He cursed succinctly. “No. I’ve been working on legal briefs for two days. Debrief me.”
I did, and ended with, “Asad may have wanted to start a cat-wolf war, or a vamp-were war, or the kitties and pups might have joined forces temporarily to steal the SOD and Brute. Or something open-ended or more twisted. I don’t know and I have no idea how we can find out.” Brandon used his cell phone to call vamp HQ and knocked on the door as if alerting someone on the outside, like a prearranged signal. Detective Kerlegan reentered about the time that Brandon finished his conversation with HQ, and we three sat at the table. Upon advice from counsel I answered all the detective’s questions, at length. Three times.
After the third time through the events, I said, “I’m done.” I stood up and looked down at my lawyer. “Get me out of here.”
“Charge my client with a crime or let her go.”
Kerlegan sounded tired and jaded when he said, “She’s both a person of interest and a possible suspect in the deaths of two humans and the injury of a werewolf.”
“You have video of the shooting,” Brandon said. “You have police corroboration of the threat of the gang members. She has been totally cooperative. Jane Yellowrock is not a flight risk and she hasn’t eaten in hours. You have a mountain of evidence saying that the deaths were self-defense. And she told the senior officer on scene that there was a werewolf on-site, one who was shifting and could have posed a danger to the officers and to the public. She was helpful in keeping local law enforcement safe.”
The detective placed his open hands on the table. “We can keep her for seventy-two hours.”
I shot him a look that said,No you can’t!
“All that will get you is her clamming up and refusing to help NOPD ever again.” Brandon leaned in, over thetable. “That would create a danger to the city and you know that. She’s helped officers in the past. She saved the life of the chief of police. She helped those officers today. Don’t screw up a system that works.”
Kerlegan stood and knocked on the door, which opened immediately. “Make sure she doesn’t leave town,” he said as he left the room.
“I have to go see Andromeda,” Brandon said. “God help me.”
I just smiled and let him lead me out of the interrogation room. I accepted my weapons and put them into the tote bag that Kerlegan magically produced for me. Checked my cell to discover Alex had sent a dozen texts while I didn’t have access to my phone. The only one that mattered was the one that said T. Antifreeze and the guards who had been injured when the weres went to sub-five were okay, healed by vamp blood and downtime. That put me in a better mood.
I left the Eighth, exited into the chill and the early dusk, and told Shemmy to take me back to Andromeda Preaux’s jewelry shop. Traffic was horrid and after I texted Bruiser to meet me there, I took a speed nap in the backseat.
Bruiser and I went into the building across the street from Andromeda’s and up to the unoccupied second floor to inspect the hide used by the possible shooter. The building had been cleared by the cops, and as we searched I told him my concerns about the gangbangers and the wolf with the gun, and the were-creatures in sub-five, also one with a gun. And how the wolves seemed to be at odds. We talked over other possibilities, some far-fetched, some downright scary. Together we concluded that there was nothing we could do and no way to discern the truth for now.
Bruiser ended the discussion by calling Leo. I wandered around alone for a while.
There was no electricity in the untenanted building. The room where the round thing had appeared in the open window was empty except for a metal folding chair. The chair and the window sash had been dusted forfingerprints, the powder easy to spot in the olive green room, dusty in Beast’s sharp vision.
The place had been filled with too many cops and crime scene techs for me to get a specific scent, but I caught a whiff of lemon on the chair when I bent over it. The scent seemed familiar, but the memory wouldn’t come. Other than that, there was nothing.
From the doorway, Bruiser said, “NOPD thinks the person who was in this room had been here for days. A squatter, most likely. Kerlegan said that CSI hauled off several dozen sealed pee bottles and one sealed five-gallon container of feces.” He sounded aggrieved at having to say the words and I let my mouth curl up at the tone. “This entire building is empty and there are signs the person or persons have been in every room.”
I wondered how many other buildings had squatters in them and how many of the squatters were actually shooters. How widespread was the search for Bruiser or me and why? We wandered the second floor and I caught the fading scent in several places. “I know it’s stupid, but I smell lemons. Real lemons, not synthetic like in dish soap.”
Bruiser stopped, thinking, head tilted, his skin and eyes silvered in Beast’s vision.Mate,Beast thought happily.
He said, “There is a Mithran clan that scents of lemons, but there are no indications that Clan Des Citrons has left France to join with Titus in the Sangre Duello. If this shooter is one of their humans, then that opens up a number of possibilities, none of them good.”
“Vamps are ready to jump into the fray at any point where they can benefit,” I said. “Or at the end of the blood duel when they could declare war against the winner and take over.” And then I remembered. “I smelled this scent before.”
Bruiser’s eyes moved to me, waiting.
“This person has either been in my house or was standing on thin air outside Eli’s bathroom.” The window had been open. The entire house had been breezy. “Or maybe they followed me home and were standing on the brick wall outside the house, listening. Watching. Also I caught a faint whiff of lemons in HQ. On sub-five.”
Bruiser shook his head. “Someone is watching all of us?”
“And that someone had access to HQ. I’ll put Alex on it,” I said. “We’ll find them.”
“Derek can dedicate a few security personnel to your neighborhood.” He shrugged, looking relaxed, but I had a feeling he was a lot more concerned than he pretended. Casually, he added, “Dinner, then. And we’ll keep an eye out for trolling gangbangers and errant shooters.”
• • •
The Creole platter at the Gumbo Shop consisted of a large platter of shrimp Creole, jambalaya, and crawfish étouffée. I had two platters, inhaling the first one so fast I only noted it as a blistered sensation on the back of my throat. Bruiser had the red beans and rice with a lovely smoked sausage and the chicken espagnole with extra sides and a half bottle of wine. That was a total of four entrées between us and a mountain of dirty dishes when we were done. The waitress stared accusingly at my skinny frame. I had spent the last few weeks shifting too many times and not eating enough calories to replace the energy usage. I often wondered what might happen if I had to shift many times with no food in between. Would I shrink to nothing? Find myself stuck in one form until I found food? Was that what had happened when I first stole Beast’s body and shifted to human only now and then to heal? Beast called it the hunger times.
When we were done with the food, I accepted a half glass of wine and sniffed and tasted. It was okay. Bruiser was trying to educate me about the finer things in life and he described it as I sipped, saying, “This Cabernet blend has a healthy level of tannins, is full-bodied, with a medium level of acidity.” He twirled the wine and it ran down the glass in skinny trails. “It has good legs. It’s good with food. The oak has brought out the flavor of”—he paused and sipped noisily—“currants, a little black pepper, and tobacco.”
