by Cynthia Eden
“She didn’t smell like a shifter,” he muttered, rubbing his hand over his face. Hell, he shouldn’t even be worrying about this now. He should be sleeping. Drinking. Congratulating himself on another job well done.
Not obsessing over a woman who clearly wasn’t interested in him.
Yeah, ’cause smelling a woman, sniffing her like a freaking dog—that was the way to get a date.
“Just let me know if you hear anything about her, okay?” he finally said.
A cautious nod.
“Thanks, Dee.” He closed his eyes…and saw Erin.
Shit. He needed to get a life.
He needed to take a life. Needed to kill. Needed to feel the sweet trickle of life being washed away.
The Slasher, Bobby Burrows, waited just behind the bars. There he stood, stalking around and muttering about evil and devils and hell.
And annoying the hell out of him.
That bastard had been on the news for the last two nights.
Bobby’s fat, ugly face had been splashed across the screen—making him sick.
Bobby Burrows didn’t deserve fifteen minutes of fame. He deserved a trip to the grave.
Bobby grabbed the bars of his cell. Tightened his thick hands into straining fists around the metal and screamed, “The fuckin’ devil marked me! I want reporters in here, I want my lawyer, I want—”
“Relax.” He sidled closer to Bobby, finally stepping out of the shadows he loved so much and smiling. He jerked his thumb toward the group of guards who were watching television near the entrance to the cages.
Cages. That’s what he called ’em. To keep the animals inside.
But sometimes, the cages couldn’t hold the animals.
He drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of the man’s sweat and blood. “They’re not gonna help you.” They were too busy huddling up and watching a game to give a shit about the guy left in holding. He smiled and hoped he didn’t look too hungry. “But I will.”
Bobby squinted at him. The left side of his face was covered by a large, white bandage. “What? Who are you?”
His hands rose to the bars, reached for Bobby’s—
The Slasher jumped back.
Ah…not as stupid as he looked. “Why don’t you tell me who hurt you, Bobby?”
“I-I did. The devil—”
“The devil’s not real.” He’d never seen him. Judgment wasn’t for the afterlife. It was for here and now, to be delivered by the strong.
“Yes, he is.” Absolute certainty. “Found me in the swamp. Changed before me. I shot the bastard, but he still came after me.” He licked his lips. “Then he cut me.”
The bars were so thin. Not nearly strong enough to keep him out.
But strong enough to trap the human inside.
“He let you live, didn’t he? I don’t think the devil would do that.”
“He’s a monster!” Spittle flew from Bobby’s mouth. “Hiding behind the face of a man. That fuckin’ hunter! Pretendin’, he’s pretendin’!”
“We all pretend,” he told him softly, aware of the excitement burning through his gut. He didn’t have any more time to waste. “It’s how we live.” His hands flew through the gap in the bars. His right hand locked around the Slasher’s throat.
A wheeze slipped past Bobby’s lips.
Smiling, he jerked the human’s head to the right. He heard the sharp snap of bones.
And felt a rush of power as the man sagged in his grip.
Slowly, his left hand rose. He cast a glance back toward the guards. They were still glued to their TV.
Fucking oblivious humans.
Claws pushed from the ends of his fingertips. He raised his left hand and plunged the claws into Bobby’s heart.
As the blood flowed, a soft sigh escaped his lips.
No way was the media going to be able to overlook this kill.
He’d be taking over the news now.
Jude got the call from the police station forty-five minutes later. A cop who owed him a favor tipped him off.
The call was brief, and the details came fast. Burrows was dead. The ADA was on her way.
And, oh, yeah, it looked like an animal had attacked the guy—while he was locked up. Of course, the cops hadn’t seen a thing. Bobby had been all alone in holding one minute, then sliced and diced the next.
Jude grabbed his jacket. Slung it over his shoulder—almost healed now. He ran for the door.
And ignored Dee’s shout behind him.
Chapter 2
“You don’t want to see the body.”
His voice, even deeper now, stopped her as Erin began to climb the steps leading to the police station and to the dead man.
She glanced back over her shoulder. She’d caught his scent seconds before he’d spoken. “How do you even know there’s a body here, Donovan?” The District Attorney’s office had received the call less than fifteen minutes ago. Just how had the hunter learned about the death?
Suspicion had her eyes narrowing. “You didn’t—”
He jumped up the steps. Grabbed her arms. “I didn’t kill the bastard, no. If I’d killed him, well, he would’ve been left in the swamp and been gator bait by now.”
Erin swallowed. Nice, to, ah, know. “Then why are you here?”
“Same as you. I want to know what happened to the Slasher.”
Her eyes narrowed. You don’t want to see the body. “Sounds to me like you already know.” Which meant she had a leak in the department. Not surprising. Not particularly good news, either.
His wide shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Trust me on this, you don’t want to see Bobby Burrows right now.”
She licked her lips. “And, trust me, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” Not like it was her first murder scene. Not by a long shot. She was twenty-nine years old, and she’d been working the rough cases since she’d passed the bar years ago.
To make a difference, sometimes you had to get your hands dirty.
Erin turned and continued stalking up the stone steps. Jude shadowed her moves, his body a ripple of muscle.
His scent filled the air around them.
Her heart raced, too fast. Was the frantic beat from the dread filling her at the thought of a dead man waiting in what should have been a secure cell?
Or was it from something more?
No.
She shoved open the glass doors. A guard near the front rushed forward. “Ms. Jerome—”
Her thumb jerked toward her hulking shadow. “Keep Donovan up here. I don’t want him anywhere near my crime scene.”
Her sensitive ears picked up the hunter’s swift inhalation and the nearly soundless…“You’ll need me on this one, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. She slanted him a scathing glance. “Doubt it, hunter. Doubt it.” Then she stalked down the tiled hallway, heading for lockup, and wondering just what sort of sight waited for her.
You don’t want to see the body.
The lady had one fine ass.
Even as anger tightened his body, Jude couldn’t help but admire that beautiful sway.
His nostrils were full of her scent. Woman, roses, and just a hint of rich, wild forest. Yeah, that wildness—that fragrance had slipped into the air when those gorgeous eyes had narrowed and rage coated her voice.
Erin Jerome was so much more than she pretended to be.
The beast within him roared when she got close, and when she got too far away.
“Sorry, man, you heard the orders.” Jamison McGee, a good cop and a good human, frowned at him. “You’re gonna have to stay—”
“It’s all right, James.” Jude rocked back on his heels. He could smell the blood from here. “She’ll be changing her mind.” Because he hadn’t been kidding when he told the pretty ADA that she’d need him.
Jude glanced toward the vinyl chairs near the entrance. “When she comes looking for me, I’ll be waiting.”
Five minutes, ten tops, and he’d wager his ADA would be running her sexy
ass right back to him.
Because it seemed that another monster was out hunting. One that had killed right under the noses of the Baton Rouge PD.
Talk about a bold asshole.
Jude almost could admire that. Almost.
The scent of the blood burned her nostrils. Most of her kind liked that smell. She hated it.
Erin straightened her shoulders and strode forward. Four uniformed cops stood just in front of the entrance to the pen. They glanced up at the clicking of her heels. One of them, an older guy with rich coffee skin, graying hair and a strong chin, stepped toward her. “Ms. Jerome, you’d better brace yourself.”
He looked worried. Looked like he thought she was going to pass out after one glance at the stiff.
She really wasn’t the passing out kind of girl.
“Thanks for the warning.” The second one she’d gotten in less than three minutes. But Grant Tyler wasn’t being an ass with his warning. The young cop next to him was stark white and shaking. He looked like he might be doing some fainting at any moment.
Oh, hell. A cop ready to hit the floor was never a good sign.
Erin pointed toward the door. “Show him to me.”
Grant pushed open the door.
The stench nearly made her gag. Then she saw him.
Bobby’s arms had been yanked through the bars, left to hang over the edges of his prison. His wrists had been cut, long, thick slices, and his blood pooled on the floor. His eyes were open, wide, and his face had been slashed. A bloodred smile stretched from one ear to the next.
Positioned. Styled. His body had been arranged for the ultimate shock value.
Erin’s lips pressed together.
“You okay?” Grant whispered.
There was a flash of light as the crime scene guy snapped a photo.
She flinched. “Fine.” No, no, she wasn’t fine. What the hell had happened? Her gaze jerked to the left, then the right. The other cells were empty. Transfer had been made just hours before, and she knew Bobby had been the only prisoner in holding.
She’d planned for him to be the only one there—all the better for the cops to keep an eye on him.
This was so not good.
A killer, murdered while he was surrounded by cops.
Murdered by cops? Her stomach knotted.
Erin turned away from the body. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. “Who was here?”
“I was.” Admitted quietly. “Burns, Grimes, and Hyde.”
Her fingers pressed into her right temple. The blood. “And you didn’t see a thing?” Doubt had her voice rising. No way, no way was that possible.
“We were up front.” His lips tightened. “Didn’t see what happened and didn’t hear a peep.”
Oh, shit. This was a nightmare.
Captain Antonio Young strolled in then. Wearing a perfect suit, not so much as a wrinkle anywhere to be found.
Erin growled at him. He wasn’t on her top ten list. Over the last week, she’d gotten a pretty up close look at the captain, and came away thinking the guy was a bit of a prick. He was secretive, he didn’t share his case files with the rest of the PD, and the guy was given to disappearing for long periods of time. Hardly upfront police behavior.
Erin had no idea how the man had ever been promoted through the ranks.
He must’ve had some serious connections somewhere or else he’d known where some bodies were buried. Maybe he’d helped to bury those bodies.
“Your men have to be cleared.” Her voice was sharp. The captain knew this, and he still had Grant and the others less than ten feet away from the victim. “What the hell are you thinking?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”
“Uh, yeah, obviously, you do.” The press would go wild with this story. Wild. “Four cops. One dead perp. You do the math, Young.” Okay, so she sounded like a bitch. Screw the polite chitchat. The man knew better.
Bobby Burrows was dead—not just dead—slaughtered. Aw, hell.
Young’s handsome face—cause, yeah, no denying he was a pretty boy with those elegant planes and hollows on his face—tightened. No sign of his flashing dimple. He glared at her, and she glared right back.
“We didn’t do it.” From Grant. Strong, steady Grant. She’d had a good feeling about the guy from the beginning, from the first moment she’d met him at the courthouse. A real upfront kind of guy.
Now this.
“We’re going to have to prove that,” she said. Not going to be easy.
Another flash of light.
Erin licked her lips and knew what she had to do. “Excuse me.” Much as she hated it…
She was going to have to get close to that body. She spun and headed for the perp. Um, victim now. Her steps slowed as she approached the body. “Give me a minute, Mark,” she said to the crime scene analyst, and he moved back.
Less than a foot away, she stopped. She didn’t touch Bobby or the bars, no way was she going to risk contaminating evidence. But…
But her eyes touched him. Her gaze scanned every inch of him, paying careful attention to the wounds and—
Shit.
Her heart slammed into her chest.
Those weren’t knife wounds. No, she knew the shape of those wounds.
Intimately.
Those slices had been made by claws. She’d seen marks like that too many times in the past.
Her nostrils twitched and she stared at Bobby’s bloody form.
The cops there—the captain, the three men, and the woman—they were human. So were the crime scene guys.
No shifters.
But a shifter had been here. He’d killed.
And she knew there was a shifter close by, one who didn’t mind a little blood and who sure had a hard-on for Bobby.
Jude.
Her steps were very precise as she turned and left the holding area. Once she was clear, her fingers knotted into fists, and she stormed down the hallway, racing back to face the hunter.
Jude stretched his legs out, letting the heels of his boots press into the old floor. He didn’t glance at his watch, but he figured Erin had been with the body about eight minutes or so now and—
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of fast-approaching high heels.
He glanced up.
And saw Erin bearing down on him, her face tight with fury and her eyes blazing.
Glowing?
She stalked right up to him, put her hands on the hips he’d like to touch and demanded, “What did you do?”
Whoa. Jude stood up, slowly, aware that he towered over her slender figure and using that to his advantage. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea here, sweetheart.”
“I am not your sweetheart.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You think I don’t know what got a hold of that bastard?” Her voice was fierce, but pitched low enough that only he would be able to hear her. “I recognize the work of claws when I see ’em, Donovan.”
“Not my claws.” The words came out more growl than anything else. He cleared his throat, tried again. It was hard to speak normally, with her so close, with that sweet scent filling his nose, and with the beast roaring. “I told you, if I wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have made it out of that swamp.”
“You knew what I’d find in that cell.” A pause, just for a beat of time. “How’d you know, hunter? Because you’d been the one to send Bobby to hell? Just had to put a smile on his face, didn’t you? A grin for him to greet the devil with?”
He grabbed her hand, tired of her fingernail digging into his chest. “I didn’t do it, sweetheart. I’ve got an alibi. I was at Night Watch and at least four other agents can attest to that.” Good thing, too. He rotated his shoulders. No more pain. Not even a twinge.
“How did you know?” Gritted from between her teeth. Teeth that were starting to look a bit sharper than before.
He almost smiled. Would have, if they weren’t talking about a dead body and if they hadn’
t been surrounded by cops. “I’ve got a friend in the department. He called me.” Because he owed me and because the sly bastard knew he’d need my help. Just like she would.
Erin just didn’t want to admit it yet.
“What. Friend?”
“Aw, now, you can’t expect me to—”
“What. Friend!” Her voice wasn’t soft anymore, and a couple of cops glanced their way. “Tell me, because I’m sure as hell thinking you’re—”
“It was me, ma’am.” A slow-drawling southern voice said.
Erin’s head whipped to the left and her mouth dropped open as she stared at Antonio. “Bullshit.”
He smiled at her, flashing his perfectly capped, too-white teeth. The teeth looked even whiter next to his caramel skin—coloring Jude knew the guy had gotten courtesy of his very lovely Mexican mother. “’Fraid so, Ms. Jerome. ’Fraid so.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not quite as clueless as you seem to think I am.” His voice was low but fierce. “And one look at that body told me the cops in that room weren’t suspects.” He jerked his thumb toward Jude. “But one of his kind sure as hell was.”
She froze. Then, it was as if a veil fell over her face. Erin’s expression cleared, until only a false mask remained. “His kind? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jude blinked. The lady was good. If she hadn’t just been snarling at him about claw marks, he might have bought her confused act.
Or maybe not.
Because apparently even Tony wasn’t buying it. The captain snorted and said, “If you really don’t know, ma’am, then you’re gonna have one hell of a time survivin’ in this town.”
She was living a nightmare. An absolute somebody-please-wake-me-up screaming nightmare.
Antonio knew about the Other.
Yeah, that was a problem, but the big deal was that she had a shifter gone bad who was slicing up killers right under the noses of the PD.
The news headlines would be brutal.
“I hate to break this to you, Ms. Jerome—”
“Erin,” she choked out because the captain drawled her surname out in a way that was like nails grating on her nerves.
“But the world you live in, well, only half of what you see is real.” Antonio paced the small confines of his office, looking very much like a caged cat.