Indecent Werewolf Exposure

by Eve Langlais

  “Sometime this afternoon.”

  Not much time for me to figure things out, but enough to get some balls rolling. “Okay. For the moment, I want you to sit tight. Don’t say anything. To anyone. Not without a lawyer present. And might I recommend that you hire one if you can afford to, instead of relying on a court appointed one?”

  “Don’t you know of anyone good in your office?”

  Not good enough to trust with Pete’s life. The only one with enough skill would probably end up as prosecutor. Unless…

  I stored my backup plan for later. First, I needed to track down the detective in charge of the case and find out what evidence they’d gathered. Then I could come up with a scenario to help my werewolf lover, behind the scenes of course.

  Because walking away wasn’t an option.

  9

  The lead investigator on the case made me sit and wait.

  And wait.

  In a time before cell phones and tablets, this might have annoyed people, but I used those minutes to make some calls and gather intel.

  First, I dug up which judge would end up hearing the charges and set the bail, as well as who the prosecutor’s office had delegated to stand in.

  Anthony of course. What a surprise. Not. It looked as though I might have to employ my evil plan to undermine the prosecution’s case.

  Oh judge, I’m afraid you’re going to have to replace the DA’s number one guy because I’ve seen him naked. Sure, we’d both get a slap on the wrist at the admission—maybe a stern talking to by our bosses, a spanking by Anthony later for being a bad girl—but if we wanted to prove Pete’s innocence, then we needed to remove Anthony from the equation.

  He was just too damned good at his job, not to mention he had a vested interest in keeping Pete behind bars.

  By the time the detective called me in, I’d lined up some possible lawyers for Pete, and my email hummed with incoming messages as I gleaned what I could from outside sources—i.e., the newspapers and rumor mills. Even before I spoke to Detective Jefferson, I knew the case was weak and circumstantial at best. I could only surmise they’d succumbed to pressure from some higher-ups to have a suspect behind bars so the public wouldn’t panic at a possible maniac at large.

  The papers had already given the case a name. Indecent Werewolf Exposure Leads to Murder. Oh yeah, they’d dug up the previous charges and were now having a field day with their assumptions.

  The frazzled policeman in charge of the case sat behind a desk piled with folders and a scratched-up laptop with a sticker on the back stating, God made policemen so firemen would have heroes.

  My laptop also had a sticker—Warning: I have PMS and GPS, which means if you piss me off, I will find you.

  “Detective Jefferson, thank you for seeing me.” I held out my hand and shook his soft-skinned, pulpy one. A man who’d let himself go, he strained the buttons on his poor shirt and pants.

  “Ms. Bailey. Please have a seat.”

  “Thank you.” I seated myself gingerly on the worn plastic chair, checking it first for puddles.

  Don’t laugh. The morning after a full moon, the cop shop fairly bursts at the seams and the drunker patrons didn’t always get up to use the washroom. It had taken only one ruined skirt and a scalding bath to soak myself, followed by several bottles of antiseptic—just in case—to train me to look before I sat.

  “What can I help you with?” he asked

  As if the detective didn’t know, but I played the game. “I’m here on behalf of my client, Mr. Cavanaugh.”

  “The werewolf who killed his neighbor.”

  “Alleged.” Nothing like reminding him of the law.

  “Not for long. Forensics is working on the trace evidence right now and the coroner is examining the body, but I’d say it’s a pretty clear-cut case.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “It’s documented that he and his neighbor were involved in a dispute.”

  “One that never involved violence. Just minor misdemeanors.”

  “Which escalated.”

  I arched a brow. “And you’re basing this on what?”

  “After pleading guilty to those charges, your client went on to have the victim’s cat picked up by animal control. A clear act of retaliation. Ms. Heksen confronted him about it, in her backyard, but chose an unfortunate time, as the moon was full. While arguing, Mr. Cavanaugh shifted into a wolf and proceeded to savage the victim. He ran off and Ms. Heksen bled out. A clear case of homicide.”

  Alleged, dammit! I held my tongue as I mulled over his words and quickly honed in on one aspect of it. “You say this happened in the yard.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you have a witness to this supposed argument?” Highly unlikely given the thick hedges surrounding the properties. Unless actually present, no one would have seen anything.

  “No. But the evidence—”

  “Shows that a wild animal may have attacked Ms. Heksen. No one heard or saw anything.” Before he could reply, I went on. “When you arrested my client, did he have any blood on his body or clothing?”

  “No. But he could have showered and changed. Then left to dispose of the clothing.”

  “I assume you’ve pulled all the drains from the sinks and showers for analysis.”

  “Of course. This isn’t my first crime scene.”

  “Just asking. The medical examiner will be taking dental molds?”

  “Yes and your client will have to provide records of his teeth. Two sets. One while human and the other when he’s a dog.”

  “Lycan, if you please. To call him otherwise is derogatory.”

  Detective Jefferson scowled. “Sorry, I meant to say Lycan.”

  “I am sure you did.” I smiled sweetly. “The grapevine says very little blood was recovered at the scene.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “I don’t recall, but it was someone with a uniform.” I batted my lashes in an attempt to look innocent.

  “It could be that the blood soaked into the ground.”

  I kept drilling. “I thought her body was found on the patio.”

  “Between the stones then.”

  “You’re of course pulling up those stones to look, right?” Placating smile? Yeah, he didn’t fall for it. His scowl deepened as I poked holes at his supposed air-tight case.

  “Forensics is handling it.”

  “Have they found any fingerprints?”

  “No.”

  “Hair belonging to my client?”

  “They’re still analyzing it.”

  A bulldog when it came to details, I didn’t relent. “The time of death was estimated at just past midnight, correct?”

  This time, he didn’t ask me where I got my intel. “According to the on-site specialists who measured the temperature, yes.”

  “And yet didn’t the moon rise sometime just before nine p.m.?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But didn’t you just say that during the argument my client supposedly engaged in with Ms. Heksen, that the moon rose, and in the throes of anger, while in his shifted state, he killed her? How do you account for the three-hour time difference between the attack and her death?”

  “Maybe she didn’t die right away.”

  “But yet, initial reports state she suffered deadly gashes to her person, several of them severing arteries. That would seem to imply a quick death, not a lingering one.”

  “Maybe we got the time of death wrong.”

  “Or maybe she didn’t bleed out.” Which left the disturbing question of where did her blood go?

  “Since you seem so well informed, why are you here, Ms. Bailey?” For a moment, the man he used to be shone from his eyes. He pinned me with a hard gaze.

  It didn’t intimidate me.

  “Just getting my facts straight. You know how rumors can be. I’ll require a paper copy of the case.”

  “I’ll have it sent to your office within the hour.”

  Sure he wou
ld, and he’d start going to the gym and follow a healthy regime. Not. However, I’d heard enough.

  I stood. “I’d appreciate that. Thank you for your time.” I shook his hand again and didn’t show my contempt.

  A case based on blind ignorance by a lazy detective quick to jump to the most simple, yet erroneous, conclusion.

  I’d gleaned enough information to surmise Pete didn’t kill his neighbor. A relief, I’d admit, but, at the same time, that left us with a more disturbing prospect.

  Somewhere out there walked a murderer. One who not only liked to tear his victim apart, but who, if my sources were to be believed, ate parts of them and drank their blood. A rather disturbing fact the detective neglected to mention, probably out of respect for my feminine sensibilities. Good thing I wasn’t relying on just my local policeman for info.

  Springing Pete would end up easier than I’d first thought, but it’d also put the cops back at square one, without a suspect. The public wouldn’t like that. Hell, I didn’t like it because either we had a rabid shapeshifter on the loose, a sick, cannibalistic human, or the world was about to find out if vampires or zombies really existed—I mean, who else fit the profile?

  Time to load the shotgun with silver shot, stock up on holy water, and sharpen some stakes. I, for one, wouldn’t get caught unprepared.

  Nothing wrong with channeling my inner Buffy. But I drew the line at the short skirt and pompoms.

  10

  Apparently, the detective I’d spoken to paid more attention to my dissection of his case than I credited him for.

  I wasn’t the only one to come to the conclusion Pete hadn’t done the crime. Before we even set foot in front of a judge, they’d released Pete. According to the grapevine—ahem, Brenda—we owed it all to medical science, better known as “the creepy guy in the morgue.”

  The coroner’s initial report stated there was no way a human or Lycan had left the marks on the body; the dentition impressions just didn’t jive. Nothing they had on file matched the marks.

  Creepy because it meant whatever had killed the witch remained at large and a mystery, a mystery that intrigued the whole office, which buzzed with inane theories.

  My two cents? Didn’t know and didn’t care.

  Sticking my nose into a case involving a dead body that somebody had taken a chunk out of and chased down with a slurp of blood wasn’t something I considered necessary for my mental or physical health.

  With my late afternoon court visit for Pete cancelled, I stuck my nose to the grindstone—surfing Facebook and reading the latest scandal on TMZ.

  It was too late in the day to tackle anything new or intensive, although I wouldn’t have minded taking to the floor my unexpected visitor.

  Pete showed up at my office bearing a grin and a box of donuts. It was a toss-up which I drooled for more. Having worked through lunch, donuts won.

  The jerk held them out of reach until I’d given him a kiss on the lips. The things I did for sugar.

  Breathless and hungry for more than just jelly-filled goodness—the bakery kind, not the sausage—I sat down and gestured for him to take the seat across from me.

  While I chewed, he crowed. “I told you I didn’t do it.”

  “I never thought you did.”

  A snort escaped him. “Yeah, right. Admit it. For one teensy tiny moment, you wondered if I had.”

  “Well, you did pee on the woman’s flowers.”

  “I also like to write my name in the snow with urine and chase my tail in circles.”

  “You have a tail?”

  “No. I’m just messing with you. Although…wanna check to make sure?” He wiggled his brows, and I bit my lip so as not to laugh. He truly looked adorable.

  “I’m good.” Besides, I’d already seen his fine ass. It was tail free. The only appendage down there jutted from the front, and it bobbed rather than wagged. It also dipped, but I tried not to think of that, lest we entertain my coworkers too much when my old desk broke under our combined weight. “But, tail or not, you do get hairy, with big teeth and claws.”

  “I do. I’ve got great big fangs.” He grinned widely at me with his perfect white smile. “It doesn’t make me a killer.”

  “Not even when you’re in your wolfman shape?”

  “Depends on what you call a killer. Am I more primitive? Yes. Do I hunt? Again, yes. But I hunt animals. Small creatures like rabbits and squirrels. I don’t, however, eat them.” He shuddered. “I might like my meat red, but even I prefer it singed on both sides, not raw or from the source.”

  “Good to know.” Because how did you tell a man you didn’t want to kiss him for fear of gagging on blood breath or spotting rabbit fur between his teeth?

  With him in such a talkative mood—and for once not shutting me up with his tongue in my mouth, a pity that—I decided to assuage some of my curiosity. “So you’re in control when you’re shifted? Fully aware of what’s going on?”

  “Of course I am.” He rolled his eyes, as if to imply the mere suggestion otherwise was ludicrous.

  “No need for the sarcasm,” said the pot calling the kettle black. “I was just asking.”

  “Sorry. There’s just so many erroneous assumptions out there about our kind, the most prevalent one being we turn into slavering mindless beasts who will kill anything that moves. Totally untrue. We retain all of our morals and intelligence, no matter our shape. Which is more than I can say for some people who are fully human.”

  “True enough.” I knew I turned into a gnarly beast when PMS time came around.

  “Anything else you want to know about Lycans?”

  “Does silver really weaken you?”

  “Is it our kryptonite? No. Shoot us with anything, and it will hurt. But we are harder to kill than an unenhanced person. Our regenerative capabilities are much more evolved than that of humans.”

  I knew all about his power of recuperation. My pussy could testify to it.

  I crossed my legs. “Is there anything about you that is normal?” Too late, it occurred to me how that sounded. Cheeks heating—a rarity I assure you—I stammered. “I mean— That is—”

  Judging by his laughter, he didn’t take offense. “Don’t apologize. I already told you, I like your no-bullshit attitude. As to your question, there’s plenty about me that’s normal, such as the fact I’m a slob, suck at math, and love to watch sports.”

  “Do you play any?”

  “No. I wasn’t allowed because of my special side.” He pouted. “Apparently, Lycans are considered on par with steroid users. So unfair. I would have made a great linebacker.”

  I would have said more of a tight end, but then again, I was biased when it came to his delectable ass. “I suck at sports.”

  “Not all of them.” The wink said it all.

  I squirmed again, and the grin on his face widened, no doubt on account of my panties were getting uncomfortably damp. Damn the fact it was too early for me to leave work. I could have used an early dinner. Speaking of which…

  “Thanks for bringing me the treats.” I gestured to the mostly empty box. Having skipped lunch, I’d needed the sustenance.

  “My pleasure. I wanted to thank you in person for coming to my rescue this morning. I know I put you in a tough spot, what with us being involved and all.”

  “Yeah. Yeah.” I waved his thanks away, even if secretly pleased at the acknowledgement. “I’m just glad they saw reason without me having to make them look stupid. Any idiot could see there was no way you’d done it.”

  “However, it begs the question, who did? Do the cops have any leads?”

  Normally, I wouldn’t have discussed an ongoing police case, but given he’d just gotten off the hook for the crime in question, I thought he had a right to know. Besides, Twitter was abuzz, and the newspapers were reporting things left and right. “None. But I’ve heard a few hushed-up theories. Crazy ones.”

  “How crazy?”

  Should I mention them or not? Some seemed so fa
rfetched, yet, having gleaned more facts on the murder since the morning, even I could admit to being stumped. Nothing made sense.

  “Don’t laugh; however, I’ve heard the word zombies tossed around.” I waited for his laughter and didn’t get any.

  A serious mien to my nutty answer, Pete shook his head. “Not likely. A witch would have lit up a corpse before it got close. And zombies enjoy organs, not muscle or flesh. They also don’t drink blood.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me. Tell me you’re kidding.”

  “I don’t joke about the undead.”

  “But you’re implying zombies are real.”

  “Not implying. Stating.”

  Hot damn, the things I wished I didn’t know. “They’re real? Real, as in shambling, decaying, I-want-brains real?”

  “Yup.” I stared at him while he munched away on the last of the treats he’d brought. He paused in his chewing, a bit of sugar at the corner of his mouth tempting me. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

  He really had to ask? “Because zombies don’t exist. Dead things don’t come back to life. I mean, come on, if they did, wouldn’t we know?”

  “Oh, plenty of people know. Including our government and the police. It’s the general world at large that hasn’t gotten the memo yet. The lawmakers are secretly working on a bill to categorize and limit zombie creation before going live with the news.”

  “So why are you telling me if it’s a secret?”

  “Honesty, baby. I promised to tell you the truth. Zombies exist, and that’s the truth. I do, however, expect you’ll keep this to yourself. No need to cause a world-wide panic.”

  “Of course.” Feeling faint, I grabbed the sweet concoction out of his hand and bit down. Perhaps the endorphin release from the sugar rush would take away the lightheadedness. As I chewed, I mulled over his words. “What did you mean by creation? How do you make a zombie?”

  “Not so much make as animate an already dead corpse. I’m not sure of the magic involved, spells and potions and what not, but from what I understand, there are a handful of necromancers in the world and some voodoo types who practice the art of raising the dead.”