The Agent Gets Her Wolves [The Shifters of Catamount, Texas 3] (Siren Publishing Menage Everlasting)

by Josie Hunter

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  She smoothed down her skirt and got her first look at the dead man. She didn’t know him, but he was as unmemorable as a man could get. White male. Medium height. Medium build. Somewhere in his thirties. Brown hair. Light blue eyes, staring straight ahead as though he was still in shock by the outcome of his evening.

  Tyler came up behind her. “You can probably imagine why I called you in, Agent Cooper. See what you make of this. I’ll expect a preliminary report by the end of the day. Fill her in, Charles,” the alpha said, gesturing to the man behind him. “Charles Horton, our medical examiner. If you excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

  As the alpha left the crime scene, the other man, big, somewhat stooped, with a huge nose and a head of fluffy white hair, stepped forward. She didn’t have to get a whiff of him to know what sort of shifter he was. Vultures in a shifter community became medical examiners, pathologists, and morticians. She didn’t want to think of the possible ramifications of that. Horton glanced at his clipboard.

  “The victim’s name is Scott Bennington, an owl-shifter. Age thirty-nine.”

  “Amazing. He doesn’t look that old,” Stephanie murmured.

  Horton ignored her. “Probable cause of death is broken neck.”

  “How perceptive of you,” she murmured.

  She didn’t need Charles Horton to tell her that. She’d seen the blue eyes of course because the face was turned toward the sky. The body, however, was lying on its stomach. Someone pretty strong had killed this man. His head had done a one-eighty.

  “Body was found by a jogger this morning, a woman named Patsy Vickers, around 6:30 a.m.”

  “I know Patsy,” Stephanie said. “She works at the hardware store where I’ve been ordering supplies. She’s so shy and quiet. This must have been so traumatic for her.”

  The man gave her a cursory glance as though he’d forgotten she was even there. The raised brow a moment later seemed to ask why she was getting off track, and his words confirmed it. “Does your little story have a point, Ms. Cooper?”

  “It’s Agent Cooper, Mr. Horton.” His gaze drifted over the curves of her body, highlighted by the tight yellow dress. Damn, it was tough being a bunny-shifter in a vulture-shifter’s world. It was even harder to be a fucking real estate agent apparently.

  “Yes, I realize it’s agent, or you wouldn’t be at my crime scene.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Was there a point to the segue?”

  “No, there was no point. I was trying to empathize with Patsy.”

  “Why would you need to do that? We don’t suspect Ms. Vickers of any foul play.”

  “Of course not. I was merely…Never mind.” These vultures were all business and oh so dense.

  “Based on preliminary findings, I place the time of death a bit after midnight. No visible tracks so we assume the perpetrator kept to the pathway. No weapons of any sort found in the area. No evidence of a struggle beyond the neck trauma and bruises beneath the hair. No visible defensive wounds, and based on a cursory glance, I doubt we’ll see evidence of further physical trauma.”

  “Probably not. The snapped neck seems to have done the trick,” Stephanie said.

  “Is that a joke?” Horton asked.

  “Just an observation.”

  “We’ll know more when we get him on the table. I’m finished with photographs, so you can begin the baseline DNA capture before we move him.”

  “Next of kin?” Stephanie asked.

  “No idea,” Horton said. “I’m not much interested in the before, Agent Cooper. Only the after.”

  “How positively procedural of you, Mr. Horton.”

  “Excuse me?” The man sounded offended. At least he’d gained a bit of perception.

  “Next of kin is his father, Roy Bennington,” Marcus said, stepping forward. “Nice old guy. Robb Jackson is at his house right now. Roy and Scott played a role in helping us find Rosa in New Orleans. Robb wanted to tell Roy personally.”

  “That’s understandable,” Stephanie said.

  “May we finish this briefing?” Horton asked dryly.

  “Seems we have everything we need to know right now, Mr. Horton,” Stephanie said. “I’m just here to oversee the process of gathering evidence, so if you’ll just allow Agent Winston—”

  “My people have already checked for physical evidence, Agent Cooper. There is nothing of any significance.”

  She whirled to find Chief Hennessey behind her. Those stern blue eyes had gotten even sterner, but they dropped to watch as her yellow skirt blurred in his field of vision. Damn.

  “I’ll be the judge of what’s significant,” Stephanie said. “I hope you haven’t contaminated my crime scene.”

  “It’s my crime scene,” Hennessey said. “We know how to conduct an investigation. It’s what we do.”

  “No, it’s what I do,” Stephanie said. “The alpha wouldn’t have called my office otherwise. We’re working on something outside your jurisdiction. Sorry to step on your toes, Chief, but that’s the way it is.”

  Too late she realized what she’d said. The chief glanced down to her polished toenails peeking out from her stylish shoes. She barreled ahead anyway. She didn’t give a crap what he thought of her anymore.

  “Based on preliminary observation, this could possibly be a Homeland Security issue.”

  “Homeland Security?” The chief frowned. “Highly doubtful. What sort of evidence makes it the purview of Homeland? It’s a murder, plain and simple. Probably a lovers’ quarrel.”

  “Most women would use a gun in a crime of passion,” Stephanie said.

  “Um…” The chief rubbed at his ear, clearly uncomfortable, though Stephanie wondered what could possibly do that to him. “I heard…”

  “You heard what?”

  She saw Dylan’s gaze shift behind her right before she heard the voice.

  “Scott was gay.”

  She barely heard the words because the voice sent a delightful, but totally inappropriate, shiver down her spine. She really needed to keep her head in the game. These wolves, both of them, were causing debilitating distractions.

  She whirled around to come face to face with Jake Westin. Though she felt flop-sweat suddenly dotting her forehead and moisture flooding her silk panties, he seemed unaffected. He gave her a professional nod. His eyes narrowed as he focused his attention for a moment on Dylan, who stood behind her, but then his deep blue gaze once again returned to her to caress her skin with a slow-burning heat.

  “I hope you don’t mind…” He gestured to include the entire crime scene. “I knew the victim and thought I could be of some service.”

  “Of course I don’t mind. I’d value your opinions, Jake. Consider yourself on duty.”

  Jake stared for a moment at the dead man on the bench. “No one deserves that,” he murmured.

  “And we’ll catch the perpetrator,” Hennessey said.

  Though she planned to get this chief out of her hair as soon as possible, Stephanie let it slide. “So Scott was gay. If so, then any murder involving a lovers’ quarrel would no doubt be committed by a man. Still, most crimes of passion are committed with guns or knives. Do you know who he was seeing?” She glanced at Jake, but Chief Hennessey jumped in to answer.

  “We have it confirmed he was seeing a Dom at the local bondage club. We have officers questioning him right now.”

  “Chance Delay?” Jake asked. “I don’t think—”

  “Look,” Hennessey said, his eyes hard as he pinned Jake with a glare, “if this is a lovers’ quarrel, it’s outside your jurisdiction, so I don’t need your input.”

  “We’re not interested in a turf war, Chief,” Stephanie said. “I’m willing to give you twenty-four hours to clear any suspect you might have, but we have to rule out personal reasons for this homicide very quickly.” She lifted her chin. “Because it’s not a crime of passion. It’s an assassination.”

  Hennessey threw up his arms. “What sort of hare-brained th
eory is that?”

  “Is that a slam against my shifter, Chief?”

  His forehead scrunched. Then his gaze shot down her body, and he blanched. “What? No,” he said, horrified, backing away. “Of course not. We’re all professionals here. I meant no disrespect, Agent Cooper. I just meant…That theory sounds completely crazy.”

  “Crazy…so it’s a slam against me then? I feel so much better.” She turned to the medical examiner, who was writing diligently, and slowly, on his clipboard. “I’m going to need that autopsy report ASAP, Mr. Horton.”

  Horton’s head snapped up. “I don’t even have him on the table yet, Agent Cooper.” He gave her a rather disapproving look. “If you’d arrived a bit sooner, I’d already have him in the wagon.” He gestured toward the vehicle at the edge of the park.

  “Point taken, Mr. Horton, but let’s not let my tardiness affect the investigation.” She whirled toward Hennessey. “Mr. Westin asked if your suspect’s name is Chance Delay? Is that the name of this Dom?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need him cleared like yesterday,” Stephanie said. “You may conduct your own interview this morning, but I’m sending one of my team out to talk with him later this afternoon. Please call my office with the contact information.”

  “Ms. Cooper,” Hennessey said. Stephanie gave him one of her patented death stares. “Agent Cooper, the man’s neck was broken. If you knew Chance Delay, you’d know he was capable of doing this as easily as you could break a twig.” A corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile.

  “I’m finding nothing funny about any of this situation, Chief.” She lifted her face and stared him down. “And, just so you know, I’m capable of breaking far more than a twig. Don’t make me prove that to you.”

  “Chance Delay is a very big man, a lion-shifter,” Jake said. “But that doesn’t make him a murderer. I know the man well, and he’s actually a very nice guy.”

  “Nice guy? Who the hell cares if he’s a nice guy?” Hennessey said. “They say Ted Bundy was a nice guy, too.”

  The chief just wouldn’t give up. Usually Stephanie admired that in a man, but today it was pissing her off.

  “The man’s a Dom,” the chief said to Jake. “You work at that club. You know what they’re capable of.”

  “You don’t know jack shit about Doms.” Jake growled, stepping into Hennessey’s space. “Or Scott Bennington or Chance Delay. Chance did not do this.”

  Stephanie caught the glint in Jake’s eyes. His wolf seemed very close to the surface. Having an altercation between two wolf-shifters on her first assignment would not look good on her resume, which she’d certainly need if Tyler Lucas found fault with her investigative techniques or liaison capabilities.

  Dylan stepped between them. “Jake, maybe you could help us by talking with a few of the club members, maybe see if anyone noticed any tension between the two men?”

  Jake kept his eyes locked on Hennessey. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “He’s not officially on the team yet,” Stephanie said.

  “Fuck that,” Jake said, his jaw clenched. “Consider my paperwork signed. I’ll come by the office later this afternoon.” He turned and headed toward Main Street.

  Stephanie watched his long strides eat up the grassy distance, but thinking about Dylan. Had Dylan just poached her authority? She shifted her gaze to her newest problem, wondering how to handle this situation. What was it with wolves? If he thought she needed him running interference for her, she needed to set him straight. She was going through possible reprimands in her head for later when she realized he was still talking, still taking charge.

  “We want a report of Delay’s interview as soon as it’s concluded.” He stared at Hennessey until the man nodded grudgingly.

  Her foot began to beat a haphazard rhythm against the gravel walkway. “Agent Winston, could I have a word?” She gestured away from Hennessey.

  “Of course…” His gaze shifted away and then back to her. “Can it wait a few? The tech team is here.”

  Dylan left them, striding toward the edge of the park where yet another vehicle had pulled in, lights flashing. Damn man.

  “Agent Cooper!”

  Stephanie turned to see a short, squat man moving toward them in a fast-paced trot. Following behind him, running as fast as her little legs could carry her, was Dorothy Stanford. The plump woman was squinting, obviously trying very hard to see who comprised the group collected in the park. Stephanie pushed her own glasses up her nose wondering why the woman didn’t have glasses of her own. Warthogs were notoriously nearsighted. Dorothy came to a somewhat breathless stop next to her, giving her a tiny smile.

  “Hello, Stephanie,” Dorothy said. “We’ve never actually met, but Rosa talks about you quite often.”

  “She does?” Stephanie was surprisingly touched to know her friend talked about her.

  “She does.” Dorothy nodded absent-mindedly then her gaze fell on Scott Bennington. “Tragic thing. Tragic thing. His poor father.” She reached out and clutched her husband’s hand.

  The short, squat man gripped his wife’s hand tight and pushed his other tiny hand toward Stephanie. “Agent Cooper, I presume? The alpha said I should talk to you for an update. George Stanford.”

  So this was the mayor of Catamount. He looked as though he couldn’t get elected leader of his own sounder, and yet the people of Catamount had elected him twice. She found out why almost immediately after she’d filled him in as best she could. He sighed.

  “We’ve arranged to pay for all funeral expenses through the town fund. Scott was a computer technician and made decent money, but we want all of his estate to go to Roy free and clear of this terrible madness. Scott took care of Roy financially, so we’ve taken a collection to get Roy through until the life insurance issue is taken care of. We’ll pay his utilities, grocery bills, things of that nature.”

  “That’s all so generous, Mr. Stanford.”

  George smiled and hugged his wife close. “All Dorothy’s idea. She’s a peach, my Dorothy. She was born in Georgia, you know. I always call her my Georgia peach.” He smiled at his wife then turned back to Stephanie, all business. “What can I do to help you, Agent? I’m at your disposal. Anything within my power to give is yours.”

  “Well, Mr. Stanford—”

  “George please. Everyone in town calls me George.”

  “It would be very helpful to have a clear division of jurisdiction here, George. Though this has the earmarks of a murder, I don’t believe it’s quite so simple. I believe what we have here is probably an assassination, though why anyone would target Mr. Bennington is unclear at this time. I need to conduct a full investigation, both of the physical evidence and possible motives, and all of that would be more easily obtained if only one of our teams was in charge.”

  She glanced toward Chief Hennessey, who glared at her and folded his arms over his substantial chest.

  “Joshua? Are you giving this lady a hard time?” George asked, glancing at the police chief over his glasses.

  “George,” Hennessey said, “Scott Bennington was not part of a giant conspiracy. No flippin’ way. This is a crime of passion. Pure and simple.”

  “Why don’t we let Agent Cooper decide that?” the mayor said in a stern voice.

  Hennessey threw his arms up. “Fine.”

  “And for the record,” the mayor continued, “Chance Delay is not a murderer, if that’s what you’re implying. He and Scott had their problems, but they were working them out. You may talk to him, but I don’t want to hear you’re harassing him. Understood?”

  Hennessey nodded with a frown. His angry gaze slid back to Stephanie. “You got your way, Agent Cooper. Call me when you realize you’re wrong. And don’t fuck up my evidence.” He turned and stormed toward his car parked in front of the tech van.

  “Thank you, George,” Stephanie said. “I owe you.”

  “Not to worry, Agent. Though we’d appreciate if we could stand around and watch for a bit.�
��

  “Of course, as long as you stay behind the tape.”

  “Thanks. Dorothy’s never seen a crime scene up close.”

  Dorothy gave him a swat on the arm. “Neither have you, George.”

  George chuckled. “No, can’t say that I have. No disrespect intended for Scott, but it sure is interesting.”

  Dylan was overseeing the scene as several of the technicians began to swab areas of Bennington’s body, including his face and neck, trying to locate any possible source of foreign DNA. As one team member deposited another swab in a bag, Dorothy sniffed and moved forward slightly.

  “Honey, you have to stay back,” George said.

  “I smell something, dear. Something like…smoke.”

  Stephanie glanced around but saw no fire, no one smoking. “I think you must be mistaken, Dorothy.”

  George’s gaze snapped to Stephanie. “If my girl smells something, believe me, it’s here.” He tweaked his wife’s nose. “She’s got a noggin’ on her that could smell a truffle in a trash pit.”

  “Oh, George,” she said with a small giggle. She turned to Stephanie, suddenly very serious. “Can I just go a bit closer?”

  “Okay, but don’t touch anything.”

  Stephanie lifted the yellow tape, and Dorothy duck-walked under it. She sniffed a bit more, moving to the left of the bench. She squinted then leaned down and studied something on the ground.

  Hennessey had said there was no evidence.

  Stephanie started forward just as Dorothy said, “There’s a cigarette butt here. Smashed a bit into the dirt, but I can smell two separate people on it.”

  “You can smell that?” Stephanie asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Like George said, I have a talented nose. It’s in my genes. I’m warthog on both sides of my family. My kids can’t slip anything past me. I can smell them eating cookies from a mile away. I know what they’re eating at school before they get it in their mouths.”