Fate of the Fathers

Chase flicked the pencil between his fingers as he sat with booted feet propped up on the desk. It was two in the morning, and although he had only been at the headquarters for about six hours, it felt more like an entire week.

The pencil slipped from his grasp and clattered on the floor. Chase groaned and bent to retrieve it, but in the process of moving his feet, a half-full container of soda from the fast-food restaurant down the block went flying, sending a spray of ice and liquid across the floor.

He cursed loudly and wondered if there was a gods-damned janitor still around this place who he could call to clean it up.

“Aww, Brosnan. . . looks like probation hasn’t fixed your habit of creating messes.”

Fuck.

Chase closed his eyes and let out a slow breath before lifting his gaze to the beautiful red-headed woman standing before him. Full lips, pale skin and those damned cat eyes. He also knew she had quite the set of soul-piercing teeth to accompany them.

“Hello, Reagan.”

She smirked and crossed her arms, leaning against the corner of his desk. “Oh, how I love a vampire at the shit-end of his luck, dripping in spilled soda and shame.”

Chase ignored the quip. “I’m surprised you’re stepping foot in my lowly division. What are you again? Oh, right. A detective. Shouldn’t you be out there playing cops and robbers with your fellow officers?” He gestured towards the window and the surrounding city of Portland, Oregon.

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?” Reagan said, her mouth curving into a wicked smile as she scooted closer, her leg brushing up against his thigh. “I have an assignment for you, unless you’re too busy playing desk jockey, that is. . .”

He knew he should be weary of her coming to him with a request, but he was so ready to be out of this fucking building that he honestly didn’t care if she was setting him up or not. It was a bridge he was willing to cross if it came to that.

Chase leaned back in the swivel chair, grasping his hands behind his head. “Hmm. . . what kind of assignment are we talking about?”

Reagan pulled a stack of papers from behind her back and let them fall with a thud onto Chase’s desk. “I need you to help me look into some suspicious wolf activity on the coast.”

Chase’s interest piqued at the mention of the resident werewolf pack. “Greystone?”

Reagan nodded. “Someone has been filing anonymous claims of fraud going on within the pack. I don’t know if it’s true, but I need another set of eyes to go over the filings for me before we make it an official investigation.”

Chase groaned internally. He had hoped for treason or murder. Anything but fraud. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said. “Can I use company resources or does that violate my probation too?”

Reagan slipped her hand into her pocket, retrieving a badge that she dangled briefly in front of him before letting it drop onto the stack of papers. “You’ve been re-assigned to level three clearance. . . temporarily.” She emphasized the word as she stood to leave. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Does this mean I’m off probation?” he called out to her as she walked away.

“Nope!”

Chase waited until he heard the door to the hallway close before leaning forward to snatch his badge off the desk. He had never had level three clearance before. Reagan hadn’t been far from the target when she called him a desk jockey. In the decade since he had joined the Vampire Enforcement Agency, or VEA, he had been stuck with low-level assignments and desk work. The few times he had been involved in more, the whole operation had felt like a joke to him. But there were reasons he stuck around, and bureaucracy wasn’t going to make him leave.

Their job was to ensure that a veil remained between the human world and those of the supernatural one—werewolves and vampires. It often meant covering up crimes and compelling the less fortunate humans who had a near-miss encounter with a vampire or werewolf.

In theory, it was a good idea. But, bureaucracy was a bitch and there were so many loopholes that agents had to jump through to accomplish their task, it meant that cases were rarely resolved in a cut and dry manner.

With a sigh, Chase leaned forward and began flipping through the stack of papers. Fraud wasn’t really something that was up his alley. They had special divisions for those sorts of investigations.

He preferred murder.

When his eyes began to blur the numbers and letters together, Chase stood and took a step, only then remembering the now very sticky soda still puddled on the floor.

God-damn it. He was going to have to buy new boots.

Eyeing a napkin on a neighboring desk, he grabbed it and wiped the bottom of his boot off before dropping it in the puddle. He grabbed the stack of documents and badge before heading for the door.

He had never been one to work in the silence of an office. He preferred. . . other scenes.

Thirty minutes later, he was seated at the barstool of a high-top table at a local supernatural’s’ club—the only club that would be open this late, or early, in the morning. The teeth-rattling low bass and electronic thrums suited him perfectly. As did the glasses of bourbon that he consumed.

He was mid-paragraph, skimming a document, looking for any familiar names that could jumpstart his investigation, when an arm slid across the table and the heavy scent of perfume filled his periphery.

“Heyyy, Chase,” the female voice slurred slightly. “Won’t you buy a girl a drink? I’ve been here all night and I’m so thirsty. . .”

Chase forced a smile on his face at the apparent rude interruption. Nicole. “I’m sure someone here would love to buy you a drink.” He held up his still mostly full third glass of bourbon. “However, I’m on official police business and they’d get awfully suspicious if I start putting others’ drinks on my tab.” It might have been bullshit, but this fellow vampire was wasted enough he knew he could get away with it.

“Aww, Chase, you know how to break a girl’s heart, don’t you?” Nicole whined, as she lost her balance, grabbing at the stack of papers.

Swearing, Chase lunged forward, gripping her arm to keep her steady before she sent the whole table toppling over. It had been a mistake to come to the club this late. He hadn’t planned on anyone being coherent enough to bother him.

“What’s Biomere?”

Chase jerked his head up to see that Nicole had somehow grabbed one of the papers and was now reading it.

He snatched the document out of her hands. “Official police business, remember?” She wobbled uncertainly in front of him, and he decided to add—more gently. “Can I call you a taxi?”

“Fuck that,” she slurred. “I’m gonna get another drink. . .” And then she stumbled back towards the bar.

Chase sighed and glanced at the paper she managed to grab. It was a memorandum with the logo of a pharmaceutical company at the top.

And at the bottom, was the signature and typed name of Dr. Adrian Glynn.

Retrieving his cell phone from his pocket, Chase did a quick search online and scanned through a few of the headlines, one catching his attention.

It was an article written ten years prior by the Lincoln City newspaper regarding an accident in which Adrian and his wife had tragically died during a car accident. Towards the end of the article, it stated that the only survivor in the accident had been Adrian and Desiree’s daughter.

Chase spent another twenty minutes trying to find out any information that he could about the daughter, but everything came up empty. He was going to need his level three clearance for this.

He downed the rest of his bourbon, paid for his tab, then made for the door.

Back at the office, he scanned his badge and opened the search program. He only had Adrian and Desiree’s names, so he used that to track down all their government records. When the files began popping up, he scanned each one for any indication of the daughter.

Finally, he hit the jackpot. He knew her name: Jenna; and he had a location.

Boise, Idaho.