Tempting Danger (21 page)

A dirty cop could plant evidence or hide it. Not a happy thought, considering he seemed to be someone’s favorite pick for suspect. But if one cop was working against him, another one was on his side. At least, he amended mentally, on the side of justice.

How was she going to react when he told her the truth about them?

He’d never expected this to happen to him. Never wanted it, to tell the truth, even as an adolescent. But he’d had Benedict’s example and Nettie’s warnings, so he knew the dangers. And being chosen was so rare . . . he’d felt safe. But he had at least known it was possible, had been taught what it meant. Lily didn’t even know such a condition existed.

She was not going to take it well.

He wanted time to court her. Time for her to begin to know him, for trust to send down its first roots. But his body was urgent for her, insistent in a way that denied delay. She thought she could choose whether or not to act on what she felt; he knew better. And he knew he had to tell her the truth before they lay together.

That’s what young lupi were advised—if the Lady blesses you with a Chosen, be honest with her about what is happening. And be patient.
“It would be your responsibility,”
Nettie had told him once,
“to make it as easy on her as possible. But don’t gloss over the difficulties If she’s young and idealistic, she may romanticize it, see it as some sort of perfect union, a merging of soul.”
She’d snorted.
“Don’t let her get away with that.”

Rule crept along behind a bus occupying more than its fair share of the road, and glanced at Lily. She was young, yes, and possessed very high ideals, from what he’d seen. But she was not going to romanticize her situation. He’d give odds she would fight it, and him, like crazy—and the Lady only knew how much damage she’d do them both.

Tonight, he promised himself. He would tell her tonight.

THE
street outside Therese’s walk-up was cluttered with cars: two black and whites, the ambulance and the coroner’s car, Mech’s blue sedan, and O’Brien’s battered Chevy. Lily had Rule drop her at the corner.

“I’ll leave word to let you into the building,” she said as she climbed out.

“Good enough. I’ll park at the club. Max’s reputation discourages local entrepreneurs from treating his parking lot as a parts supply warehouse.”

He spoke lightly, but he looked grim. She felt the same. She didn’t throw up anymore when the scene was messy, but her stomach wasn’t happy. It was always worse if she’d known the victim, even slightly. “Are you okay with this?” she asked abruptly.

“I’ve seen death. Go. Do what you have to.”

She nodded, closed the door, and headed down the street.

Lily recognized the uniform stationed at the entrance to the dingy lobby—the rookie from West Texas. She nodded at him. “Gonzales, right? Detective Yu. Is Sergeant Meckle in there?”

“Yes, ma’am. He has a witness. He’s using the manager’s quarters for interviews. It’s behind the stairs.”

“I understand she was found just before noon. Who found her?”

“A juvenile name of Abel Martinez. Fourteen years old. Your sergeant took his statement and let his mother have him. She lives in number ten, same floor. No father in residence. Two sisters, both younger.”

“Number ten’s right next to twelve,” Lily said, remembering from her previous visit. “The walls are thin. No one heard anything?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. Phillips talked to a couple people before Sergeant Meckle arrived and took over, but I’ve been handling access.”

“Any Feds shown up? There’s a couple that have taken an interest in the case.”

“No, ma’am.”

Her mouth tightened. This didn’t eliminate Croft and Karonski, but it suggested she’d better look hard at Mech and the captain.

Oh, Lord, she didn’t want it to be the captain. “I’ve got someone coming who will act as an expert consultant. Rule Turner. When he arrives, let him into the building to wait for me. He’s not to go up the stairs. Just into the building.”

His eyebrows went up, but he nodded. Lily started up the stairs. The sour smell of vomit hit her about halfway up. Might be Abel Martinez’s contribution, she thought. She’d have to make sure a social worker talked to him.

Phillips had the door to apartment twelve. He was talking with the ambulance attendants. She could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner inside the apartment. “Damned if this isn’t getting to be a habit, seeing you around here,” he drawled.

“I could break it, given a chance. You were first on scene again. Tell me what happened.”

“I got the call from Dispatch at twelve-oh-seven, checked the scene from the door. No question she was dead, so I called it in. While I waited, I talked to the kid who found her. Seems Abel stayed home from school today with an upset stomach but had an amazing recovery and decided to shoot hoops. When he left his apartment, he noticed that the door to number twelve wasn’t closed. He says he went inside to check on her.” Phillips shrugged. “Probably thought he could lift something. Poor kid. He found more than he bargained for.”

“O’Brien’s inside?”

“Yeah. Detective—she didn’t deserve what that damned were did. I want to know how he found out about her.”

“So do I.” This was going to be bad. Lily could smell the blood from here, and something nastier. She opened her purse and took out disposable gloves and booties. “Gut wound?”

“Smells like one.” That was from one of the ambulance attendants. “Haven’t seen her yet.”

“Gut wound,” Phillips confirmed. “Among others. Bastard ripped her up.”

Lily pulled on the last glove. The door was open a few inches. She pushed it wider.

Therese was on the love seat. The one that used to be blue.

“Bag your feet,” O’Brien told her. He was crouched on the floor near the body, his back to the door. An evidence tech was on her knees in the tiny kitchen area, using a handheld vacuum.

“I did.”

“Oh, it’s Yu.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Get it? You—Yu.”

“I get it.” O’Brien’s humor was even lamer than usual, but that may have been because his heart wasn’t in it.

The bastard had ripped her up, all right. She’d been dead awhile—ten, twelve hours, at a guess. Most of the blood had dried . . . but there was a lot of blood.

She lay on her back, her head propped up on two pillows and turned slightly to her left. Her throat had been torn open. One arm hung off the side of the love seat, the fingers touching the floor. Some of her guts touched the floor, too. They had the look of hamburger left uncovered in the refrigerator—crusty brown on top with glimpses of moist red underneath. He’d slashed her repeatedly, opening the bowel, among other things.

The ripe smell made Lily’s stomach churn, but it was the doll that got to her. Therese was still hugging a baby doll with one arm. The doll’s hair wasn’t blonde anymore.

Lily started toward O’Brien, watching where she put her feet. And stopped, frowning at the thin beige carpet. “There’s no blood here.”

“That would be because she was killed here, not over there.”

“But he would have been drenched in it. He played with her enough. He should have been dripping when he walked away from her.”

O’Brien glanced at her over his shoulder, frowning. “You’re right. Damn, I’m getting old. Should’ve spotted that. He cleaned up afterward. Mona found some blood by the kitchen sink. But he should’ve left spots or tracks of some sort on the way there.” His face wrinkled in puzzlement. “Maybe blood doesn’t stick to them when they Change.”

“Then why did he wash up?” She moved closer. No defensive wounds on the arm hanging off the love seat. Looked like he’d taken out her throat first, which explained why no one had heard screams or a struggle. “What have you got?”

He was tweezing something from the blood-soaked carpet. “Hair. I’d say wolf hair, but we’ll let the lab make sure. There’s some stuck to her hand, too, but the biggest clump fell on the floor. Looks like she pulled a hunk out of him.”

Lily frowned. “She managed to rip out a handful of his fur while he was ripping out her throat?”

O’Brien shrugged. “She let him in. No sign of forced entry or a struggle, so he was probably a customer. Maybe she was petting him or something while they warmed up. You hear about that, about women who want to make it with them when they’re wolves. Maybe some of the wolves like it that way, too.”

“She wasn’t working.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“There’s not much left of of the T-shirt she was wearing, but I’m pretty sure it’s what she had on when I talked to her. That’s her at-home clothes, not what she wore to attract trade.”

“So he wasn’t a customer. Just a close personal friend.”

“Could be.” Lily moved closer. The carpet squished. “What’s that stuck to her side? Paper?” Lily tilted her head. “It looks like part of an ad. Glossy, like in a magazine.”

“Bingo. She was a
Cosmo
girl.” O’Brien’s grin was brief. “I bagged the rest of it already.”

“So she was lying on the couch reading
Cosmo,
petting her friend the wolf. Who suddenly decided to rip out her throat, her guts, pretty much everything but her face. Without getting any blood on himself.”

“Don’t ask me. My job’s to find stuff and log it. You’re the one who explains it.”

She couldn’t. “Those don’t look like knife wounds.”

“You wondering if someone tried to fake a wolf attack?” O’Brien put his tweezers down and carefully sealed the plastic bag. “Doesn’t look like it. Skin’s ripped, not sliced.”

“But why did he keep ripping her up after he killed her? That didn’t happen with Fuentes.”

“Fuentes was killed out in the open. He had privacy here, time to do what he liked.”

Lily shook her head. “This looks like hate. He didn’t just want her dead, he wanted to shred her. Her body, not her arms or legs or face.”

“Maybe he hates women.”

Rule had said any lupus who killed a woman would be considered insane. Was that what they were dealing with, then? Not some big conspiracy but a single crazy lupus?

Who just happened to pick Lily’s witness for his next kill. She scowled. The evidence tech had moved to the tiny bathroom, leaving her and O’Brien alone for the moment. “I need to check something.”

“Right.” O’Brien pushed to his feet. “I’ll just get this labeled.”

With O’Brien ostentatiously looking the other way, Lily tugged off one glove, took a quick breath through her mouth, and touched Therese’s shoulder.

Magic shuddered up her arm. She snatched her hand back, startled by the strength of it . . . and by another sensation. An alien one. She bit her lip. Maybe it was just that this was so much stronger than what she’d touched of lupus magic before, but it didn’t feel right. She had to try again, and was oddly reluctant.

Lily crouched and pressed her hand to a place on Therese’s hip where the blood was dry and the skin intact. And it hit again, harsh and discordant, like running her hand over nettles. She forced herself to remain still and pay attention, though she wanted to turn away, mentally and physically.

There was a vague overtone of lupus to the sensation . . . and something else beneath. Something strong and jarring and
wrong.

Her breath shuddered out. She removed her hand and shook it, trying to dispel the sense of wrongness. What was this? Magic was neutral, a force like electricity or fire. It came in different flavors and could be used for good or ill, but Lily didn’t pick up purpose or some kind of ethical charge when she touched magic. Only the power itself.

At least, she never had before.

Was that what evil felt like?

She stood, tugged her glove back on, and tried not to sound as shaken as she felt. “Guess I’ll let them take her away now.”

“Works for me.” O’Brien looked up from messing with his samples. His eyes narrowed. “You okay?”

She shook her head, dismissing the question rather than answering it. “I’ve got someone waiting to have a look at her. I need to get her moved so he can.” Lily headed for the door, wondering what Rule’s sense of smell would tell him. Would it be anything like what she’d touched?

She paused to tell the attendants they could have her now and looked at Phillips. “With me,” she said, and started down the stairs.

She’d have to make sure that once Rule Changed he didn’t stand where he might get hair on her. Not that the lab would be able to tell one lupus’s hair from another’s, not with the way magic screwed up tests. But this was an unconventional procedure. If the defense attorney screamed contamination of evidence, she had to be able to refute that.

Which meant witnesses, at least two. Phillips, for one. He wasn’t implicated in Therese’s death, and his background with the X-Squad would make him look good on the stand. The defense couldn’t accuse him of being soft on lupi. For the other . . .