Witch Wolf (19 page)

Arthur laughed and I rewarded him with a grin. There was a look on Lenorre's face that said she either didn't get the joke or didn't find it particularly funny.

"I'm cool with it," Arthur said, looking at Lenorre. "I promise not to post a bulletin, but there are going to be cops here who recognize you."

Lenorre offered a slight nod. "I am aware of that, Detective."

"Let's go before Holbrook gets even more pissy," he said. I agreed with him. The last thing I wanted to deal with was a grumpy ex-boss. I was going to do my best to keep that off the agenda tonight. I was surprised to find that my nerves weren't freaking out about Arthur recognizing Lenorre. It shocked me the most to find out that he wasn't vampire racist. A lot of cops thought vampires were monsters. Hell, a lot of people thought anything preternatural was monstrous and evil. I wasn't going to tell Arthur that I'd been a werewolf for three years. I didn't feel that safe with him. Besides, it was best that he didn't know. How did I know he hadn't spotted me for what I am? I just knew. Call it intuition, call it instincts, but I knew Arthur didn't know, even though he'd mentioned that thing about me being dominant. It was interesting that he saw a similar power in my eyes that he saw in Lenorre's. It made me wonder if he'd seen that before or after I had been infected with lycanthropy.

Arthur stopped outside a pale brown door that had paint chipped in areas to reveal the pale wood underneath. He looked at me. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll be," I said.

He looked back at Lenorre, who had settled herself in a seat against the wall to wait. "What's it like?" There was curiosity in his eyes.

"What's what like?" I asked.

"Banging a vampire."

I told him the truth. "I don't know."

The look he wore said that clearly, he didn't believe me.

"What?" I said, "I haven't done anything with her."

"Kass," he said getting all serious on me again. "If you're not sleeping with her, what are you doing with her?"

I smiled at him, turning the doorknob. "Investigating."

I opened the door and stepped into the room beyond.

The walls of the interrogation room were a disgusting shade of off-white. No, there wasn't one of those nifty little one-way mirrors. The station hadn't been able to afford one when it was first built. Dan Holbrook was sitting across the table from a petite brunette. I recognized the outline of her features and the light scent of her perfume. There was still a hint of fear to her smell, but it was such a small amount that the flowery perfume overrode it.

Dan turned to look when I walked into the room. He didn't get up, or offer to shake hands, but that didn't surprise me. His dark brown hair was in the same short cut it had been for years. The black slacks he wore were ironed and obviously tailored. He'd taken the suit jacket off and draped it over the back of the chair so that the charcoal dress shirt and shoulder holster were in open view. I remembered from years of working with him that he often did that during any sort of interrogation, be it victim questioning or suspect questioning. He left his gun in plain view. I didn't agree with flaunting a weapon in front of a victim. In my opinion, it's rude, but I've seen it work in front of a suspect. When a suspect is placed on the opposite side of the table, their eyes fill with worry, darting back and forth from face to gun. Dan flaunted his gun for that reason and to display that he was in charge. It irked me that he was doing it in front of a woman who had been attacked.

She huddled over a mug of coffee. Her eyes darted to me and relief slid into their hazel depths. I thought I understood the relief. Women generally feel more comfortable around other women, especially women who have just been attacked by a man. Her long hair was pulled out of her face, tied back at the nape of her neck. It emphasized her triangular features, bringing the full mouth and wide eyes into view. There was a scratch across her left cheek. It looked like it had just stopped bleeding.

"Lyall," Dan spoke and his tone was thundering deep, "have a seat."

He stood and removed his jacket from the back of the fold-out chair. The chairs were uncomfortable.

"Claire Delaine, this is Preternatural Private Investigator Kassandra Lyall. She'll be interviewing you from this point on."

I didn't exactly take kindly to the fact that he'd given a complete stranger my first name, but I kept my mouth shut. If you know what's good for you, you don't argue with Holbrook.

I sat down as Dan folded out another chair that had been against the wall. He took a seat in the corner of the room, placing the clipboard in his lap so he could take notes. I forced myself to smile at Claire.

"Ms. Delaine, can you tell me what happened to you this evening?"

She looked at Captain Holbrook. "How many times do I have to tell you what happened?"

I spoke before Holbrook could respond. "Ms. Delaine, I understand you're tired, irritated, and that you've probably told the story a million times. That's how interviewing goes. I've been called in to help work this case. I'm the one that needs to know what happened to you tonight. If you don't tell me, I don't think Captain Holbrook is feeling generous enough to fill me in. So it comes down to this-you want my help or not?"

Her fingertip circled the edge of the coffee mug as she gave me a considering look. "Fine," she said. "About a week ago I answered a personal ad in the local newspaper."

"Was it a dating personal ad?" I asked, just to be specific.

"Yes."

I nodded. "Was the ad from a male or female?"

She gave me a look. "The ad was from a male seeking a female."

"You answered this ad?"

She nodded. "We went out to dinner around eight this evening."

"Do you remember his name? Where did you go eat?"

"I don't know his last name, but he said his first name was James, Jay for short," she said. "We went out to dinner at this nice bar and grill. Cattle Horn's Steakhouse." It wasn't obvious but her hand trembled over the edge of the mug. She put her hands in her lap. "Everything was fine," she said. "It was. . . perfect. . . romantic. . . "

"Until?" I asked.

"I found out he was a monster." Her tone was harsh, mingling with an edge of fear, but those hazel eyes burned into my own by the strength of her will. She wasn't willing to play the victim.

It was obvious. I wasn't going to mention the park. If I mentioned anything even remotely hinting that I knew where the incident had taken place, suspicions would arise.

Instead, I asked, "What do you mean by that?"

I watched as she struggled to hold herself together. Her shoulders squared and she drew in a long breath of air. "We went to the park after dinner. . . "

"I need to know what park," I told her.

"Heartland Park. It's not far from Cattle Horn's. We decided to walk. When we got to the park he held my hand and pointed out various trees and plants. He seemed to know a lot about them. I asked him how he knew so much and he told me that he used to work as a park ranger. He didn't specify which park when I asked him, just said one of the parks in Colorado." She looked at me with pleading eyes. "He tried to kill me. I don't understand why. . . "

"No one ever understands why," I said, not knowing what else to say. If it was the same werewolf that had killed the Nelsons' neighbor, chances were he was just looking for a kill. If the neighbor had been a woman fitting Claire's description I would've said we had a lead. It would have meant that the killer was looking for a certain type of victim.

"You said he was a monster," I went on. "What happened that makes you say that?"

"A werewolf," she said, "I watched as he changed. . . "

"You saw him shift?" I asked. "Did he say anything before shifting?"

"He told me that he liked me. He said he had a secret he wanted to share with me, and a game he wanted to play. He asked me if I had ever read the story about Little Red Riding Hood. Of course I have, I told him." Her voice was beginning to shake. I was surprised there wasn't a box of Kleenex on the table. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, fighting against the tears.

"He changed without warning. He wanted me to watch him change. The fear smelled good, he said. I refused to run when he told me to run, because that's what he wanted. He wanted to chase me, and kill me. . . " The tears broke and she buried her face in her hands. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I told myself I wouldn't cry. . . I shouldn't. . . "

"Claire, anybody would cry after what you've been through."

She nodded, keeping her face hidden in her hands. "I don't know what to think." She sounded like a child lost in the dark. I felt her pain grip at my heart and resisted the urge to go to her, to comfort her, to tell her those little lies: everything is all right, it was just a bad dream. The truth was that it hadn't been a bad dream. It was very, very real.

"What did he look like?" I asked. "Do you remember?"

"Tall, muscular, blue eyes," she said. "I think he was in his late twenties, early thirties."

"Do you remember what color his hair was?"

"No. He was wearing a hat."

Carver. It had to be. So, he'd chosen a different name. That made sense.

"Do you know why they asked me to question you?" I asked her.

She looked up at me then, wiping her eyes on the dark blue sleeves of her turtleneck. "No."

"Because," I said, "whoever, whatever did this to you, I'm going to catch him. I know you're scared," I said. "I've been there." I told her with my eyes that she wasn't the only one that'd been attacked.

She wiped her nose on her sleeve this time. "What happened to you?"

"Let's just say it's dead now. You can't dwell on it too much. I know it's easier said than done, but you get over it, eventually."

"There was more than one," she said.

I pretended to be surprised, widening my eyes slightly, but not overdoing it.

"What do you mean, there was more than one?" I asked, very carefully.

"Werewolf. There was another one that came out of nowhere. It happened so fast. . . He was coming for me, and the next thing I know this thing slammed into him and I ran." She was looking at the corner of the room like the scene was playing before her eyes. She met my gaze again. "I think it was trying to protect me."

I stood. "Then consider yourself very, very lucky. The other wolf offered no harm to you?" I asked.

She shook her head, eyes glazed. "No, no. If that hadn't happened. . . " She shuddered. "I don't think I'd be here right now." The tears subsided as she sat back in her seat. "I am lucky," she said.

I nodded. "Not many people survive a werewolf attack."

"You did," she said, then asked, "Didn't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, but that wasn't luck. That was silver ammo."

She looked scared. "What if he comes after me?"

"Does he know where you live?" I asked.

She nodded. "He picked me up from my house earlier this evening."

Shit.

"Captain Holbrook can put you under witness protection," I said. "I'd suggest you go stay with a relative or at a motel under a different name."

"I don't want to be under witness protection," she said stubbornly.

I shrugged. "I don't know what else to tell you."

"We'll make arrangements to see Ms. Delaine is safe," Holbrook said. "Thanks for coming down here, Lyall."

"I have another question."

Claire looked at me and I continued. "How did he pay for dinner?"

"Cash," she said.

I nodded. If he had used a credit card we would've been able to run it and find personal information like his full name, address, etc. Apparently, he'd thought about that too. I stood and Holbrook stood with me. He walked me to the door.

"It took you long enough to get here," he said once we were on the opposite side.

"Dan, I'm not under your supervision anymore. You can't boss me around like you used to."

He actually grunted. "I could stop calling you in to help with cases."

I smiled sweetly. "I'm good help, and you know it. Where would you be without me?"

"Down one royal pain in the ass," he said.

"That might be true, but I know more than anyone in this department about the preternatural."

He was silent long enough that I heard the heater kick on. The heavy whoosh of hot air blew out of the vents and filled the sudden silence. Well, silence aside from Arthur's voice going on about something or another in the other room.

"What do you think?" Holbrook asked at length.

I drew in a deep breath. "I think we've got a serial killer werewolf on our hands."

"You sure about that, Lyall?" He gave me a hard look.

I returned the look. "If I wasn't, I wouldn't have said so. You know me better than that."

He stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face. "What do you know, Lyall?" The question caught me off guard, but I recovered quickly, showing no emotion, no flickering of eyelids.

"Everything I know for sure," I said, "you and your men know."

He gave a sharp nod of his head. I watched as he looked out over the office. His dark eyes stopped on Lenorre, who had her arms crossed over her chest. Arthur was talking to her.

"Is that your new girlfriend?" he asked. "The countess looks a little dark for you, Lyall."

I laughed. "You used to tease me about looking dark," I said. He used to always ask me when I was going to go get a tan, and I always told him that it would never happen. "Besides, why do you presume she's with me? She's talking to Arthur."

Holbrook narrowed his eyes. "No woman in her right mind would willingly talk to Arthur. It doesn't look like your girlfriend is enjoying the conversation."

I ignored the girlfriend bit. "I still talk to him. Are you implying that I'm not in my right mind?"

He scoffed. "You talk to him because you know you're going to get a retainer out of it."

I grinned widely. "Do you tell him that?"

"All the time."

"It's good to know you haven't lost your sense of humor."

"Go save your girlfriend, Lyall."