Chapter 74: NUMBER ONE SUSPECT
Erin Pov
Coming home every day is depressing. For the first time in my life, I would rather be slaving away at the office than walking through this door, which I would have done if my assistant hadn’t refused to leave unless I went home too. I sigh as I twist the lock to my double‑story home, located in the city but not in the center, so it’s away from the noise and closer to the little nature the city still has, as well as the lake I like to stare at when I need quiet.
"That’s odd," I mumble, feeling the key turn too easily. The door is already unlocked. Did I forget to lock it before I left? I’ve been absent‑minded lately, so I’m not surprised. I twist the knob and step inside. Instantly I know someone is here, the familiar scent lingers, and the lights are on. My pulse quickens as I hurry down the hall, already having somewhat an idea of who the uninvited guest might be.
I take a sharp left into the kitchen, and there he is. Torin. He’s scribbling with a marker, one I hope isn’t permanent, across my amethyst kitchen island. The surface is now covered in pictures, red lines, and frantic writing. I stare at the mess, then at him, disbelief tightening my chest.
"Torin, what are you doing?" I demand to know, my voice sharper than I intend.
He finally lifts his head, noticing my presence. "Investigating," he mutters, turning back to his scrawled notes.
"Torin, are you serious right now?"
"You seem upset. What’s the matter?" he asks casually, writing yet another thing on the island.
"What’s the matter?" I say sarcastically, my voice rising " Maybe it’s because you broke into my house and are now vandalizing it," I snap. "Or maybe it’s that you left during my pack’s funeral and haven’t spoken to me since, haven’t given me a reason, and now here you are on a random day, vandalizing my counter."
He pauses, his eyes flickering with a faint sincerity. "I’m sorry about that. Remember the private investigator I told you about? He found my omega during the funeral, and I had to go get her. Then I went public about her, and my second and I have been fighting. It’s a lot. I didn’t have time to talk to you. I’m sorry."
The anger burning in my chest eases at his apology. Torin doesn’t apologize often, and he looks like hell. His hair is disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and his eyes are so tired it makes him look like he hasn’t slept in months. His hands tremble slightly as he grips the marker, and for a moment I wonder how long he’s been standing here, obsessing over these lines and notes.
"Apology accepted. Now can you tell me what all of this is, and why it’s in my house?" I motion toward the island.
His eyes brighten. "It’s my investigation. I can only do it here because your house is secluded, and I can’t trust my pack right now." Seeing my confusion, he explains further. "My mother was almost killed last night," he says grimly.
"What?!" I exclaim, my stomach dropping.
He nods. "My father and I went back to the crash scene to find her dashcam, and the car was set ablaze by a third party. I think this person is linked to my omega’s kidnapping."
"This is insane. Are you alright? You should be resting after a night like that," I say, worry creeping into my voice. No wonder he looks terrible. "No. I need to find out who did this. I won’t be able to sleep without answers," he insists, eyes locked on the island.
I sigh. He’s hurting, and he can’t accept it. I remember my own sleepless nights after my pack died, the endless torment until I finally saw a therapist. That omega was right, I didn’t have to suffer in silence. It’s hard, but I keep moving. I have to.
"I’ll help you," I say, picking up one of the markers.
"You don’t have to. This could put you in danger. I have no idea what I’m dealing with," he warns, his voice low.
I grip the marker tighter, meeting his exhausted eyes. "Then we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this."
"I want to help, and besides, you’re doing this investigation in my house. I think I’m already in danger," I chuckle, settling onto the kitchen stool and glancing at the island covered in scribbles.
"Thanks, man," Torin says, his voice trembling like he’s about to cry.
"No problem. What are friends for if we won’t die for each other?" I reply, trying to lighten the mood.
I lean forward, scanning the photographs spread across the island. My eyes count only six faces in his pack. "I thought you had seven members in your pack now, with the new omega you went public about. Why isn’t she here?"
"This is for the suspects. She’s a victim, she can’t be here," he explains, circling a photo I recognize as Oril, his second.
"Oh, okay," I say, only half convinced. Torin digs into his laptop bag on the floor, pulls out another photo, and slams it down in the center of the island. It’s a clear CCTV image from his office, showing a man in a black hoodie. I know that face instantly. Torin scrawls above the image in bold red marker: NUMBER ONE SUSPECT.
"This guy is Tobey, the private investigator. The other day I had a meeting with the Masintosh’s second, and when I was leaving, I saw him all chatty with this—" He draws a red line to a photo I recognize as Arabella Masintosh. "Devil right here. She’s definitely involved with whatever happened to my omega." He scribbles childish horns on her image, his frustration spilling out.
I laugh, shaking my head. "Torin, if he was chatty with her, it’s because she’s literally his omega. And his name isn’t Tobey, it’s Kazair, he is the youngest Masintosh brother."
"What?!" Torin’s eyes snap to me, wide with shock. He clearly didn’t know.
"You’re telling me these two are mates?" he exclaims, disbelief thick in his voice.
I nod firmly. "Yeah. And Arabella is really nice and she’s on the omega council. I don’t think she’d kidnap your omega or let any of her alphas do that, especially since they’re both Alma’s omegas. Sisterhood runs deep over there."
"She would," Torin insists, his jaw tight and marker shaking in his hand. "Especially with what she knows about my pack. She doesn’t see us in a favorable light. We weren’t the kindest to her best friend. She would kidnap her best friend’s omega if she thought she was helping. The only thing I’m not sure about is how my omega ended up in an omega auction."
My ears perk at his words. "What did your pack do?" I ask carefully, my tone sharper now.
He groans, rubbing his face with both hands. "It wasn’t good. A normal person would hate my pack after what happened. But she forgave us."
"How sure are you about that? From what you just said, it’s clear that your omega is the only one with ill intent. If she wanted revenge for what your pack did to her, Arabella, who already doesn’t look favorably on you, would help her. With the connections Arabella has, it makes perfect sense." I lean forward, tapping the island with my finger. "If your mother doesn’t have enemies of her own, you have to look back at your omega. She’s the one closest to the family, and she could have ill intent."
"Erin, please. You don’t know my omega or Arabella well. Trust me, if my omega is involved, Arabella forced her hand," he says, unconvinced, his voice cracking.
I nod slowly, though doubt lingers. "Maybe you’re right. I don’t know your omega, and I’ve only seen Arabella a handful of times."
Torin exhales, shoulders slumping, his eyes darting back to the chaotic board he’s built on my island. His desperation is written in every line of red marker, every photo taped down. I watch him, wondering if he’s too close to the truth or too blinded by his own pain and love to see it.