by Vella Day
Blair rounded the corner to head into her office when she spotted someone different at the receptionist desk. Worry grabbed at her. Their usual receptionist, Eve, was never out sick.
The young woman with the short red hair and thick black glasses glanced up. “Hi. May I help you?”
“I’m Blair Murdoch, and I work here.” The uniform should have told her that. “What happened to Eve?”
“She’s ill. I’m from a temp agency, so I don’t know much more than that.”
That made sense. “Thanks.”
The woman held out her hand. “I’m Cynthia, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you, Cynthia,” Blair replied, but she didn’t have time to chat. Usually she did, but this woman had a strange vibe about her, or else Blair was just antsy about everyone—man or woman. “I hope you have a nice day.”
A flash of something Blair couldn’t identify skated across the girl’s face. Not needing to deal with any more drama, Blair headed into the break room to grab some coffee. Ainsley was there, pouring some for herself.
Her friend looked up and smiled. “Hey.” She set down her cup and hugged Blair. “How are you doing?”
“As good as can be expected.”
“Any news?” Ainsley asked.
“No.” She’d called her good friend and told her about the hypnosis session. “I’m just happy to be back at work. As nice as the safe room is, it’s confining.”
“I hear you.”
“Do you know what happened to Eve?” Blair asked.
“I just called her. She said it was the strangest thing. Last night she’d finished dinner when all of a sudden she could barely stand up.”
“Oh my goodness. I hope she’s okay. Has she seen a doctor?”
“No, but she will if the symptoms don’t subside by tonight.”
“I wonder if Ronan will let me visit her.”
Ainsley shook her head. “Jackson would say no.”
“Ugh. As much as I love my brothers, having him, Ronan, and Kalan all tell me what to do is wearing thin.”
Ainsley rubbed her arm. “You know it’s for your own good and just for a short time.”
“Let’s hope.”
Ainsley and Blair stepped back over to the coffee machine. While Ainsley added some cream to her drink, Blair poured herself a cup.
“Speaking of Ronan, how is that going?”
No one else was in the room. Blair sighed. “I’m so confused.”
“About what, hon?”
“It’s stupid really. I’m in the middle of a crisis, yet something inside of me is so unsettled.”
“Unsettled how?”
“Whenever I see Ronan, I keep wondering if maybe he is my mate.”
Sheer joy lit up Ainsley’s face and her eyes grew wide. “Did your bear come out of hiding?”
“Don’t I wish? That’s the problem. My body reacts to him like nothing I’ve ever experienced, but my bear is still silent. Most likely, it’s all this stress that has thrown my body off kilter.”
“Oh, hon. Maybe not. This could be it. You know what they say? Your mate comes along when you least expect it.”
“You made that up.”
“Maybe, but it happened to me and to Lexi.”
“But what if he turns out to be another Jared? Without my bear to guide me, I think I should forget about Ronan and keep my distance.”
Ainsley cocked her head, “No way. I know both men. They are nothing alike. Even though Ronan is Lexi’s brother, Jackson still did a background check on him.”
“Doesn’t mean he isn’t married. I’ve never asked him.”
“Seriously? Do you really think a man like Ronan, one who has been on the go for the last fifteen years, would have a wife?”
“No.” For a split second, she wondered if that was why he’d taken the job here—to be near her—his mate. He’d know for sure if they were destined for each other. His wolf wasn’t in hibernation.
“There you go. I know how hard it was when you found out about Jared, but now’s the time to put that behind you.”
“I’d like to.”
One of the other workers entered the room, dousing their conversation. “We’ll talk later,” Blair said.
“Where’s Ronan right now?” Ainsley asked.
“He’s in the waiting room. I think if I had allowed him, he’d be in the examination room with me and my patients.”
Ainsley smiled. “He sounds like Jackson.”
Yes, she had always been surrounded by overbearing, protective alpha males, except there was something about Ronan that made her feel that this was more than him just doing a job.
*
It was close to lunch, and Ronan was going stir crazy. It wasn’t the wait that was getting to him—hell, he’d spent much of his life on stakeout—it was Blair’s scent that had his wolf wanting to claw his way out to be close to her. Ronan had to adjust himself whenever she was near. Christ, he hoped she hadn’t seen him or else Blair would think he was constantly playing with himself. Geezus, he needed to rein in that damn wolf of his.
Sure, he’d said he could control the colorful images, but not when it came to her. Blair’s scent was too powerful, too addicting, too sensual.
Thankfully, this morning hadn’t been a total loss. He’d enjoyed watching the patients come in, many with obvious physical issues. When they left, some seemed to have found relief. He liked that. So far, none of the patients had been shifters, convincing him that the killer hadn’t found Blair yet.
His cell rang, and Ronan literally jumped. What was up with that? He never let his mental wanderings interfere with his awareness of his surroundings. “Laramie.”
“Ronan, it’s Kalan. I have the autopsy report for Timothy Delahart.”
Conflicting emotions assaulted him. He wanted to learn the man had suffered greatly, but at the same time he feared the autopsy would somehow implicate Blair. “What did you find?”
“The human doctor said cause of death was loss of blood from the bullet near the throat. The thing is the bullet didn’t hit anything vital—at least nothing vital for a shifter.”
“That makes no sense. How do you think he really died?”
“That’s what I need to investigate,” Kalan said. “There were no claw marks and no evidence of any kind of drugs in his system. His fingers were another matter. They were dusted with what might be cocaine or heroin. He might have been testing the drugs to buy them.”
“If we can be sure, it might help narrow down the suspect pool.”
“You’re right, but I’m more hung up on why he died. Have you ever heard of a wolf not being able to heal himself with only a small bullet hole near his throat, especially if no arteries were nicked?”
Because there was no background noise, Ronan figured he was in some kind of soundproof room. No one was within earshot of him either, so Ronan felt comfortable telling him what was on his mind. “It’s possible the same witch who stole Blair’s memory did something to Delahart.” Ronan’s mind spun. Sam had claimed the only person capable of erasing a memory would be godlike. He shuddered to think that might be true.
“Did what?” Kalan asked, curiosity filling his voice.
“Maybe he put Delahart into some kind of suspended animation whereby he couldn’t heal himself.”
“That’s a thought, but you know I can’t put that in my report. Fuck, but this is not going to be a straightforward case. I do hate the ones that involve shifters. I have to be so creative.”
“Tell me about it. Did the report say anything else?”
“Yes, they found a woman’s light auburn hair with gold highlights on the hem of Delahart’s shirt.”
Ronan saw a sea of colors—mostly red—and all belonged to him. “We both know Blair was at the crime scene.”
“The lab techs are asking for a DNA sample from her.”
Fuck. “That will upset her something fierce,” Ronan said, though he was sure Kalan was well aware of that.
&nb
sp; “I know. Here’s the really bad news,” Kalan said.
“As if the hair isn’t enough?” Ronan’s nails sharpened, readying for a fight. “What is it?”
“Delahart was shot from four feet away.”
It took a moment for the ramification to sink in. “Meaning there wouldn’t have been a struggle between Blair and Delahart in which the gun went off.”
“Precisely.”
“What are you thinking really went down?” Ronan asked.
“Hell if I know. Nothing is making sense. If Blair weren’t my sister, I’d be convinced she killed him. Good thing she doesn’t have a motive.”
When he worked a case, he’d take any clue, even if it didn’t pan out. “Your sister thinks she remembers something.”
“What is it?” Kalan asked excitedly.
“She vaguely remembers a man and a woman arguing.” Ronan didn’t state his opinion for fear of coloring Kalan’s.
“Blair thinks a woman killed Delahart? For real?”
Damn. So it was as preposterous as it sounded. “Yes.”
“I’ll make note of it, but we both know that memories can be deceiving. She might have been thinking of something else.”
“True. If Blair tried to help the man, the blood on her shirt makes sense. What I can’t figure out is how she got GSR on her hands.”
“There’s only one explanation. She was framed.”
Relief washed away some of his doubt. “I agree.”
“I’m thinking the killer would know that by erasing her memory, Blair wouldn’t be able to identify him, so he might as well use her as the fall guy by sticking a gun in her hand and firing a shot to misdirect us.”
Ronan had considered that possibility too—but only for a moment. “Here’s the hole in that theory: most spells wear off with time. Blair is already remembering some things. Why chance it?”
“Then maybe it wasn’t a spell.”
Ronan struggled to understand what else it could be. “Spells. Curses. Aren’t they all the same thing, unless the curse is designed to be unbreakable?” Not that he knew anything about those kinds of things.
“Maybe, but that leads me to wonder who is capable of doing such a thing?” Kalan asked.
Only one option shot to his mind. “Someone from a different realm.”
*
By the time lunch rolled around, Blair was ready to leave work. All of her patients today had been humans, and even though she had no cause to worry, edginess had worked its way into her psyche.
Relax. I’m safe. Ronan is here to protect me.
After she washed her hands and picked up her purse, she stepped out of her room. As she passed the receptionist’s desk, Cynthia’s face brightened. “Hi, Blair!”
The strange feeling Blair felt when she’d first met her disappeared. “Hey. How was your first day?”
“Pretty good. Eve has everything so well organized that all I had to do was look at the calendar and point the person in the right direction.” She smiled.
“Great.” Blair turned to head out to the waiting room to see if Ronan wanted to go to lunch when Cynthia reached out and touched Blair’s arm.
“Can I ask you something?” Cynthia asked.
“Sure.”
“Since no one else is coming in until two, do you want to go out to lunch together? I live in Crenshaw and don’t have the foggiest idea where to go around here.”
As much as she appreciated the woman’s predicament, Blair thought it odd that she was singled out. “I can’t. My boyfriend is here in the waiting room but maybe some other time.”
She hadn’t meant to say Ronan was her boyfriend, but telling Cynthia he was her bodyguard would cause the new help to ask too many questions.
“Oh. I see. Well, then can you recommend a place?”
“Sure.” Blair gave her a couple of recommendations, purposefully omitting Nathan’s Pizza since that was where she was going to suggest she and Ronan go.
“Thanks.”
Blair walked, or rather rushed, to the waiting room. She tried to tell herself that she was anxious to spend some time outside. In truth, she just wanted to be with Ronan.
Could he be my mate? she asked her sleeping bear.
Damn, why did she bother? For three long years, her inner beast had disappeared. Gone. Poof. It didn’t matter how many times she apologized for not listening to her bear when she’d fallen for Jared, her bear was gone for good. Perhaps the worst part was not being able to shift.
Blair stepped into the waiting room. As soon as she appeared, Ronan jumped up. The picture of him naked and on top of her sprang up. Why had that image appeared? Now more than ever, she was convinced that the trauma had more than just erased her memory—it had messed with her sex drive.
Chapter Eight
‡
Ronan loved hearing about Blair’s patients and how she’d helped so many. Because Nathan’s Pizza was packed, they weren’t able to discuss the case, which was probably for the best.
Blair pushed her plate to the side and tossed her napkin on top. “Lunch was great, but I really need to get back to work.”
Ronan pushed back his chair. “I enjoyed our lunch as well.”
Her smile came out genuine, and every cell in his body attempted to transform.
Don’t you dare shift. Not here, you fool. His damn wolf would be responsible for the end of the shifter secret for good if he appeared.
Thankfully, they left right away, and the bright sunshine and sweet scents helped divert his attention. As they walked back to Blair’s workplace, Ronan imagined what it would be like to have Blair in his life for good—safe and happy.
As they passed the alley where the crime occurred, Blair looked over at it. As much as he wanted to ask if anything came to mind, he wouldn’t. Tension and anxiety had a way of blocking a memory.
“Would you mind if I asked Jackson to take over for me for a bit?” he asked.
She spun to face him. “No, but why?”
“I want to investigate the alley now that the CSU guys have picked it over.”
Her brows creased. “What do you hope to find?”
“I won’t know until I find it.” He held open the door to her work. “If Jackson is busy, I’ll stay.”
“You shouldn’t have to. I won’t run away.”
They’d had the conversation a few times. He didn’t need to remind her that it was the real killer he was worried about. “I know.”
Once Blair slipped into the back, Ronan called Jackson.
“How’s my sister?” Jackson asked.
“Good. Say, do you think you could spell me for an hour or so? I need to follow up on a few things.”
“Sure. Are you at the Wellness Center?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right there.”
True to his word, Jackson showed up ten minutes later. Ronan stood. “I won’t be long,” he told his friend. “There’s something that keeps sticking in my head that I want to check out.”
“Care to share?”
“I don’t want to jinx it,” Ronan said with a smile.
“I understand.”
Ronan left, thinking about how Blair had walked out of the side entrance and must have heard Delahart arguing with someone—if her recall during hypnosis was correct. Or had she seen the dead body with the killer standing over him? Blair probably tried to get back inside, but the door had been locked. Trapped, the killer had to do something. Only what? If the shooter had been a witch—or a god—he might have been able to freeze her in place while he erased her memory. If Blair really had been the one to kill Delahart, where was the gun?
Damn. There were too many possibilities.
Once he arrived in the back alley, Ronan began a grid search to look for the shell casing or a possible second bullet. Ronan went on the assumption that Delahart was either dead when Blair came out of the building or had died shortly thereafter. He also wanted to assume that Blair hadn’t killed the man. If Ronan had
been that killer and a witness was close by, he might put the gun in her hand and pull the trigger in order to leave the GSR residue. That might point a finger at her as being the guilty party.
After twenty minutes, he found no casings or a gun. Damn. The killer was thorough. So what happened in the alley? Only one bullet was found inside Delahart. If Blair hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger that killed him, the only way for her to have GSR on her hands was if there was a second bullet somewhere. However, even if Ronan found the shell casing or bullet lodged in stone or dirt that alone wouldn’t exonerate her.
As he continued to walk down the alley, a dark blue color floated in front of him. He stopped. While the maroon aspect was gone, he might be in the correct vicinity. Then again, it could be that he was standing next to the dumpster, and those scents had altered some of the colors. The CSU team might have ignored it since it was a good fifty feet from the crime scene. It was always possible the dumpster had been moved since the shooting. It didn’t matter. Ronan would check it out anyway.
After another ten-minute search, he hit pay dirt. With a pocketknife he was never without, he pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves and extracted a bullet from the wall. The question was did it come from the gun that killed Delahart, or had this bullet been there for a while? There was only one way to find out.
He had to let the sheriff’s department do their job.
Kalan was at his desk when Ronan arrived. He didn’t see Dalton. Using the gloves, Ronan placed the bullet on Kalan’s desk.
“Where did this come from?” he asked.
“I found it in a wall by the dumpster behind the Wellness Center.”
Kalan pushed it to the side with his pencil. “Looks like the same caliber as the one that killed Delahart.”