Shadow of doubt the pote.., p.12
Shadow of Doubt (The Potentate of Atlanta Book 1), page 12
“Parties.” Her lips pursed. “He disappeared for hours at a time at each.”
That jibed with Mendelsohn asking me if he met Shonda at a party, not that I wanted to give him even that much credit. He was the alpha, born and raised in that pack, and couldn’t tell one woman from another, let alone put a name to a face.
“Let me guess.” I saw where this was going. “He vanished into a back room with his harem?”
“His harem wasn’t in attendance, but yes. He took several non-warg women into a back room.”
The man’s sex drive was not normal, but that wasn’t a crime. He could be on pills, charms, or any number of things to keep him hard as the rocks tumbling around in his head.
“Does your friend have names? Can we track the women down, question them?”
“She wasn’t invited. She got this secondhand from partygoers as they left.”
Hearsay wasn’t good enough. I had a second source, the kid, Jessica, but all she could vouch for was the fact Mendelsohn partied in the city often. That wasn’t a crime, as long as he put on pants first.
Mind racing over the possibilities, I regretted not coming here first. “I wish you had reached out to me.”
“Do you really care?” She studied me. “You’ve been here barely a year, and gossip abounds about you and that shadow of yours.”
Ford tensed on my periphery, not much, but enough. She had been fishing, and she caught his reaction too.
“I’m here.” I leaned forward, ignoring Ambrose’s sudden interest in the alpha, who had mentioned his favorite topic, himself, and mirrored her posture. “What does that tell you?”
“Many things,” she murmured. “Have a care that those with fewer resources than I have at my disposal don’t start to imply your man here is simply the hand up a puppet’s back.”
Gritting my teeth, I kept my tone polite. “No man currently has his hand up my back or elsewhere.”
“You’re bold.” An appreciative glimmer brightened her eyes. “I like it.”
“No woman currently has her hand up my back or elsewhere either.”
She bit her lush bottom lip to hold in her grin. “You’re using your own hand these days?”
A flush attempted to climb into my cheeks, but I crushed it. “Let’s say I’m self-sufficient.”
To cover glancing away first, I faked checking on Bonnie. I didn’t spot her right off, so she must have extended her patrol to the hall in front of Ayla’s office.
Chuckling under her breath, she pulled herself together. “Will you keep me informed of your progress?”
“I’ll do that if you do the same.” I mulled over the consequences but then decided involving Ayla directly might save us time. “Reach out to the cleaners. Eight bodies were found in Perkerson Park this morning. The preliminary reports aren’t available yet, but they should be within the next twenty-four hours. Some might belong to your people.”
The humor fled her expression, and grief tightened the skin around her eyes. “We haven’t been contacted…”
“The condition of the bodies means it might take a while for the cleaners to match all the pieces. They’ll be running DNA to determine species and identities, but the process would go faster and smoother with your help.”
“Of course.” She closed her eyes. “I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Our killer is a warg, according to saliva samples found in the wounds. Once we have names to go with the other victims, I’ll need to be in contact with their families. Or, if you feel that’s too invasive, I would appreciate updates from you.”
“Grief is a private thing. I can keep you informed, but I must request you not approach my people. If you uncover any evidence that leads you to believe a member of my pack is involved in these murders, bring them to me. I will exact my own justice.”
Given that was the typical party line with supernaturals, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. “All right.”
“I would like to be alone now,” she said, lowering her head. “You can see yourselves out.”
The familiar refrain of I’m sorry for your loss almost tripped over my tongue, but it felt premature.
Hope was a fragile thing, and one wrong word from me would shatter it for her forever.
Ford and I left, Bonnie on our heels, and we didn’t speak again until we were all situated in his truck.
“You didn’t tell me Ayla has a crush on you.”
“Really?” I twisted toward Ford. “That was your takeaway?”
“I am a man.”
“You were also horrified by our visit to the Forest of Nipples and Peen earlier.”
“I can’t believe you said that.” He dropped his face into his hands. “The mental picture…”
“Consider it payback for letting Ayla’s flirting with me distract you.”
“I’m going to talk to Midas about dissolving our partnership.”
“What?” Blood rushed in my ears, deafening me. “Over one little peen joke?”
“You don’t need me. You handled yourself today, very well, without my help.”
“Please tell me you’re not implying Midas paired us up because he’s afraid a woman can’t do the job.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” He flicked me a quick glance. “You’re working your ass off for Shonda. There’s nothing I can do for her that you’re not already doing.”
“You’re just feeling guilty after Ayla threw our partnership in my face.”
“That too.” He angled his chin toward me. “I’m not saying he’ll go for it, but I’ll try.”
“I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
The prospect of going back to working alone wasn’t as welcome as I expected, but I wrote it off as missing the bonus of having a partner with his own wheels. Maybe Bishop was right, and I needed to buy a car.
Ford tapped my hand where it rested on the seat. “You’re not off the hook for movie night, though.”
“It’s a date, as soon as I close this case.”
“Do my ears deceive me, or did you just ask me out, darlin’?”
“It’s a turn of phrase.” I snorted. “Don’t think my using it makes you special.”
“Ouch.” He placed a hand over his heart. “You are as cruel as you are beautiful.”
“Save all those lines to use on your dream girl.” I adjusted my seat belt as I faced forward. “Don’t throw them away on me.”
Ducking his head, he rubbed his jaw. “Who’s to say you’re not one and the same?”
“I says.” I fidgeted with the buckle. “The next twelve months of my life are spoken for.”
Eyebrow cocked, he challenged me. “What about after that?”
“You’re not going to wait a year for a date.” I scoffed. “You’re a shameless flirt.”
“Have you considered I’m only flirting with you?”
“Have you considered you’re only flirting with me because it makes your job easier?”
“You don’t trust easy, Lee.”
“Once bitten and all that.” I stroked Bonnie’s coarse fur for comfort. “You don’t want me, Ford. You want an all-access pass to my life so you can nose around in it. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”
“Are you qualified to dispense dating advice? How long have you been single?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Besides, I saw the way you looked at—”
“Are you seriously dragging Midas into this conversation?”
“I’m not blind, Lee.”
“You could have fooled me,” I tossed back. “Clearly you have something in your eye.”
“There’s something between you. Midas—”
“Goddess.” I flung up my hands. “Why don’t you two get married already?”
“Mated,” he corrected. “I can’t bear him children to carry on the family name, so our love was doomed from the start.”
I really wish I hadn’t laughed, but he had made me snicker more in the past forty-eight hours than I had in months. I could see why he coped through flirting and laughter. He was good at both. “Take me home?”
“Sure.” He cut the wheel. “Working the mall tonight?”
“That’s usually the first four hours of my night, not the last.”
Shopping centers are great places for overhearing gossip and shutting down stalking behaviors before they escalated in the parking lot.
They’re called malls, not mauls.
Where I rented my kiosk was owned by a Society family, and it kept Society hours, but the daily dish was hottest and freshest at sundown. Miss that first rush of nocturnal shoppers, and you might as well call in sick. Unless you were one of those weirdoes who actually hawked their wares instead of eavesdropping on passersby. I hear some folks are into that. Earning a livable wage.
The trill of my phone had me digging around in my pocket, and I swallowed when I read the ID. “Hadley.”
“Meet me at the H.E. Holmes MARTA station.”
“Do we—?”
Midas ended the call.
“—have another one?” I thumped my cell against my forehead. “I’m guessing you heard that.”
With less than a foot of space between us, Ford likely heard every word as clear or clearer than me.
“Guess that answers my question,” he said as he cut the wheel.
“Yeah.” I sank my fingers into Bonnie’s fur. “I guess it does.”
Nine
The cleaners arrived as Ford threw his truck into park, telling me that Midas had placed his calls back to back, and they started squawking about contamination before their bootied feet hit the ground. I didn’t have to look far to find Midas. He stood beneath a tow-away sign in front of the rear entrance, the one directly off I-20 West, dressed in the same clothes he had worn on his date.
The outfit was carefully bland and a size too large. I could see Midas hanging the stiff khaki pants and saggy button-down shirt in his closet on a hanger labeled Mate Repellant for the nights his mom set him up with women. If he hoped the drab outfit detracted from his looks, he was out of luck.
The man was beautiful. Physically perfect. As long as you didn’t look in his eyes. That’s where his truth lived, and it was stark, a silent scream that I alone seemed to hear.
“Wait here,” I told Bonnie, who was alibied for this murder. “You don’t want to see what’s out there.”
The corgi, who had seen worse, seeing as how she had scouted Perkerson Park, disagreed with me.
“I can’t draw attention to myself, or to you, by bringing a pet on-scene.”
Ears pinned to her skull, Bonnie bit my hand just shy of breaking skin, and I yelped.
“She’s right.” Ford attempted to reason with her. “You need to stay put for this.”
When she turned her head to look out the window, ignoring us, I took it on faith that she would behave.
We hit the asphalt in the parking lot, but Ford kept glancing over his shoulder as we crossed to Midas.
“Are you scared she’ll pee on your seats?” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Or worse?”
“Definitely or worse.” He threw a companionable arm around my shoulders. “You should have seen her tackle the elevator doors. Her teeth and jaws are like fu—, I mean, freaking can openers. Bonnie will get to you if she decides she needs to, truck or no truck.”
“You can curse in front of me. I’ve heard worse.” I had a big brother with a big mouth, not that I could admit it to Ford. “I won’t clutch my pearls or swoon or do anything girly.”
Not that there was anything wrong with acting feminine, but girly was shorthand that encompassed a set of behaviors men automatically understood thanks to a lifetime of societal programming.
Midas stood with his hands in his pockets, and his gaze traced the curve of Ford’s arm where it wrapped around my shoulders.
“Another tip?” I shrugged off Ford and approached Midas. “Did you speak to the caller directly this time?”
“Yes.” He craned his neck. “Where’s Snowball?”
“In the truck.” I hauled him back on track. “Tip? Caller?”
“The caller was male. He dialed the den’s landline and asked for me. Dispatch doesn’t hand out our numbers, but they did transfer him to my cell. He sounded young, Southern, and he told me that he stumbled over a packmate on his way to the parking lot. I asked for his name, he refused. I asked for the victim’s name, which he must have known to identify her as pack, and he broke character. He ditched the accent, laughed once, and hung up the phone.”
“He’s taunting us.” I studied the parking lot filled with the curious. I examined each of their faces for signs the killer was here, watching. “He’s escalating.”
This particular MARTA station was one of the busiest in the city thanks to its easy access to I-20 and Douglas and Cobb County. The parking lot held something like fifteen hundred vehicles, and it employed its own police force. There were cameras mounted everywhere and plenty of people moving through the station toward the buses and the train.
“Give me a second.” I walked away from the gwyllgi while I dialed Bishop. “We’ve got another body.”
“Fuck.”
“Pretty much.” I rattled off the address and our exact location. “Pull surveillance, and let’s find this guy.”
“Do you need me to act as your aide?”
“Ford is here. So is Midas. I need you at HQ more than I need you on-scene.”
“Small hiccup on the background you requested.”
“What kind of hiccup?”
“The cleaners have their database locked down while they run their checks. Those usually don’t last but a few hours. I can wait, or I can check my pocket for keys, if you catch my drift.”
The call was a tough one, but I had to prioritize. “Wait it out.”
“I’ll pull in Reece and Anca.” He hesitated. “Make no apologies.”
The sign-off was one our team had adapted from the Woolworth family motto passed down to Linus from his aunt, Maud Woolworth, his fiancée’s adoptive mother.
“Survive,” I agreed and ended the call.
I shot the POA an update along with a promise I could handle the job, and I prayed I wasn’t lying.
With that done, I rejoined the guys, who had been discussing notification of the victim’s family.
Confirmation the victim was gwyllgi, that the killer had told that much truth at least, had to hurt them. “You’ve got a name?”
“Tilda Wainwright,” Midas said. “She’s a nurse.” His mouth pulled tight. “She was a nurse.”
“I don’t get it. The pattern makes no sense.” A richer darkness rippled beneath me, eager for a taste, so I flicked my fingers and sent Ambrose to investigate. “No attempt was made to conceal Shonda’s body. She was left in public, in plain sight. The killer wanted her found quickly.”
“The cache was old,” Ford said, understanding. “It could have gone undetected for days or weeks longer.”
“There was no reason for him to give up his hunting grounds.” He had a sweet spot here, and he had gone undetected so far. “Unless he didn’t plan to return there. Even then, it’s risky giving us that much evidence to work with. It will put us closer to IDing him.”
“This location promised Tilda would be found immediately,” Midas said, picking up where we left off. “Does that mean he’ll call with the location of another cache next?”
“Goddess, I hope not.” That was a pattern I did not want to see emerge. “I need to see the body and speak with the cleaners.” Ambrose too. “Bishop is expecting my report.”
Thankfully, the man who provoked Bonnie into her gwyllgi form wasn’t present to hassle me. However, I grimaced at the quick efficiency with which they processed the scene to clear it up before humans could document more of it with their phones. There would be no sweeping this under the rug. Money and favors would have to exchange hands to erase this.
“Hadley Whitaker, right?” A tall redhead flagged me down. “I’m Siobhan.”
“This your scene?” I took the hand she offered, shook. “I have questions.”
“I have no answers—yet—but this is my scene.”
“I meant on the Perkerson Park case.” I ought to be looking at the body, but a connection inside the cleaners could prove useful. They weren’t a social bunch, so I chose to take it as a good sign that she had singled me out of her own volition. “When will those reports be available?”
“Tomorrow.” The blood drained from her cheeks. “We’ve been working overtime to get all the evidence catalogued.”
Catalogued was a sanitary description for the work of piecing together so many bodies.
“Thank you.” I couldn’t put off viewing the body any longer. They were prepping it for transportation to their private morgue. “I need all the help I can get stopping this guy.”
“Reece knows how to get in touch with me,” she said softly. “I’ll send over the files the second they go live on our server.”
Well, that explained how he got his samples.
One of her underlings appeared at her elbow with a baggie and a question, and I left them to their work.
Tilda Wainwright lay curled facing the wall with her arms covering her head. She wore maroon scrubs, so she had been murdered on her way to or from work at the hospital. Her blonde hair was streaked with crimson highlights, and her shoes were bright white Crocs spattered with gruesome polka dots.
From this angle, the pinkish-white bone of her spine was visible. Whoever had done this had eaten the meat between her shoulder blades and her pelvis. They had gnawed her ribs, which had splintered and cracked until they snapped off under the pressure of the killer’s jaws.
I jumped when a hand landed on my shoulder and spun to find Ford. “What’s up?”
“Just wanted to check on you.” He gave me a reassuring squeeze. “Midas is talking to Bonnie.”
“I think I’ll join them.” I had a few questions for him. “Are you coming with?”
“Not yet.” He let his focus slide to the body. “I need a moment.”
“How rude is it for me to ask you to compare the scents from the previous scenes with this one?”
“Pretty damn rude,” he groused, “but I’ll try.”
“Thanks.”
