Mia sipped on a strawberry-flavored herbal tea as she began tacking pictures of suspects to the older corkboard detailing the most recent murders. Kurt worked at the conference table behind her, Lionel shifted his photographs of the scenes at the far end, and Todd Fulsome lounged against the wall near the doorway. Wolf shifters also covered the front and back of the station, but they had remained out of sight of the FBI members so far.
Today, there had been three calls from town that included a car accident, a minor theft, and a lost cat. Claire had taken off to handle those three, happily wearing her new uniform that fit her perfectly.
Mia doubted Claire expected to be getting cats out of trees when she volunteered as a deputy to watch the FBI. Mia had no doubt any cat would freak out at a wolf shifter coming at it, but she didn’t have the bandwidth to help the woman at this point.
Kurt kept glancing at Todd. “We really don’t need you on this.”
Todd shrugged. “I’m a new deputy, and I need to learn. I conduct excellent legwork.” He glanced at Lionel and his pictures. “You only have a team of three from the FBI, including Mia, and you’re going to need local help. Plus, more importantly, I’m a hell of a bodyguard.”
Mia straightened. “I don’t need a bodyguard.”
Todd shrugged, looking almost wolf-like.
Kurt took a moment to glare at him and then focused on Mia’s murder board. “He is right. We need a bigger team out here, but our entire unit is already stretched thin. Besides, according to your board, we only have one suspect.”
“I know,” she muttered. The person she’d zeroed in on last time was a grad student who had worked with Delaney as an intern. His name was Rodney Newcomb, and he had a clean record. She posted his picture anyway. “Have you been keeping an eye on this guy?”
“No.” Kurt zipped off a quick text on his phone. “I’ll send a couple of agents to his place right now for an interview, at least. You know, nobody thought Delaney had a partner but you. So, no, when the case was closed, it was closed.”
“Now I want to know where he is. Conduct a more recent background check,” she said. The one she’d done way back when hadn’t revealed much, although she’d spent every bit of her spare time investigating the possibility of this killer.
Kurt cleared his throat. “You work for me now, Mia.”
She looked over her shoulder, noting his hair was rumpled and his eyes were bloodshot. He was obviously working hard on the case. Even his shirt was wrinkled. “You need me, or I wouldn’t be here.” She turned back to the board and drew a big question mark for an unknown suspect. “No DNA on any of the victims. We need DNA.”
Movement sounded, and then Claire emerged by the doorway. “Hi. I handled the cat. The break-in was just kids goofing off, and the accident was due to said cat.” She shook her head. “Who wants cats? Boy, the thing was pissed at seeing me.”
“Why was that?” Kurt asked.
Claire blinked. “I don’t know. Maybe cats don’t like me.” She looked at Mia. “So, there’s a guy here who wants to talk to you.”
“What guy?” Mia asked.
Claire glanced over her shoulder and down the hallway. “Guy named Willie.”
It was a shock that one of the wolf shifters had let the reporter in the door. Willie was lucky he was still walking. The guy was charming, but nobody was that good. “Send him back,” Mia said.
Kurt dropped his pen, and irritation crawled across his expression. “Do not send Willie back here.”
“You’ve got it. He’ll be right here.” Claire turned and disappeared down the hallway, her new black boots making no sound.
“Does she not know that I’m in charge?” Kurt asked.
There wasn’t really an answer to that question. So, Mia didn’t bother, and Lionel didn’t even look up from organizing his pictures. She flipped the board over—the very meager, uninformative board she had created.
Willie sauntered to the doorway. He’d slicked his hair back and wore a light green vest over a long-sleeve shirt today. His jeans were pressed, and his scuffed but old shoes looked like he’d at least spit on them to clean them up. “Hi,” he greeted. “I’m surprised you let me back.”
“We might as well collaborate,” Mia said.
Kurt frowned and put all his notes into a stack before flipping them over. “We have no comment on this story at this point, Mr. Williamson. Thank you for coming by. Now, get out.”
“Hold on a second,” Mia murmured. “We would like to know what you know.”
“I bet you would.” Willie grinned. He rocked back on his heels and studied the sad corkboard. “You really don’t have anything. Man, how unfortunate.”
It was time to play nice, and if she remembered right, Willie had come up with some decent information during the last case. He was like a bulldog with a bone, and for some reason, people trusted him and were willing to speak with him. “You look good, Willie,” Mia said. “You’re losing weight.”
He beamed. “I am. I’ve been working on that Whole30 diet, and the thing freaking works. You get to eat pretty well.” He patted his slightly smaller belly. “You can’t have sugar or alcohol, though. Believe me, I miss alcohol, although I make a mean and healthy breakfast burrito with lettuce instead of a tortilla.”
