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No, I was something far worse—Hunter’s go-to girl when it came to all things hell related. And while Jack might be the senior vice president of the Directorate and the man who ran the guardian division, it was Hunter who held the reins of overall control. She also happened to be Jack’s sister, and he was undoubtedly wise enough not to go against her wishes—not even when it came to something that would ultimately cause him grief. Uncle Rhoan had not been a happy camper last time I’d been called in to help the Directorate, even though that had been totally accidental. The lunatic he’d been hunting just happened to be the same one I’d come across on the astral plane, and the creepy bastard had subsequently decided he only wanted to play his games with me.
It was a game that had almost killed me.
“Look, ring him if you want to chew out someone. I’m here in an advisory role only.”
Rhoan snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, Ris, because you know I love you to death, but what the hell can you give a murder investigation that I and everyone else at the Directorate cannot?”
“Hell is precisely what I can give you,” I replied, voice grim. Damn it, while I understood his anger stemmed from fear for my safety, it was fucking annoying to get chewed out over something I could not control. Not if I wanted to keep on enjoying my life, anyway. “Or rather, a working knowledge of what is—and isn’t—coming through the gates now that one has been opened. And then there’s Azriel.”
Rhoan’s gaze cut briefly to the man standing quietly at my back. “And whatever happened to the option of saying no? You’re not employed by the Directorate. They can’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
Yeah, but Hunter could—not that that was something I could admit to. I took a deep breath and released it slowly as I racked my brain for an answer that wasn’t going to get me yelled at too much more. In the end, I went with the truth—or as close to it as I was likely to get in this sort of situation.
“I agreed because if whatever—whoever—is committing these crimes is a denizen from hell, then it’s my damn fault that it’s out there.”
He continued to glare at me but, after a few minutes, muttered something under his breath and thrust a hand through his short hair. “I hate that you’re involved with the Directorate, however peripherally. They have a way of sucking you in deeper and deeper and never letting go. Neither Riley nor I want that sort of life for you.”
“I don’t want that sort of life for me, either.” I gave him the best fake smile I could manage. “Trust me, you’re welcome to the investigation. I’m just here to see what you might be dealing with.”
His expression remained uncertain. “You’re hiding something, Ris. I can smell it a mile off.”
“Honestly, I’m not.”
He snorted softly. “Yeah, trusting that statement, too. But for now, I’ll let it drop. Come on.”
He spun and headed back up the steps. I let out a silent sigh of relief and followed, putting on the protective booties and gloves as he identified me to the hovering crime-scene recorder.
The inside of the two-story home was as modern as its outside. Crisp white walls, shiny wooden floors, bright abstract art, and leather and chrome furnishings. This time the murder had taken place in an upstairs bedroom rather than in a living space, but as with the first victim, this man was fully dressed and apparently hadn’t noticed the web being spun up his body.
Rhoan stopped at the end of the bed. I halted beside him, Azriel still a warm presence at my back. The man on the bed was a thin, graying individual who looked to be in his midsixties, and he was as modern in the way he dressed as he furnished his house. But the expression frozen onto his face was one of pleasure, and his stomach bore the two fist-sized slashes that had been evident on Wolfgang. I flared my nostrils, trying to find some hint of the odd alien musk that I’d smelled at the first murder scene, but either it had dissipated, or it was lost under the scent of all the crime men and women coming and going in the room.
“Did you get here first?” I asked, glancing at Rhoan.
“Yes.” He met my gaze. “Why?”
“Did you smell an unusual aroma? It’s similar to the musk of a shifter, but odder, if that makes sense.”
“It was faint, but yes.”
“What about at the first victim’s?”
“Also present.” His expression remained noncommittal, but the anger in him suddenly ramped up again. “How did you know about the scent when it’s not evident now?”
“Because, uh—” My voice faltered, and I cleared my throat, resisting the urge to step away from the anger that would undoubtedly follow if I finished that sentence. I knew he would never hurt me, but that didn’t make him any less scary at times like this.
“It is a smell common to many of the darker spirits who inhabit this world,” Azriel cut in smoothly. “Especially those who are also capable of shape-shifting.”
Oh, good reason, I said to Azriel. Thanks.
It is also the truth, he replied. His mental tones were still frosty.
I sighed. And just how long are you planning to remain annoyed at me over something so trivial, Azriel?
I do not know. For as long as it takes for you to regain common sense, perhaps.
You could be in for a long wait.
I am a reaper. Patience is part of our nature.
