alpha maybe-wolf…

Yeah, my panties might be a little damp.

(Just a little bit. Don't judge me.)

Heads turn as he passes. Conversations halt mid-sentence. Even the constant hum of office machinery seems to quiet in his wake. It's as if the very air bends to his will, creating a bubble of anticipation that follows in his footsteps.

Yep.

Definitely an alpha.

My eyes trace the line of his back, admiring the way his pants hug his—

I give myself a mental slap. Hard.

What the hell am I doing? This is neither the time nor the place.

But thinking proves difficult when my mind keeps drifting back to our encounter in the bar. The heat of his skin. The intensity of his gaze. The way he made me feel so—

Another mental slap. Harder this time.

Focus, Nicole. There are more important things to worry about right now. Like the fact that someone in my department might be responsible for the deaths of our clients. Like the storm that's about to hit when Logan reaches Scott's office.

I glance around the conference room, suddenly feeling exposed. The glass walls offer no privacy, and I can already see curious eyes darting between me and the direction Logan disappeared.

Great. Just what I need. More fuel for the office gossip mill.

They might think he's my new lover, off to beat the ass of my former one.

Are they wrong, though?

Yes, damn it. This is business. Just business. Has nothing to do with last night.

I drum my fingers on the table, debating my next move. Do I stay here and wait for Logan to return? Or do I head back to my desk and pretend none of this ever happened?

The smart thing would be to go back to work. To distance myself from whatever's about to go down in Scott's office, so I don't deal with his ire once everything falls on his head.

But since when have I ever done the smart thing?

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest. Might as well get comfortable. This could take a while.

Minutes tick by, each one stretching into an eternity. The office beyond the glass walls buzzes with nervous energy. Whispers fly back and forth, theories growing wilder by the second. I catch snippets here and there.

"Did you see that guy?"

"What's going on?"

"Is Nicole in trouble?"

I roll my eyes. If they only knew.

My mind wanders back to the bomb Logan dropped earlier. A mole in our department. Clients dying. It doesn't make sense. How could something like this happen without us noticing?

Or, is someone keeping that information from reaching us? And if so, why?

Beyond that—why are they even coming directly to me? I'm good at my job, sure, but I'm not exactly in a position of power. If there really is a leak, wouldn't it make more sense to go straight to the top?

Unless...

No. I shut that thought down before it can fully form. Scott may be a cheating bastard, but he's not a murderer. He's not capable of something like this.

Is he?

Damn. My head hurts with all these theories and questions floating around my head. Detective-ing is not my forte. I'm all about cold, hard data. Graphs on the efficacy of wards, power meters, and all the logic a computer can dump at my fingertips.

Scott's office is soundproof to an S-13 level. That's Supernatural-13. That means it's rated for even an alpha werewolf to only make out muffled conversation through the soundproofing.

For people like me, without that level of hearing? There's nothing. Just silence.

So when I hear a soft thump from that direction, my eyes widen in shock.

What exactly is going on in there?