Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha-Chapter 153: Synchronized

The elevator door dings open an hour later, waking me from a nap I didn’t know I was taking.

"Honey, we’re home!" Penelope’s voice rings through the penthouse, and I shoot up from the couch, blinking blearily. When did I fall asleep? Logan and I had made up. He was holding me. We were talking about where we go next, and I just... fell asleep?

Really?

My attempt at being a good girlfriend is so far a giant crash and burn.

But more importantly, right next to Penelope and her flaming red hair—like, suspiciously right next to her—is Marcus Ashby, striding in wearing a charcoal suit made of diamonds.

Metaphorical ones, obviously. Real ones would be uncomfortable.

My eyes lock with Penelope’s. I tilt my head toward Marcus, raise my eyebrows to astronomical heights, and give her the universal "what the actual fuck?" facial expression. This is what seven years of friendship gets you—telepathic communication.

"Oh—want some?" Penelope thrusts a pink smoothie under my nose. "It’s dragonfruit, açaí, and something else I can’t pronounce. The guy at the smoothie shop was cute."

Or not.

Epic telepathy fail.

"You two carpooled?" I ask, looking between them.

"She didn’t know how to get here," Marcus says, giving the barest nod in my direction before heading straight into the kitchen.

Penelope whispers, "His car’s so comfortable. I think we should steal it."

Looks like they’re getting cozy. I want to demand details, but the man’s just across the room and I don’t think he’s a huge fan of gossip.

Logan heads straight to Marcus like they’re magnetized. Logan, in his worn jeans and black shirt—his basic casual attire and I’m pretty sure ninety percent of his wardrobe is black shirts and jeans—should look outclassed next to Marcus’s bespoke suit, but somehow they look like two sides of the same coin.

Powerful. Dangerous. Perfectly matched. Also? Sexy.

Seriously, they could be an advertisement for the beer they’re cracking open.

I catch Penelope staring at Logan’s butt. When she notices me noticing, she mouths "Damn" with an exaggerated fan motion.

She’s not wrong.

It’s like watching a nature documentary about alpha males in their natural habitat as they both sip at the exact same time. Are they synchronized?

"Thornhaven’s still on lockdown," Marcus says, leaning against the counter. "They haven’t even gotten close to figuring it out. If we play this right, they’ll be closed for another day. Maybe two."

"Thanks for making it happen."

The lawyer shrugs. "You’re paying me for it."

No smile. No emotion. Just facts. The bromance is strong with these two.

"Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?" I ask, perching on a barstool. Nicole takes the one to my left. "Orchestrating a fake bomb threat has to violate some kind of lawyer ethics code."

Marcus’s eyes slide to mine, and I swear there’s amusement lurking in their depths. "Only if you can’t keep your mouth shut."

Penelope snorts into her hand, failing to muffle her laughter.

Traitor. I scowl in her direction.

She just shrugs. No shame at all.

"What I find strange," Marcus continues, turning back to Logan, "is how little intel the SED has on this. For such a public murder, there should be far more chatter. But it’s radio silence. No department involvement. The only people who know are the two detectives working the case, as far as I can tell. And neither of them are on our payroll."

"Damn," he mutters.

"Damn, indeed."

They sip again in eerie unison. Seriously, how do they plan that? Is it just a side effect of their friendship? But Penelope and I don’t do it.

Maybe it comes with the Y chromosome.

Either way, watching them drink their beer makes me thirsty, too. It takes less than thirty seconds to fill up a cup of sweet tea from the fridge. It’s the kind I love, sweet enough to trigger an instant diabetic coma and rot out all your teeth at the same time. Delicious.

Not healthy, but nothing good ever is, damn it.

No wonder I can’t lose the extra flab in my belly.

"His family has more pull than expected," Logan finally sighs.

"As far as I can tell, there’s only the one lead. A witness. Rumor is she’s someone romantically involved with Bower, but it’s only one rumor. Nothing else out there. Maybe there’s no witness at all."

Penelope leans over, her mouth near my ear. "Wouldn’t that be the side chick? The one he fucked in your bed?"

I nod, taking another sip of tea to wash down the bitterness rising in my throat. Has to be, right? She seemed pretty shaken up by his loss.

And angry with me.

I haven’t seen her since the day Logan took her down.

"Well, she doesn’t exist," Marcus says flatly.

I choke on my tea. "What?"

Impossible. I’ve seen her. Logan’s knocked her unconscious. She was arrested.

"Not legally. Not magically. There are no records of her existence."

Logan’s frown deepens, his brows pulling together. "Doesn’t exist—or was erased?"

Something about the distinction makes the hair on my arms stand up.

Marcus nods. "Exactly. Erased. There are too many footprints where there should be none."

"Damn."

It certainly sounds harder to erase someone who’s existed all their lives than to create a fake identity.

Marcus’s voice gets quieter. "If the SED is willing to challenge the Conclave on this, it means..."

"I know," Logan cuts him off, voice hard and clipped.

My head snaps up, and I notice Penelope’s does too. We both lean forward slightly.

"What does that mean?" Penelope asks, beating me to it.

The fastidious lawyer looks at her with polite dismissal. "Ask me again when you have the clearance."

Penelope’s face flushes with indignation, her mouth opening to retort.

"Do I have clearance?" I ask quickly, trying to cut off the inevitable Pippa explosion.

He actually snort-laughs. Didn’t even know he was capable of such a plebian sound effect. "You? Even less than she does."

I blink, genuinely offended. How is that possible? I glance at Penelope suspiciously. Have they gotten that close already? Has she been keeping secrets?

Penelope catches my side-eye and tilts her smoothie toward me, misinterpreting completely. I take a sip anyway. It’s actually pretty good, but that’s not why I was looking at her.

"Are you still friends with the witch you used the last time?" Marcus asks, pivoting to Logan without warning.

Wait, what? Witch? Last time? My ears perk up. Penelope doesn’t seem interested, busy poking her straw into her smoothie and stirring it around to redistribute whatever’s melted.

Logan’s expression grows guarded. "Calling her a friend is stretching it."

"She might be exactly who we need."

I want to know exactly who this she is. Not out of jealousy, but because it makes my mate’s body language go haywire. He’s hiding something, and I want to know all about it.

Anything Logan’s hiding is usually pretty big stuff and generally tied to some sort of magical contract. Or my safety. Or... well, it could be anything, actually.

"Who are we talking about?" I interject, unable to contain my curiosity.

Logan scratches at his jaw, avoiding my eyes as he stares down at his beer.

The lawyer looks me over, squinting as he says out of nowhere, "Ever wanted to be blonde?"

I blink. "What?"

"Or redhead? Different eyes? Maybe taller. Or shorter?"