Please Don’t Bother Trying to Find Her WHO Brent Lawson and (Morgan) Alma Dex WHAT Brent’s trip is proving fruitful in more ways than one WHERE Grocery Store >>> Lighthouse WHEN September 19, 2016; 8:30 AM RATING PG-13 (swearing, implied sexual situations)
Even as Commander of the Order, Brent couldn’t simply pack up and leave on an extended trip to Havenwood without giving some kind of notice and explanation. His father had listened patiently, scowl etched into his gray face, as he’d detailed what had been discovered about Emily Sawyer’s (he refused to call her Emma Swinton) whereabouts and her current situation.
“You can’t just leave for some personal vendetta,” Thomas Lawson had grumbled, muttered assent carrying through the half-dozen other senior members of the Order that formed its governing council.
“I can, and I’m going to,” Brent growled back. “I’m the one in command now, remember?”
“Son, if we went chasing after every missing hunter that decided we weren’t their cup of tea after all…” Thomas sighed, shaking his head as he started to get up from his seat, an indication to the others that the meeting was over.
“This isn’t just anyone, it’s my wife,” Brent ground out, before he took a breath to calm himself and added, “and our son.”
Those three words had caught Thomas’ attention, as he straightened his back, retaking his seat.
“There’s a child?”
Brent had just smiled, that small satisfied lift at the corner of his mouth that presented itself whenever he knew he’d won. “Don’t you want to see mom smile again?”
He’d left with the blessing to take up to a month to bring his family back, on one condition: he also look into the whereabouts of Morgan Dex, their favored interrogator who had gone silent after being recalled from her undercover assignment some eighteen months prior. Whether or not the council knew his personal history with Dex, Brent found it a curious addendum to his trip, one that - should he find her alive and well - could mean a potential ally in recovering his wife and son.
He hadn’t tried hard to keep his infidelities secret after Emmy had left; after all, it had been seven years, and who was brave enough to fault him? He’d certainly never heard one word of complaint from the clingy, desperate women pushed forward by their families in hopes of raising their stock within the Order. But none have them had held a candle to Dex, the only woman he’d been able to go blow-for-blow with in a sparring match as much as in bed. If she had only been willing to submit to his authority, rather than make him fight for dominance (a fight he’d lost to her as many times as he’d won it), he might have considered making her the new Mrs. Brent Lawson.
But there was only one woman in the world he felt deserved that title. Oh, Emmy would try to fight him every step of the way, but he knew just how to get under her skin, even after all this time. He’d broken her down and built her back up once before. He expected that doing it again, now that he could leverage her new life against her, would be a walk in the park.
That same self-satisfied grin he’d worn with the council came back as he thought about how satisfying it would be to finally make his wife come to heel, even if he had to do it with a choke collar. He’d already started to put her on edge, and all it had taken was a couple of photos and some vaguely complimentary texts.
Too easy, Emmy, he thought to himself with a sigh as he pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store closest to the Woodtrails Apartment Complex, having taken the past couple of days to work on tracking down Dex. He’d started at the Aquitaine, knowing it was where the Order had kept her up during her stint in town, in order to maintain her cover as a visiting state police officer. He’d played up his charm with the lovely woman at the front desk, and between that, a nice little bribe, and some backroom “hands-on” work, she’d finally given up that the woman he was looking for had moved out of the hotel the previous year, but just before that, had been kept in the psychiatric ward at the local hospital.
His next step had been to call the hospital under the guise of representing the insurance company with whom Dex had filed a claim for her stay. It took some finagling and a story about mail sent to her last known address going unanswered, but he was finally able to learn that Dex was, one, still in town and, two, now currently employed by the hospital. Then all he’d had to do was stake out the hospital until he saw her leave and follow her back to the apartment complex she’d relocated to. A quick drive around the neighborhood to get acquainted, and he had his plan in place.
He’d parked close enough to be able to see into the store from his car, watching as Dex wound her way through the store with a handbasket. When she emerged, paper sack in her arms, he was waiting for her outside, sitting casually on the hood of his car, arms crossed over his chest.
“I don’t know what to do with you,” he sighed as she approached, shaking his head dismissively. “You don’t call, you don’t write… you disobey direct orders.”
She froze where she was, and he was surprised that when he pushed himself up to stand, she took several steps away. Even more confusing was the look in her eyes, one he’d never seen before: fear.
“Did I catch you trying to take an early retirement?” he asked, his step forward countered by her step back. “You couldn’t possibly think you could just disappear without us coming to look for you.”
“I-I…” she stammered, before he reached out and grabbed her wrist, the bag of groceries falling from her arms to the ground.
“You never were as smart as you thought,” he growled as he pulled her around to the passenger side of the car, throwing the door open before he shoved her down into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
“There’s been a misunderstanding,” she said quietly, staring at the dash as he got in and started the car, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Did I miss the orders for you to stay after all?” he demanded, careful to keep his growing anger in check as he made his way down the road. It wouldn’t do to be pulled over for speeding.
“No. I’m not who you think I am.”
Brent couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, really? Because I think you’re the same bitch who liked to get forced to her knees, until I got tired of you.”
He watched her swallow hard, shame making her cheeks burn, something else he’d never seen her do before. She kept her gaze on her knees, posture awkwardly straight.
“Oh, don’t tell me you’re gonna cry,” he sneered, taking a turn to put them on the way to the lighthouse. “I thought you didn’t do that.”
“She didn’t.” The words wiped the cruel grin from Brent’s face.
“What the fuck do you mean?”
“I’m not who you think I am.” She took a long, shaky breath, and finally raised her gaze to look at him. “I’m Alma. I’m who she was supposed to be.”
They hit a light, and Brent slammed on the brakes, sending her lurching violently forward against the dashboard. His mind was racing; this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He had expected some resistance when he’d found her, sure, she always liked to put up a fight. But this was… What the hell was this? He’d seen her when she was playing normal, but this wasn’t the same. As good as she’d been at passing for a regular person, there was always something he could see behind her eyes, a blankness that betrayed the emptiness inside her. But now, when he looked at her…
“What the fuck does that mean?” he demanded as the light changed again.
“Someone saw fit to finally give her the soul she’d been missing. That’s me.”
Brent was rarely left speechless, but this had him at a complete loss for words. He’d known the truth about Dex for a long time; the fact that she had no soul had been considered a strategic asset, and been communicated to him once he’d reached a certain level of authority. It was a fact that the Order had used time and again to its advantage, and that he himself had personally exploited on any number of occasions - and had been planning to make use of again on this trip. But what the hell could he do with…
“Alma,” he muttered, after a long silence. “So what, you’re the nice cop?”
“I’m not any kind of cop,” she answered quietly, watching as he swung the car into a parking spot by the lighthouse.
The cold weather seemed to have kept most people away from the normally popular spot; there was only one other car she could see, and it was sitting empty at the opposite end of the lot. Brent had turned off the engine, and with it had gone the heat, causing Alma to shiver a little.
“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, although this time there wasn’t fear in her eyes so much as a resignation to a fate she’d long ago expected. After all, she knew from Morgan’s memories that it was protocol: eliminate any compromised asset.
Brent just laughed at her question. “No, no,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “They want you back, and I’ll look bad if I don’t make good on that promise. Besides, we can probably find a way to make you useful again.”
If he had learned anything about the workings of the supernatural, it was that everything had a way of being undone in some way. Possessions could be exorcised, vampires and shifters neutralized. Even angels could be temporarily banished, although he had never met one to try out the spells he’d long ago memorized. There had to be a way to remove a soul, once it had been restored. And failing that, she’d make good bait for a hunt.
“Matter of fact,” he said calmly, digging into his jacket pocket to pull out the unlocked cell phone he’d acquired for this trip, “you can be helpful right now, and I’ll take you home. Even buy you some new groceries. How about that?”
Alma’s heart was racing, every fiber of her being trying not to show any sign of acceptance of his offer. But all she wanted was a quiet life, one that didn’t make her anyone of any kind of consequence. If she cooperated now, she might be able to use his goodwill in the future to maintain that life - or at the very least, make a run for it before he could drag her back to the Order.
With her lips pressed into the thin line of a grimace, her eyes locked on the phone that he was now tapping through to bring up what he wanted, Alma gave him the faintest hint of a nod, her body tense in apprehension. Brent just gave her a charming smile, reaching out to brush his thumb across her hairline, down to her jaw. The affectionate gesture seemed to calm her, as her breathing slowed to a more normal rhythm, her muscles starting to relax.
“Good girl.”
He held out the phone, a photo of the woman she knew as Emma Swinton - but Morgan knew to be Emily Sawyer - displayed for her to see.