The Alpha's Shadow

Chapter 5: The Silver Bullet

Luna rapped sharply on the shabby apartment door for the third time. "Mr. Talbot, this is Detective Marquez with APD. We just need to ask you a few questions."

Silence. She huffed out an irritated breath, glancing over her shoulder to exchange a frustrated look with Marco. They had tracked the latest mauling victim's car back here to this low-income housing complex only to find no answer at the recorded unit number. Luna pressed her ear to the door, listening intently. Nothing. Not even the scuff of a body shifting nervously inside. Wherever their person of interest was, he clearly had no intention of responding voluntarily to the police's arrival. She rocked back on her heels, considering options. They needed to get in that apartment, legal or otherwise.

Marco seemed to reach the same conclusion, jerking his chin toward the adjacent unit's door. "Watch the hall. I'll handle this."

Luna's brows shot up as Marco withdrew his lockpick tools, but she turned obligingly to stand guard. A woman pushing a stroller slowed curiously as she passed, and Luna gave her a pleasant smile that didn't reach her eyes until the woman averted her gaze and moved on. Satisfied no one else was paying them undue attention, Luna shifted her body to further block Marco's illegal work. Heavy thuds and metallic scraping sounds filtered out between his muttered curses.

Finally a triumphant "Yes!" preceded the door swinging open. Marco shot Luna a roguish grin as he pocketed his picks. "Never as quick as you, partner, but I'm learning."

Despite the circumstances, Luna had to smother an affectionate smile. She gave his shoulder a light shove, urging him onward. "Come on, the sooner we get what we need and go, the less chance of blowing our careers on improper search protocol."

Marco's expression sobered as he shifted back to cop mode, pulling gloves and a flashlight from his coat. The dim interior held no signs of life or recent habitation that Luna could see as they swept through warily. The kitchenette was mostly bare cabinets and a dorm fridge containing only condiments and a six-pack of beer. She riffled through a drawer of takeout menus and fast food receipts while Marco poked his head into the single bedroom just off the kitchen.

"Anything?" Luna called over her shoulder.

"More nothing. No luggage, clothes, personal items." His frustrated sigh echoed her own simmering discontent. Another seeming dead end.

Straightening from her fruitless search, Luna swept her flashlight beam over the living room area. A thrift store sofa and milk crate standing in for a coffee table occupied the small space. But no tech, papers, or other traces of the occupant's life. She crossed to pull aside the window's dingy curtain, half hoping to glimpse a nosy neighbor to question. Only a fire escape leading up to more seemingly empty units.

"This was definitely our vic's listed address," she mused aloud. Tax documents with the familiar name had come back solidly enough. So where was the proof he had ever actually inhabited this empty shell of an apartment?

"Could be some kind of safehouse," Marco speculated as he emerged empty-handed from the bedroom. "Keeping his head down out of sight." His jaw tightened. "From the rogues. Has to be why we found no real trace of his life."

Luna nodded thoughtfully, shelving her reflexive objections to the rush to judgment. If their mauling victim had been afraid enough to go to such lengths to hide his identity and movements, it could point to inside knowledge making him a target. The timing still didn't feel wholly right to her instinct, but Marco's theory aligned disturbingly well with the facts at hand.

Restless with the desire for answers, Luna paced the confines of the room. They were missing some piece still, she could feel it. Crouching before the battered media console, she examined the underside and backing, searching for anything wedged or hidden there. Only slightly tacky dust met her questing fingers until they brushed what felt like paper near the rear left corner. Pinching carefully, Luna extracted a small ragged square of paper wedged into a crack. She brought it up to the flashlight beam, squinting to make out the faded words in cramped handwriting: