Chapter 11

The next afternoon, though, life appeared significantly grimmer yet again. Four months of working with the FBI hadn’t turned up a single shifter-related case...or at least none had smelled like werewolf to me. But as I stared down at yet another corpse by Robert’s side, I found myself doubting the efficacy of my own nose.

“Definitely the same MO,” my partner murmured, his eyes intent upon the newest victim. Like the one-body that my wolf had tried to gnaw upon a week earlier, this man’s face had been sliced and diced postmortem. And, once again, neither I nor my inner beast had been able to pick out the faintest hint of werewolf associated with the scene of the crime.

Despite the evidence to the contrary, though, I found myself wavering rather than jumping to the obvious conclusion—that this death, like the other, was unrelated to shifter-kind. The sticking point in both instances was location.

Because Robert had picked me up that morning just as he always did when a suspicious death occurred. And just like last time, he’d driven us well into outpack territory, a considerable distance away from the nearest clan.

Unfortunately for my peace of mind, though, the nearest established pack this time around was the same as the nearest established pack last time: Wolf Landing.

It’s basic geometry, I reminded myself. Any three points create a triangle, regardless of their relative orientation.

But did any three points create an equilateral triangle with my own home base as one of the three corners? Despite the sun baking the frost off the nearby grass and gently warming the top of my head, I shivered and pulled my collar up closer around my throat. I didn’t want to admit that anyone associated with my clan could create the psychopathic display laid out in front of our eyes, but I owed it to Robert to pass along my fears anyway.

“I don’t smell werewolf,” I said, speaking softly so the crime-scene techs wouldn’t pick up on my words. “But I feel like I’m missing something...”

“So we’ll poke around,” Robert replied grimly, nodding at the detective in charge as we padded past. Luckily for us, this was a different officer from the astute policewoman who had nearly gotten me thrown out of the previous crime scene, and Robert had come up with a semi-official badge for my use in the interim as well. So we weren’t hindered as we cruised down the alley, poking behind dumpsters and trying every locked door just in case the killer might be hiding therein.

Like last time, the body was located close to downtown, only two short blocks away from Starling Point’s main street in this case. But despite the proximity to town center, the area around us felt dead...and not just because we’d been tasked with investigating a corpse.

Instead of the crowd of onlookers I would have expected at such an event back home, the narrow street we now walked along was completely devoid of civilians. Meanwhile, most of the shops on either side showed signs of having been closed for years, dust and grime turning their windows impenetrable rather than allowing the curious bystander to peer inside.

A few of the buildings had been converted into residences instead of simply being left derelict, though, and I smiled at the Christmas lights wrapped around the appendages of a leftover Halloween scarecrow. At the decoration’s feet, a portable charcoal grill still smelled faintly of smoke, completing the season-inappropriate display.

“Is it okay if I question the neighbors?” I asked Robert, unsure how to proceed when my consultant duties, for the first time, required more than a sniff and a head shake to carry out. I didn’t doubt that the official law-enforcement personnel had already done a far more thorough sweep than I could manage on my own. But would the cops have thought to ask about sightings of a large, scary dog?

“Be my guest,” Robert answered, pounding on the door in front of us as he replied. Of all the buildings along the street, this one seemed most likely to turn up a resident, especially since a battered sedan was parked not quite as close as it should have been to the curb. The make and placement screamed “old-lady car,” so I wasn’t at all surprised when shuffling footsteps took their own sweet time toodling from the farthest recesses of the apartment toward our present location.

Are you paying attention? I asked my wolf succinctly. To my relief, she’d been calm and attentive all day long despite—or perhaps because of—our episode the previous evening. Now, her nose picked up the wince-worthy perfume even before the door opened and revealed the exact little old lady I’d been envisioning.

“Oh my!” the one-body greeted us, ignoring me completely as she took in Robert’s dark suit and broad shoulders. “You’re here about the murder, aren’t you?”

Bloodthirsty, my wolf noted approvingly, and I had to hold back a laugh. I didn’t so much get the impression that the woman in front of us was savage, but it was clear that the murder and subsequent police activity had been the most excitement our newfound companion had seen in several years.

“I’m sure you’ve already been questioned once, ma’am,” Robert began, donning his best ingratiating smile. “But I’d consider it a big favor if you wouldn’t mind talking to us again.”

My partner’s charisma was so profound that I felt the faintest flutter in my belly...despite having a devoted and delectable mate waiting for me back at home. The old lady, in contrast, lived entirely alone, and I half expected her to melt into a heap of goo at his very feet. She certainly did the metaphorical equivalent.

“Oh! It’s no...no problem,” she answered, tripping over her own words. “I don’t mind telling you again. Come in. Have some cookies.”

Immediately, she turned, leaving the door wide open behind her as she walked at a snail’s pace back down the hall. And as Robert brushed past to precede me into the building, I couldn’t help raising an eyebrow and muttering, “I bet the other cops didn’t get cookies.”

“But I’m not a cop,” my partner rebutted quietly enough so our distant prey couldn’t hear. “I’m with the FBI. And federal agents love cookies.”

“Reprehensible,” I countered before carefully closing the door behind me and following in their wake.

To my further dismay, by the time I caught up with the duo Robert was seated at a spotlessly clean kitchen table, quaffing a tall glass of cold milk. A trail of cookie crumbs suggested he’d already consumed one of the homemade gobs of chocolaty goodness that graced his plate. Meanwhile, across from him, his witness was enthusiastically spilling her guts in between sips from a mug of hot tea.

“...right in front of the old hardware store!” she confided, leaning in closer. I was pretty sure our witness hadn’t even noticed I was present, so I found a spot along the wall where I’d be out of sight and proceeded to lean in silence. No need to mess with my partner’s power of hypnosis.

Still, I couldn’t help eying the plate of cookies as the duo talked. As best I could tell, Robert had already swallowed two of the massive treats and was now biting into the third. Surely he would manage to save at least one morsel to salve my growling stomach when the questioning was over?

Unfortunately for the sake of my future nourishment, the FBI agent’s appetite was voracious. Still, he didn’t take his attention away from our hostess for an instant. Instead, after chewing for a long moment, he prodded the potential witness to move on from emoting to educating. “Did you hear strange sounds last night?” he asked finally. “A gunshot? Dogs barking? Anything at all out of the ordinary?”

“I missed it all,” she said, her words much less animated than they had been previously. “I slept through the whole thing.”

Our potential witness sounded so disappointed that I had to stifle another laugh. Such a hardship, sleeping through a murder.

Robert didn’t appear to share my amusement, though. Instead, he furrowed his brow seriously, pushing the plate—now half empty—toward the old lady. “You’d better have one of these cookies before I eat them all up, ma’am. They’re the best dessert my sweet tooth has tasted in months.”

She colored with pleasure, carefully picking the smallest offering off the plate. “I don’t mind if I do,” she said. “These were always Roger’s favorite. They’re homemade, you know.”

“I can tell,” my partner answered, plucking up the second-to-last cookie and dashing my hopes for titillating my own taste buds in the process. “So you didn’t see or hear anything. Do you have any idea who might have witnessed the crime?”

“Maybe those old hobos.” Our witness’s final word had bite, as if she was personally offended by the possibility of homeless people living in her little town. “They’re always camping out on my doorstep, leaving trash behind. I think someone cooked there last night.”

The display in front of her apartment suddenly took on new meaning. The scarecrow and Christmas lights, I was willing to bet, belonged to the little old lady in front of me. But the grill? Perhaps the used charcoal was a sign of yet another witness who needed to be tracked down.

Robert and I exchanged a quick glance, then he got to his feet, leaving the final cookie behind on the plate. “Where do you think we’d find the ‘hobos’ at this time of day?” he asked, his mouth twisting a bit at the insulting word. Despite being a dessert devourer, his attention was still very much attuned to the job.

“Under the bridge, drinking, most likely,” the old lady replied, beginning to push at the arms of her chair in an attempt to rise to her feet. “I don’t see why this town doesn’t clean them out....”

“Please, don’t get up,” Robert interjected, gently pressing down on our companion’s shoulder with one hand as he slid the final cookie toward her with his other. Apparently the woman was old enough to provoke his inherent chivalry despite her show of prejudice. “We can see ourselves out.”

So we left without allowing me to enjoy a single cookie. But the loss was more than worth it since our minds were satiated with the satisfaction of a solid clue.

***

There turned out to be five bridges in Starling Point...and no homeless people beneath any of them. Instead, we found a very different sort of surprise hidden in the dim recesses where the railroad tracks turned into an extended cavern cutting beneath one of the encircling hillsides.

“Oh shit,” I said, startled into speaking aloud by the scent that belatedly reached my nostrils. Robert and I had walked twenty feet into the tunnel by that point, far enough so the already dim winter illumination faded to twilight in front of our eyes. Only then did I pick up on a very important aroma that had been muffled by the damp stonework cupping us on all sides.

Flinging a straight arm out in front of my human partner like a parent preventing her kid from flying through the windshield, I hoped against hope that Robert would have the sense to retreat back to the safety of his vehicle. Unfortunately, I had a sinking suspicion that curiosity would win out over his common sense.

Here’s hoping curiosity doesn’t also manage to get him killed.

“You’re a hard woman to catch alone.” The rich baritone echoed in the confined space as a dark figure paced toward me, waves of alpha dominance rolling off his hulking form. Despite the low light, he easily dodged the drips of frigid water trickling out of the cracked stonework above our heads, the pattern turning his steady approach into a stately dance.

Sleep, now, I commanded my animal half. Not that I wanted to face this unknown male without lupine backup, but I’d be even worse off if the stranger in front of me used my weak wolf to compel me to do his bidding.

“Alone?” Robert asked, coming up beside me and speaking before I was done prodding at my wolf. Just what I needed—to have two disobedient partners to deal with rather than one. Because my inner beast wasn’t keen on retreating in the face of danger either, every attempt I made at pushing her down into my belly failing miserably.

Well, at least I’m not entirely defenseless. Wolfie’s sword rang like a bell as it rasped out of its scabbard, making me glad I’d taken advantage of the winter chill to conceal weaponry beneath my trench coat. Then, stepping in front of the defenseless one-body yet again, I growled out words intended to feign alpha aggression. “How clever of you to turn yourself in.”

“Turn myself in?” The male sounded mildly confused this time, but he continued pacing toward us anyway. His immense size became even more apparent as he approached the dim light filtering in from the entrance behind my back, and I found myself retreating one unconscious step after another before gritting my teeth and planting my feet with an effort.

I was accustomed to facing bloodling werewolves’ broad shoulders and tall frames, but our current opponent left even my own mate’s height and breadth in the dust. I was pretty sure I could have fit two of me inside the stranger’s massive torso, and I knew the thin blade of steel I held between us would do little to protect my skin if our opponent possessed even a quarter of Hunter’s fighting prowess.

“For the murder,” I clarified, playing for time and hoping my voice sounded braver than I felt. “The only thing I want to know is, how did you cover up your scent?”

As I spoke, I reached out as unobtrusively as I could with my free hand and nudged at Robert’s ribs. Go! I tried to tell him with the poke...but there was no pack bond connecting me to the human and he continued to stand like a statue by my side.

Glancing over, in fact, I noticed that Robert must have drawn his handgun at the same moment I was releasing my sword. Because now he stood with arms outstretched, apparently intent upon taking down the suspected murderer despite the latter’s barely concealed fur and fangs.

Robert was intrepid, I’d say that much for him. But I could smell his acrid fear as a bitter tang coating the inside of my mouth, and I knew that the dark figure in front of us could scent the agent’s emotion just as readily.

The time for good decisions was rapidly ticking away with each of our opponent’s calculated footsteps. So, in desperation, I chose the only avenue open to me—attack first and ask questions later.

Maybe the element of surprise will be enough to let Robert flee from a fight that doesn’t belong to him, I thought, tensing muscles in preparation for an attack.

Whether or not my partner managed to escape, though, I had no illusions that I would survive the upcoming encounter unscathed. So I reached into my pocket and felt around for my cell phone, pressing a button that I hoped would dial my mate.

Then, without giving further notice of my intentions, I leapt into the fray.