His personality, and his ass.
O’Hara cleared his throat. “Flirt on your own time,” he told Marlow, voice dry and starchily amused. “And go get some sleep. You’re on active tonight.”
That smacked the distraction right out of Marlow. He spread his hands in protest.
“I was active last night, all night,” he said. “And I’ve been out today. Regs say I should be on call.”
O’Hara shrugged. “Franklin had a death in the family, out in Victorville,” he said. “And Sergeant Harrison is on indefinite medical leave. His knee isn’t coming back this time. We’re short-handed, and you’re here.”
That explanation made more sense of Harrison’s retirement than Bennett’s version.
“You’ll be more short-handed when I get eaten because I made a mistake.”
“No,” O’Hara said. “Franklin should be back tomorrow. Try not to die before midnight.”
Marlow snorted and tried to shove the question of Haley Jenkins and how she died to the back of his mind as he headed down to the locker rooms. She could wait. The moon wouldn’t.
The child screamed, a piercing pre-verbal shriek at the discomfort of it all, as the wolf ran with it in her mouth. She barreled through the fences that divided the neat postage-stamp suburban plots. Dirty white hooked claws dug furrows in the manicured green lawns. The bloody curtains from the nursery flapped behind her like a cape, illuminated as a series of security lights flicked on as she passed.
It made it easy to follow her.
“Dispatch?” Marlow clipped into his radio as he vaulted a broken swing set. A bit of plastic twisted under his foot as he landed. He staggered, caught himself, and kept going. “We’ve got a familial custody dispute on Albina Blvd. In active pursuit. Will need a medic here ASAP.”
The radio crackled a promise that the ambulance was on route.
A door opened, and one of the neighbors stepped outside. The distinctive ratchet of a shotgun being loaded was audible even over the baby’s hysterics.
“Get back inside,” Marlow yelled. He broke stride to grab his badge so he could flash it at the man. “The situation is under control. Go. Inside.”
Inside the house, a man tried to convince his husband to listen. The neighbor compromised by staying put. He cradled his shotgun in his arms as he craned his neck after the wolf.
Idiot.
Marlow left him to it. The break in momentum had cost him a few yards as the wolf lengthened her stride and widened the lead. In her jaws, the baby flopped, silent now.
Shit.
“She’s headed for Wagner,” he said into the radio. “Package is nonresponsive. Need an intercept and seed the road.”
It was Bennett who answered, her voice ragged from adrenaline and barked orders.
“On our way,” she said. “Fuck.”
Marlow scrambled over a downed fence panel and ran straight into a backhand that sent him flying into the garden he’d just left. He landed hard on his back and stared up at the fat, smug ass end of the full moon for a shocked moment as his lungs spasmed around the expelled breath.
He managed to force a raw, scratchy mouthful of air down into tight lungs. It was harder to bully himself to his feet, but he managed it.
The wolf snarled at him as she slunk through the broken fence, slats of wood splintered under her paws. Her ears were plastered flat to her skull, and she snarled, black lips peeled back from bloody, messy teeth. She’d been on all fours as she ran, but now she pushed herself up onto her back legs. Heavy shoulders bunched as she shook her long, wirily muscled arms—thickly sleeved in gingery hair—and curled her muddy fingers into claws.
Blood filled Marlow’s mouth, flat and weirdly soup-like in texture. He spat onto the ground and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. She’d put the baby down. That changed the rules of engagement. Without the kid to protect, his priority was to get her to leave. Marlow could still kill her if hehadto, but he’d rather avoid it.
That way, tomorrow, the kid would still have a mom and not a gravestone.
“Annette,” he said. The words were ragged as he breathed heavily. That was what her parents had said her name was, between hysterics. “This won’t end well. Just go. It’s a big city. Lots of places to be. Deer in the park.”
Frothy drool dripped from the wolf’s mouth as she tossed her head back and howled. The sound echoed in her barrel chest and thinned as it filtered down her long, broad snout. That wasn’t a good sign for a peaceful conclusion.
Marlow darted forward, spun on the ball of his foot, and kicked the wolf in the throat. She choked on her howl; the sound trapped in her mangled larynx. Her eyes bulged as she choked, but the wolf’s throat twisted and clicked as her body worked to mend the damage. She lunged forward and rammed one of those thick-muscled shoulders into his stomach.
