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He shoved it down deep inside him and rallied his thoughts around his unfinished business with Dragos.
Hard to do when Man of the Year and his oozing cat scratches were making a slow swagger toward Chase's seat in the corner of the small room.
"Fuckin' cops, eh? Think they can leave us sitting in here without food or water, shackle us up together like a bunch of animals." He scoffed and planted his ass down next to Chase on the bench. "What'd they bust you for?"
Chase didn't answer. It took enough effort just to contain the low growl that was curling up from the back of his parched throat. He kept his head down, eyes averted so the human wouldn't catch the hungered glow radiating out of them.
"Whatta ya, too good to make conversation or sumthin'?"
He felt the guy sizing him up, checking out the sweats and T-shirt Chase had been wearing when the cops brought him in - the same clothes he'd had on in the compound's subterranean infirmary in the moments before he'd broken loose and ran topside in the effort to spare his friends. He'd been barefoot then too, but now he sported a pair of black plastic shower shoes, courtesy of the Suffolk County jail.
Even with his short blond hair raked down over his brow, his gaze averted, Chase could sense the human's eyes fixed on him. "Looks like somebody banged you up pretty good too, sport. Ya leg is bleedin' through ya pants."
So it was. Chase glanced at the small red bloom that was seeping through the gray fabric covering his right thigh. Bad sign, his wounds from the other night still not healing up. He needed blood for that.
"Cops do that to you, or what, man?"
"Or what," Chase muttered, his voice rough like gravel. He slid a low glance at the human and let his upper lip curl back from just the tips of his fangs.
"Motherfu - " The big man's eyes flew wide. "What the fuck!"
He scrambled away from Chase in a clumsy backpedal that had him knocking into the holding cell door just as a pair of uniformed officers were opening it.
"Time to take a walk, fellas," the first cop said. He looked around the room, from the pedophile and the junkie, both oblivious to anything but their own misery, to the bruiser who now had his spine plastered against the opposite wall, jaw slack, sucking in air like he'd just run a marathon. "We got a problem in here?"
Chase lifted his chin only high enough to send a narrow glare at the wheezing human across the room. This time, he kept his lips closed and schooled the amber glow of his irises into a dull glimmer. But the threat was there, and the big, tough wife-beater seemed unwilling to test him. "N-naw," he stammered, and gave a quick shake of his head. "No problem in here, Officer. Everything's cool."
"Good." The cop strode farther into the holding cell while his partner held the door open. "Everybody up. Follow me." He paused in front of Chase and jerked his chin in the direction of the hallway outside. "You first, asshole."
Chase rose from the bench. At six-and-a-half-feet tall, he towered over the officer and the other humans in the cell with him. Although he'd never worked out a minute in his life, thanks to Breed genetics and a metabolism that ran like a high-performance vehicle, the muscular bulk of his body dwarfed the gym-rat cop. As if to assert his authority over Chase, the human drew up his chest and pointed him toward the door, letting his other hand settle on the butt of his holstered pistol.
Chase walked ahead of him, but only because it would be less hassle to make his escape from the hallway than from inside the holding cell.
Behind him, the pedophile's voice was oily, overly polite. "Would it be all right to ask where you're taking us, Officer?"
"This way," the other cop said, directing the group of them past the desk clerk in the hall and toward a length of corridor that stretched out in a long track toward the back of the station. Chase stalked along the worn industrial-grade linoleum, gauging the opportune moment for him to make his break and speed out of the station before any of the humans could realize he was gone. It was a risky move, one certain to leave a hell of a lot of questions in its wake, but unfortunately he didn't see much choice.
As he prepared to take that first step toward freedom, a metal door opened at the far end of the corridor. Cold night air swept in, fine December snowflakes dancing around the tall, slender form of a young woman. She was bundled in a hooded, long wool coat. Waves of caramel- brown hair clung to her chill-reddened cheeks and drooped down toward calm, intelligent eyes. Chase froze, watching as she stomped some of the fresh snow from her glossy leather boots and turned to say something to the police officer who accompanied her into the station.
Holy hell. It was the witness from the senator's party.
The cop escorting her inside caught Chase's gaze and his face went tight. With a scowl at the officers leading the poorly timed perp parade, he steered Senator Clarence's attractive personal assistant into a room off the corridor and out of view.
"Keep moving," said the cop at the rear of the group.
If Chase wanted to reach the senator, he figured there was a good chance Bobby Clarence might be in the police station tonight along with his pretty aide.
Curious enough to find out, Chase reconsidered his plan to bolt. Instead he fell in line and let the cops march him farther down the corridor toward the room where his eyewitness had gone.
CHAPTER THREE
"PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF COMFORTABLE, Ms. Fairchild. This shouldn't take long." The police detective who met her at the station opened the door to the witness viewing room and waited as she walked in ahead of him. Several grim-faced men in dark suits and a handful of uniformed officers were already waiting inside.
Tavia recognized the federal agents, men she'd first been introduced to in the hours following the recent shooting at the senator's party. She nodded to the group in greeting as she stepped farther into the room.
It was movie-theater dark inside, the only light coming from the oversized pane of glass that looked into the empty lineup area on the other side. Overhead fluorescent panels bathed the room in a stark white glow that didn't make the place any more inviting. A height measurement chart traveled the length of the back wall, with the numbers 1 through 5 stenciled in evenly placed intervals above the seven-foot mark.
The detective gestured to one of several vinyl-upholstered chairs positioned in front of the large window. "We'll be starting soon, Ms. Fairchild. Have a seat, if you like."
