Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 45: Return to Fernsby Mansion?

Penelope’s gorgeous aquamarine eyes squint as she inspects me, a box of donuts in hand.

"You look like shit."

"Thanks." Rolling my eyes, I grab the box from her hand and take it to the kitchen, where I peek inside.

Sugared, glazed, cinnamon, and a few of the long chocolate ones. Simple flavors, but ones that’ll never steer you wrong.

Grabbing a sugared donut filled with jelly, I head back to the couch to watch the news again.

I spent about four hours last night freaking out over my face all over the television. After that, my more rational side kicked in. Now, I’m checking every bit of coverage I can, just to know what the story is ’on the streets.’ And to maybe make a mental note of every single person I’m going to try to get fired when I get my job back.

Getting revenge is much better than moping around, just hoping the police will do their jobs properly and get me off the hook for Scott’s murder. It gives me a little more purpose than just the vague hope of somehow finding the killer when trained professionals with multiple resources at their disposal are struggling.

"Use a plate, you heathen." Penelope smacks the top of my head lightly with a small-diameter plate, just barely bigger than the donut in my hand.

"Thanks." Setting my donut on it without taking the plate itself, I glue my eyeballs back to the TV, tuning to the next station.

Almost immediately, a photo of my face fills the screen. It’s from my driver’s license, so of course I look like a fat psychopath. It should be illegal to use driver license photos on national television.

"That make-up does not do your face shape justice, you know."

Glowering at Penelope, I raise the volume on her TV to blare her out.

She flops beside me, setting the plate on the coffee table as she eats a glazed donut. Without a plate.

Spill some hot cocoa on a rug once and now you can’t eat a donut on the couch in peace.

"Why are you watching this bullshit? You know it’s going to be a dumpster fire of misinformation."

Flicking my eyes briefly in her direction, I just say, "They’ve been interviewing my coworkers."

"And?"

"And I want to know every single person who provided a negative soundbite to the media." Leaning forward, I snatch my donut and take a bite, flaking powdered sugar everywhere. "I’m going to get every single one of them fired for a hostile work environment."

"Don’t talk with your mouth full. And Jesus, Nicole, eat over the plate." Leaning forward, she brushes the sugar off my lap, sounding more like my mother than my best friend. "The more my housekeeper has to clean, the more I have to pay her."

"Really?" Swallowing a decadent bite of raspberry jelly married to fluffy donut, I squint. "That seems crazy. Shouldn’t it be a flat fee?"

"Hourly fee, sweetheart. Hourly. The longer she’s here, the more I pay. So stop making a mess. It’s costing me money."

Grunting, I take another bite, holding back a grin as she holds the plate under my face to catch another powdered sugar explosion. "Every single headline is about me being a person of interest in the case. I’m pretty sure they’re not even looking at anyone else."

"McSexy will make sure they don’t overlook any evidence, Nikki. Don’t stress out too much."

"Mm-mm." Shaking my head, I point with a pinky toward the TV. "I’m starting to think they have no evidence at all. The only thing they have to look into is me."

"But there are the accounts, aren’t there?"

I shrug one shoulder. "Maybe. But that doesn’t prove someone wants him dead. If anything, don’t they make me look worse?"

"How does it make you look worse when the accounts pin everything on another murderer?"

Chewing slowly this time as I listen to the reporter talk all about how vicious and unhinged of an ex-fiance I am, I puzzle over her question, too. "I’ve been thinking."

"And?"

"There’s still no media coverage on strange murders in the area."

"Right. We established this already."

"So, what if these files are all fabricated? Let’s say no one’s dead. They really are fake accounting."

Penelope brushes more sugar off the couch, her brow furrowing. "Why would it even matter?"

I sigh, setting the donut down on the plate. "The worst thing about those files, if they don’t point to any strange murdered victims, is that Scott’s name is all over them."

"No, the worst part is the fake work that was fake paid for," Penelope counters, her voice rising slightly.

I chew my lip, considering her words. "We can’t confirm they were fake paid for, though."

"How does that matter?" Exasperation colors her tone. "I think you’re just trying to find more trouble here."

My stomach churns as the thought I’ve been avoiding finally surfaces. "They could say I faked it all to make Scott look bad and take the attention off myself."

Her eyes widen. "That’s insane people talk, Nicole."

I shrug a shoulder, picking up the donut again and taking another bite. The sweetness feels out of place with the bitterness of my thoughts. The entire situation is crazy people talk, but here we are, living it.

"There’s definitely some kind of case there, though," Penelope says after a moment. "Logan was the first one to approach you about it, remember?"

I nod, swallowing the last bite of donut. "True, but we have no information from the SED to verify what’s going on. We can’t even be sure those were the right accounts in the first place. What if two different issues are happening? What if I’m somehow mixed up in a whole separate conspiracy?"

Penelope throws her hands up in frustration. "Okay, I give up. What do you want to do about all this, Nicole?"

I meet her gaze, my resolve hardening. "I think I’m going to have to do my own investigation to make sure I don’t end up in jail."

"Are you serious? Nicole, that’s incredibly dangerous. You’re already a person of interest in a murder case. Poking around could make things worse."

I stand up, brushing the remaining sugar off my lap. "What choice do I have, Pippa? I can’t just sit here and wait for the police to decide I’m guilty. They’re not looking at anyone else."

"But you have no experience in this kind of thing," Penelope argues, following me as I pace the room. "You could end up compromising evidence or getting yourself into even more trouble."

She’s not wrong, but— freēwēbηovel.c૦m

Something doesn’t feel right. Deep in my gut, anxiety stirs, telling me that leaving it all alone is the worst idea ever.

"I’m doing it, Pippa."

Penelope sighs, running a hand through her fiery hair. "And what about Logan? Shouldn’t he be handling this?"

The mention of Logan sends a confusing mix of emotions through me. Now that he isn’t here to confuse me with his pheromones, I can begrudgingly admit that his strange behavior might just be coincidences of situation, and that he really does want to help me.

But it doesn’t mean I’m going to just sit back and put my fate in someone else’s hands.

"Logan’s part of the SED. He’s bound by their rules and procedures. I’m not. I can dig into places he can’t."

"Or shouldn’t," Penelope mutters.

I ignore her comment and continue, "Besides, I’m not entirely sure I can trust Logan. He says he wants to help, but is he going to put me over his job?"

"Fated mates are kind of a big deal among werewolves, you know."

"Ah-ah." I shake my finger at her. "That might be true if we were mated, but he rejected me. This residual connection between us doesn’t mean it’s strong enough to put his entire career at stake to keep me out of jail."

Penelope sits back down on the couch, her expression serious. "Okay, let’s say you do this. Where would you even start?"

I pause, considering. "The Fernsby mansion. That’s where this all began, right? I need to go back there and see what Mr. Fernsby knows."

"The Fernsby—Nicole, you almost died the last time you were on that mountain."

I shrug. "It isn’t like he sent the monster to me. Besides, I’m not going to be unarmed this time. We’ll go up with some ward stones and maybe a few weapons. Maybe we can even hire one of those black market supernatural bodyguards."

"Black market supernatural bodyguards?" Her lips twitch. "Really?"

"They’re a thing, trust me. Rich people hire them all the time. All the best bodyguards are unlicensed supernaturals, but they come with a massive price tag."

Penelope leans her head back with a groan. "And how are you going to pay the unlicensed, pricey bodyguard, Nicole?"

"Did you forget what I do for a living? I’m anti-magic security. An upgraded ward stone is worth its weight in gold for these guys. We just need to do a little trade."