“Hey, more information on anyone’s libido has never hurt anyone. It’s not like you’ll let it become anything serious. Why not find out what he knows while getting the best fuck of your life out of it? When's the date?”
That makes me curious. “Why do you think it’ll be the best fuck of my life? Haveyoufucked a werewolf before?”
I hear loud banging noises from the other side. “Can’t hear you,” he says in the lamest attempt at dodging the question. “Wear your pale knit sweater. It brings out your eyes,” he says before hanging up.
Why would I care about how I look? I decide to ignore him. This is just about going ononedate to check Nicholas’s temperature. If I get even a hint of him being suspicious about the murders, I’ll know it’s time to skip town. Otherwise, I return to my regularly scheduled avoidance of him.
Chapter Six
Dead Ends, Dramatic Interventions and Damning Discoveries
Nick
I pace my office. The list of suppliers is too long, and the new guy has been steadily contacting them to gather information about the hospitals, clinics, and medical stores they supply with Valmeron and Myocardiner. But the process has been painfully slow. No help from the Bureau to pick up the slack.
And then there’s this happy loophole that the killer could just be getting the drugs off the streets and not from a registered supplier. In short, we’re fucked.
I look at my murder board again. The lifeless faces of werewolves who almost got away because we probably wouldn’t have pursued their case at all. But someone made sure they didn’t.
A big part of me wants to close up the case and let the person continue making the world better one murder at a time. They’re clearly doing a better job than we are. But then there’s this other part. The part I sometimes hate, but is unfortunately more me than the other one. More rational too.
That part completely agrees with Meena. Without rules, hierarchy, and consequences, we’re no better than the animals we’re so desperately trying not to be. We’ve left thatpast far behind when werewolves lived in packs, power was arbitrary, and those who had it used it to exploit others, when we feared humans and solved every disagreement with violence.
Now, we live with humans,mostlyfollow their laws, and keep our internal animals in check. Over generations, the werewolf has become a part of us rather than being a separate entity holding all the control. It can’t overpower us anymore.
Sure, when a person lets the animal take control in such a destructive way, they should be punished. I’m completely in agreement that Harold Nolan needed to be taken off the streets, but not in the way he eventually did. We have systems for a reason.
But the killer was obviously passionate about justice. And is getting information on deaths that show clear signs of werewolf involvement, but are marked as natural by the human police. Who can have access to information like that?
Maybe someone who works in a hospital? I check the files of humans our werewolf victims allegedly killed, excitement thrumming through me.
After fifteen minutes, I slump back in my chair. All of them were declared dead in different hospitals. One on the field. The paramedics were from different stations, too. Two were transported in private ambulances.
I open the list we have until now. Three hundred twenty-five places where the killer could have gotten the drugs from. And this is less than half. Multiple people could have had access to the drugs from each of these places. The suspect list is basically the entire city, minus maybe five people right now.
I sigh, rubbing my temples. I haven’t even changed out of work clothes after driving back from the precinct. Comfortable clothes will make me fall asleep within minutes. Mickey was long asleep, worn out from the run that did jackshit to clear my head. At least I don’t have the cutest dog in the world vying for my attention right now.
Then there’s the human murder. We still have nothing. Theguy was either the most likable celebrity on the planet, which is an oxymoron, or everyone is lying. Not surprising in a murder investigation. People typically avoided speaking ill of the dead, but when there’s a possibility that wrong words can land you in the suspect pool, you tend to become literal Gandhi, who sees no evil.
At leastthatsuspect list isn’t the size of my triple ply toilet paper roll. We have the director ofThe Pack, who’s a little too passionate about the show. Which is plain psychotic, considering it’s a teen werewolf drama. He isn’t even a werewolf, so he doesn’t know why it’s being made in the first place. And frankly, the guy is a dick.
Then we have the main lead of the show, who was conveniently at home around the time of the murder. She was supposed to report to the location with Tyler. She reached there alone and on time. But that doesn’t mean she couldn’t have committed the murder. She’s smaller in stature, but I’ve seen how much some of these actresses can bench.
I play her last interview again. Serena’s voice fills my otherwise silent room. I lean back and close my eyes.
“You didn’t tell us you were supposed to drive to the location with Tyler. Would you like to elaborate on why?”
Elena’s breath hitches. She wasn’t expecting us to figure that out. It would be insulting if I weren’t used to it. “He didn’t text me back the entire week. And didn’t pick up my call the day before we were supposed to drive together. I’d ultimately gone alone, so I didn’t think it was important,” she murmurs.
Serena snorts. “Let’s make this easier for both of us. How about from now on, you letusdecide what’s important and what’s…”
The doorbell rings loudly, and I jolt up. I take a second to realize the recording is still playing. I switch it off and strain my ears to hear who’s uncivilized enough to drop by at— I check my phone.Nine pm? Fuck, I’m getting old.
Loud arguments coming from the door tell me I was right to be annoyed even before I open the door to five werewolves. Grown-up ones, but with their favorite hobby of imitatingten-year-olds, it’s hard to remember sometimes.
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” Bree says and pushes her way inside, followed by her wife, Cami.
Sloan stops for a second to hug me before joining them. Marcus pats my arm, and Matt avoids my gaze. His face had a distinct expression of guilt. “What did you do?” I ask.
