Claude owned the killer’s scent, and he wanted to scout the area and visit some popular bars where the seedy lowlifes hung out. Basically, he thought there was a chance he could pick up the guy’s scent and solve the case.
Nothing in life came that easy.
“Is there nothing I can do to help?” Niko leaned on Wyatt’s desk and gripped the edge. He’d taken two sections of his ebony hair on either side and tied them together in the back, highlighting his carved cheekbones.
Wyatt kept his eyes on the computer screen. “Sorry, buddy. I could order a braille printer and see if those work.”
Niko turned his head away. “It would be an excessive waste of paper if it’s just going to be discarded.”
I rubbed my eyes. “What about the report I gave you a half hour ago, Wyatt?”
He spun around in his chair, a pen between his teeth. “The sellers don’t always get back to you right away. He finally sent more info. Dead end. The kid was seven.”
I took the last page in my pile and placed it with the others. “Well, I figured if I couldn’t find the baby on the auction block, I’d make use of my time and organize the papers. Slave trade, pile one. Mage infusing, pile two. Murder for hire, pile three. And I have questions about pile four.”
Wyatt held his stomach and grimaced. “What kind of questions?”
“Most of them were marked ‘cemetery plots.’ I was going to put them in the murder-for-hire pile but thought I’d ask first.”
He leaned back. “Those aren’t killers. Those people will bury your enemy alive for a long, long time. It’s an archaic tradition. Gravewalkers still check cemeteries, but some of the black market traders don’t necessarily bury immortals where someone can find them. At least, not until the land is bulldozed for home construction or a Walmart.”
Gem shifted in the black beanbag chair to my left and squinted at him. “What’s wrong with you? You’re all sweaty.”
“I think it was the eggs.”
“Maybe it’s Ebola,” she suggested. “Played with any monkeys lately?”
Wyatt looked green and finally stood up to leave. I felt a twinge of guilt when he left the room holding his stomach, but in my defense, I’d never had to cook breakfast for so many people at once. Even in the years when I had an apartment—before I’d become a crossbreed—I didn’t do much cooking.
“I’ll make something better tonight,” I promised.
Viktor shook his head. “Nyet.Not tonight.”
I was about to argue until I remembered why. “Damn, we have that dinner thing to go to. Is it too late for me to back out? We’ve got all this work to do.”
Shepherd stood up and crossed the room. He dropped a file in Wyatt’s chair and locked his fingers around the back of his neck as he stretched out his muscles. “The victim’s name was Jennifer Moore.”
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing and looked up.
Shepherd leaned against the long desk next to Niko. He took a cigarette from the pack on the desk and struck a match. “I combed through everything we could find on her. She was a Sensor who worked at Club Nine.”
After a long puff, he shook his hand to put out the flame and dropped the matchstick on the floor.
I stood up, my back stiff. “Why was she living in her car if she had a job?”
“Hada job being the operative word,” he said. “She used to spike their specialty drinks, but it’s hard for pregnant Sensors to work, so I’m guessing they let her go when they found out.”
“What does being pregnant have to do with spiking drinks?”
He blew out a cloud of smoke. “Pregnancy does strange things to a Sensor. Most can’t use their sensory skills, and others have problems harnessing the right emotional energy when they have hormones fluttering about in a tiny person inside them. Those drinks have to be spikedjust so.”
“Did you find anything about a boyfriend?”
He shook his head. “The files Wyatt found on her are just job records, her Breed alias, last-known residence, and her former banker.”
“What about getting a list of all the places she’s charged her card?”
His brows gathered into a frown. “Hell to the no.”
