Pheromonal: One Night With the Alpha novel Chapter 59

Chapter 59: All Questions, No Answers

"Are you a murder magnet?" Penelope mutters, studying the scribbled flow chart I’ve created.

"I don’t know. Maybe." I rub between my eyes with a groan, the tension building behind my forehead. "Has Logan responded to your texts yet?"

Penelope glances at her phone. "Nope. Radio silence."

The lack of communication from Logan only amplifies my unease. "I need to know what they found inside the Fernsby Mansion. This waiting is killing me."

Penelope squints at the paper I’ve doodled all over, taking a sip of wine. She’s on her second glass since I’ve been home to explain everything that’s happened. "At this point, we should probably assume the worst."

I nod, my throat tightening. "So, we assume Jonathan Fernsby is dead." My hand trembles slightly as I pick up the pen and scrawl ’WHY?’ next to Fernsby’s name on my makeshift flow chart.

The question looms large. I turn to Penelope, doubt creeping into my voice. "Am I crazy to think this has something to do with the names he gave me?"

Penelope shrugs, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she takes another sip. It’s white wine, because she said red just reminds her of blood. "Honey, I’m all aboard the conspiracy train at this point. Nothing seems too far-fetched anymore."

I stare at the flow chart. It’s a tangled web of information, each thread leading to more questions than answers.

"If Fernsby is dead," I muse, "it means whoever’s behind this isn’t afraid to take out high-profile targets. But why? What could be so important that it’s worth risking exposure on this scale? What are they hiding, and what’s their purpose?"

Standing and thinking just leaves my brain stagnant, so I head to the living room to pace.

"The client names, the security upgrades, Scott’s involvement, and now Fernsby. There has to be a connection we’re missing."

Penelope watches me, her eyes following my restless movements. "What about the panther shifter? How does he fit into all this?"

I pause, my hand instinctively going to my neck. "I don’t know. Is he connected, or just a freak incident? There’s the dragon-thing, too."

Penelope hums, twirling a strand of her fiery red hair around her finger. "How does a black panther erase all his tracks without doing anything?"

I shake my head, the memory of my first encounter with the shifter flashing through my mind. "I think he did it when I ran into him the first time, too. I was pretty delirious, though. Logan would know better."

"But how is that even possible?"

Turning, I change the direction of my pacing. "I’ve been wracking my brain trying to figure it out. It doesn’t make sense. Even scent blockers don’t completely obscure a presence. They just mask the supernatural aspect. But if they’re not lying, this is different."

Penelope nods. "It’s like he’s a ghost. No tracks, no scent, no magical residue. Could it be some kind of advanced technology? Or maybe a rare magical ability?"

"I’ve never heard of anything like it. In all my years working with supernatural security, I’ve never encountered a being that could completely erase its presence like this. Can you imagine the nightmare that would be for any company? ’There’s a way for people to obscure their presence so no one knows they’ve ever been around, and we have no idea how to stop it!’"

"Yeah, that doesn’t sound great for business."

My brain just keeps circling the same information I have, leaving me frustrated beyond measure. I flop onto Penelope’s couch with a sigh, grabbing the remote out of habit and turning on the TV.

"Hey, check the news. See if Fernsby’s on it."

My brain perks up with a little bit of hope, and I channel surf aggressively, not remembering which channel it’s on.

But no matter where we check—local news, national news, even the supernatural-focused networks—nothing. Not a single mention of Jonathan Fernsby or any disturbance at his mansion.

Penelope snaps her fingers. "It has to be connected to the case Logan brought to you initially. Those weren’t reported either, right?"

Nodding slowly, I agree, "Right. Nothing on the news."

So, we need to hear from the missing Logan.

But he’s not answering his text messages.

At least I have his number now, taken directly from Penelope’s phone.

I push myself up, rubbing my temples. Think, Nicole. When did I last use it?

In the bathroom, I try to calm my nerves. Penelope’s doors and windows are locked. It isn’t like someone just waltzed in here, turned off the TV while I was asleep, and stole my phone, of all things.

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