Knot A Trace: Part One

There’s a box of cookies on my desk, and an Omega that smells like warm vanilla standing in front of me.

I want to say yes to her. Every instinct in me screams to do it. I’m amazed that she walked in here and had the courage to ask for help in the first place—usually only government officials or police officers come in. Yet she waltzed right in with a box of cookies and a hopeful expression, bravely asking for what she needed.

I doubt River or the others would have seen it that way, and I’m grateful she found me first.

But I can’t help. We’re not the right people to ask, as tempting as it is to drop everything for her and take care of her.

For all I know, she has a mate. This shouldn’t be personal for me.

Skylar’s been in the room for less than five minutes, and suddenly, nothing but her matters.

I need to get a grip.

This is not how I expected my day to go.

And now, River has entered the conversation, ruining any semblance of peace that I might have had walking her out.

“Who are you?” he demands to Skylar, ruder and louder than necessary as he slams his pile of papers down on my desk.

I fight the urge to scowl at him—he’s never friendly, but he doesn’t need to be a dick to her for no reason.

And before she can answer, his eyes dart to the large white box where every color of macaron is displayed proudly. “And what the hell is this?”

“Those are macarons, River,” I say pointedly, narrowing my eyes at him. “And this is Skylar Bloom. I was just walking her out.”

Skylar darts her eyes between me and my colleague, and her pupils dilate.

She’s attracted to us.

But it doesn’t matter. I need to get her out of here before River says something stupid.

“I’m looking for my best friend,” she says to River, fixing her blue eyes on him. Beautiful. “And I was trying to see if you could help me.”

There’s a moment of silence that stretches a bit too long.

River is a loose cannon; he could snarl one sentence that would send her running or flash a smile and charm her.

He’s an excellent manipulator, which makes him an incredible detective.

And if her scent is affecting him at all like it affects me, I’m hoping he doesn’t show his fangs.

“We don’t do random missing person cases,” he says simply, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. “And we don’t take cookies as bribes.”

Great.

I can feel a headache forming already. River’s been in a fouler mood than usual this week, and no amount of pretty blue eyes or delicious-smelling Omegas will change that.

And, knowing him, he would see the conspicuous white box on my desk as an insult.

“River, it’s fine. She didn’t know—”

“They’re not bribes,” Skylar says, crossing her arms over her chest as well, matching River’s stance. Her scent spikes with cinnamon, a rich, deep fragrance, and her fury and indignation are just as mouthwatering as I imagined. “They’re an act of goodwill, and I was only hoping—”

“Yeah, well, we don’t have time for that,” River snaps, looking down at her. With his unkempt appearance and wrinkled leather jacket, he looks just as unprofessional as he sounds while speaking to her. “We do real work here. We see stuff every day that would make you sick. So, coming to us with cookies like a child is pointless and a waste of our time.”

“River!” I snap at him, snarling. “Can you act professional for one second? She was simply asking—”

But Skylar’s already shaking her head and chuckling to herself. “Right,” she says, biting her lip and looking away. “Sorry for wasting your time. Asshole,” she mutters under her breath. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are glassy as she quickly pushes past River and me, avoiding looking at either of us.

“What the fuck?” River says as we hear the main door close. “People just walk in now and ask for charity?”

I turn on him. “Even if they do, you can turn them away politely, like a regular human being. One that knows how to interact with people,” I say evenly, doing my best to not lose it on him.

“Oh, shut the fuck up. Just because you’re a bleeding heart doesn’t mean I have to be one too,” he snaps. I’m ready to argue with him, but his bloodshot eyes tell me now is not the time.

He’s an asshole at worst and a distant coworker at best. We’ll never be friends, and as easy as it would be to spend energy pointing out every way he doesn’t do our bureau any favors, we need to find a way to work together.

“What’s all this?” I ask instead, grabbing the pile of papers and flipping through them. I do my best to push the Omega out of my mind, as there’s no room for distraction right now.

“Another overdose,” River mutters, glancing down at the macaron box. “Same stuff. This time it’s a school principal.”

“Shit.” I flip through the documents, glancing down at the autopsy report. “This garbage is everywhere now.”

“A fucking month of these deaths,” River mutters, plucking a pink macaron out of the box. He stares at it, frowning, holding it as if it’s a dead bug. “She really brought these to you?” he asks, turning it over in his hand. “And thought you would help her?”

I shrug. “She runs a café. And she was nice. You know, a concept you could try one day.”

“Hey, I’m perfectly nice,” he quips. “I’m charming as fuck, too.”

“I mean, when you’re not trying to get answers out of someone.” I watch as he fiddles with the macaron. “You know you’re supposed to eat those, right?”

“She was pretty,” he murmurs, still staring at the cookie.

I freeze. River never shows interest in any Omega, much less comments on their appearance.

He never bothers to talk about anything except work with me.

“She was,” I agree slowly.

“What was her deal?” he mutters. “What exactly did she want, anyway?”

“Well, before you, you know, interrupted her—” River shoots me a look, but I simply raise an eyebrow in challenge. “Her friend disappeared, and the local police aren’t doing much.”

He scoffs. “Figures. What city is she from?” But before I can answer, he takes a bite of the macaron and audibly groans. “Holy fugh,” he mutters around a mouthful of cookie. “Dats gool.”

I never see River eat; much less be enthusiastic about it. The only things I’ve seen touch his mouth are his never ending supply of coffee and the occasional cigarette.

He actually lights up when he eats Skylar’s macaron, and the corners of his eyes crinkle in delight.

Those cookies must be magical, because I swear the asshole looks ten years younger in that moment.

Huh. Interesting.

But before I can marvel more about that, there’s a screech of brakes followed by a loud thud that comes from the parking lot.

It sounds like someone just got hit by a car.

River drops the cookie and races out of the room, and I follow close behind.