“Have you ever considered adding a shifter to the team? Specifically a canine?”
Spencer looked over at me, shielding his eyes from the sun. I wasn’t able to see his expression in the glare, but the annoyance in his voice was clear. “I’ve tried, but the powers that be are-” he coughed, “-reluctant to involve other species.”
“So they are a bunch of bigoted pricks.” I narrowed my eyes, anger lacing my voice. “This agency is investigating others.”
“And it’s made up of others.” He defended.
“Others that are technically jacked-up humans.” I stamped my foot in frustration. “If you had a canine shifter on the team - a wolf or a coyote - you could sniff the killer out. If you had a vampire you might be able to infiltrate the House faster or at least get a better perspective on the whole dynamic. You are cutting off your hand with your prejudice.”
“If it were up to me-”
“But it’s not. I know, I know.” I tipped my head back, closing my eyes and took a deep breath. We had begun to draw the attention of the other agents. I needed to get a handle on my frustration before people started to ask the wrong questions. Their full attention needed to be on solving the case, not on my questionable allegiance. “It’s just frustrating. We could be closer to solving this case if we had the right tools.”
Taking a couple of steps closer, close enough a hum of energy arced between us, Spencer almost whispered, “Do you know anyone you could bring in under the radar?”
Silence stretched between us.
Conflict warred in my chest, causing my stomach to flip. Did I want to risk it?
“Maybe.”
Nodding once, unnoticeable to anyone on the scene, his eyes met mine giving me permission. He wanted this case solved. And by any means necessary. Damn the higher-ups and their prejudices.
Although cats generally don’t hunt by smell, theirs is still over thirty times more effective than humans. Mine was even more so, especially in cat form. I had tried to talk myself out of doing this all evening. It was a huge risk. But in the end I knew I had to do whatever I could to stop this killer.
I surveyed the scene closely. The team had left. The evidence and body parts had been collected, the yellow tape marking the scene fluttered in the breeze.
Spencer had been kind enough to provide me with the security team’s schedule so I could make sure my shifter friend could investigate without being seen. Security was strictly human, and there was no electronic surveillance. I had about a two hour window to find a trail.
I changed inside the abandoned factory, luxuriating in my other form. Something I did rarely in the last few years. While a black jaguar could be explained away as a variation of the typical Florida Panther, their territory was a bit south of here in Manatee County. I didn’t want to run the risk of being spotted and cause trouble for the other species. The skittish cats were rare as it was.
An unfamiliar odor hung around the scene, wet and musty like a down comforter left out in the rain. There was a strange layer to the faint smell. So faint I wasn’t even sure if it was connected to the crime scene or the abandoned factory.
I shrugged it off and padded to where I had seen the odd drops of blood. It was like they had fallen from above, as if pulled by gravity, but there was nothing they could have fallen from. The drops were too far from the surrounding buildings and there was nothing but open space above. They abruptly ended at the wall, which cut off the alley, perpendicular from the two factory buildings. Following a hunch, I searched for a way to the other side of the wall. Sure enough the trail of drops continued north, the spacing between them increasing the further they were from the scene.
I followed the intermittent trail, forced to double back a few times as the distance between the minuscule drops increased. Finally at the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse of some sort, I caught a whiff of a familiar scent: the victim from the scene.
Hidden between tufts of tall grass in the overgrown lot, hundreds of tiny splinters of bone were scattered throughout. The lot was empty, barren of anything more than a faded handicapped parking sign. The same musty scent from the drop-site lingered.
Questions rioted through my mind, an ache forming behind my eyes. This case just kept getting stranger with every turn. With each new discovery, more questions than answers appeared.
It was almost morning before I finished setting up the scene. Since the higher-ups didn’t want shifters on the team, I had to cover my presence in my other form, and re-create the discovery in my human form. Way too much extra work. The whole process left me with a bad taste in my mouth and a raging headache. It had taken much longer than I wanted since I had the added complication of avoiding security on top of everything else. They should have a shifter on retainer, this was ridiculous.
As the sun peeked over the horizon I was finally able to call Spencer.
“I’ve got something for you.”
“Wha-”
“Come to the latest scene and bring coffee.” Yawning into the phone I added, “Strong coffee. And food. Something with meat.” Not in the mood for dealing with any bullshit or explanations I cut the call, wishing I had somewhere to take a nap before he pulled up. Trying to stay awake, I rechecked the trail I had made and the surrounding scene ensuring my setup was flawless. Thankfully I ran into security, furthering my set up. I explained to the startled guard, a rookie agent, who I was and why I was hanging around. After verifying my story with Spencer he was generous enough to share his thermos of coffee with me. I was waiting on a set of stairs in front of the factory cradling the thermos lid of coffee as Spencer drove up as short time later.
The dust billowed around the Camry, hanging suspended in the softened light from the sunrise as he parked in front of the factory. I handed the empty thermos lid to David, the security guard, and stretched the kinks that had gathered in my back and legs while I waited on my partner.
Spencer shoved a large coffee and bag of food at me.
“What did you discover?”
I tore into the food, a couple of sausage breakfast sandwiches, mumbling around a mouthful, “The bones.”
His eyebrows shot up, eyes widening as he forced himself to be patient, his body humming with excitement. I made him wait until I finished both sandwiches and gulped down half the coffee.
After explaining to David and Spencer how I found the bones, leaving out the part where I was in cat form of course, I led them to the second scene.
“How do you know they are human bones?” David asked.
“To the left of the largest rock is part of a human jawbone and about eight feet to the left of that is a portion of the skull. I’m not a medical examiner or anything, but I’ve taken enough biology to be able to identify it as human. If it’s not our human, then there is another body in this scrub.”
Their puzzled looks echoed mine as we tried to make sense of the whole thing. Spencer called in the forensic techs and Meredith to collect what was left of the bones and search for more evidence.
“It would be nice if the bones gave us some evidence to find this guy,” the ME mumbled as she scanned the ground picking up bone shard fragments with something that resembled tweezers.
I doubted the bone fragments themselves would provide much, but at least we had a few more pieces to add to the puzzle.
“I’m keeping the fact that your friend discovered a musty odor out of any official report since I don’t have any way of explaining it,” Spencer quietly explained as we continued processing the scene. Your friend was extremely helpful. I’m having the techs return to each of the previous six scenes to search for similar secondary sites.”
His eyes stared deep into mine. “I’m not going to ask your friend to examine the older scenes unless we can’t find anything. Your point about our agency needing to drop its prejudices is dead on.” He sighed heavily. “I’ll keep pushing. This is a perfect example of how it’s biting us in the ass.”
Admitting the shifters were probably
already in the FBI wouldn’t get me anywhere it was prudent to be, so I wisely let the conversation drop. Happy that at least my partner wasn’t a prejudicial asshat.
“I’m taking the rest of the day off,” I sleepily mumbled to Spencer, and high-tailed it home. Collapsing into bed I was unconscious the moment my head hit the pillow.
Scrounging in my woefully bare kitchen for something edible, my phone’s shrill ring echoed in the empty loft. Still half asleep, I answered it without looking at the ID.
“What?” I barked.
“You sound grumpy.” Daniel’s smooth voice made me crack a smile, despite my irritation. “Want to grab a bite?”
“What is this, breakfast for you?”
“Pretty much,” he laughed.
“I am looking - unsuccessfully I might add - for something to eat in my kitchen.” It wasn’t much of a decision. “Sure. Where to?
“How about you just come over to my place. I’ll have something delivered.”
I couldn’t help but smile at his blatant booty call. After the long day and night I’d had, I could burn off a little steam. I couldn’t think of a better way to do it.
“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll pick something up.”
Hours later full and sated, I lay naked on Daniel’s couch while he painted my toenails some ridiculous shade of hot pink. I had brought enough Chinese food for five people and we’d already eaten half. We at least made it through the egg rolls before we were all over each other. That had to count for something.
“Do you ever work?” I asked as he switched feet, carefully painting each toe.
“I told you, I’m a courier. I work.” I raised my eyebrow and his gaze met my questioning one. “I do. But it’s kind of different from a traditional job. I work when the boss calls.” He shrugged casually.
“Must be nice.”
“Most the time.” After he coated another toe in the painfully cheerful color he added, “He owns this building so I don’t pay rent or utilities. My money just goes to other stuff.”
“Sounds like a sweet deal,” I cautiously added. My heart raced at the unsolicited details Daniel was providing. A tiny worm of guilt tried to inch its way in but I pushed it aside.
“It is.” He finished the last toe but left my feet on his lap. I wiggled them looking at the hot pink digits.
“I still say red would have been more fitting.” Daniel had more makeup and hair products than I did, probably more jewelry too since he had piercings. Shifters with piercings were far and few between. We healed so quickly they were a bitch to keep open. I’d tried.
“But not as fun.” He argued. “No one will see. Your reputation is safe with me.” Winking, he blew on my toes, trying to dry them faster but only succeeding in eliciting a round of giggles from me.
What was it about him? I wasn’t like this with anyone else, hadn’t been for a long time. He made me feel young and more carefree than I’d ever been.
Instead of stopping, he lunged for me, tickling my sides. I erupted in peals of laughter. Squealing, to my utter embarrassment, as he dug his fluttering fingers into my sides.
Until he caught my hands above my head and held them, towering above me, his knees on either side of my hips. The panic at being boxed in, feeling trapped, slammed into me. I froze. I wanted to throw him off me and escape, I wanted to hurt him. But I made myself breathe, while I tried to find my voice. Holding onto my tenuous control - a hair’s breadth from disaster.
When he realized I had stopped laughing, my body wound tense beneath him, he searched my face, frowning at whatever he saw there.
“Are you okay?”
I shook my head and his hands freed mine as he scurried off me. Gathering my legs underneath me, I hugged them tightly. My head rested on my knees, as I focused on breathing. On keeping control. He sat next to me on the couch, but I kept my gaze on the opposite side of the room, tracing the mosaic pattern of the bathroom tiles. Embarrassed for an entirely different reason, I wished for the earlier silliness to return.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“I can guess why you’d have that sort of reaction.”
My eyes swung to his, narrowing. Dissecting his statement. I waited for an explanation.
“I haven’t exactly lived a storybook life, either.” He sighed heavily, almost sinking further into the couch. As if the weight of his words made him heavier, pushing him into the cushions. “I don’t even remember a time when my dad wasn’t drunk or beating on us. My mom was busy trying to deflect the abuse to her. She tried so hard to protect me and my three sisters.” His smile was brief, leaving as swiftly as it came. “So hard that he beat her to death while we were locked in our rooms.” At my gasp he shrugged it off. “He went to jail for it, and is probably still there. I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since I was twelve. My sisters and I were split up. I found one of them a couple of years ago, but she didn’t want anything to do with me. I brought up too many bad memories. She had her own life she was trying to rebuild.”
I listened intently, following his story as he talked about being shuffled from one family member to another until he finally ended up on the streets of Tampa, homeless at fifteen. My heart broke for him, shattering into a million pieces which lay bleeding, exposed on his living room floor. We hadn’t known each other long; this wasn’t supposed to be a friendship. He was supposed to be a good time. A fuck buddy. A contact for a job.
But there was a connection there that neither one of us could deny. One I was powerless to resist, no matter how hard I fought, clawing and screaming as I was pulled into feeling.
I stayed quiet, unable to reveal the cracks and holes that pockmarked my soul. But I felt comforted by his confession. Blanketed in the knowledge that I was a little less alone in the world.
“I didn’t mean to get all heavy. I just- I wanted to make sure you knew that you weren’t alone. Bad shit can happen to anyone.” He shrugged again. “I feel empty a lot. Like no one really understands. There are so many people in my world that are fake. It’s nice to talk to someone real. Someone who gets it. Who might get me.” He leaned close, inch by inch, until our lips brushed. Our breaths mingled.
I inhaled his scent. Leather and almonds. Pulled it deep, like shifters do when first meeting. To hold the scent and never lose it. To keep him a part of me, in some measure, forever.
Guilt stabbed through me. I wasn’t real. I was using him. A means to an end.
Shaken, guilt wormed its way through my insides, eating away at the barriers I had erected around my heart.
Nausea churned in my gut. And I did the one thing most familiar to me.
My expertise.
I ran.
Chapter Six
The ringing wouldn’t stop; the incessant sound piercing my skull, ricocheting like a pinball. I stumbled to the phone and mumbled incoherent words into the receiver.
“Kyra?”
“Reeves? What the fuck do you want?” I asked incredulously. My growl was met with silence. “If you don’t start talking I’m hanging up and going back to sleep.”
“Not a morning person?” After the string of expletives that response deserved, he laughed, which did not endear him to me any more than him waking me up. “Get some coffee. I’ll be up in ten minutes.”
The phone broke into three pieces when it hit the wall across the room. It took a few seconds to register but then –
“Fuck!” I stomped to the pieces. This was the third time this month. At least this time I bought a phone that could take the abuse. The sections fit back together, clicking into place nicely.
Dragging my grumpy self to the coffee maker I threw coffee and water into the machine. My sluggish state caused me to fumble and I spilled the hot brew on me and the countertop. Cursing, I tossed on a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt that smelled like it might be clean. I sat enjoying my second cup, the caffeine just beginning to flow through my system, when Spencer knocked.
“Aren�
��t you chipper?” he announced brightly in response to my scowl. I flipped him off, and he laughed. Laughed. At my suffering.
“Why. Are. You. Here?”
“We can’t meet at my office anymore.” He shrugged, looking around my condo, peeking into my privacy. “We still have to meet occasionally and you,” he said as his eyebrows rose as he noticed my in-home gym that replaced my dining room, “need to continue training.” I stared blankly over the rim of my mug. Training? I had kicked his ass at hand-to-hand. What training did I need?
Understanding the significance of my glare he added, “Weapons training – which includes that nifty talent of yours. We should always work to improve ourselves, Kyra.” His eyes twinkled merrily. He was enjoying my misery.
“I hate morning people,” I growled at him, but bent to the inevitable. “Where to?”
“You have a pretty decent gym here.” He punched the speed bag hanging from the ceiling and perused through my other equipment. I had a variety: heavy bag, treadmill, weights, balance ball, and various smaller equipment like jump ropes and stretch bands. A thick mat covered the floor from wall to wall.
I had converted the dining room into a small gym shortly after moving in. I didn’t exactly entertain at my condo, at least any that involved eating. I figured the mini-gym was a better use of space. While the gym on the top floor of my complex was larger and had a wider variety of equipment, sometimes I wanted privacy to kick the shit out of something. One of the hazards of having my unique talent involved the need to stay in motion, to burn up the extra energy one way or another. Things seemed to go south quickly if there wasn’t a ready outlet nearby.
“We need more space, plus somewhere that can handle a bit of heat.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“We have an off-site facility that isn’t used much anymore. It’s not far, just Ybor.” Ybor City was northeast of downtown Tampa, an area rich in history. The scent of tobacco still permeated the old factories, reminiscent of the cigar manufacturing the area had been famous for. Transformed in the eighties into the popular nightclub district it was now, it was a neighborhood known for its appreciation of so-called alternative lifestyles. Phoenix was in the thick of it, located off 7th Avenue and 15th Street.
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