True Nature

by Neely Powell

  One detective had talked to Zoe out here while his partner chatted with Hunter in the front yard. Almost two hours had passed since the police arrived.

  “It’s standard to split up witnesses,” Hunter began, and then turned as footsteps approached.

  Detective Michael Scala, homicide cop for the Wayne Police Department, came up the shallow flight of stairs. He had questioned Zoe earlier.

  “You guys doing all right?” the cop asked.

  “Oh, heck yes, we love spending Friday nights out in the cold with cops everywhere,” Hunter quipped.

  The detective didn’t smile, and Zoe glared at Hunter. He sobered and added, “At least the rain stopped.”

  Scala squinted up to the sky. “Snow’s coming, though. Going to make the crime scene hell to finish processing.”

  Cheerful guy, Hunter thought.

  “Can you tell me again what you were doing in the woods?” Scala asked in an offhand way.

  Hunter avoided looking at Zoe. Just like back in seventh grade after being caught smoking behind the dumpster at school, she was probably looking at him like Oh, shit, what do we do now? Good God, even when neither of them had done a thing, Zoe had a guilty look in her big brown eyes. It shouldn’t appear that the two of them were telegraphing signals to each other, so he looked away.

  “Miss Buchanan?” the detective asked again.

  “It’s Zoe, please,” she reminded him.

  Hunter’s attention snapped to Zoe. He recognized the note in her voice. She found this guy attractive. He glanced at the detective. Tall. Dark hair. Appeared to be well built. Hunter supposed this cop was acceptable for Zoe in a strong, silent Clark Kent way. He was sharper than he let on, too. It wasn’t difficult to imagine suspects and witnesses being fooled into thinking he was all good looks. There could be a quick, intelligent trap behind those eyes.

  Taking a deep breath, Zoe said, “I’m sorry, Detective—”

  “Call me Mike,” the detective said with a smile.

  Zoe’s expression was glazed, the same look she’d had when she confessed to cheating on her boyfriend in college. This was ridiculous because the louse had first cheated on her repeatedly. But Zoe was a compulsive confessor. Her need to tell what she’d done was well known. Hunter needed to stop her before the handsome cop got her to say too much.

  “It was upsetting,” Hunter cut in. “Finding a body in that kind of condition was pretty upsetting to both of us.”

  The detective turned to him again. “Tell me again why you and Mr. Buchanan were out in the woods.”

  “We came out of our office and heard a racket in the woods,” Hunter replied. “Dogs were barking up a storm.”

  Scala frowned and flipped through the notes on his pad. “No one else in the neighborhood seems to have heard anything.”

  “Who else was around?” Hunter asked. This block was all houses converted into small businesses and offices. Most of them are shut up tight by 7:30, which was about when he and Zoe went in the woods, located the body, and called it in.

  “A couple of people were working late in the realtor’s office across the street. They didn’t hear any dogs barking,” Scala explained.

  Hunter’s shrug was deliberately casual. “We did. Zoe and I thought it was strange.”

  Apparently having gathered her wits a bit more, Zoe added, “We went out to investigate. The dogs ran off. Hunter tripped and fell into the…” She swallowed.

  “That’s how Mr. MacRae got blood on his hands?”

  Hunter nodded. He’d had blood on his paws, and blood remained on his hands even after he shifted to human form. They had needed an explanation for the police.

  “Kind of gruesome,” Scala noted.

  “Very,” Zoe agreed.

  “You run across much like this in your work?”

  Zoe flashed a smile. “I spend most of my time following cheating spouses and checking out disability claims for insurance companies. We don’t get many bodies. How about you?”

  “Not many like this,” Scala retorted as he flipped his notebook shut. “The coroner’s crew is taking over now.”

  “Does that mean we can leave?” Hunter asked.

  “Yes. We’ll be finished up in another hour or so,” Scala said. “We’ll be back in the morning at first light.”

  “I hope you find something that helps,” Hunter said. “Do you think this was a homeless person who died out there and the animals got at him?”

  “We’re not sure what we’ve got yet.”

  Hunter nodded. “You have our phone numbers. Let us know if there’s more we can do.”

  “Will do.” The detective looked back at Zoe. “I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

  Scala walked away, stopping to talk to an officer who was stringing yellow police tape at the edge of the small yard.

  Hunter bent and whispered to Zoe, “I think he likes you.”

  She punched him in the arm.

  “And you like him,” Hunter continued.

  “Get in the freaking house.” Zoe opened the door and pushed him inside.

  “Sure you don’t want to stay out here and admire the detective?”

  “Damn you,” she grumbled.

  They went through what had once been a utility room, wiped their feet on a sturdy rug, and hung their coats. Zoe groaned as they moved into the kitchen that was now breakroom. “God, what a mess. Why in the hell were you out in the woods, anyway?”

  “We kitties will roam,” he said, deliberately purring.

  “One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed running from husbands.”

  Hunter’s grin faded. “Somebody did get themselves killed. In a bloody awful way. I had a hard time backing away from it.”

  Zoe cringed. Most of the time she was a good sport about his special “abilities.” But she didn’t like being reminded that Hunter’s animal nature meant he loved doing some really nasty things.

  A look of horror crossed her face. “It wasn’t somebody’s husband, was it?”

  “I haven’t killed any humans. Although I have been tempted to rip out the throats of some of the lowlifes we’ve dealt with in the last three years.”

  Zoe moaned. “Please don’t say that, Hunter.”

  “What I felt tonight wasn’t pleasant,” Hunter said, his expression still serious. “There was something about finding that body. Something completely new to me.”

  Zoe leaned forward to touch his forearm. “Are you okay?”

  He shook his head, trying to clear the disturbing thoughts. He needed to talk to his grandfather about this. Another shifter might be able to tell him why he had reacted so strangely to the scents and the blood.

  “It’s nothing,” he told Zoe. “Let’s chill out. Put it out of our minds.” He held up his hands. “Even though I washed up after the police got here, I still feel gross. I think I’ll grab a quick shower.”

  One of the advantages of working in a remodeled house was a full-size bath. But Zoe wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. “One day you’re going to end up flayed by a jealous husband or put in a zoo by animal handlers.”

  “Probably,” he agreed, turning toward the bath. “Would you mind making some coffee?”

  She was still grumbling when he shut the bathroom door. No doubt, she would continue to curse his activities with married women. If they argued long enough, she’d call him an alley cat, and he’d call her a prude. And on and on. They would never agree.

  As Hunter ran the shower and stripped, he considered his proclivity for uncommitted relationships. Was it because he was a shifter? His grandparents had been married for a long time, but maybe most supernaturals had problems with commitment. Other creatures existed, but he wasn’t acquainted with any of them.

  According to the lore about mythical creatures, the vampire represented the sexual natures and the risk of obsession. Zombies came to be when independence was lost and identity taken. He’d heard that the werewolf was the worst because the monster dwelt within
the human and the battle of wills was the fiercest of all.

  The shapeshifter was considered milder by nature and could change shapes anytime, while werewolves needed the full moon. Hunter’s flexibility made it easier for him to live on the edge.

  So maybe he took too many chances. That was his way.

  When Hunter returned to the break room, Zoe was drinking coffee, eating cookies, and leafing through a copy of Out There, the tabloid Hunter loved because it was devoted entirely to UFOs, shapeshifters, weres, vampires, skin walkers, demons and other things humans found frightening.

  “I thought you hated that rag.” Hunter poured a mug of coffee.

  “I do. But I figured I’d better read up on the current perception of the supernatural world since you are in imminent danger of discovery.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes and took an appreciative gulp of coffee. Zoe never changed. She always expected him to be outed or eaten or both. She was sure a simple Neighborhood Watch sighting of an “escaped” panther would bring the villagers out with their lanterns and farm implements.

  He and Zoe had been best friends since they were thirteen. He had been a skinny, lonely kid, all arms and legs and awkwardness. She had been a tomboy and pretty much an object of scorn to the snotty girls and boys in their private school. But together, they had defeated a band of middle-school bullies. From the beginning, it was like they had an almost mythical bond. Neither of their families provided much affection or closeness, so they had found that with each other. She was still the only person outside his family to know he was a shifter.

  People often asked Hunter why he and Zoe weren’t together as a couple. There was one time, years ago, when they had explored being sexual together. The “incident,” as they called it, ended with laughter rather than consummation.

  Hunter smiled at the memory.

  Zoe slapped the magazine down in irritation. “I’m glad you think all of this is funny. Are you even the least bit worried?”

  “What are you doing here on a Friday night? Shouldn’t you be out dancing in some club or trawling for warm bodies?”

  “I don’t trawl bars,” Zoe said through gritted teeth. “That’s Darla’s gig, not mine.”

  Hunter grinned. He was teasing her, as usual. He knew the most exciting thing Zoe had done on a Friday night of late was go to a book signing at the Doubleday Book Store in New York City. If she wasn’t reading, she was watching movies. “Spending your nights with the DVR is not healthy. How many times have you watched all the seasons of “True Blood?” Real men are a lot warmer in bed than a movie or a book.”

  Zoe snorted. “At least I don’t see men whose wives chase me through dark streets.”

  “No one was chasing me tonight. I just needed a quick getaway.” Hunter gave a low growl, remembering the freedom of his run. “There’s no way any of those old farts could catch a black panther. Seriously, what were you doing here so late? I left at three and I’m sure Darla left shortly after. She always has a date on Friday night.”

  Zoe sniffed in disapproval, got up and refilled her coffee mug. “I was adding my data to the Corbin file when a new client came in.”

  Hunter sat while she told him Lizzie’s story.

  He was slightly confused. “How do you know she has a sister?”

  “I just know,” Zoe replied.

  He nodded. He was used to these feelings from Zoe. It was how she solved most of her cases.

  “Plus,” she added, “she’s paying me double the customary fee.”

  “Not a bad deal.” He reached over and took one of her cookies. God, it tasted awful, but he was starving. “What about the Corbin case? Did you find out anything we can use?”

  “Nope,” Zoe said derisively. “If today was a typical day, that woman doesn’t have time for an affair. I didn’t see her glance at another man.”

  He stood, threw the half-eaten cookie in the trash, and drained his mug. “Maybe some days are better for her than others, and she only meets her lover on alternate Thursdays or something.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes.

  “I know you don’t like Walter Corbin, but he’s expecting us to deliver so he can get a divorce on his terms.” Hunter rinsed out his mug before Zoe could gripe at him about it. “He’s firmly convinced his wife is having an affair. Just do what you gotta do to get proof. If she’s not doing anything there’ll be no proof. I know Walter’s a soulless bastard, but he helps pay the bills.”

  “And it’s not like he’s the first soulless bastard we’ve dealt with. You seem to attract them.”

  “That’s what happens when you’re the best divorce lawyer around, baby.” Hunter headed back down the hall to his office. “Let’s get out of here. How about Pizza 46?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Together, they checked locks and lights and got their coats.

  Zoe frowned at him again. “You think the clothes you had on today will eventually get back to you this time?”

  “Oh, yeah, Mandy’s old man is the dry cleaning king in Newark. He has six stores, including one about two blocks from where they live. They’ll be delivered to the office within a couple of days.”

  Zoe’s eyes widened. “You’re sleeping with Mandy Morris?”

  Hunter laughed as he set the alarm and closed and locked the door.

  Zoe didn’t say anything more as they made their way to her car. The police presence in the street was down to a couple of patrol cars. Hunter didn’t see either of the detectives, but waved to a couple of officers as he got into the passenger seat and pushed it back as far as it would go.

  “We’re gonna need to get my car after we eat,” he said. “It’s parked two blocks away from Mandy’s place in Eagle Rock. I’ll give you directions.”

  “I remember from the last time we went back to get your car,” she said.

  “Hey, can I help that her old man is a hundred years old and can’t fulfill her sexual needs?” he asked, his face a picture of innocence in the overhead light in the car.

  “He’s sixty-three and connected to the mob. Maybe you should at least try to time your visits so he doesn’t catch you in the act.”

  “He was supposed to be gone until almost midnight.”

  She backed out of her parking spot. “Maybe it’s time to go out with women who aren’t married.”

  “Where’s the challenge?” He patted her thigh. “Even you like a good challenge. Why else did you take on Lizzie Howerton’s case?”

  Zoe conceded the point.

  “While we’re back on that subject. Did you know Lizzie’s mother left all her money to her daughter? Her husband, who is Lizzie’s father, didn’t get a dime, and he’s contesting the will.”

  “Damn,” Zoe muttered. “That’s why her name seemed familiar. It’s been in the papers. I knew this case was going to be trouble.”

  “Yeah.” Hunter laughed. “Looks like you’ve got your own troubles and should just leave mine to me.”

  ****

  Hunter loved eating at Pizza 46, which oddly enough was just off Highway 46 in a strip mall. It was always hopping on Friday nights. Zoe and Hunter ordered at the counter and watched for the next table to empty. But it turned out they didn’t need the table. Zoe’s cell phone rang. Her expression turned grim as she said, “We’ll be right there.”

  The odor of hot pizza filled Zoe’s car as they headed toward West Paterson. Kinley Russo was a pro-bono client who was seeking to divorce an abusive husband. Zoe and Hunter took two or three cases a year like this to help them feel more charitable and less cynical.

  Even though Kinley had an order of protection and had called the police many times, Eric kept popping up, leaving his young wife frightened and disillusioned about ever being rid of him. Of course, sharing two children with him meant he’d never truly be out of the picture.

  Zoe pulled into Kinley’s driveway and Hunter noted that all the outdoor lights were on. He shed his coat and yanked his sweater over his head. “Leave the car unlocked, so I can get b
ack into my clothes. I’m going to have a look around and give ‘ole Eric a big scare if he’s still here.”

  Zoe headed for the front door with her gun drawn. Hunter kicked off his shoes and scrambled to the shadows of the boxwoods that separated Kinley’s house from her neighbor. He shucked his pants and shivered in the cold wind. Almost immediately, his bones began to shift. In his familiar black panther form, he prowled the perimeter of the yard, sniffing for signs of Kinley’s husband, but found nothing.

  Shifting back to human, he ducked behind the boxwoods when lights from a passing car spanned the driveway. He retrieved his pants from the bushes along with the rest of his clothes and the pizza from the car. He tapped on the front door to the house. Zoe met him, still carrying her gun.

  “He’s not out here,” Hunter murmured as he slipped inside.

  “Not in the house, either.”

  “I told you he was gone,” a voice called from behind Zoe. Hunter followed Zoe into the living room to the left of the foyer.

  Kinley sat in the center of the sofa, her pretty face smeared with tears, her hands twisting a tissue in her lap. Hunter set the pizza box on the coffee table and spied the bruises on Kinley’s neck. Eric was usually more careful to hide the telltale marks of his anger. The bastard was escalating, losing his control.

  “Where are the kids?” Hunter asked. “Are they all right?”

  “They’re at my sister’s,” Kinley replied. “What the hell was Eric doing here? Didn’t you get the locks changed?” Hunter took the chair opposite the sofa.

  “Yeah,” she said wearily, tears sliding down her cheeks. “But I gave an extra key to my neighbor Wanda in case the kids got locked out. Eric went to see her and cried about how I was treating him, and she gave him the key.”

  Hunter exchanged a look with Zoe. They had heard about Wanda, who didn’t believe in divorce and kept trying to convince Kinley to stay with Eric. “Why in the world did you give Wanda a key?” Zoe said as she sat beside Kinley.

  “She is so close. I thought it would be easier for her to get here if the kids got home before I did.” Kinley dropped her face into her hands. “He said he was going to kill me if I don’t let him come back.”