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That same year, the Senate Speaker died, leaving a place to be filled. One of a dozen Senate Seniors should have taken the seat. Instead, a Junior Senate member won the majority vote.
Max Denton appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, blonde hair, clean-cut, wearing a dark grey suit. It enhanced the cunning in his eyes.
He was definitely an appointee her father would have vetoed if he’d been alive. One Laura would have vetoed if she’d been old enough to challenge for the position of Primary Apex at the time of his election.
“Good morning, Laura.” Max stepped over the threshold. Sheetrock dust dulled the shine of his black shoes.
She pushed back a lock of hair that escaped from her chignon. When she was young, her father had braided her hair every morning while they talked. After he died, Laura had gone to twisting it into a bun at the back of her head and holding it in place with an antique silver comb and pin that had belonged to her mother. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Denton?”
“HonorableMr. Denton, thank you.”
Honor.
She doubted there was a Senate member left who understood the meaning of the word. Especially as fast as theHonorable MaxDenton replaced them.
“Is there something I can assist you with,HonorableMr. Denton?”
“I saw your briefing about the curs.”
“Another hour and you would have had the follow-up.” She went back to cataloging the scene.
“I’m confident I would have.”
“Yet you’re here.”
“Considering the unique nature of the situation, I thought it was important to examine the scene.”
“I have a forensic team for that.” Laura picked her way around the blood splatter.
“Then why are they occupying the front lawn?”
“Because I want to make sure they don’t miss anything.”
“They’re that inept?” It was more of a statement than a question.
Laura let it slide. “They’re not Wardens.”
Which meant there were things they didn’t know to look for.
Laura used the patches of floor clear of blood to move closer to the counter where the head of the cur lay in the shadows. From a distance, it could have been mistaken for a Sarvari, especially to the untrained eye. Close up, the imperfections in the formation of its skull, ear set, and muzzle were visible despite the perpetual black of its coat.
Unlike Sarvari, it was not blacker than the shadows.
Unlike the Anubis, it did not drink the light.
Max flicked his gaze around the room as if assessing the damage. “How badly was Dr. Dante hurt?”
“According to Colonel Harrington, aside from a few lacerations, he’s unharmed. Just in case he’s called in a physician to look him over.” Laura tucked the flashlight under her arm, removed a pair of latex gloves from the pocket of her suit jacket, and put them on.
Tiles scraped against tile. Fabric brushed fabric. The air stirred and Max’s cologne went to war with the scent of old blood.
“That’s the head,” Max said.
“Appears to be.”
“It was cut off?”
She scanned the outer area for a weapon. “It’s highly unlikely it detached on its own.” Blood. Debris. More blood. Nothing large enough or sharp enough to remove a head in a single blow.
