She’d planned for him to be the only one there—all the better for the cops to keep an eye on him.
This was so not good.
A killer, murdered while he was surrounded by cops.
Murdered by cops? Her stomach knotted.
Erin turned away from the body. Goosebumps rose on her flesh. “Who was here?”
“I was.” Admitted quietly. “Burns, Grimes, and Hyde.”
Her fingers pressed into her right temple. The blood. “And you didn’t see a thing?” Doubt had her voice rising. No way, no way was that possible.
“We were up front.” His lips tightened. “Didn’t see what happened and didn’t hear a peep.”
Oh, shit. This was a nightmare.
Captain Antonio Young strolled in then. Wearing a perfect suit, not so much as a wrinkle anywhere to be found.
Erin growled at him. He wasn’t on her top ten list. Over the last week, she’d gotten a pretty up close look at the captain, and came away thinking the guy was a bit of a prick. He was secretive, he didn’t share his case files with the rest of the PD, and the guy was given to disappearing for long periods of time. Hardly upfront police behavior.
Erin had no idea how the man had ever been promoted through the ranks.
He must’ve had some serious connections somewhere or else he’d known where some bodies were buried. Maybe he’d helped to bury those bodies.
“Your men have to be cleared.” Her voice was sharp. The captain knew this, and he still had Grant and the others less than ten feet away from the victim. “What the hell are you thinking?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job.”
“Uh, yeah, obviously, you do.” The press would go wild with this story. Wild. “Four cops. One dead perp. You do the math, Young.” Okay, so she sounded like a bitch. Screw the polite chitchat. The man knew better.
Bobby Burrows was dead—not just dead—slaughtered. Aw, hell.
Young’s handsome face—cause, yeah, no denying he was a pretty boy with those elegant planes and hollows on his face—tightened. No sign of his flashing dimple. He glared at her, and she glared right back.
“We didn’t do it.” From Grant. Strong, steady Grant. She’d had a good feeling about the guy from the beginning, from the first moment she’d met him at the courthouse. A real upfront kind of guy.
Now this.
“We’re going to have to prove that,” she said. Not going to be easy.
Another flash of light.
Erin licked her lips and knew what she had to do. “Excuse me.” Much as she hated it…
She was going to have to get close to that body. She spun and headed for the perp. Um, victim now. Her steps slowed as she approached the body. “Give me a minute, Mark,” she said to the crime scene analyst, and he moved back.
Less than a foot away, she stopped. She didn’t touch Bobby or the bars, no way was she going to risk contaminating evidence. But…
But her eyes touched him. Her gaze scanned every inch of him, paying careful attention to the wounds and—
Shit.
Her heart slammed into her chest.
Those weren’t knife wounds. No, she knew the shape of those wounds.
Intimately.
Those slices had been made by claws. She’d seen marks like that too many times in the past.
Her nostrils twitched and she stared at Bobby’s bloody form.
The cops there—the captain, the three men, and the woman—they were human. So were the crime scene guys.
No shifters.
But a shifter had been here. He’d killed.
And she knew there was a shifter close by, one who didn’t mind a little blood and who sure had a hard-on for Bobby.
Jude.
Her steps were very precise as she turned and left the holding area. Once she was clear, her fingers knotted into fists, and she stormed down the hallway, racing back to face the hunter.
Jude stretched his legs out, letting the heels of his boots press into the old floor. He didn’t glance at his watch, but he figured Erin had been with the body about eight minutes or so now and—
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of fast-approaching high heels.
He glanced up.
And saw Erin bearing down on him, her face tight with fury and her eyes blazing.
Glowing?
She stalked right up to him, put her hands on the hips he’d like to touch and demanded, “What did you do?”
Whoa. Jude stood up, slowly, aware that he towered over her slender figure and using that to his advantage. “I think you’ve got the wrong idea here, sweetheart.”
“I am not your sweetheart.” She jabbed a finger into his chest. “You think I don’t know what got a hold of that bastard?”
Her voice was fierce, but pitched low enough that only he would be able to hear her. “I recognize the work of claws when I see
’em, Donovan.”
“Not my claws.” The words came out more growl than anything else. He cleared his throat, tried again. It was hard to speak normally, with her so close, with that sweet scent filling his nose, and with the beast roaring. “I told you, if I wanted him dead, he wouldn’t have made it out of that swamp.”
“You knew what I’d find in that cell.” A pause, just for a beat of time. “How’d you know, hunter? Because you’d been the one to send Bobby to hell? Just had to put a smile on his face, didn’t you? A grin for him to greet the devil with?”
He grabbed her hand, tired of her fingernail digging into his chest. “I didn’t do it, sweetheart. I’ve got an alibi. I was at Night Watch and at least four other agents can attest to that.” Good thing, too. He rotated his shoulders. No more pain. Not even a twinge.
“How did you know? ” Gritted from between her teeth. Teeth that were starting to look a bit sharper than before.
He almost smiled. Would have, if they weren’t talking about a dead body and if they hadn’t been surrounded by cops.
“I’ve got a friend in the department. He called me.” Because he owed me and because the sly bastard knew he’d need my help. Just like she would.
Erin just didn’t want to admit it yet.
“What. Friend?”
“Aw, now, you can’t expect me to—”
“What. Friend!” Her voice wasn’t soft anymore, and a couple of cops glanced their way. “Tell me, because I’m sure as hell thinking you’re—”
“It was me, ma’am.” A slow-drawling southern voice said.