“Yeah.” Bishop nodded. “And she’d tried to tend the wound herself.”
“I had six missed calls,” Austin said. “My ringer was off, because I was on a case. In an interview. I called back when I got a chance, but she didn’t answer. Bishop called me two minutes later.”
“She called me too,” Bishop said. “Eight times. I didn’t hear the phone because I was working the jackhammer, chewing up some concrete on a big renovation job. When she didn’t answer, I left work. I had a bad feeling. Yviealwaysanswered her phone.”
“So, someone bit her?” I stood and started pacing behind my desk because moving always seemed to make my thoughts flow more freely. “In cat form, most likely.”
Itwaspossible to infect someone while in human form—in mostly-human form, anyway—but most strays didn’t know how to shift just their teeth or claws. Many didn’t even know that was possible. That wasn’t one of the things we taught newly infected strays, for obvious reasons.
“Tell me about the crime scene,” I said, still pacing. “Could you smell the attacker? Any residual scent?”
“No.” Austin looked a little insulted by my question. “Because our living room wasn’t the crime scene. There was no sign that anyone else had been there. Ever. We never had guests, for obvious reasons. Our front porch camera caught Yvie’s car on the way into the garage that afternoon, and the footage showed no one in the passenger seat. There were no other scents on the upholstery, either in her car or in our house. No unknown footprints. No broken glass or busted locks. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.”
Bishop shrugged. “As far as we can tell, she came home injured—infected and already sick—and tried to treat the wound herself.”
“Wait. She was attacked by a big black cat, but she didn’t go to the hospital. She didn’t call the police or animal control. She calledyou. Both of you.” There could only be one reason for that. I eyed them each in turn from behind my desk. “She knew about you. That you’re shifters.”
Bishop was the first to look away.
“Yes,” Austin said at last. “There’s just no way to keep a secret like that from a member of your own household.”
I should’ve busted their balls. They clearly knew the rules: if you can’t keep the secret from someone you’re living with, then move out. There are no excuses. No exceptions. But even if I were heartless enough to make that point to two grieving men, I wouldn’t do it with my sister serving drinks twenty feet away.
My human sister. In a shifter bar.
That would make me the world’s biggest hypocrite.
“There’s no way someone just randomly happened to infect the wife and sister of two shifters,” Bishop said. “No way that was an accident.”
“In a criminal investigation, there’s no such thing as a coincidence,” Austin added. “She was targeted.” The determination in his tone told me they’d discussed this. Theybelievedthis conclusion.
So did I.
“Okay.” I sank into my desk chair again as my gaze found Vance. He exhaled slowly. Tucker nodded. They both understood the gravity of what we were hearing. “Let’s back up a bit. I assume you saw the injuries. Was she scratched or bitten?”
Austin leaned forward in his chair, and I could see that he knew what I was getting at. “It wasn’t self-defense, Ms. Studebaker.”
“Call me Charley. Everyone does. And you don’t know it wasn’t self-defense. She could have stumbled upon something. Caught someone unaware—”
“It was a bite,” Bishop said. “Onebite. No scratches. No bruising.”
“And it was clean.” Austin leaned back in his chair again, letting that sink in. “Even swollen and infected, you could see each individual puncture. The shape of each tooth. There was no tearing. She wasn’t acting in self-defense, and she didn’t fight back. Which means someone held her still. Carefully. She was infected on purpose. Whatever else happened to her, thepointof it was to infect her.”
A sick feeling began to churn in the pit of my stomach. “But then he let her go.” And itwasa he. More than ninety-nine percent of werecats worldwide were men. The percentage was even higher if you counted only strays.
Austin nodded. “He identified her, took her or cornered her somewhere private, held her still, bit her—once, neatly—then let her go.”
Suddenly the room seemed to be narrowing on me, the walls slanting inward. I tried to suck in a breath, but my throat wouldn’t open. My lungs were paralyzed.
I gripped the desk, my fingers pale from the tension.
“Charley.” Vance appeared at my side, one hand on my shoulder. It was a comforting touch, but it was also a warning.
I could not show weakness in public. Or in front of any of my territory members. Most especially, I couldnotshow weakness in front of two strangers who’d just admitted they came into my zone to kill someone.
“Ms. Studebaker?” Austin leaned forward in his chair. His reddish beard caught the light, and my gaze fixed on it.
My throat relaxed just a little, and air leaked in. “It’s Charley.”
