Shifters: A Samantha Reece Mystery Book 1

by Jaime Johnesee

  People with a fever can have a hard time distinguishing right from wrong. I know there have been times when the virus burns inside me that I'm not exactly aware of my actions. Like those days I wake up with bunny fur plastered to the inside of my mouth.

  While I don't normally chase, kill, and consume the little guys, my jaguar can't seem to resist. Luckily, my property came full of wild bunnies. They found a way through the wall; I think they burrowed under it. I don't eat many, anyway; I tend not to consume more than two a month, except during periods of high stress.

  Considering I find nests of dozens in my backyard, I figure these are fairly decent odds. I'm sure there are some who would condemn me for my bunny biting, but I assure you I only do it when the virus is raging and my jaguar gets more control of me than I do. I have to let her out to play sometimes, especially since rabbit tastes so yummy. She just gets so tired of being caged in my head.

  It sounds funny, but the truth is that's what is happening. I had a psych evaluation done after that first shift. I could hear what my jaguar was thinking. I was sure I was going mad, but, as I said, having a spirit animal is part of the whole transition. I was found to be sane and was told to try and hang out with other shifters.

  They'd given me the number for a support group when they told me I was a were and it was at this point that I used it. Knowing there were other people going through this, other shifters with these roiling feelings of terror and embarrassment, somehow made me feel less of a freak.

  It helped being around the others. It helped hearing their stories and knowing that I wasn’t alone. What I'd really needed at the time was my sire. I'd heard all these stories where the new shifter had someone to guide them through the process and how helpful that was for them. I'd had no such help and a small part of me felt bitter for it, as if I resented all those people for being able to have help through the transition because I had to do it all by myself.

  I was alone that first shift. Terrified and lost, I had nobody to tell me that it was going to be okay or to calm down. I'd been stuck in my apartment and had been feeling trapped and scared. I took it all out on my couch and throw pillows. I tore them the hell up. I also got stuck in a damned tree and had to wait for the virus to burn off before I could climb down. I don’t recommend naked tree climbing, splinters for days.

  If I'd had someone with me they might have warned me about that. I'd gone through my whole life alone. I'd not been used to any manner of support so it wasn't too big of a stretch for me not to have anyone as a shifter, either. I’m just sayin’, when the decision to make me a shifter wasn't even mine, a little support would have been nice.

  I understand the guy's dad died and that was pretty awful. It explains why he wasn't there for me in the beginning, but why didn't he approach me afterwards? I know he said he came back and saw me happy so he left, but I feel like that's a bit of a copout. Or maybe I just felt like he deserved a hard time for everything he put me through.

  As I sat in my car I thought about Ben and the things he'd told me. I replayed our conversations back through my mind and found nothing that I said which I would change. I’d been honest with him and told him exactly how I saw things.

  I felt like he’d been honest with me, too, at least for the most part, and I get that he didn't see his act of infecting me the way I did. Once he understood exactly what it felt like for me, he’d been very apologetic and even looked stricken by his actions. Did that make him an okay human being or more of a prick for not thinking of it earlier? I wasn't certain. I did know that I needed to speak with him some more. It'd be nice to know who sired him and how his transition was. I'm guessing it went okay for him to be so enamored of the were life.

  He loved his jaguar and he loved being who he was. In his mind he'd given me a gift. I was glad he understood I didn't see it as such. Even though I did have to admit that becoming a shifter had changed my life for the better. I had Quinn, Kelly, and Angelique in my life. I had, as annoying as he could be, Chad. I had created a whole support network that I didn't have when I was a human.

  I was happier now than I had ever been, but still! That didn't give him the right to bite me. Although the bite wasn't exactly an attack. Ugh. Why was I even going through this in my mind? It doesn't matter what he did, or didn't do, or even why. What matters is that I was able to tell him how I saw his little gift and that he understood my point of view.

  I had no clue what I was doing, but it's not as if there's some manual or rule book explaining what this process should be like. I don't just mean shifting here, I mean life in general. There is no guidebook, nobody to tell us what the best way for us to go is. It's something we have to figure out on our own.

  How weird was it that he was a witness to the murderer that I've been trying to nail? What's weirder is that the agent that was supposed to come by still hadn't shown up. I looked around and saw the clock on the little tower at the head of his condo complex. I realized that I'd been sitting here in my car for about fifteen minutes.

  I just picked up my phone to dial Gerry when I saw Sheila's car pull in and I watched her get out and walk to his door. She looked around the lot for me and waved. I blinked the lights on my car and started up my baby.

  I'd planned on going home, but, instead, decided I was going for a drive. I love my car and driving it made me feel as close to running free as I could when in human form. The throaty growl of the fully restored 426 Hemi made my heart soar.

  She'd been a wreck when I found her. I bought her for five grand from a guy up in North Carolina that really had no clue what he had. Sad for him, but it was one of the happiest days of my life. She was beat to shit, with huge dents and scratches, that were more akin to gouges, all over her faded gray body.

  The engine had seized and died a warrior's death; every single one of the eight cylinders was stuck fast and determined never to move again. When Quinn, Chad, and I got her apart, we could tell that she'd been repeatedly run dry of oil. Poor old girl. It took us twenty-three months of evenings and weekends, but slowly we rebuilt my baby into the most beautiful 1971 Challenger R/T that had ever purred. She was even more breathtaking than Kowalski's gorgeous 1970 gal in Vanishing Point.

  I opted for a midnight blue paint that was very nearly black. I know it isn’t an original color, but I figured I might as well make her mine. The old rotted interior had been exchanged for newly tooled white leather with custom midnight blue piping.

  Other than the non-standard colors, everything looked as it had originally. I'd had all of her chrome parts redone and they just about sparkled in the setting of the dark blue paint. I made sure we put three coats of clear coat on to keep her shiny no matter how dark it got outside.

  When things get rough for me, I get in my car and drive. The rumble of the engine and the rush of the wind through the windows, coupled with some classic rock in the background, helps to clear my head and makes me feel alive again. There was nothing that felt too horrible to deal with when I was behind the wheel; she was my sanctuary.

  I'm sure it sounds goofy to anyone who doesn't have a love of classic cars, but it's the honest truth. That car keeps me sane and reminds me to keep going no matter how bad life gets. It prompts me to remember that you can pick yourself off the junkyard floor and make something of yourself.

  Life sure doesn't owe us any favors, but sometimes it gives them to us, anyway. After all the work I’d put in to my baby she was worth almost sixty thousand dollars. See, what the kid selling it didn't bother to realize was that all the VIN numbers were original and matching. This car was aces; she just needed some love and a lot of work, I felt that way about myself sometimes.

  As I hit the highway I turned up the radio and began singing along with CCR's Fortunate Son. It was one of my favorite songs and reminded me of a dear friend of mine from my teenage years. Driving along, belting out my favorite classic rock and blues songs made me happy, for a few moments, anyway.

  As I slowed on the exit to I-280, I found mysel
f conflicted with what had been going on in my life. I love being a jaguar, but I don't think it's a life I would ever have chosen, if not for him, my sire.

  I pulled up to a stoplight and a redneck in the truck next to me shouted down some nonsense about my car being too much for a little girl like me to handle. When the light turned green I enjoyed leaving him behind. As I drove I thought of Ben and Grisly. Why was it these two shifters were causing me so many headaches?

  If Ben had truly seen Grisly he might be in danger. Well, more danger than Sheila hitting on him, which was sure to happen, anyway. Sheila was what one might call overly friendly with guys and— Okay, so the truth is that this chick has been in more beds than every member of The Rolling Stones combined.

  I considered turning back, but he was in good hands with Sheila. She wouldn't let anything happen to him. Also, she'd probably scare him enough that he'd be extra chatty when Quinn and I questioned him in the morning. That thought shone through all the others. I love questioning suspects and witnesses with Q. He makes it fun.

  As I pulled in my driveway the phone rang. It was Ben.

  "Hey, um, Sam. I just want to thank you for making sure I’m safe. You know, you can send Agent Stork home. I'll be okay." I grinned at the uncomfortable tone to his voice. Let him suffer.

  "Oh, I can't do that, Ben, you witnessed a serial murderer leaving the scene of the crime. If he finds out, he'll probably kill you. No, I'm afraid Sheila, er, Agent Stork, will have to stay there until my partner and I can take you into the office in the morning for questioning."

  "You can take me in tonight, you know."

  "Nope, I'm afraid my partner and I are off duty now. Hey, we will see you in the morning. Have fun with Sheila." I tried, and succeeded in, not laughing out loud. Points for me.

  "Aw, Sam, come on."

  "Sucks when things you don't ask for are thrust upon you, doesn't it?"

  "Touché. See you tomorrow, Reece.” His voice was tight, almost pitiful sounding.

  "Goodnight, Ben." I hung up the phone and got out of my car, still unsure how to feel about my maker. As I fumbled with my keys I debated his good and bad qualities.

  There was something about him, sure. It was probably more about sire bond than anything of substance. It's just that when I was near him I felt whole. I felt like this loneliness I've lived with my entire life was gone. Like there is a hole in my soul that is only filled when I'm near him.

  It sounds stupid and overly romantic when I say it out loud and I flushed red with embarrassment before I finally opened my front door and walked inside. I caught the faint scent of shifter as I walked through the door and turned around. A large grizzly bear was across the street staring at me intently. I tried to pull in its scent, but he, or she, was too far away. All I could catch was the faint tang of shifter.

  As I watched—fully prepared to step inside and slam, and lock the door, if need be—the bear turned and sauntered away. I wondered if I had just met a neighbor or if there was something more to the bear's visit. Being on the edge of town I assumed that perhaps it was a shifter that needed to run and they'd somehow wandered into my neighborhood by mistake. Perhaps they were drawn by my scent. To be safe, I shut and locked the front door behind me and checked out my house with my gun drawn.

  Nothing was missing and the only smells in the house had been there when I left. I had a difficult time sleeping that night. Not that it’s anything new; I've always had a hard time sleeping. My shrink says it's because nighttime was the worst time for me as a child and I learned early that real monsters wore human faces.

  I always thought it was because I loved the beauty and stillness of the night. Then again, I didn't get a degree in psychology or psychiatry, so I'm most likely wrong about it. Every time I fell asleep I saw that bear in my dreams. It was standing around the 7-11 while I got a Slurpee, and it was hanging out at the Publix while I shopped for groceries, and when I got a call about another body, the bear was there in the background with other bystanders. I tossed and turned and dreamt of that damn shifter all night long.

  The next morning I woke up so exhausted that I felt as if I hadn't slept at all. I turned off the alarm clock and dragged my butt out of bed and into the shower. I went for slightly cool in order to wake up faster, but all that wound up doing was making me cold and tired.

  If I wasn't in the middle of an active investigation I would have called in sick and taken my cold whiny self back to bed. Then I remembered I had to grill Ben today about what he'd seen and suddenly I was wide awake and raring to go. If Ben had seen Grisly it would be our first major break in the case, aside from the priest.

  The priest had been helpful, but he hadn't fully seen Grisly Adams. The vague sketch produced by the artist wasn’t detailed enough to help us catch Grisly, but it would help cement his fate in court.

  All I wanted to do was stop the guy who had been slaughtering lycans as if he was nothing more than a freaking fancy blender on some infomercial. I got dressed and found myself trying on several different suits in a fog. After yelling at myself to just pick something, I decided to go with a light grey silk suit that brought out the blue in my eyes and made my black hair stand out.

  I mentally kicked myself for losing track of time and my surroundings while dressing; it wasn’t like me and I blamed the lack of sleep. I grabbed my gun, slipped it into my holster, then strapped my backup around my right ankle. I was walking out the door with a bagel in hand when my phone rang.

  It was Quinn asking to meet at Ben's place.

  We decided we'd start by questioning him there and move to the office if we needed to. Once we had everything in place, I hung up, began scarfing my bagel with cream cheese, and slid into my car. Turning the key and firing all eight of her gorgeous cylinders to life always made me grin like a loon. There was something about the rumble of her engine that could make even the worst day a little brighter.

  Chapter 8

  I PULLED INTO BEN’S LOT and noticed Sheila's car was gone and Quinn's was there. I took a deep breath to steady myself and walked up to the door. I said some nasty things the last time I'd been here. The guilt I was feeling today didn't make them any less true, but it did make me feel a tad more uncomfortable. I raised my hand to knock and the door opened before I could. I stood face to face with Ben, who was grinning at me.

  "Hi." I figured starting small was the way to go. I could build on a hi.

  "I could tell you were here," Ben whispered to me.

  "What? How?" I was taken a bit aback.

  "I don't know. I just all of the sudden felt right and somehow I knew you were close." He shrugged and stepped back to allow me in.

  I ignored what he said and moved into the foyer. I noticed the space for the first time; I’d been too angry to take it in last night. He'd decorated it with a vaguely beachy theme and he'd done a good job of it. The paintings on the walls were of turquoise oceans, sand, blue skies, and beaches. There was a huge conch shell and a model sailboat in the niches on either side of the living room opening.

  It was very tastefully done until you got to the table in the hallway. On it sat a hula dancer lamp, her hips gyrated while the light was on. There was a plate for keys with a painting of a nude mermaid on it situated on the table under the lamp.

  Typical bachelor crap.

  "Is Quinn here?"

  "Yes, Agent O'Reilly is in the living room." He pointed the way.

  He seemed uncomfortable that I hadn't responded to his confession of being able to sense my presence by feeling right. Honestly, though, how does one respond to something like that? Oh, I, too, feel whole and right whenever you're nearby? That's what he wanted me to say and, to be honest, that is how I was feeling, but I am not some goofy schoolgirl.

  I know that us feeling this way is probably more than likely due to an unknown sire bond. Soulmates aren't real. They are something authors and Hollywood studios cook up to sell books and movies. My jaguar snorted as if she were laughing at me; she really liked hi
m, regardless of how I felt. I mentally flipped her off and followed Ben into the living room.

  He'd gone for a more minimalist approach in there and it was furnished with a couple brown leather recliners, a brown leather couch, and some beat to hell wooden end tables. All of this faced a fireplace ringed in grey granite tiles and topped with the biggest TV I had seen outside of a mansion. There were magazines scattered across the scarred wooden coffee table and some mismatched coasters that looked a lot cleaner and less used than the tables on which they sat.

  "I'm going to grab a cup of coffee. Anyone want some?" Ben asked.

  Quinn and I both shook our heads and thanked him for offering. After he left the room I walked over to the couch to sit by Q.

  "Hey, Sam," Quinn said before leaning over and whispering in my ear as I sat next to him on the couch, "You okay doing this?"

  "Yeah, I'll be fine. I spoke with him a little last night. I think we need to talk some more, but I get the feeling he's not a bad guy. I think he just made some seriously crummy decisions."

  "I hope so. I mean he seems like a decent enough guy. A little cocky, but not evil."

  "Yeah, the cocky comes from being a cat, methinks." I shrugged and he chuckled.

  "Point taken. I guess since I've been able to put up with you all this time he should be a breeze."

  "Ha, ha, very funny." I stuck my tongue out at Quinn just as Ben entered the room. His eyes dropped to my mouth and I pulled my tongue back in. The heat in his eyes made me blush and that deeply annoyed me. I really needed to find a way to break this sire bond. So far I hadn’t even been able to find any information about it at all.

  "Ahem," Quinn said. "Are you ready to go over what you saw that night with us? We have the prelim report that the officer took, and I know Sheila asked a few more questions last night, but maybe we can help you remember some more."

  "Yeah, sure, sounds good." Ben didn't take his eyes off me and I felt my jaguar mew under his scrutiny. Stupid cat.