Which he obviously was since the door opened before Diego even had a chance to knock.
A man peeked out the crack, regarding him suspiciously before his eyes darted around wildly like he was looking for something or someone behind Diego. “What do you want?”
“I’m Officer Martinez. We spoke on the phone earlier.”
“I’m done talking to you. Go away!”
Fear and anger rolled off the man in equal measures, his gaze once more going this way and that. Like he was strung out on something. Diego inhaled, trying to figure out what drug it was. If the guy was using something like heroin, fentanyl, or PCP, Diego should be able to smell it, but he couldn’t pick up anything. Maybe the guy was on something completely new.
“I would, but the camera crew you asked for is here,” Diego said. “Before we can let them go in there, I need to make sure it’s safe. The department’s lawyers won’t let civilians in if I can’t assure their well-being.”
He knew it was a long shot, but the one demand the guy had made before he hung up on Diego was that he wanted a news crew with a camera so he could tell everyone about the monsters. It might simply be the rantings of a madman, but the first rule of negotiating was to figure out what the suspect wanted and make them believe you could give it to them. If lying to the guy about the news crew was what it took to get inside, Diego was damn well going to do it.
The guy stared at him, eyes glassy and heart pounding like he’d run a marathon—or was scared to death.
“I’m not armed,” Diego volunteered when the man didn’t say anything. Lifting his hands, he slowly turned in a complete circle. “I just need to come in and make sure everyone is okay. Then we can go from there. How does that sound?”
The man continued to look suspicious, but after a few seconds, he nodded. “Okay. But you’re the only one who can come in. No other cops.”
Without waiting for an answer, the guy pushed away the rolling rack of dishes he’d put in front of the door. Unlocking it, he opened it wider, then stepped back, gun in his hands trained on Diego.
“Hurry up and get in here!” he ordered.
Diego stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him.
“Lock it,” the man said, motioning with the gun. “Then move the rack back in front.”
Diego turned to lock the door, only to freeze when a scent completely out of left field hit him like a baseball bat. There was a young, newly turned male beta werewolf in the diner. Diego knew what kind of werewolf he was because every type of werewolf—alpha, beta, and omega—had a distinct scent. Another thing he could smell was fear, and this beta was so scared right then that he was on the edge of losing control.
Shit.
As he turned the lock, Diego looked directly at Connor, Trey, and Mike through the glass. “There’s a new werewolf in here, and he’s barely keeping it together,” he whispered too softly for anyone in the diner to hear him, but loud enough for his pack mates to pick up everything he said.
“Say the word and we’re there,” Trey murmured.
Giving them an almost imperceptible nod, Diego rolled the plastic rack in front of the door. It wouldn’t really slow his pack mates down when they came in, but if putting it back helped keep the gunman calm, Diego had no problem doing it.
When he turned around, Diego resisted the urge to look at the beta werewolf right away, instead focusing on the man who’d taken the diner hostage. Average height and in his midforties, he wore a silk suit and a pair of Italian leather loafers that were probably worth more combined than Diego’s top-of-the-line large-screen TV. His blond hair was wild and unkempt, but Diego got a whiff of the styling gel in it and even that smelled expensive. The gold ring on the man’s right hand was as pricey looking as everything else, with a crest on it that looked like it was from some kind of fancy Ivy League school.
Maybe this situation was like all the other calls he and his teammates had gone on lately.
Because nothing about the guy screamed that he was your everyday garden-variety hostage taker. Well, except for the desperate look in his eyes, sweat beading on his forehead, gun in his hand, slight smear of blood on his jaw, and all the terrified people in the diner. Then there were the two SIG Sauers stuffed in the guy’s waistband. They were standard DPD issue exactly like the one Diego had left in the SUV, which meant the hostage taker had gotten them from the cops he’d shot. The table beside him was strewn with cell phones he’d obviously taken from the hostages.
Still keeping an eye on the man with the gun, Diego took a second to look around. Two waitresses, two cooks, and a younger guy who was probably the dishwasher cowered behind the counter while all of the other hostages—including the beta werewolf—were huddled on the far side of the diner, sitting on the floor.
The teen boy was kneeling beside one of the patrol officers who’d been shot, pressing a dishrag to the gunshot wound at the officer’s shoulder. The teen’s breathing was a little fast and his heart was thumping hard, but he was holding it together—for now. Diego remembered what it was like right after he’d turned, when the slightest bit of stress would have his fangs and claws ripping out all on their own—usually at the worst possible time.
This kid was a beta, though, which meant he was smaller, less aggressive, and not as prone to violent outbursts as Diego had been when he first became an alpha. Still, this was a tense situation. There was blood everywhere, a diner full of terrified people, an unhinged guy with a gun, and dozens of cops outside with more firepower. It could definitely push a new werewolf—even a beta—over the edge. Diego needed to get the kid out of here soon, before this situation became even messier than it already was. Because a teenager sprouting fangs and claws definitely wouldn’t look good on the evening news.
A pretty woman with long, golden-brown hair and features so similar to the kid’s that she had to be his mother was on the floor near the other cop, using a towel to stanch the blood seeping through his pant leg from a shot to the thigh. While the two cops didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, getting them medical attention was still a priority. Diego gave them a nod, getting two back in return.
Diego glanced at the gunman to find him staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed over as he muttered to himself in a tone so low and fast, it was incomprehensible. It seemed like the guy was seconds from passing out, but Diego had dealt with enough unstable people to know even one sudden movement could change everything in a situation like this. So, he simply wouldn’t do anything sudden—until he had to.
Instead, he turned his attention to the beta werewolf again. Before today, the youngest werewolf Diego had ever met was eighteen, but this kid couldn’t be more than fifteen, sixteen at the most, and he couldn’t help wondering how the boy had turned.
His gaze moved to the woman he assumed was the kid’s mother. Even though she was focused on keeping pressure on the cop’s wound, she kept glancing at the boy out of the corner of her eye. Did she know her son was a werewolf, or had he hidden the change from her?