WOLF LOYALTY

CHAPTER FOUR

WOLF’S LOYALTY

(Back off)

The clicking of the laptop keys hurt my brain. And my eyes. Not to mention my ears.

God, why does it hurt so much?

Because you drunk half of the bar, Amelia, you idiot.

I’m never drinking again.

I try to focus on what I’m doing, rather than my pounding headache. The memories of Jake keep intruding.

He took it alright when I freaked just as he was about to get my pants down. I went back to the bar and shortly afterward.

It’s not Jake, exactly, that’s bothering me.

It’s the fact that I was only attracted to him because he looks like Rogers. I’ve gotten Rogers friendships back, and the least I could do is to ruin it with my inappropriate longings.

I force myself to look back at my laptop screen. I’m looking into Daravit Enterprises. Everything that I’ve found so far tells me the original suspicious was correct -the company isn’t real.

I consider calling Rogers but decided against it.

His stuff is coming in with a moving van tomorrow, and I’ve promised I’ll help him move into his new apartment. I can talk to him then.

Not that talking to him got me anywhere last time, but I wouldn’t be a journalist if I didn’t know the meaning of perseverance.

Rogers can’t be my primary source, though, not if I’m going on, so I’ll figure out for myself.

The first step is to track whoever runs this fake website. They will be my first source in this.

I spend my morning talking to the website hosts, pretending to be an auditor. It takes a while but actually I got the name: Dylan Mills.

I expected Facebook to provide all the information I need, but I’m brought up short when my search results return no Dylan Mills in the area I’m looking for.

Who doesn’t have a Facebook page nowadays?

I did a standard Google search, which turn up nothing. A good mystery always draws me in, and this one is no exception. I got lost in my search, determined to find him.

Eventually, I did. He’s cited in a newspaper article about an apartment complex he had brought out. Whoever he is, he must be wealthy. He also didn’t like the press- the reporter writing the article tried to question him but was turned away on multiple occasions.

Who are you, Dylan? What do you have to do with Rogers?

There was precious little information available, but I managed to find out that after buying the apartment complex, several years ago, Dylan allowed many people to move in for free.

They seem a quiet group, from what can glean from social media, keeping to themselves.

This must be the community Rogers was talking about. What brings them together, though?

They all seem to be completely different people from various walks of life.

I can’t fifth out why Dylan would spend a fortune buying apartment and then just let these random people live there -live with him because he lives in one of the apartments too.

There ringing of my phone breaks my concentration. Annoyed, I answer. “Hello?”

“Back off”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Look I think you have the wrong number .”

“I don’t have the wrong number, Amelia. Keep investigating me, and you’ll regret it .”

Fear pools in my stomach, but curiosity overwhelmed me. “Dylan?”

“Stay away from us if you know what’s good for you. Don’t test me.”

“You know Rogers, don’t you?”

“It’s too late. He already hung up.

This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten a threatening call, trying to get me to abandon a story, but something about the resolve in Dylan’s voice gives me shivers.

I closed my laptop, wondering how Dylan knew.

He would have no reason to bug my laptop – he doesn’t even know me. No, the most likely option is that he has software that lets him know whenever someone is searching his name.

Software like that didn’t come cheap nor easily available. Whatever Dylan is hiding, It very important to him.

For now. I’ll shelve it, but only until I take it to Rogers tomorrow. I close my laptop wondering who Dylan is and what his secret is.

°°°°°°°*******°°°°°°°°

The moving van was waiting when I arrived. It’s a block of apartment buildings that looks suspiciously like the one Dylan own. Rogers said he’s joining the local branch of whatever group he’s involved with.

I wonder if I’m about to meet Gavin’s counterpart here.

Rogers is waiting for me by the van, and his smile weakened me at the knees.

What’s wrong with me? He’s my friend! Get your mind out of the gutter, Amelia.

“Hey, you ready to haul some boxes ?”

“Absolutely!”

It’s Rogers who does most of the box hauling, leaving me with the less strenuous tasks of unpacking them. In a moment of inactivity between boxes, I bring up things that have been gnawing me fit the last day.

“ Who’s Dylan Mills?”

Rogers stiffens.“ Where did you hear that name ?”

“I’m an investigative journalist, Rogers. You know me; I can never leave a mystery unsolved.”

“So you went digging .”

“That’s right ”

Rogers closed his eyes. I wonder if he’s praying for patience. “You shouldn’t have done that, Amelia. Trust me on this, you want to back off.”

“That’s exactly what Dylan said when he called, he told me to back off, or I’d regret it .”

When Rogers’s eyes come up again to meet mine, they come angry. “He threatened you?”

“Don’t you dare disappear on me again, Rogers! The last time you were angry, Raymond’s home was vandalized. I don’t need you to defend my honor. I need you to talk to me!”

“Lia, I can’t ”

His tone brings me up short. He’s not brisk or annoyed or even indifferent. His pained whisper makes me want nothing so much than to put my arm around him.

“You can. You can talk to me. Whatever it is. I won’t tell anyone. I promise .”

“I know you would never break your word to me.”

“Than tell me,” I urge.

“I can’t.. I… Lia, it being so long since I saw you. We’ve just reconnected. I can’t lose you. Not now.”

What can you possibly have to tell me that would make me want to end our friendship?

Have you done something? Rogers, if you have, I’m sure it was an accident. You’re a good person .”

“It’s not simple. My world… it’s dangerous. Dylan should give you so idea. I don’t want to draw you into it. I’m not even supposed to be in contact with you, but I couldn’t help myself. Please, don’t ask me to tell you .”

At that moment, pressing him when he’s already distressed just seems too cruel. “Ok, Rogers. For now, I won’t push.

He nods, and with apparent effort, turns to one of the boxes.

He doesn’t ask for my promise that I will stop investigating, which is a good thing, because I’m not planning on making that promise. Whatever this secret is, it’s hurting my friend, and that is something I can’t abide by.

I will find out what’s going on.

I help Rogers unpack for hours. Our conversation turned causal. There’s a lot to catch up on. I forgot just how much I love talking to Rogers.

We spend the afternoon chatting and unpacking.

When I leave in the early evening. I didn’t go back to Amanda’s house. I drive around the block then packed at a more sheltered spot, within view of the apartment block. Then I did what I so often have to do in my line of work:I waited.

Most of the time, the out stakeout is like any other stakeout – boring. I don’t go completely unrewarded, though. Just as the sun is setting, Rogers and ten other people come down from their apartment to the garden area.

They are talking and laughing together. It looks like they are good friends, but Rogers hasn’t been here that long. He must have moved quickly to make friends already.

The odd thing about the interaction is that the whole group treats one member with a certain amount of deference. I guess he must be their leader, though their leader in what? I don’t know.

They spent some time doing some barbeque. Most of what I saw wasn’t exceptional, apart from one thing I bit at the end.

The leader goes inside and comes out with his arms of heavy chains. He hands those to Rogers, who nods, apparently thanking him.

My breath seems to freeze in my chest when I saw the manages at the end of the chains. Those chains are meant to chain up a person.

What is I Rogers doing with them?

I glanced around, making sure there is no police officers nearby.

What on earth has Rodgers gotten himself into?

T. B. C

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•••••Tife writes••••••