It took Aaron a moment to realise the question was directed at him. “What? Oh… um… Do I need to be there?” He looked to Frank. “I usually leave it about three weeks between fights, but if I have to be there, I guess I could say I needed the money.”
“What about those bruises?” He pointed to Aaron’s face. “How do you stop those from healing?”
Aaron smiled, pleased with himself. “They’re not real. It’s make-up.”
Frank let out a low whistle. “Wow. Fooled me.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” That probably shouldn’t be something he was proud of though. He’d been committing a crime.
“I think you should be there.” Michael’s gaze dropped to the fake bruises along Aaron’s jaw and stayed there; Aaron felt the weight of it pinning him in place. “The sooner we get this wrapped up, the better, and we need you there in order to do that. You’re our best shot—Blake knows you and Smith’s already singled you out once. We need to get you on his radar again.”
“Yeah, okay.” He hated the idea of being on Smith’s radar, but Michael was right. They needed to catch this killer quickly. A shifter who’d killed three humans already clearly had no respect for either humans or the law. They obviously didn’t think they’d get caught, and they’d been right so far. So why would they stop?
Unless, of course, they were doing it all on Smith’s orders, for a reason Aaron couldn’t begin to comprehend, but then the same theory probably applied.
They needed to catch them.
“I’ll fight,” he said, loud and clear.
“Good.” Michael clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering a touch longer than necessary, then turned to the others. “Go home, guys. We’ll have another meeting in the morning.” They filed out of the room. Frank paused in the doorway but then left.
“How did you get here?” Michael asked him as he unpinned the photo from the wall and collected the others from the table.
“Tube.”
Michael checked his watch. “It’s almost eight thirty. I’ll give you a lift home.”
“Why?” Aaron frowned, wondering what he was implying. “I think I can take care of myself should there be anyrowdypassengers.” He let his fangs slide down just for fun and grinned wide. “Promise.”
Rolling his eyes, Michael said, “Yeah, yeah. Point made.” His gaze caught on Aaron’s teeth a little too long though, and the hint of arousal in the air made Aaron reckless.
He licked over the tips of his canines, pulse racing as Michael’s gaze tracked his tongue. “I’m a big boy, Michael.” The words came out rough, the barest rumble of a growl lacing them. He’d normally not say something like that, especially not to an SCTF officer, but knowing Michael wanted him changed things.
Swallowing thickly, Michael finally looked away. Voice a little strained, he said, “Just humour me though. Word’s out that the SCTF’s investigating the murders. I’d feel better if you let me drive you home. Please.”
People might be getting wary of shifters, but surely they’d give Aaron a wide berth if they recognised him for what he was, not engage him in a fight. But Michael was looking at him like he wanted him to say yes, and Aaron’s traitorous mind conjured up all those times when Michael had brushed up against him or squeezed his hand.
And there was the way he’d looked at Aaron’s fangs… as though he were imagining the way they’d feel on his skin.
Aaron sucked in a breath, his resolve crumbling. Despite his better judgement—because he knew this was a bad idea—he wanted to be alone with Michael.
But he didn’t have to let Michael know that. “Fine,” he said with a sigh. “You can give me a lift.”
Michael rolled his eyes, but Aaron caught the hint of a smile. “Come on, then.”
Aaron followed him down the corridor to another card-operated door, nervous excitement building inside him.
This should be interesting.
CHAPTER TEN
Michael played with his keys as he led Aaron down to where his car was parked. They were incredibly lucky to have an underground car park beneath their offices. It wasn’t huge and wouldn’t accommodate everyone who worked there, but thankfully, most of them preferred the tube anyway.
When they reached his dark-grey Audi A6, Michael walked around to the driver’s side, unlocking the doors.
Aaron gave the car an appreciative whistle. “Only two years old. Nice. I guess the SCTF pays well.”
“I guess.” Michael wasn’t about to tell Aaron it had been his dad’s and he’d sold it to Michael at an extremely reasonable price when he’d upgraded. It made him feel weird to talk about it. Like he was still depending on his parents at his age.
