“Izzy, do a search through the personnel files. I need to find an agent who has a dog or a cat in need of vaccination shots that I can borrow.”
“Searching now, sugar.”
Good. Her next major worry was finding an outfit to wear tonight. Something subtle but stunning. She might not be able to stop Gabriel from thrusting her from his life—be it professional or personal—but she sure as hell could make him regret it.
Tall, curvaceous blondes weren’t the only ones who could look like sex on legs.
—
Sam grabbed the box restraining the growling cat and climbed out of the car. Heat tingled across her skin, standing the small hairs at the back of her neck on end. Then her senses exploded outward, tasting the secrets within the clinic.
There was a woman inside who was not only a changer, but one who somehow felt unclean. And not in the unwashed sense.
Frowning—unsure why she was sensing some changers and shifters, but not others—and certainly not understanding what the hell her senses were trying to tell her, Sam headed inside.
After filling in a bunch of forms, she sat down. The cat, safely parked two seats away, had a claw through one of the airholes and seemed intent on shredding the seat.
“Dr. Francis will see you now,” the receptionist said after a few minutes.
Sam collected the box, ensured the killer claw was pointed away from her body, and walked through the door indicated by the white-haired receptionist. Dr. Francis, like the woman out front, was in her mid-fifties. She wore what Sam called a power suit under her unbuttoned white coat—a tight-fitting, no-nonsense outfit that acknowledged her femininity but said hands off. Her hair was a rich chestnut, and undoubtedly dyed. Her face was natural, unmarred by makeup or face-lifts. A woman proud of her looks and her age.
A woman whose very presence itched at Sam’s skin.
“And what can we do for you and Kahn today?” The vet’s voice, like her looks, was striking and powerful.
Sam placed the box on the table and carefully pulled the cat out. It continued to growl its displeasure. “He’s overdue for his shots.”
The doctor nodded and walked across to the cupboard. “I haven’t seen either of you here before, have I?”
“No. We just moved here.”
“Oh yes? Where from?” The doctor’s voice was flat. Making small talk through habit, not interest.
“Elwood.” Sam hesitated. The doctor slipped a white glove on and moved back to the table. “Park Street. You know it?”
“Lovely area,” Dr. Francis murmured, bending to examine the squirming, hissing feline.
Sam regarded her steadily. No reaction whatsoever to the location or street name. She’d have to push a bit harder. “I used to think so. But a neighbor of mine was murdered the other day.”
The doctor glanced up. The shock in her face didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How horrible! Did you know him well?”
Sam raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I did. I have an interview with the cops tomorrow.”
The vet continued to examine the cat. “Nasty.”
“Yeah, I’m not looking forward to it.”
“Nor would I. Kahn’s in excellent condition.”
“That’s good. He’s been a little off his food. Not impressed by the change of housing, I think.”
“Just keep him inside a while and he’ll be fine. Hold him down, will you?” She took a needle out of the cupboard. “Why do the police want to interview you?”
Sam grabbed the cat by the scruff of the neck. It responded by trying to twist around and shred her hand. “Routine, I think. I was just unlucky enough to be in the building at the time.”
“Did you see anything?”
“No.” She hesitated again and frowned. The doctor watched her almost too carefully. “Though I saw the postman arrive. I swear he had something live in one of the parcels. I could hear it scratching around.”