He shook his head, stuffed the note in his pocket and rumbled out to his vehicle. The Shifter had left the keys in the ignition. He was pleasantly surprised to find all his gear still hidden in place. Guns, knives with high silver content, silver bullets, standard witch hazel switches and the vials of holy water, wolfsbane, and rose water were stored neatly and covertly. He smiled. This was his job, after all. He cranked the engine, ignored the whine of protest and stomped on the gas. The witch was right about one thing. He had to find the Shifter before she killed again. At least that was something he knew how to deal with. He chomped down on a cigarette, sucked back too quick and choked. Damn things usually just came at him swinging, not all this crap. This was just getting too complicated and messy. His head ached. He was never gonna live this down.
Chapter Eight: Ghost Cat
The rapid rain did not dissuade the Ghost Cat. The prize had to be nearby. The black woman should not have been there. It should have been the one Ghost Cat had wanted all this time. Patiently waiting in that tiny cramped room all day should have been the last indignity this mighty hunter would have had to face in this game. Then the wrong woman had walked in after all the careful planning, and Ghost Cat’s resolution had slipped away for a moment, lost in rage and blood.
Hard work and practice had helped hone the hunter’s skills over the years and it would not be thwarted because of simple chance. Lingering near the latest hunting grounds, holed up across the street in a doorway, the hunter could afford to wait for the real prey to return. A true Ghost Cat would have blended in with its surroundings, and so too did this hunter; appearing to be a vagabond. The other homeless didn’t blink. It was a talent, becoming one with the environment, one that came naturally to all wild hunters.
At first this had been a hardship, constantly being the one ignored, shoved aside by those who should have cared, and invisible to the world at large. Then, while trapped in steel-lined windows by those who dared call themselves “family” the whispers had started and revealed the reason for this talent. Hunters in the jungle of man needed to be able to walk right up to their victims and have not one realize the hunter’s true intentions until it was too late. But the game had become stale, lonely, with only the whispers in the background to comment on the skills of this hunter.
Then a wonderous thing had happened. The whispers had told of another Ghost Cat that had arrived. Perhaps a mate? Someone to hunt with? At the very least, another cat should notice the skills being exercised, should appreciate the proficiency and effectiveness with which each hunt was accomplished. Another cat should know that there already was a hunter in this territory and make some overture of friendship or peace, or acknowledgement.
There had been nothing. No appreciation, no recognition, nothing. Once again, the hunter had been disregarded. The whispers had said what an insult this was to a hunter’s skills. To be considered so little a threat that the other cat hadn’t even conceded to ask permission to stalk the streets at night. That was something that should not go unpunished. The whispers had suggested a new game. Hunt the cat. To hunt a cat in her own territory would be the greatest challenge, great fun and show the world which of them was the superior hunter.
So the Ghost Cat sat outside Tammy’s bar and waited for the true prey to return. The police seemed to think that she had gone, and the sudden realization hit that the authorities were giving all the hunter’s kills to this intruder. The hunter forced angry shoulders to relax. Tight muscles would interfere with the hunt if a quick movement was required.
There was a roar of a bike and the Ghost Cat huddled under some discarded cardboard. Scrutinizing the prey as it dismounted, the hunter sucked in a breath at her beauty. Perfect, every inch of her. The Ghost Cat watched as she climbed the rusted fire escape, levied open the window and crawled inside. No cat-like agility used there, no feat that any sufficiently active athlete couldn’t perform. Did this cat take no pride in her skills at all? Did she even use them?
Could she sense a presence? Would she know that a predator was so near, waiting for her? A door slammed close. The detective who’d been on television earlier had run across the street, with his gun drawn. He’d been lying in wait as well then. The hunter smiled towards the third floor window. This would be a test of worthiness. A gift for the lovely kitty. A nice policeman was coming so she could demonstrate all her beautiful talents before the Ghost Cat came for her. The hunter almost purred.
Chapter Nine: Aislyn
I couldn’t smell a damn thing in my room. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I could actually smell too much. It smelled worse than the bar. I was supposed to be this great hunter with all these otherworldly powers and I usually had a hard enough time trying not to throw up. I cleared my head with a little shake. I had to do this, for Tammy. There, things were finally starting to come into focus.
I could smell the various forensic team members, at least four of them in here. Forensics because they didn’t have gun oil and their scents were fainter, like they took care not to mess up the scene. A man and three women had walked all around the body. I could smell where Tammy had lain, where she’d been killed and my throat closed up. I had to focus on breathing for a minute, and then bring my head back into the game.
Here had been the police officers. There were maybe six I could smell; they’d had the distinction of wearing shoe polish with their guns. Had to look pretty in case someone got you on camera, didn’t you? There were a couple more scents all around the room. Coroner, maybe? Photographer? Who knew at this point and I sure as hell wasn’t a cop.
Over top of everything was the unmistakable scent of blood and offal. Tammy’s blood. For once my cat didn’t seem to be tuned into that. It seemed that she was quietly waiting. Both our territories had been invaded. She was poised, ready for a target; I just had to give her one.
On one hand, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t the Ghost Cat Killer. I didn’t have this under control by a long shot, but I knew that I could at least stop Ms. Kitty from random acts of savagery now. That was good. What was bad was that Tammy had paid my price for me. My throat threatened to close up again.
I pushed up from the squat I’d been in to look around my room in the dim light some more. There had to be something in here that would help. Something that the police hadn’t taken along because they couldn’t see it and I could. Something that I could find with my jazzy new superhero powers. Even I growled a little at myself for that.
Some of my books were missing. I leaned over and counted the stack again. Not all. The romances and the how-to-write-a-movie books that were my cover were still there. But the reference books on cat physiology, every occult book I could find that had any mention of shapeshifters, every single medical text I’d gotten to see if there were allusions to any condition that could possibly explain my blackouts and sore muscles and sudden desires for catnip—all were gone.
Probably to some specialist to form some sort of profile about me. I thought about how I’d marked up the texts with questions and notes. Oh yeah, I was in big trouble. I should just book it out of here.
But Tammy had been the closest thing I had to a friend. And Tammy’s Bar had been my home. Damn it, this was my place, my town, mine! The cat in me rumbled, and I had an image of a tail flicking in annoyance. My other half was trying to tell me that I had better get a move on before she took this hunt away from me.
Funny, I couldn’t have put it like that before. She was almost separate from me at this point. Still inside my head, but it was like there was room for her now, a little forest of her own she could run around instead of getting tied up in my thoughts. Or I was developing schizophrenia. Oh joy.
I was digging around for a clue when a breeze through the open window swirled the traces of aroma. I noticed a new scent that seemed different from the others. I tracked it, nose to the floor like a dog. It was coming from the corner, behind my hallway door. I sniffed the floor. All up along the wall, right to the corner, where one could look o
ut the window if bored, a scent stained the ground. That was almost as good as a pile of cigarette butts from a chain smoker. Here was the clue they couldn’t find. They might have lifted shoe prints, might have even found fingerprints belonging to everyone in this room, but they didn’t have this. It was the killer’s scent. It was a mug shot I could use to compare if I got within a fifty-foot range. I walked around a bit more, just to be sure. I tried to pick out something unusual and the only thing I could think of was toner from an ink cartridge. Great. The Ghost Cat Killer worked in an office building. Stop the press! Lightning flashed from the storm outside and I had a glimpse of the blood stains on the wall.
I had no words for what she must have gone through. The blood was splattered as if it had been cast off from claws. I was suddenly and completely angry. The cat growled too. Wasteful, it seemed to say. No practice in hunting, no adrenaline from playing to make it tastier, no threat to self or territory, no sense to the killing at all. That last point was about all we could agree on. She hissed her displeasure again.
I walked over to the window, about to jump down when a gun cocked and stopped me.
“Don’t move.” His voice was low.
“Hadn’t planned on it.”
“On your knees. Hands above your head. Slowly.” I heard him step into the room.
“You’re alone. If I am the killer, you have to shoot me now or you’ll never get out alive.” The cat in me purred. It liked this game. I was pretty sure that there was sweat mixed in with the rain on my face from the fear, but the cat was enjoying herself.
“What makes you so sure of that?” I listened to him step closer to me, now that I was down on my knees, hands waiting to be cuffed. The cat was nearly dancing with joy in my skull. I had to be patient and wait a bit if I didn’t want to be shot. I perceived the metallic clank of cuffs being prepped and twisted, grabbed his wrists abruptly, pulling him onto the bed, on top of me with both our hands extended over our heads, making the gun useless at this angle. I hooked my knee behind his and flipped over; sitting on him, using my feet to keep pressure on his knees so he couldn’t flex and throw me off. I reached up, grabbed the now useless .9mm and let the clip fall. The cuffs I let him keep, attaching them to the radiator under the window and his wrist in one smooth motion. The entire operation took less than two seconds.
I was looking eye to eye with the yummy detective in charge of finding Tammy’s killer. He was wearing aftershave, a musky sort of one that enhanced his own scent and made things down low tighten quick and sharp. After a few swallows, I found my voice.
“If you’d been with any half decent sort of back-up, I’d never have gotten to do that.” I was still sitting on him, which probably wasn’t a good thing, given where my thoughts were leading and the fact that I couldn’t actually form words anymore, just pictures of where I wanted things to go. Then I noticed the shiny bracelets I still had and began searching his belt for the key. They all had the same key, right?
“I’m Detective Rodriguez.” I barked a laugh.
“I’m not your killer, Detective; otherwise you’d already be dead.” I found the key and unlocked my broken cuffs, flinging them out the window and into the waiting dumpster below.
“Let’s say I believe that for a second. Why come back here if not to collect a trophy?” He let his eyes slide over me in a possessive fashion. He probably wanted to piss me off. It wasn’t that ineffective.
“Let’s say I do want a trophy from the woman here. Why not take it when I’m butchering her? Like say one of Tammy’s fingers, hey? Or maybe a bunch of her hair? She’s got a gold tooth in the back, you can see it when she laughs, how ’bout that!?” I leaned over and shouted every one of my insults into his face. The cat growled and so did I. I backed away, got off of him and stalked to the now open doorway. I took several deep breaths. I pulled my hair back from my face and looked at the yellow do not cross police tape across my door.
“Unlock the cuffs.” It was an order, but gently given.
“What?” I whirled around. My eyes had welled up and I hated that they had betrayed me. I swiped at them savagely. He had pushed himself into as much of a sitting position as he could and was watching me.
“You’re the woman the victim had been renting this room to. The waitress that was unaccounted for. Someone said you had taken off early yesterday.”
It was my turn to just stare, and then I started to shake. I hated this. I hated feeling like this rollercoaster was going on inside of my own head and all I could do was hold on and hope to hell it stopped before I hurt someone. The last twenty-four hours welled up inside me and broke down the wall I had built up against it. I started sobbing, real hit-the-floors, can’t-get-a-breath, my-world-is-breaking-apart sobbing.
“Come here.” He patted the bed gently. It was stupid, but I went. I lay down and curled up beside him and he spooned me. He held me while I shivered and cried, ran his free hand down my face, rubbing my arm, holding me close, whispering things in my ear that I really didn’t care about so long as he was nice. He calmed me down enough so that I could feel the exhaustion. Until I didn’t have anything left in me anymore. And then he cuffed me. Shit.
Chapter Ten: Aislyn
I was sitting in a dark room with a metal table bolted to the floor and an old cloth chair that looked as if it had survived the seventies from sheer force of will. It sure wasn’t comfortable. I waited. Contrary to popular belief, cats are not the most patient of beings. I was not that happy either.
I had one thing going for me at the moment. The city of Denver. I know, it sounds crazy, but Denver has this weird split personality. If someone blames the poor, the downtrodden, a different race, creed or color, or if the kids are involved somehow, the cops are automatically assumed to have screwed up. Public opinion was already against the police with their inability to catch the Ghost Cat. All I had to do was cry scapegoat to the local press and I’d be out of here. With my face plastered all over the place. I hated that part of the plan, but it was the best I had at this point. It wasn’t as if I didn’t match the look of the other victims. A thought suddenly occurred to me, a way to explain things away should the books or why I had taken off come up. I looked around in a decidedly more cheerful mood.
The room would have been claustrophobic if I couldn’t have seen through the two-way mirror. The light in the other room was low, blue and a human’s eye couldn’t have seen through it. But I wasn’t quite human anymore, though I hated to admit it. For the first time in a while I actually considered that a good thing, in this situation anyway. Rodriguez was in the other room with two other officers, watching me. At least he was now. I had imagined the words that went along with the finger shaking and the vein-popping moving mouth that I saw a couple of minutes ago from his superiors in the suits. Now they just watched me and I sat there, waiting. Rodriguez apparently had decided that I’d had enough silent treatment and left.
He reappeared a second later in my little cell. I leaned back and looked at him. He was still in his jeans, ripped and worn in a few places so I knew they were comfortable. His thighs were thickly muscled and strained against the fabric, making the jeans tight. I really wanted him to turn around so I could see him from behind but I doubted he would have obliged. I just let my eyes wander north after pausing briefly on his groin, which had tremendous potential if what I was seeing was any indication. I noted the way his grey T-shirt was loose enough to billow around the waist, but seemed to pull across his chest. He worked out for those kinds of pecs. I bet the abs hidden underneath were just as sculpted. And the biceps that nearly burst through the arms of the shirt were nice too. Not that he was a candidate for WWE or anything, just a well-built, solidly muscled, hard-bodied man. Just the way I like ’em.
His hair was soft, feathery and that raven black that shines blue. I would have sat on my hands to keep from running them through his hair if they hadn’t been shackled already. Combined with his Latin skin and amber eyes he was a feast fit for the gods. And h
ere he was going to interrogate me. Yummy. I crossed my legs and waited for the show to begin.
“What were you doing at the scene?” He sat down across from me and slapped a file folder on the table between us. I eyed the folder. What kind of leverage was he going to use on me to get me to “talk”?
“I live there. It’s my room.” I looked at him, starting to get just a bit angry. He’d played me at the scene. I had a right to be a little pissed.
“You rented under the name Aislyn Rivers, correct?” He’d checked his facts on a notepad from his back pocket. I nodded. I think I knew where this conversation was heading.
“Were you aware that there were documents found that had your face, but another name?”
Yeah, I was planning ahead, but I couldn’t exactly tell him that. Or could I? “Yes.”
He sat back a little. He’d expected a denial and backpedaled his thoughts, discarding his next question. I was having fun with this game and almost purred.
“Would you mind explaining them?”
“I needed to be ready.”
“For?” He raised his eyebrow.
“Running.”
“From?”
“This could get boring, so let me save you some time. Why would a woman with no record, as Aislyn Rivers is my real name, by the way, have documents, cash, fake IDs and keys stashed on her? I was prepared to run at a moment’s notice from someone who has been following me. Who would be following you?” I did a fair imitation of his eloquent elocution which brought a chuckle from the men in the other room that I wasn’t supposed to hear. “Good question, Detective. I was running from the girl who thinks for some strange reason I murdered her brother back east. Why would she think that?” I turned in my chair as if talking to someone directly beside me. “Well, as I was questioned, examined and ‘held’ and the police found nothing, I guess you’re going to have to ask her that. There was no evidence linking me to any crime and as is my constitutional right, it was assumed that I was innocent until proven guilty. I was set free. Except that when you do find her, could you give me a heads up? She’s made my life a living hell for God knows what reason. But that’s all in the police report that I’m sure you’ve already read. Oh and don’t forget that I’ve had a restraining order put up against her.”
Even for Me Page 4