“Yeah, okay.”
All the forensic evidence Miller and his team collected would have been sent to the lab to be analysed. It was up to Michael and Frank to use that evidence and liaise with the local packs.
Miller had sent them a full inventory of what had been collected. When they were back at their desks, Michael opened his laptop and pulled it up.
The most interesting items were the victim’s phone and his backpack—specifically, the tape it contained inside. They wouldn’t know whose blood was on that tape for at least another day, at the earliest, by Michael’s estimations.
He scanned through his notes on the latest victim until he found the name he was looking for—Gavin Foster. Crossford had called him three times on Friday afternoon, and they’d exchanged a flurry of texts later that evening, according to the phone records. Crossford had deleted all the messages, but maybe Foster hadn’t.
Reaching for the car keys from Frank’s desk, Michael said. “Let’s go pay a visit to Mr Foster.”
CHAPTER THREE
Aaron spent Saturday afternoon holed up in his flat, catching up on all his Sky+ recordings. He had the weekend off work—he only ever fought on those weekends and it was easier if he didn’t go outside. Less risk of someone seeing him.
He had no idea who’d watched his fight on Friday night other than Smith, his bunch of idiots, and Harry. Everyone else was pretty much a blur. But that didn’t mean they wouldn’t recognise him if they saw him out and about.
A glance in the mirror showed him a face free from injury—apart from a small scar above his right eyebrow, but that would never disappear.
As soon as he’d fallen asleep early Saturday morning, no longer in control of his body’s healing process, his wounds had fixed themselves. Not a trace of the injuries remained.
He might not have been badly hurt on Friday, and his face had largely been spared, but he’d had enough visible bruises and the odd cut to be noticeable. And ten hours was nowhere near enough for them to have healed naturally. A week was probably the minimum they’d take to disappear if he wasn’t a shifter, but he couldn’t affect what happened when he was asleep.
After the first time it happened, Aaron had learnt to photograph his face and hands. If it came down to it, and he absolutely had to, he could re-create his injuries. He’d also got creative with make-up, thanks to a couple of YouTube tutorials.
It was an awful lot of effort to go to for something that could get him arrested and in serious trouble with his alpha.
But he wouldn’t have to do it again after this time.
The thought made him smile, despite the slight pang at the thought of no more fights. The adrenaline rush it gave him wasn’t worth the risk, for him or Harry.
Showered and dressed, Aaron grabbed his keys and phone before leaving his flat.
If neither of them were working, he and Harry spent Sunday afternoon together. They took it in turns to cook Sunday lunch—a tradition carried over from their youth.
When they’d both been human.
He lived in the same pack building as Harry. They used to be under the same beta, but not anymore. They weren’t under anyone at the moment.
Their old beta had met and fallen in love with a Welsh shifter and had moved away to be with her and become a member of her pack. That had been four months ago, and their alpha had yet to replace him.
If they’d had a beta to report to, someone keeping a closer eye on them, Aaron suspected neither of them would have ended up involved with illegal boxing.
Harry lived on the floor above him, and after jogging up the stairs, Aaron walked along the hall, knocking on Harry’s door when he got there. All the flats were soundproofed to some degree. No one wanted to listen in on their neighbours. As a result, each front door was equipped with a security camera and a doorbell that connected to the bedrooms and bathrooms, which were fully soundproofed.
Since Harry was expecting him, Aaron didn’t bother with the doorbell.
He waved at the security camera above the door as he waited and mouthed, “Hurry up, you great tosser.”
Eventually, Harry pulled the door open. “I don’t watch that all the time, you know.” He gestured at the camera above his door and rolled his eyes. “You have no way of knowing if I’m there or not, so why do you bother?”
Aaron grinned. “Bollocks. I know you’ve got it connected to your phone. As soon as I knocked on the door, you were watching.”
“Was not,” Harry mumbled. But Aaron knew better because he was exactly the same. And besides, Harry expected him to mouth something or pull a face. He’d be disappointed if Aaron didn’t do it.
Standing back, Harry held the door open for Aaron to come in, studying his face as Aaron walked past him. “All healed, then?”
“Yep.”
