Full Blooded
Page 8

I pressed lucky number seven to erase her message from my phone forever. Then made a mental note to thank her by buying some of that Patrón tequila she always talked about. Maybe then she’d forget she ever made this call. Though having a neighbor who would gladly lie to the police for me, without my asking, was definitely a huge bonus. Juanita could be a thorn in my conversational side, but now I knew for sure she had my back. If anything, this phone call should teach me to be a better neighbor. It paid off.
The next call was the one I’d been hoping for, and Pete’s voice came on the line calm and precise as usual. “Molly, it’s Pete. Looks like there was some trouble at your place over the weekend.” I could hear him in the background shuffling papers. “It says here you weren’t at home during the time of the … assault.” He read off the page, “Bed was made, no sign of struggle, blood in your living room, rope fragments on the balcony. Lots of speculation here. Looks like the place was roughed up quite a bit, possibly by someone’s … pet?” I could hear the surprise in his voice.
The police wouldn’t have a good way to explain the massive amounts of fur or the gouged claw marks all over my floors. Bringing your pet to a crime scene was highly unusual. Anyone with a brain would know that the fur samples taken from my apartment could be matched to their pet exactly, making them guilty.
Pete continued in his monotone. “Your purse was found at the scene, but you were MIA. Looks here like a call to your office found you were … camping?” The inflection in his voice showed this piece of information was still under speculation by all. “Ray’s got your case. Call me.” Click.
“Oh, for fucksake!” I yelled, throwing the phone onto the dashboard in disgust. “Just drive straight to jail and drop me off. If Ray’s on the case it’s not going to be a fair investigation anyway, so we may as well save the taxpayers some money.” Anyone but Raymond Hart and I’d have a shot of talking my way out of this mess. I glanced at Nick and he shook his head in sympathy. “Is it too much to ask to get someone who doesn’t have a wicked vendetta against me to take the case?”
“Apparently it is,” Nick answered. “Do you really think he’d pass up the opportunity to nail you to the wall? He probably had to trade all his good cases in order to get your crappy one.”
I sighed. “I don’t know why I was dumb enough to think he wouldn’t do exactly that. Of course he’d want this case. He can use it as his final grandstand against me.”
Ray Hart hated me. If he could finally prove I was the dope freak he thought I was, or at the very least engaged in something highly illegal, it would make his whole existence. I’d unwittingly become his number one focus during my short eighteen months on the police force. In hindsight, joining the PD had been the most foolish vocation I could’ve ever chosen. But I’d been young and eager to show the world what I had to offer, and unfortunately, even though I hadn’t been full blooded, I’d still been a female born to an enhanced gene pool, which meant I could run faster than any of my human male counterparts, jump higher, lift more than I should be able to, and to top it off, I had better instincts.
According to Raymond Hart, the only rational explanation for “stunts like that” was my being a total crackhead or speed junkie. I must’ve been doped up on some kind of a superdrug to perform feats like that, and even though I’d willingly subjected myself to multiple drug tests, and worked actively on my defense—in the end, the only option left for me was to quit.
But it’d been too late to shake Ray.
After I’d departed from the police force, along with Nick, who had joined with me, Ray had kept me in his sights. For reasons unbeknownst to me, he wasn’t willing to let it go. There were rumors he still took home police footage of me in unexplainable situations, either clearing a six-foot fence with relative ease, or of me explaining how I tracked a perp to an undisclosed location with nothing but my eyes and ears to guide me.
The man was irrationally obsessed, which was a dangerous thing for him to be, especially in light of my recent lifestyle changes.
I glanced at my phone on the dashboard, laying where I’d tossed it. “There’s one more message on my phone,” I said. “It said I had seven, but I only listened to six.” I knew without having to check it was Ray. I glanced over at the driver’s seat. “I’m going to have to listen to it, aren’t I?”
“If you want a decent heads-up, you do. If not, feel free to let it go.”
I reluctantly plucked my phone off the dashboard. “I need some alcohol for this.”
Nick laughed. “Sorry, but all the Jack is at home.”
Ray’s tenor spread like oil into my eardrum. “Hannon, it’s Hart. By now you should know your apartment has been trashed by someone and their goddamn pet. You appear to be camping.” He let that one sit for a second, his glee prickling me through the phone. “When you get your ass out from wherever you are, call me. I need a formal statement. No more fucking around.” Click.
That was it.
A good cop knew a crime like this one was personal, and unfortunately Ray was a good cop. Nobody trashed your furniture and personal possessions except a scorned lover, a drug dealer you owed serious money to, or a sick bastard with a vendetta—and they’d brought their pet, no less. Who brings their animal to a premeditated crime? The only thing running in my favor, the one thing casting a shadow of doubt on the investigation and my possible connection to it, was thanks to the talented Marcy. My most personal space, my bedroom, had been left intact. The place you lay your head is the first place someone goes for revenge.
Damn, I was really going to have to pay her more.
“Ray’s never going to buy that a stranger did that to your place,” Nick said.
“I know.” I ran my hands through my hair. “The only solution is to continue with the personal angle. We’ll have to dig up a former pissed-off target who had motive to break into my house—which shouldn’t be too hard. There wasn’t an actual burglary, so there’ll be no need to press formal charges.”
“And will this mystery person we dig up happen to have a pet whose fur matches the samples taken from your apartment exactly?” Nick chuckled. “Ray’s not going to back off that easily. I’m sure he’ll be lurking in your hallway for the next year until this is solved to his liking. He’s a bloodhound. You haven’t given him a whiff of anything in five solid years, and now you just dumped the best load of crap ever into his lap.”
“Ugh, I know.” I gave Nick a sideways smirk. “But if he doesn’t back down eventually, I can just beat him up with my new guns.” I brought my arms up and flexed my biceps. They didn’t seem any firmer than usual, but I knew they’d inflict a hell of a lot more damage now if applied correctly—and I planned on applying them very correctly. “Or I could grow some fur, or take a swipe at him with my new, handy-dandy claws.” I wiggled my fingertips. The claws weren’t out, but it was cool to know they were there somewhere.
“Those would be … effective tactics.” Nick chortled. “If you were insane. And I’m sure there wouldn’t be any consequences if you chose to go that route.”
I sighed. Of course there’d be plenty of repercussions, but the real problem was none of them would really affect me in the long run. Now that I was Pack, I had a secret to guard and Pack would enforce it without thought. If Ray kept digging his nose where it didn’t belong, the Pack would have no problem taking care of him—permanently.
I hated the guy, but I wasn’t ready to sign his death warrant.
“I’ll just have to soldier on without my new muscles,” I said, reconciling myself to my boring fate. “I’ve got the camping bags and the passes. It’s weak, but it should hold and cast enough doubt into my involvement, which is all I’ll need in the end. I’ll just have to find a scorned lover who has a penchant for big dogs.”
Nick smiled wryly at me. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem, Jess. It just so happens we have a lot of big dogs to choose from.”
Now it was my turn to snort. “We can’t frame a werewolf, and none of them would cooperate on their own anyway. They’d just as soon have me thrown behind bars so they didn’t have to deal with me. Not that a jail cell could hold me anymore.” I grinned. That was pretty sweet.
I picked up my phone and dialed Ray. It was better not to put off the inevitable. It went to voicemail, which was a small victory. “Ray, I’m on my way back into town. Should be hitting the city in two hours,” I said. “See you then.”
I had no doubt he would be waiting in my hallway in one and a half.
5
Ray Hart had one shoulder braced against the wall, both his arms loosely folded in front of him like he didn’t give a shit how long he had to wait. To a passerby out on the street, he would’ve appeared to be waiting patiently for his wife to finish up her shopping so they could catch a movie.
Except, of course, he wasn’t married and probably hadn’t seen a movie since Rambo hit the big screen.
I wasn’t fooled.
Ray was just under six feet tall with a full head of steel-colored hair. It was cut close to the scalp in a style that would’ve been military if he’d ever joined up. He had mean muscle, the kind that looked beefy and aggressive. His square jaw matched his thick eyebrows perfectly. He wore plain clothes, a pair of dark khaki pants, and a blue dress shirt, and his hazel eyes bored directly into mine as I walked down the hallway.
I had to hide my grin, since Ray’s easy stance was in direct contrast to the foul odor he was emitting. If the strong scent of leftover curry, the garbage that needed immediate emptying, or the stale smell of uncirculated air wasn’t enough—the smell of Ray could’ve knocked me over on its own.
He reeked like a potent mix of satisfaction laced with heavy aggression, and it blew into my nose like a leaf blower aimed straight at my face. This man was not going to accept any of the bullshit I’d planned to dish out. I had to come up with plan B.