It wasn't often that Samson Gale was surprised. It was even less often those surprises were good. This wasn't one of the good surprises.
"Explain to me again, Chase. Why I need to go to the crime scene?" Sampson asked. He was sitting comfortably in his office chair, looking down at the closed manila folder Chase had placed in front of him.
"I'm telling you, it's a serial killer," Chase said.
"Yes, Chase. I heard that the first time. I'm asking you why I have to go to the crime scene. In person. This isn't the first serial killer the feds have asked us to assist with, but they've never demanded the head of the North American division of the SID before," Sampson said. He patted the folder with a large hand, proportional to his 6ft4 250-pound frame. "And watch your manners, it's been a day." The gravely baritone of his voice was laced with the command of an alpha shifter.
"Of course, Sir. They're asking becuse of the data, Sir," Chase added the honorific like an unpleasant afterthought. Though the fact that he had at all was a feat in itself.
"Chase," Sampson pinched the bridge of his nose.
"It is important, Sir," and there was genuine formality in his voice when he said it. That more than anything else made Samson pay attention. "All of the information is in the folder, but I know that the fresher the scene, the easier it is for you, and the rest of the supes to pick up on stuff. It's just, Sir if I'm right, the implications of this could be..."
Sampson looked his subordinate in the eye for a moment before nodding once in acquiescence.
"Fine." Sampson pressed a number on the phone in front of him.
"Captain?" Said the voice on the other end.
"Yes, Marcelle. I need two tickets to," he glanced up at Chase.
"Iowa, Sir," Chase said.
"Iowa?" Sampson parroted, incredulous. He could already feel his animal's displeasure at the idea of a flight from Seattle to Iowa.
"How soon Sir?" Marcelle asked after a beat of silence.
"Never mind, Marcy. We'll take the jet. Let the pilot know, and arrange pickup and accommodations, you know the drill." Sampson glanced up. "We'll be taking the crew. A full crew."
"Sir!" Chase's eyes widened in protest.
"Yes, Sir," Marcelle replied at the same time. "I'm assuming Em and Dale are your shield for this... sudden assignment?" Marcelle said, half teasing.
"They asked for the cavalry," Sampson said. A hint of humor in his voice for the first time that day.
"So you brought them a nuke?" Marcelle laughed.
"Call it insurance against wasting my time," Sampson said as he rose from his desk with practiced ease.
"I'll have everything ready when you need it, Sir" Unlike Chase, Marcelle said the honorific like an endearment.
"Counting on it," Sampson muttered. He slipped on his leather coat and, grabbing the folder with one hand, and his head of intelligence in the other, he swept out of the office. "Debrief me on-route, I get the feeling them calling us in is some sort of stunt, but if you really think something more could be going on..."
Chase just looked at his boss, and gave him a grim shrug, before being half-dragged out of the SID headquarters and into Seattle's dreary late-night drizzle.