1 Chapter 1

If there was one thing Travis could say about the old police station in front of him, it certainly didn’t have the austere presence of the New Detroit building where he’d served as a sergeant on a beat. Being newly promoted to detective though, meant moving to a new precinct and, at least in his case, a new town. Tucson’s Midtown Precinct was where he happened to end up.

With a deep breath, he straightened his deep green tie in a nervous little twitch and strode into the squat, beige eyesore that was his new workplace.

Inside had a very different feel than the outside, and Travis found himself reluctantly impressed. Simple, sharp, professional, the standard bullpen set-up since time immemorial and a far cry from the stuffy dimness of his last station house. Glass desks, black chairs, and bright steel flickered into sight as the people flittered about the massive room.

There were a lot of people.

Brightly dressed civilians waited to be helped and scowled for the most part, some of them even in cuffs. Those would go to lock up soon enough, no doubt. Travis chuckled at the more solemn-looking detectives going about station business. Something of the nervous tension he carried around relaxed at seeing all the stuffy suits of his fellow officers, as uncomfortable as he always felt in such clothes. Even the few beat cops in the fancier police uniforms, station patches and ranks proudly displayed on the sleeves with their shiny badges pinned securely to their chests, seemed the same. Granted, the beat cops wore cooler tan uniforms to combat the oppressive heat from the desert sun, but that was the only noticeable difference from his old cop regalia in New Detroit. Same air of wary alertness on every face; same sharp eyes and stiff postures.

It felt almost like home.

“Sir, can I help you?”

Travis glanced to his right. A woman stood at the sign-in desk, dark eyes watching him curiously. Plastering on his best smile, he briskly stepped up and signed the log with a quick wave of his wrist over the chip scanner. It was standard procedure that dated back almost a century now, the entirety of one’s life and identity programmed onto a microchip. While it seemed a little like overkill to Travis, he could, when pressed, reluctantly admit the damn thing came in handy. At least he didn’t have to carry around all the paperwork to prove who and what he was, like people back in the 21st century were rumored to do.

The lady watched her screen to make sure Travis’ credentials were legitimate and smiled politely when he checked out, still waiting for Travis to answer her question. Suddenly, Travis picked up the faintly sweet scent of omega from the woman and he relaxed. It was a common response amongst them, feeling safer in the company of one’s own dynamic. “I’m Detective Travis Danten, reporting for duty. Can you point me to the captain?”

“Sure.” Her smile widened from polite to genuine. “It’s over there, up the—” A graying, dark-skinned, massive dragon of a beta policeman sidled up behind the woman and tapped her on the shoulder. The smile brightened a fraction more when her dark eyes flickered over to the man behind her. “Hey, Banks! You done with your call?”

Banks, with kind green eyes that sparkled merrily when turned Travis’ direction, nodded, and shooed the woman out of his way gently. “Yeah. Abby just had a question about Jacine’s bout with the flu. I appreciate you watching my post so I could deal with it.”

“Happy to help.” Sashaying from behind the counter, the lady extended a surprisingly sturdy hand to Travis. “I’m Lydia Medina, one of the detectives for our illustrious precinct.” He shook her hand politely as she jerked her chin toward Banks. “That’s our beta desk sergeant, Matata Banks, and he certainly lives up to his name.”

Travis chuckled when the sergeant flashed a mischievous smile and a wink. “Nice to meet you, sir.” Banks waved and Lydia took that as her cue, gathering him with a motion.

“Since I’m free until my partner is back from her scheduled maintenance check-up, I will be glad to take you to our captain.” Medina guided him right through the middle of the bullpen, ambling at a slow pace so Travis could drink in the bustle of the place. Hard-working people filled the space with the sound of papers shuffling, chatter about casework, even a few flirtatious comments. Pheromones saturated the air with the sweet scent of his fellow omegas, the earthy scent of the zeta civilians, a tangy smell of betas, and the sharpness of alpha, a little overwhelming because it wasn’t the mix he was used to. His old station had far more betas, which drowned out the others’ scents. This place smelled like the brass kept the dynamics pretty balanced. Something besides the oppressive desert heat to grow accustomed with. Joy.