“No,” Cade interrupted firmly. He already knew that the dead girl wasn’t a wolf. They didn’t get tattoos. Not ones that stuck over the full moon, anyhow. “No null residents or guests stay on the Reserve during the full moon. It’s policy. Anyone who doesn’t shift into a wolf, even spouses and children, is found other accommodations. Not to mention the question of what the Night Shift was doing at the Reserve in the first place.”
O’Hara scowled at him. “The Reserve is a private community that employs its own security,” he said gruffly. “It’s still in the San Diego city limits and falls under our authority. You function up there because we allow it.”
“I function up there because very rich people want it,” Cade corrected him. “And they don’t want local law enforcement interfering with their pretend wilderness. So, unless the Night Shift had a very good reason to be there—”
O’Hara held up his hand. He only had three fingers, his pinky just a shiny nub of scar tissue. Wolves healed from most things—that was the problem with tattoos—but anything cut off didn’t grow back.
“They didn’t,” he said. “And they weren’t. That’s the problem. The intake form isn’t signed, none of the emergency operators logged a call from the Reserve, and nobody transported her body to the morgue. She was just here this morning with paperwork written on a form six years out of date.”
He paused like that was supposed to mean something. It didn’t. Not to Cade, at least.
“Fuck off,” Marlow said as he pushed himself off the wall. His voice stayed even, almost calm, but there was an edge to it. It was the closest to excited that Cade had seen the laidback Night Shift officer get. He ignored the tickle of interest that caught the back of his throat and focused on what was going on instead of his sex drive. “That isn’t going on anymore. Internal Affairs dealt with it, and the officers involved.”
Sun shifted her weight. Her rubber-soled shoes squeaked on the floor as she did so. “And my predecessor was fired,” she said. “I am not with O’Hara on this. That problem was rooted out.”
Cade rolled his eyes. “Onwhat?” he said. “What are you talking about?”
All three turned to glare at him. The wolf was close enough to the surface that Cade had to struggle not to bare his teeth at them.
It was Marlow who broke the standoff first. “He wasn’t here six years ago,” he pointed out. “The Reserve contracted a private security firmbecauseof what happened with Piper.”
Cade pressed his finger to the inner corner of his eye as his patience ran out. “Which was?” he asked in a harsh voice. “And exactly why am I here, because you could have asked my assistant about the keycard.”
Marlow bit out a laugh. “You’re here because of what happened,” he said. “Captain O’Hara doesn’t trust the Night Shift, and if he calls in IA, then everyone will know that.”
O’Hara looked unhappy, but he didn’t even try to disagree. Not really.
“It’s not about trust; it’s about confidence,” he said. “All I want to know is if there’s any reason to think we missed something—someone—back then. Deacon can get that process started quickly and discreetly, before I have to bring anyone else in.”
Cade raised his eyebrows. “Why should I?” he asked. “Since I assume you can’t get that warrant I asked for without whatever this is becoming public.”
“True,” O’Hara said. “But then the Reserve is dragged into this, the old dirt and the new. Right now, it looks like someone walked straight through Cold Winds’ security measures and murdered someone’s guest. How long do you think it will take before your contract evaporates? How many will you find to replace it?”
He waited, a wiry, spare man with thinning hair and calm composure. Like it or not, he was right. The Reserve wanted discretion and silence, not mistakes and publicity.
“I could maybe make some inquiries,” Cade allowed. “Any intel I share will be redacted, but I don’t owe the SDPD anything—contractually or otherwise. So your sins won’t be blacked out.”
O’Hara’s shoulders relaxed as Cade gave in. He nodded his agreement to the deal and opened his mouth. Marlow interrupted.
“And me?” he said. “Why am I here?”
“He’s not a police officer,” O’Hara said. “You are—and this is still our investigation. Plus, I know that you burned your bridges with Piper when this happened. So this is your case until I tell you otherwise. Right now, you’re not Night Shift. You’re our new liaison with the Reserve.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Marlow said and stalked out of the morgue.
The urge to follow him briefly tugged at Cade. He resisted, although he’d be grateful when his unlikely attraction to Marlow went back in the basement where it belonged.
“That was short-lived,” he said. “Nice to have a partner while it lasted.”
“He’ll do what needs doing,” O’Hara said. “You just do the same.”
Cade recited the string of numbers in a clipped, evenly paced voice into the cracked mouthpiece of the pay phone handset. The plastic smelled like bad breath and bad decisions.
“Okay,” Lem said, the “o” drawn out as he scuffled noisily around his desk for something, probably a pen. “Have we gone DEFCON code now, because I think I missed that meeting.”
“Which onedidn’tyou miss?” Cade asked, an edge of old—so long-standing it was dusty—frustration in his voice. On the other end of the phone, Lem just snorted out a laugh at the joke. Cade looked up for strength at the high cracked ceiling and let it go. There were reasons he kept Lem around; none of them involved his work ethic about admin. “I need to know who was assigned that card.”
“It’s a guest card. Hold on, let me check the files,” Lem said. His voice blurred as he shifted the phone from one ear to the other. Despite the fact Cade had never seen him use more than two fingers to type, the clatter of hit keys was rapid-fire. “A recent one, this year or late last from the numbers. I’d need to go into the office to pull the request paperwork to find a name.”
