Redeeming the Night

by Kristine Overbrook

  Lydia grinned and rocked herself off the couch into a standing position. Her belly seemed to have doubled since he last saw her. “Eric.”

  “Wow. How many are in there?” he joked. “You weren’t kidding about starting a family.” She’d never attempted to hug him before. That, coupled with the fact that it looked like she was smuggling a watermelon in her shirt, made the embrace awkward. “How are you?”

  “Getting close to time.” She reached a hand back to the couch for Ryan. “That’s why we wanted to come by; our children are most likely to be born this moon, and we would like you to do the honors.”

  “Me?” He stepped back from them and checked their faces to see if they were kidding. They weren’t. Suddenly, he needed a drink. Given his company, he forwent the bourbon and grabbed three bottled waters from the fridge.

  “You took the course on how to deliver babies in the academy,” Lydia said, opening her bottle.

  True. “Yeah, but—”

  “And you’re one of us,” Ryan said, sending a chill up Eric’s spine.

  True. “Yeah, but—”

  “There’s no one we can go to for this, Eric. What if my baby—”

  “Or babies,” Ryan interrupted.

  She nodded. “Or babies, come out furry?” Lydia’s voice broke. They really had no one else to turn to. They didn’t know any other real werewolves. Any books they could find were fiction. If they went to a regular hospital pictures of their babies would be plastered all over the tabloids and social media. They really did need him.

  But the full moon was in two weeks, and he was on his way to Vegas.

  Lydia wiped at her face as Ryan put an arm up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

  “Of course I’ll be there, Lydia,” Eric said. “I’m flying to Vegas tomorrow, but I’ll be back here for the full moon.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She hugged him again.

  This time, Ryan got in on the action by clapping a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “What’s in Vegas?”

  “Missing person case, but it shouldn’t be a problem to make it home in time.”

  If they’d been in wolf form, their ears would have perked. Even so, their eyes widened, and they both leaned forward a bit.

  “Need any help?” Lydia asked.

  Eric shook his head. “So far, it seems straightforward.” Crestfallen was the only word to describe their faces, so Eric added, “But I’ll call if I have any questions.”

  Lydia chuckled.

  Ryan reddened, rubbed a hand over his face, and said, “Aside from the pregnancy, things have been a little quiet on the home front.”

  “Don’t worry. From what I understand, you’ve only got two more weeks until you have all the excitement you can handle.”

  Chapter 2

  Once Eric arrived in Las Vegas, he slung his carry-on duffel over his shoulder, ignored signs for food and gambling, and headed straight to the police cruiser just outside the glass airport doors. Aaron’s e-mail had said Officer McMillan would pick him up at the airport. The delay would give the department enough time to free up a vehicle for Eric’s use.

  Barely three steps from the escalator a man who reeked of tequila staggered out of the crowd. As he approached, he tripped, colliding with Eric, taking them both down. “What the hell?” the man exclaimed, kicking his legs and flaying his arms.

  Even as Eric disengaged his limbs from the cursing man, he patted his pocket to ensure he still had his wallet. Then the duffel tugged. A buxom, blonde woman had a hold of it and was attempting to lift it off his shoulder.

  From his squatting position, Eric stood abruptly, yanked the bag, and caught the woman by the arm. “Cut that out.”

  “What?” She jerked away. “I was just helping you up.” She huffed and flipped her shimmering hair over her shoulder as she turned away, muttering. “Try to give people a hand and this is what you get.”

  Before he boarded the plane he’d locked the zipper, and a quick check revealed the zip tie was still firmly in place. Lucky for her. He glanced in the direction the woman had gone and could see her through the crowd talking with the drunk that had tripped him in the first place. Teamwork. Nice.

  A uniformed officer strode to Eric’s side. “Are you all right?” When Eric nodded, the officer asked, “Detective Adams?”

  “Yeah. Are you my ride?” He scanned the officer’s badge and name tag.

  “Yup. I’m Officer Max McMillan. I’m parked just over here.” They walked to the curb just outside the door. Once out of the air-conditioned building Eric felt the desert heat, surprisingly not oppressive, though he suspected that would change if there were any humidity in the air.

  Max lifted his sunglasses and considered Eric’s expression. “It gets cooler at night.”

  “Good thing. If it gets much hotter, the buildings will melt.”

  Max laughed as they climbed in. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

  Before they were in their seats, a call came across the radio. “Body found, sending coordinates to onboard GPS, Lieutenant Decker requests you bring passenger to site.”

  “Roger, dispatch,” Max responded before checking his GPS and flipping on his lights. “Looks like we have to make an unscheduled stop.”

  Eric grunted. The case he was called for was a missing girl, but homicide took precedence. As they drove, he fought the urge to tell Max to take him back to the airport. A missing girl he could find. She probably ran to a friend’s house. A dead body required evidence, and testifying to the evidence collection at a trial. Things he already knew he couldn’t do anymore.

  Aaron wouldn’t have insisted he come to the site unless he felt it was connected to the girl he was coming to investigate. Eric’s stomach sank further. It could also be the body of the missing girl. He knew he had to see this through.

  They traveled outside the city for a while; more than once, Max turned onto roads that scarcely seemed to exist. Max handled the car like he knew what he was doing so Eric stayed silent. Sure enough, they rounded a sandy hill and came to a halt behind a coroner’s van.

  “We’re here.” Max got out and waved to someone on the other side of a large stand of scrub brush. A second later, Aaron came over to greet them.

  Eric climbed out of the air-conditioning and clasped his friend’s hand. “What’s this all about, Aaron? Is this the girl?”

  “A girl. Not the one I asked you to investigate.”

  Eric bit back a curse. “Then why am I here?”

  Aaron glanced at Max and then turned his shoulder so they faced away from the forensics team. “My gut says these two are connected. I can’t say how. We have an ID on this one. Twelve-year-old Suzie Hogan. She’s a runaway from a group home on a seedier side of town. Her parents are both doing time in jail. There’s a notification on her file that she stopped going to school. The feds did their thing months ago, and the case is still open, but they thought she might have simply run away. Probably caught up with the wrong element.”

  Eric shook his head. “It fits. She runs away, thinking she can do better on her own. She can’t, so she starts turning tricks and ticks off her John.”

  “She could have, but … ” Aaron held Eric’s gaze. “Something’s not right here.”

  “And since I was in town anyway … ” Eric waved his hand at the scene. “I get it.” They started walking toward the scene. “When was she reported as a runaway?”

  “About six months ago.”

  “Can we guess as to time of death in this oven?”

  The team had begun packing their tools, and a couple of them chuckled. One who held a clipboard said, “Given the insect activity, I would guess more than a day, but no more than forty-eight hours ago. I should be able to give you more accurate results once she’s on the table.”

  It appeared as if the girl’s body had been literally rolled out of a car. Her arm lay crossed over her torso, and her leg was entangled in a bush of some sort. Strands of her long brown hair obscured her face. Much of i
t had snarled in the bush as well.

  “The body isn’t posed in any way,” Eric said, leaning forward slightly to observe the corpse. Blood coated the dent in her right temple. The lab would most likely be able to identify a weapon, but regardless of instrument, the effect was plain. She had bruising on her hips. The mortician would be able to tell for sure, but the first guess would be sexual assault. Eric knew the others would be thinking the same. An abomination anytime, but on a young girl, it enraged him.

  He struggled for composure. Thank goodness it wasn’t a full moon; he wouldn’t be able to hold it together. She had been broken and thrown away. Rage wouldn’t help her. Nothing could now. He held his position and breathed deeply.

  The scents around the body revealed themselves. Animals had been at her. They’d torn at her flesh but hadn’t managed to free the leg from the bush’s grip. The scent of the police and technicians hovered around the girl, but didn’t actually touch the body as had those of the animals.

  Under it all, he could smell the girl. Even now, there was a residual of her sweat and tears. Of her fear. He could smell her attacker. The scent of him coated every inch of her. Eric’s instincts said that she had been held by him for a while. Perhaps even since she “ran away.” There were others’ scents too. Female. This is bad.

  Aaron had been watching him closely, and when he straightened, the lieutenant said, “What do you see?”

  Eric cocked his head, and they moved away from the bustle. “I don’t think she ran away, I think he abducted her. Held her. Then, when he was done, he killed and dumped her.” Gauging Aaron’s expression as open-minded, Eric continued, “I also think there are others being kept where she was.”

  “Why do you think that?” Aaron’s eyebrow raised.

  “Let’s call it a hunch.”

  “That’s one hell of a hunch.”

  “You have no idea.”

  Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and he cleared his throat. “Well, your hunch doesn’t leave us much to go on to find the guy that did this.”

  “I know.” Eric ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe you should call in the feds on this one? I can’t give you more evidence than what you got with your gut feeling.”

  “We’ll work it. Let the techs do their thing. Meanwhile, I’d still like for you to look at our more recent runaway case.”

  “That’s why I’m here, but the feds should be called on that one, too.”

  “They’ve been called.” Once again, Aaron narrowed his eyes. “I’ll have Max take you back to the hotel—check in, grab something to eat, and I’ll be by to pick you up in a couple hours.”

  “Sounds good.” Eric glanced back at the girl’s body, now being lifted into a bag. She wasn’t why he’d been brought here. Even if he could find her killer the odds of him being brought to justice with Eric’s help was slim to none. He wasn’t a cop anymore.

  • • •

  His room at the Palace was functional. Surprisingly similar to the mid-grade room he and four other guys had stayed in during their freshman spring break in Vegas. Given its location and price he expected fancier.

  The room had been thoroughly cleaned. His sensitive nose could pick up only the faint hint that other people had occupied this room before him. No fault with the maid service.

  After a quick shower and change of clothes, he left the room to wander around the casino and grab a bite.

  The gold and black hallway was quiet. No children fussing, televisions blaring. When Eric reached the elevator, the doors slid open, and a group of very happy, definitely drunk people stumbled out singing off-key at the top of their lungs. He stepped aside adroitly to let them pass.

  One of the women began removing her top before being pulled through an open doorway, squealing. Ah well, what happens in Vegas and all that.

  As the elevator descended the sounds from the casino increased. When the doors opened, the noise and lights assaulted the senses.

  He wandered around the floor aimlessly, marveling at the supreme order behind the chaos. Waitresses in sexy, but not too revealing, uniforms walked through rows of slot machines, balancing trays of drinks, taking orders, and making small talk with the patrons.

  Past the one-armed bandits, the cause of most of the flashing lights and come-hither beeps sprawled out over several levels, stood dozens of green felt tables, though only a few were open for business.

  Eric scanned the crowd. Never having had an interest in gambling, and having only gotten a couple of hours’ sleep on the plane, he stifled a yawn and headed toward a glass elevator and a café nestled into one corner of the upper level. Along with several tables and booths the shop also had a bar along the balcony rail so the patrons could enjoy the view. He took his sandwich and soda and sat at the rail.

  From this vantage point he could see the roulette tables below him, the slots to the right, and the blackjack tables to the left.

  People moved below him on the casino floor. It wasn’t even afternoon, yet still the slots did a good business. He could only imagine what the floor would look like at night with patrons decked out in evening wear.

  A pair of white-haired old men walked hand in hand on the far side of the roulette tables, the taller of the two caressing his partner’s cheek and speaking earnestly. Eric averted his eyes from the obviously intimate moment only to watch as a rotund woman danced back from her alarming slot machine to crash into a waitress carrying a full tray.

  The waitress fell gracefully to the floor, twisting to keep the glasses from toppling. She narrowly avoided having her leg crushed as the winner’s mass careened toward her.

  The crowd that formed around the two applauded as the waitress stood again, not having lost a drop from the drinks. Seemingly unfazed by the accident, or the attention, she balanced the tray with one hand while offering the other to the heavy woman who still struggled to stand.

  Disaster averted, Eric’s attention caught on a couple walking across the floor to the glass elevator as he finished his sandwich. Nothing about the couple rang out as remarkable, but for some reason he continued to watch as they entered the coffee shop.

  The man walked a step ahead of the woman. Briskly, almost as if he wanted to lose her in the crowd. His strawberry-blond comb-over wisped around his head as he stomped across the floor. Matching wedding bands revealed them to be married. Rolling his eyes at the woman who followed, the man chose the table just to the left of Eric’s.

  Something was definitely wrong with this guy. He leered at every woman and barely seemed to notice his wife. The poor woman slouched into a chair across from her husband, defeated and apparently accepting of her husband’s behavior.

  Her gaze lifted from her lap and met Eric’s. She flushed and straightened in her chair and ordered in a ringing voice as soon as the waitress came over.

  When the man reprimanded his wife, Eric stared at his soda and silently thanked the universe that the full moon was two weeks away. Otherwise, it would be much harder to control his temper.

  “I order first.” The last syllable whipped through the air. The man continued in his terse tone, “You’d best remember your place. Jesus, you’re just lucky I brought you on this trip.”

  “You’re right, I’m sorry, thank you.” The woman strung the words together, bowing her head again. The plea of forgiveness in her voice wrenched at Eric.

  He wanted to say something. To stand up for this woman who’d quite obviously been beaten down too much to stand for herself.

  Rings formed in the soda he held as he struggled to mind his own business. There was nothing illegal about treating her like dirt. But he’d get involved if the guy got physical with her, Eric promised himself.

  As he breathed deeply, he heard soft female voices behind him.

  Eric shifted and raised his head. Oh my God.

  Three beautiful women stood around the guy’s table. They looked so amazing, Eric sipped his soda to moisten his mouth.

  The drop-dead blonde stood with her back to him, se
eming to whisper to the man. If Eric hadn’t already been sitting, he would have needed to.

  Feeling muddled, he shook his head. A brunette stood on the other side of the man, and a dark-skinned woman stood behind the wife.

  The two who flanked the man wore sultry pouts and what could be called sundresses, if they had more material. They leaned over to talk to the man. From his viewpoint, Eric could see the slight curve of the blonde’s bottom.

  Suddenly aware of how long it had been since he’d last had sex, he tore his gaze away from the perfect bottom that peeked out at him from under the hem of her dress. G-strings aren’t underwear. He focused on his drink.

  She shifted her stance, and he felt warm—he couldn’t tell if it was the heat of her skin or if he’d started to blush. Maybe he should tell her to pull down the fabric? Hell, maybe he should do it for her. A purple G-string.

  His groin tightened. Yeah, it had been far too long. His celibacy could only extend so far; his hand longed to caress that curve.

  After several seconds of concentrated breathing he turned to say something. Avoiding the beautiful bottom, he looked toward the wife’s side of the table.

  The dark-skinned woman wore jeans and a pastel cotton top. Instead of a sultry pout, her face held a genuine expression of concern as she laid a hand across the wife’s pale one.

  So intent on the words of the woman beside her, the wife didn’t seem to notice when her husband left the table with the brunette.

  The blonde straightened, her dress finally hiding her rear, and watched while the brunette escorted the husband out without a word or a backward glance. He groped at the brunette as they exited the café and were soon lost in the crowd of people.

  The blonde shook back her long, spiral curls, caught the eye of the woman with the wife, and gave a small wave.

  Eric felt himself entranced by the blonde again, his vision drinking in her athletic yet voluptuous body. When she waved, the fabric across her bosom shimmied hypnotically. Her playful demeanor changed as she turned and looked at him. Her gaze held him more than her bottom had.