by Eileen Wilks
Oh, Lord, she didn’t want it to be the captain. “I’ve got someone coming who will act as an expert consultant. Rule Turner. When he arrives, let him into the building to wait for me. He’s not to go up the stairs. Just into the building.”
His eyebrows went up, but he nodded. Lily started up the stairs. The sour smell of vomit hit her about halfway up. Might be Abel Martinez’s contribution, she thought. She’d have to make sure a social worker talked to him.
Phillips had the door to apartment twelve. He was talking with the ambulance attendants. She could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner inside the apartment. “Damned if this isn’t getting to be a habit, seeing you around here,” he drawled.
“I could break it, given a chance. You were first on scene again. Tell me what happened.”
“I got the call from Dispatch at twelve-oh-seven, checked the scene from the door. No question she was dead, so I called it in. While I waited, I talked to the kid who found her. Seems Abel stayed home from school today with an upset stomach but had an amazing recovery and decided to shoot hoops. When he left his apartment, he noticed that the door to number twelve wasn’t closed. He says he went inside to check on her.” Phillips shrugged. “Probably thought he could lift something. Poor kid. He found more than he bargained for.”
“O’Brien’s inside?”
“Yeah. Detective—she didn’t deserve what that damned were did. I want to know how he found out about her.”
“So do I.” This was going to be bad. Lily could smell the blood from here, and something nastier. She opened her purse and took out disposable gloves and booties. “Gut wound?”
“Smells like one.” That was from one of the ambulance attendants. “Haven’t seen her yet.”
“Gut wound,” Phillips confirmed. “Among others. Bastard ripped her up.”
Lily pulled on the last glove. The door was open a few inches. She pushed it wider.
Therese was on the love seat. The one that used to be blue.
“Bag your feet,” O’Brien told her. He was crouched on the floor near the body, his back to the door. An evidence tech was on her knees in the tiny kitchen area, using a handheld vacuum.
“I did.”
“Oh, it’s Yu.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Get it? You—Yu.”
“I get it.” O’Brien’s humor was even lamer than usual, but that may have been because his heart wasn’t in it.
The bastard had ripped her up, all right. She’d been dead awhile—ten, twelve hours, at a guess. Most of the blood had dried . . . but there was a lot of blood.
She lay on her back, her head propped up on two pillows and turned slightly to her left. Her throat had been torn open. One arm hung off the side of the love seat, the fingers touching the floor. Some of her guts touched the floor, too. They had the look of hamburger left uncovered in the refrigerator—crusty brown on top with glimpses of moist red underneath. He’d slashed her repeatedly, opening the bowel, among other things.
The ripe smell made Lily’s stomach churn, but it was the doll that got to her. Therese was still hugging a baby doll with one arm. The doll’s hair wasn’t blonde anymore.
Lily started toward O’Brien, watching where she put her feet. And stopped, frowning at the thin beige carpet. “There’s no blood here.”
“That would be because she was killed here, not over there.”
“But he would have been drenched in it. He played with her enough. He should have been dripping when he walked away from her.”
O’Brien glanced at her over his shoulder, frowning. “You’re right. Damn, I’m getting old. Should’ve spotted that. He cleaned up afterward. Mona found some blood by the kitchen sink. But he should’ve left spots or tracks of some sort on the way there.” His face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Maybe blood doesn’t stick to them when they Change.”
“Then why did he wash up?” She moved closer. No defensive wounds on the arm hanging off the love seat. Looked like he’d taken out her throat first, which explained why no one had heard screams or a struggle. “What have you got?”
He was tweezing something from the blood-soaked carpet. “Hair. I’d say wolf hair, but we’ll let the lab make sure. There’s some stuck to her hand, too, but the biggest clump fell on the floor. Looks like she pulled a hunk out of him.”
Lily frowned. “She managed to rip out a handful of his fur while he was ripping out her throat?”
O’Brien shrugged. “She let him in. No sign of forced entry or a struggle, so he was probably a customer. Maybe she was petting him or something while they warmed up. You hear about that, about women who want to make it with them when they’re wolves. Maybe some of the wolves like it that way, too.”
“She wasn’t working.”
“Why’d you say that?”
“There’s not much left of of the T-shirt she was wearing, but I’m pretty sure it’s what she had on when I talked to her. That’s her at-home clothes, not what she wore to attract trade.”
“So he wasn’t a customer. Just a close personal friend.”
“Could be.” Lily moved closer. The carpet squished. “What’s that stuck to her side? Paper?” Lily tilted her head. “It looks like part of an ad. Glossy, like in a magazine.”
“Bingo. She was a Cosmo girl.” O’Brien’s grin was brief. “I bagged the rest of it already.”
“So she was lying on the couch reading Cosmo, petting her friend the wolf. Who suddenly decided to rip out her throat, her guts, pretty much everything but her face. Without getting any blood on himself.”
“Don’t ask me. My job’s to find stuff and log it. You’re the one who explains it.”
She couldn’t. “Those don’t look like knife wounds.”
“You wondering if someone tried to fake a wolf attack?” O’Brien put his tweezers down and carefully sealed the plastic bag. “Doesn’t look like it. Skin’s ripped, not sliced.”
“But why did he keep ripping her up after he killed her? That didn’t happen with Fuentes.”
“Fuentes was killed out in the open. He had privacy here, time to do what he liked.”
Lily shook her head. “This looks like hate. He didn’t just want her dead, he wanted to shred her. Her body, not her arms or legs or face.”
“Maybe he hates women.”
Rule had said any lupus who killed a woman would be considered insane. Was that what they were dealing with, then? Not some big conspiracy but a single crazy lupus?
Who just happened to pick Lily’s witness for his next kill. She scowled. The evidence tech had moved to the tiny bathroom, leaving her and O’Brien alone for the moment. “I need to check something.”
“Right.” O’Brien pushed to his feet. “I’ll just get this labeled.”
With O’Brien ostentatiously looking the other way, Lily tugged off one glove, took a quick breath through her mouth, and touched Therese’s shoulder.
Magic shuddered up her arm. She snatched her hand back, startled by the strength of it . . . and by another sensation. An alien one. She bit her lip. Maybe it was just that this was so much stronger than what she’d touched of lupus magic before, but it didn’t feel right. She had to try again, and was oddly reluctant.
Lily crouched and pressed her hand to a place on Therese’s hip where the blood was dry and the skin intact. And it hit again, harsh and discordant, like running her hand over nettles. She forced herself to remain still and pay attention, though she wanted to turn away, mentally and physically.
There was a vague overtone of lupus to the sensation . . . and something else beneath. Something strong and jarring and wrong.
Her breath shuddered out. She removed her hand and shook it, trying to dispel the sense of wrongness. What was this? Magic was neutral, a force like electricity or fire. It came in different flavors and could be used for good or ill, but Lily didn’t pick up purpose or some kind of ethical charge when she touched magic. Only the power itself.
At least, she never had before.
Was that what e
vil felt like?
She stood, tugged her glove back on, and tried not to sound as shaken as she felt. “Guess I’ll let them take her away now.”
“Works for me.” O’Brien looked up from messing with his samples. His eyes narrowed. “You okay?”
She shook her head, dismissing the question rather than answering it. “I’ve got someone waiting to have a look at her. I need to get her moved so he can.” Lily headed for the door, wondering what Rule’s sense of smell would tell him. Would it be anything like what she’d touched?
She paused to tell the attendants they could have her now and looked at Phillips. “With me,” she said, and started down the stairs.
She’d have to make sure that once Rule Changed he didn’t stand where he might get hair on her. Not that the lab would be able to tell one lupus’s hair from another’s, not with the way magic screwed up tests. But this was an unconventional procedure. If the defense attorney screamed contamination of evidence, she had to be able to refute that.
Which meant witnesses, at least two. Phillips, for one. He wasn’t implicated in Therese’s death, and his background with the X-Squad would make him look good on the stand. The defense couldn’t accuse him of being soft on lupi. For the other . . .
“Holy Mother, what’s he—” That was Mech’s voice, from below. “Get back. Everyone get back. You! Hold it! Don’t move or I’ll shoot!”
Instinct and the rush of adrenaline said, Run, get down there quick. Lily knew better; racing into the middle of a possible shoot-out was a good way to get dead or block another cop’s line of fire.
She couldn’t see what was going on. The stairwell framed an empty stretch of wall at the bottom, so she pulled her gun and eased down the last of the stairs, quick but quiet, trusting her ears to fill her in. Behind her, she heard Phillips doing the same.
“I thought I was expected.”
Rule’s voice. Lily’s heart rate shot up another notch. She lowered her gun and took the last steps even quicker, rounded the wall enclosing the stairwell—and saw Rule standing just inside the door, his arms held away from his sides, his face turned toward someone to her right.
Mech. Who held his Glock in regulation posture, two-handed, aimed at Rule. The uniform at the door had drawn on Rule, too—he stood ahead of him and to his left. And behind Mech—Ginger Harris? What the hell was she doing here?
Lily holstered her gun. Phillips, she noticed, stayed in the stairwell, weapon still held ready. “I told you to expect Turner,” she said to the uniformed officer.
“I let him in. When your sergeant drew, I backed him up.” Gonzales looked uncertain. Two other cops, including his partner, still had their weapons out, but the one with rank didn’t.
Lily turned. “Sergeant Meckle? You have a reason for this? Turner was threatening someone?”
“I’ve got a warrant for him.” Mech’s eyes glittered. “Or will soon. It’s on the way. So is special transport.”
“You’ve got a warrant coming.” She couldn’t believe it. “Before I even got to the scene, you applied for an arrest warrant?”
“You were unavailable.” Mech didn’t take his eyes away from Rule.
“I had my phone with me. I had my goddamn cell phone with me.”
“You were with him.”
“So?” She stalked right in front of him. “Put it up. Put it up now.”
He moved, trying to keep Rule in his sights. “You should never have been put in charge. You’re not responsible for that. But you’ll be responsible if he gets away.”
Phillips spoke from the stairwell. “Might be a good idea to get out of the line of fire, Detective. Take a look at his eyes.”
Lily turned.
Rule hadn’t moved. His face was calm, expressionless. But his eyes were black. Black all over, with little triangles of white left in the corners . . . like an animal’s. She swallowed. “You okay?”
“I’m in control.” His mild voice was at odds with those beast-swallowed eyes. “But it would be a good idea if your men put their weapons away. I don’t like having guns pointed at me, but I’m not going to Change. That’s what he wants. But it upsets me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low growl. “It does upset me to see guns pointed at me.”
Before she could repeat her order, Phillips slid his gun back in the holster. After a second’s pause, his partner did the same.
“What are you doing?” Mech cried. “You’re taking orders from one of them?”
Phillips glanced at him. “Hate to tell you this, but this spot’s too small for shootin’ to do much good. We’re too close. If he wants to take us out, we’re meat.”
“I’ve got special rounds loaded. One of those in the brain—”
“Might stop him, if you hit him with the first shot. Might not. They don’t all react the same, and he’s their prince, so I’d guess he’s one of the tough ones. I’d just as soon not get him twitchy.”
Lily looked at Mech. She didn’t say anything. Just looked.
Slowly his hands lowered. Even more slowly, he holstered his gun. “You’re making a mistake,” he told her. “A big one.”
“I already made it. Jesus.” She shook her head, disgusted. “I asked to have you on the case. Consider yourself on report.” She glanced at Phillips. “You drew on him, even though you knew you were too close?”
He sighed, gloomy. “You know how it is. You see someone pull a gun, you just got to pull yours, too.”
No, Lily decided. He’d done it to give Rule multiple targets if he attacked, giving the rest of them more of a chance. Lily wasn’t sure she liked Phillips, but she was beginning to respect him.
All at once she felt shaky. This could have been a blood-bath. Unused adrenaline, she told herself. Ignore it.
A glance around the little vestibule told her Ginger had vanished. The rookie looked worried, Mech stubborn, and Rule . . . his eyes weren’t back to normal yet, but they were headed that way. He gave her a crooked smile, as if he were trying to reassure her.
She wasn’t the one about to be hauled away on a murder charge—a murder she knew he hadn’t committed. Lily walked up to Mech, tight with anger. “Now, Sergeant, maybe you can take a minute to explain why you’ve violated procedure up, down, and sideways, and nearly filled this place with bodies. Or is that your usual technique for interrogating a suspect? You draw on them just in case, never mind who’s in the line of fire?”
“Normal procedures are ineffective against one of them. I couldn’t let him get away.”
“Yeah? So you see him running now that no one’s holding a gun on him?”
Mech’s eyes flickered. “I . . . maybe I misjudged.”
“You think?” Lily let all her scorn show. “There’s a few more holes you’ve punched in procedure, too. Like applying for an arrest warrant before you even spoke to the lead on the case.”
“I spoke to the captain. Ma’am.” The ma’am was tacked on with barely veiled sarcasm.
“No kidding? And I’m sure you told him I wasn’t aware you’d decided to play Lone Ranger and round up the bad guys all by yourself.”
“Yes, ’ma’am.” That was satisfaction in his voice now. “I did, though not in those words. He agreed that the evidence justified applying for a warrant.”
Without telling her? Lily felt cold. Was it the captain, then? Was Randall the one who’d set Therese Martin up to die? Or were they both in on it?
Getting paranoid here, she told herself. Conspiracies can do that to a person. “You’re going to fill me in on this evidence now, I guess. Seeing as I’m the lead and all. Be sure to explain why Turner killed the witness who stood between him and possible arrest for Fuentes’s murder.”
“He paid her for that. I’ve got the deposit slip where she put ten thousand in her account, cash, right after she talked to you. She must have threatened him or gotten greedy, become a liability in some way. I’ve also got a witness who places him at the scene at the right time. That’s motive and opportunity. For means�
�he’s lupus. He is the means.”
“You’ve been amazingly busy. Lucky, too, considering she was found only an hour and a half ago. Would that witness be Ginger Harris?”
His gaze flicked toward Rule, then back to Lily. “I need to see if she’s all right.”
“You do that.”
“I’m going to execute that warrant when it arrives.”
“I’m sure you are.” She turned away, sick to her soul. This whole thing was a setup, and Mech was part of it. Either he was dirty or he was so warped by his prejudices it had the same result.
And the captain? Was he bent, too? How could she proceed if she couldn’t trust the captain?
She turned slowly, feeling eyes on her. Rule stood where he’d been throughout, motionless as the predator he was, watching her. When their eyes met, her heart jolted in her chest. Even here, even now, she felt him pulling at her, as if he had a hook in her gut . . . or her groin.
For a second, she hated him.
And that didn’t matter either, she thought, looking away as the steel box on wheels they called special transport pulled up outside. As far as the investigation went, it didn’t matter whether she hated Rule or fucked him. Because it would soon be out of her hands.
Therese Martin had been killed by sorcery, not a werewolf. Murder by magical means was a federal crime. She was going to have to let the Feds have this one.
FIFTEEN
“WHAT do you mean, we aren’t going to tell them?”
Randall clasped his hands on the desk in front of him. “What do we have? Your feeling. Which isn’t evidence, isn’t anything you can even put in a report.”
“I realize we’d have to level with them about my abilities,” Lily said stiffly. “I don’t like that, but there’s no other way.”
“We aren’t obligated to give them a thing that isn’t in your reports. Particularly such subjective information. Wait.” He held up a hand. “You’re convinced of the accuracy of your, uh, impressions. But you said yourself you’ve never experienced sorcery. You don’t know that’s what you picked up.”
