by Sophie Stern
“That’s not your fault, either,” Landon says quickly. “You were in distress. It wasn’t your job to try to comfort the other woman.”
“I know, but it still makes me feel bad.” I shake my head. “I kind of pride myself on being kind and helpful to the people around me, but that was just really hard for me. I couldn’t be there for her.”
“Is that why you’re trying to find out what happened to her?” Oliver asks quietly. “Are you trying to make up for that night?”
“A little.”
A lot.
“I left that night and didn’t look back. Logan called me, came to my apartment, emailed me constantly. I thought about getting a restraining order, but it seemed too extreme.”
“Fucking dragons,” Ronan shakes his head. “Joyce, you’ve worked with countless domestic violence victims.”
“I know,” I tell him. “But it’s different when it’s you, Ronan, and you know it. It’s super easy to tell other people to do these things and take these steps, but when it’s you, it’s different, and you question yourself. Besides, he never laid a hand on me.”
“She’s right,” Landon shakes his head. “It would have been tricky to get a restraining order for a professor who, as far as his social appearance goes, is pretty spotless. He never called her from his own phone after the breakup. That would have made it nearly impossible to determine he was the one harassing her. The police would have been hesitant to issue a restraining order in an instance like that.”
“How do you know that?” I ask. “About the phone calls, I mean.” I knew it, but I hadn’t told anyone.
“You aren’t the only one with secrets, darling,” Landon says, and I wonder how long he’s been keeping an eye on Logan.
“What happened next?” Oliver asks.
“That was it, at least I thought that was it. He kept coming by, and eventually I yelled at him and he stopped. It was all very sudden. I don’t know if he was dating Charlene or not. He told me they were over, but I think we all know that once you’ve gone down the road of lying, it’s a lot easier to stay on that road than to hop off.”
“So he just stopped calling you?”
“Yeah. For a few weeks.”
“And then Charlene disappeared,” Ollie looks thoughtful.
“Did he contact you after that?” Landon asks.
“No,” I say. I’m certain of it. I was very wary after I discovered Charlene was missing because I was so worried he was involved. I was so worried that Logan had taken her.
“What about weird messages or phone calls that weren’t from him?” Ronan asks. “Did anyone call you and hang up? Any random wrong numbers? Weird voice mails?”
“Come to think of it,” I say, and then I stop speaking because I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. “I got a bunch of wrong number calls that week. I assumed people were calling because of the case and wanted to pester the old girlfriend of the criminal, but I don’t know that our relationship was ever publicized.”
“Fuck,” Oliver says. “It could have been him calling to check up on you.”
“Wouldn’t he have wanted to gloat, though? Why would he call me and not say anything? In the past, he always had a very clear message for me.”
“Maybe he wanted to make sure you were sticking around,” Ronan says. “If you’re right, Joyce, and he wants you instead of Charlene, then he would have called to keep tabs on you. He probably watches you, too.”
“But why take Charlene and not Joyce? It’s been awhile. Why would he wait to make his move?” Landon asks.
“Because as soon as he took Charlene, I moved in with you guys,” I tell him. I’ve spent hours thinking about this and coming up with different theories. “I moved in with you, and this house is impenetrable. My old apartment would have made me easy to snatch up, but this place? There’s no way he’s getting in here.”
“So he’s probably watching,” Oliver says.
“And waiting,” Landon adds.
“He’s hunting,” I whisper. “And I’m next, you guys.”
Chapter 4
Wyatt
The Law Offices of Casa, Fee, and Lyon are located in a large Victorian mansion. It’s positively huge, and I wonder why the hell these clowns need so much space. Their legal office is basically a palace and it’s very different from my own small, humble home.
Maybe it’s because I’m a bear, but I prefer living in small, quiet spaces. The huge houses I see other shifters in don’t make me feel jealous or excited. They make me feel almost overwhelmed. Visiting places like this doesn’t bother me – I’m a cop, after all – but I wouldn’t want to live in a giant house.
No, I like my small apartment just fine, and when I find my mate, we’ll likely live in a small, quiet place together.
A loud mansion?
No thanks.
I make my way up the front porch and knock on the door. I can hear low voices inside thanks to my shifter super-hearing. It’s one of those perks of shifter life. Although many of my human counterparts are fantastic police officers, many of them don’t realize just how much they’re missing when it comes to crime scenes and their sense of smell.
Being able to smell things like blood, like sweat, like arousal…these are things that can cut an investigation’s length in half.
They’re also the things that make shifters in the police force feel like complete freaks, but there’s no time for self-wallowing today. No, today isn’t about how I don’t feel accepted by my peers. It’s not about the struggle I’ve faced trying to claw my way up from nothing. Nope. Today isn’t about any of that.
Today is about justice for Charlene Hill.
It’s also about covering my ass.
When we first found out about Charlene Hill and Logan Smith, there was a night where I just couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t take one more second of the frustration, of the dead ends. I should have just gone home, but I didn’t. I went to the Red Oak and I drowned my sorrows in several glasses of whiskey and the company of a beautiful blonde woman.
She was a shifter, like me, and she smelled like perfection.
Heaven, really.
I’ve never felt like that before. I’ve never felt such comfort or compassion or contentedness. When we were wrapped around each other, the woman and I were locked in our own little world. For just a little wdesihile, I didn’t have to be the bear cop. I didn’t have to be the shifter sergeant. I didn’t have to be the leader, the fighter, the seeker. I didn’t have to be anything but me, for just one night, and it felt incredible.
It felt amazing.
And then it was over.
We didn’t sleep together. We didn’t even exchange names. We just got to talking at the sports bar, and then suddenly, we weren’t talking anymore.
She was beautiful, and she was perfect.
Apparently, she was also the primary suspect’s former girlfriend, and I had no idea. I had no idea that the woman I was kissing that night was Joyce Lawson. I didn’t know she was the woman Logan Smith dated before Charlene Hill, didn’t realize she was involved in the case.
If I had known, I would have stayed away from her obviously, but how was I supposed to figure this one out?
A random woman makes out with me, and I’m supposed to know it’s someone involved in the case?
When Marie Martin marched into my office, she had proof I’d made out with Joyce Lawson. Martin threw around a bunch of random, ridiculous reporter phrases designed to freak me out. I don’t really care about any of that. She can run her story or not. It makes no difference to me. The only problem is that from the times I’ve spoken to Joyce on the phone, she’s seemed like a really sweet lady, and I don’t want to cause problems for her.
Still, standing in front of the home of the woman I fooled around with at a sports bar weeks ago is more than a little bit awkward.
It’s a little bit strange, a little bit forced, and I’m wondering what I can expect when the door opens up.
Is
she going to be mad?
Upset?
Clueless?
Will she even remember me?
Throughout the entire investigation, Joyce and I have only spoken on the phone. There’s always been something that’s come up that has prevented me from interviewing her personally, but I didn’t really think anything of it until now.
The door swings open, but it’s not Joyce who’s standing there. It’s a tall, lanky kid with a mop of dark brown hair.
“Welcome to the Law Offices of Casa, Fee, and Lyon,” the man says.
“Casa Feline,” I realize. “Cute.”
The man smiles. “How can I help you, sir?”
I flash my badge, but his smile doesn’t fade. He’s a brave one, I suppose, but something tells me this isn’t one of the attorneys whose names are on the side of the building. No, this is a new guy, a kid, and it’s probably his second day working here.
“I’m here to speak with Joyce Lawson,” I say. “Is she available?” An expression of confusion crosses the kid’s face, and I roll my eyes. Is he an attorney? A paralegal? I don’t know, but he needs to work on his poker face if he’s going to be here for any length of time. The right bad guy with the right words could seriously freak this kid out. I’m going to have to talk with Joyce about getting someone better on door duty.
“Um, yeah,” the guy says. He steps aside. “Please, come in.”
I step into the Victorian. The interior is just as beautiful as the exterior of the house.
“Nice place,” I comment, glancing around. At first glance, I’d say the law office exists entirely on the first floor. There’s a staircase leading upstairs, but it’s blocked off with a chain and a sign warning visitors not to enter. “What’s upstairs?”
“That’s where the lawyers live,” the man says, heading down the hall, but he seems to realize his blunder as soon as he’s spoken. Whether he’s an attorney or just an employee, he should know not to give out any unnecessary information to a new player. He stops and looks at me, and his face is white.
“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him. I feel bad for the guy. He’s obviously ridiculously new. “I won’t say a word.”
“Thanks,” he says, and turns back around. I see him shaking his head, though, and I know he must feel bad about this. He leads me to an office at the end of the hall and knocks.
“Come in,” a voice calls out, and he pushes the door open. As soon as the people inside see me, they all jump to their feet.
“Officer,” one man says, striding toward me. He shakes my hand. “Ronan Casa. How can I help you today?”
“Wyatt Dixon.” I look past him and smile when I see the blushing blonde standing toward the back of the room. Oh yes, she remembers me. I wondered if she would, but the look on Joyce Lawson’s face lets me know that she remembers exactly who I am. “And I’m actually here to speak with Miss Lawson.”
“Regarding what?” Ronan’s demeanor instantly cools. The other lawyers in the room don’t introduce themselves, but they don’t have to. I know exactly who they are.
Landon Fee: the bear shifter lawyer who saved his now-mate from a terrible, near-death experience. It was a big domestic violence case a year or so ago. He’s big: possibly even bigger than me.
Then there’s Oliver Lyon. The man’s a legend. I’ve heard many stories of the people he’s represented, but the thing that stands out the most is that Oliver Lyon cares about getting to the bottom of things. The man cares about the truth. He’s a bit quiet, from what I’ve been told, but he knows the law inside and out.
“Regarding the fact that we have a pre-existing personal relationship,” I say coolly, and immediately, all eyes are on Joyce. She’s blushing fervently, so I know this isn’t a surprise to her. She remembers me, and she knew I was on the case. Is this why she hasn’t met with me in person?
I didn’t think there was anything particularly strange about having her interviews conducted by other people on my team. It’s fairly common for a preliminary interview to be conducted by another shifter on the squad. Still, I can’t help but wonder if she realized we had a connection before and if she purposely avoided seeing me because of it.
“Joyce?” Oliver asks, and she rolls her eyes.
“Oh, all right,” she says, looking at me. “Yes, Sergeant Dixon and I had a…a…”
She’s searching for the right word, and I’m happy to supply it.
“Fling,” I say.
“Not a fling!” She squeaks out.
“I call it a fling.”
“I wouldn’t call it that,” she says.
“I don’t care what you call it,” Oliver says. “I want to know why we’re just now hearing about this. Joyce, if you had a relationship with the lead investigator on a case which you’re also involved in, you should have disclosed this.”
“I know,” she says.
“That’s true,” New Guy pipes up, and suddenly, everyone seems to notice him for the first time.
“Really, Matthew?” Landon glares at him, and New Guy seems chastised. “Maybe you should review the office policies for letting in police officers who don’t have warrants.”
“I just-”
“Seriously, Matthew,” Ronan agrees. “We are going to have to have a talk about this. Not now. Later.” He makes a shooing motion, and Matthew leaves. Once he’s out of the room, I turn back to the men.
“A bit harsh, don’t you think? What is it, his second day?”
“He’s a law student,” Oliver says. “And he needs to learn to follow office policies or he’s never going to make it as an attorney.”
“It might seem rough,” Landon says. “But Matthew has a long way to go before he’s ready to work in a legal office on a professional level. He’s still in law school, so we’re cutting him some slack, but I’m not sure how much longer he’s going to last here.”
“Well damn,” I say. “Please, don’t hold back. Tell us what you really think.”
The men exchange glances, and then Joyce speaks up.
“I’d like to talk with Sergeant Dixon alone,” she says.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ronan begins, but Joyce shoots him a steely glance and he leaves silently. The other two men follow him out of the office without saying a word, and I’m so shocked that I, too, stay quiet.
How the hell did she manage that?
I get the feeling that Joyce is an integral part of running their legal office, but I’m shocked she was able to get the men to follow her so instantaneously. All it took was the right words and the right look, and they left.
And now I’m alone with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.
Apparently, I didn’t think this meeting through.
There’s a reason I didn’t sleep with Joyce Lawson that night, and it has everything to do with how beautiful she is. Something told me that if I got her in my bed, I’d never let her go. Something told me that if I managed to undress her, to lose myself in her, that I might never be the same.
I wasn’t ready for that.
I still don’t know if I’m ready.
She’s looking at me like she is, though. Her eyes are on me, and I don’t know if I’m worthy of her. She’s beautiful and sweet, strong and smart. She’s an incredible woman, inside and out, but I’m not here to date her or mate her.
I’m here to ask her why she hid this from me.
When I came over, I wasn’t sure if Joyce realized who I was, but now I know. She discovered this – probably from her own sleuthing – and she stayed away. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe she didn’t want to jeopardize the investigation or perhaps she just didn’t want to see me again, but I’m sure she had a reason.
“You knew it was me,” I say finally.
She nods.
“You stayed away because you knew we’d been together.”
Again, she nods.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
She could have told me and the case would have been rea
ssigned. There’s no way I would have been able to continue investigating. Not after making out with the key suspect’s ex-lover. I get a lot of leeway with how I run the shifter squad, but some things are out of my control.
This is one of those things.
“I didn’t want you off the case,” she says.
“Why not? There are plenty of good officers who could have taken over. Any of them would have been happy to step up.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then help me understand, Miss Lawson.”
“Please,” she whispers. “Joyce.”
“Joyce,” I say, lowering my voice. I don’t know why I’m whispering. The other shifters are eavesdropping or not. I have no way of knowing. Somehow, though, lowering my voice in this moment seems appropriate. This is the type of moment that shouldn’t be too loud.
Joyce and I are engaging in some sort of dance, and I don’t know what’s going to happen.
“He can’t get away with this,” she says.
“I wasn’t planning on letting him.”
“You’re the only one with the drive to keep searching for him,” Joyce says. “I’ve worked here a long time, Sergeant Dixon. I know how the police operate. You might think the shifter squad is different, but it’s not. Eventually, a case goes cold, and you’re forced to move on. That would have happened after a week or two if it wasn’t for you.”
“Joyce, I’m going to catch him. He’ll make a mistake someday. It could be today or tomorrow or a month from now, but I’ll catch him.”
“Only you,” she repeats. “Anyone else would have given up by now.”
“It’s not your call to make, love,” I whisper. “You should have come forward and confessed to our relationship.”
“No,” she shakes her head. “I shouldn’t have.”
I sigh and run my hand through my hair. This is so not going the way I thought it would. I thought Joyce would be surprised to see me. Actually, I thought she might not even remember me, but apparently that night meant as much to her as it did to me, and I can’t quite stop thinking about what what-ifs.