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Maybe you also need to talk to someone who has been through what you've been through, he said. How long has it been since you've talked to Ben?
Once upon a time, he would have seen Ben as a threat, but after everything we'd been through of late, I think Quinn finally understood just how secure he was in my world. It didn't matter if the moon heat drove me into the arms of another - it hadn't anytime recently, and certainly never with Ben - because for a wolf, sex was a physical thing, a need as deep and driving as Quinn's need for blood, and it did not affect the heart or mind. The possessive, controlling part of him had finally given way to understanding.
In return, I gave him my all. Or as much of me as there was left to give.
I talk to Ben all the time. And he did understand, because he'd lost his soul mate and had come out the other end.
But maybe that was also the problem. He'd coped. I really wasn't.
I think you need to go talk to him again. Quinn paused. You need to talk to someone.
I closed my eyes. The pain behind that statement was easy to hear. I'm sorry, love. I don't mean -
I know. He cut me off gently. And I know I told you in the past that I didn't want to know about you and Kye. But you need to release the pain of it, Riley, or it's going to eat you up and destroy you.
I know. I took a deep, shuddery breath. I'll arrange another meeting with Ben.
And after that, maybe, finally, I could find a way to talk to Quinn. To open up about the pain and the hurt that still festered inside.
Though he sensed that hurt. He was too attuned to me now not to.
I need to report the kill to Jack, I said eventually. Whether we'll meet for lunch or dinner very much depends on what he wants me to do next.
I'm here at the office all day, so just call when you're ready.
I will. I paused, then added softly, Love you.
He smiled. It came down the link between us like sunshine through rain, all warm and glittery.
And you are my world, and everything that means anything to me, he replied. Remember that, when the demons start getting the better of you.
Tears stung my eyes and I blinked them away. I must have done something right if fate had left this man in my life.
I sent him a mental kiss, then closed down the link between us. My gaze fell on Surrey and, with another sigh, I dug my phone out of my pocket. Humans often got surprised that things like phones could come through the change with us. To be honest, I really couldn't explain it myself. But the things we wore - on our bodies and in our pockets - were looked after by the magic, in much the same way as our clothes were. The things we carried - like handbags - weren't. Where it all actually went when we were in our alternate shapes I had no idea - and, really, I preferred not to know.
I hit the record button, ignored the fact that my hands were still shaking, and propped the phone in position.
"The victim's name is Hank Surrey," I said, moving around to the other side of his body so I wouldn't obstruct the recording. "One shot was fired to the middle of his forehead, resulting in a clean kill."
I didn't bother adding that I'd fired in self-defense. It wasn't really relevant in this case, and Jack didn't care anyway.
I reached into Surrey's pockets and began pulling items out. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be me doing this but Cole. But given that Surrey wasn't actually responsible for the killing, we needed to find some answers fast.
Or rather, I needed to find the answers fast.
"Handkerchief and three-fifty in coins found in left front pocket of jeans." I dumped those back, then moved to the right side. "Wallet found in right side pocket."
It contained about forty dollars in cash, several credit and key cards, and several bits of folded-up newspaper. I repeated this for the phone's benefit, then drew out the paper and unfolded them. Both were newspaper clippings, and both were relatively small but explosive in their own way.
The first was a short article that had obviously been in his wallet for many years. The ink was all but faded and the paper so thin it was coming apart along the well-worn crease lines. It spoke about the brutal murder of a woman and her child in a park playground in Eltham, and it was little more than a couple of lines long. But that was enough to hint at the brutality of the event.
Surrey's wife and adopted child, obviously.
No wonder the air had been thick with the scent of vengeance. Surrey had been holding on to his anger for a very long time indeed.
The other bit of paper was the ad he'd spoken about, and it simply said all personal problems solved, and gave a contact number. It was a land line rather than a cell phone, and in this day and age that was unusual.
I repeated it for the benefit of the recording, then continued searching, but there was little else of interest. Moving the search to the van produced the same result. I stopped the recording, then sent it to the Directorate and rang Jack.
