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Jace nodded. “I’ve never been so certain in my damn life. The way this shithead rips open his victims isn’t possible with human hands or weapons—or human teeth. So unless he’s siccing a pack of rabid dogs on his victims, then there is no damn way this is anything other than a wolf shifter. Everybody got that?”
David moved to stand at Jace’s side and slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Can’t hurt to work it more than one way, J. Why don’t you call Trent tonight and see if he’ll check it out? Maybe it’s some other kind of shifter. We can update him and Ash when they get back from Brooklyn.”
Jace gritted his teeth together and kept his jaw clamped shut.
Damon nodded in approval. “While you’re at it, you and Shane look, too.”
“Maybe hellhounds?” David offered.
“Or voodoo,” Shane added.
Jace let out a low growl. “Even the beat cops avoid those back alleys, so who knows, maybe you’ll get lucky and find her the way I did—legs spread, heart missing, and organs thrown around like fucking confetti over the asphalt. So once you’ve all taken a good long look and made a spectacle of this poor girl’s corpse, why don’t you give me a holler so I can say I told you so?”
“Cool it.” Damon glared at Jace, his high cheekbones casting shadows across his features, hollowing him out like a dead man. “If this is a werewolf, you have one week from tomorrow before HQ takes over the investigation. They’re breathing down my neck as it is, and they’re not going to sit back and do nothing if civilians keep dying.”
“That isn’t gonna happen. I’m the best this organization’s got and you know it, Damon. Don’t give me that shit.” Jace could run this whole damn operation if he wanted, but he didn’t care for leadership. Nor did he have the patience for it.
It wasn’t a matter of pride. It was a fact.
As one of the original hunters of the Execution Underground, Jace held more seniority than most. Damon included, though he was a lifer as well. They’d both been around since long before the organization had been bought out, restructured and corporatized by Cronos, Inc. Everything had changed within the past ten years.
He still remembered back when they’d been only a handful of rag-tag, self-trained vigilante fools driving across the country with a hope and prayer of protecting humanity from the supernaturals that’d stolen the lives of their loved ones.
God, they’d been young. But they’d had justice on their side and America’s best all-night diners to fuel them. Always.
“Please, Jace, no reason to use so much humility.” Damon wrenched open the drawer to the file cabinet on which the coffee pot sat. The dark, sludgy contents sloshed as he pulled out a large stack of papers. Damon glued his gaze to the pages. “I’ll deal with Chet. All of you fill out your damn paperwork, so HQ can have their signatures, then scan it into the database and get out. David, I need the updated report on that Vetis demon possession, and someone call Trent and tell him to get his shit together and give me some notes on the influx of non-wolf shifters. I want to know why the hell, on a regular basis, we’re being overrun with freaks who shift into alley cats and squirrels. And while you’re at it, tell Ash I need a report from him on the haunting in that old psych ward.”
David groaned, griping under his breath about the paperwork.
Jace shook his head as he snatched the coffeepot and poured some of the lukewarm liquid into a white Styrofoam cup. With all Cronos’ resources, they should at least be able to get a decent cup of joe. State of the art weaponry? Check. Latest tech? Cleared. Half-way decent coffee, not so much. Man, he missed the beans at the late night diners, especially that place out in the middle of nowhere outside the Sioux Falls stretch of I-90. He was practically salivating at the thought.
“Why the hell did we have a damn meeting if it’s only going to last ten minutes? You could’ve picked up a phone if all you wanted was to verbally ream my ass.”
“Maybe it would have lasted longer if you hadn’t pissed me off.” Damon didn’t look up though from the lack of a scowl on his face, he didn’t really mean it. “Get in the interview room, Jace. The last thing I need is you and Chet butting heads.”
Jace didn’t need to be told twice. Poor excuse for coffee in hand, he strode out the door of the conference room. The large metal entrance to their haven slammed in its frame, cutting him off. The cold air of the unheated halls hit Jace hard. He exhaled and watched his breath swirl in the overhead light like steam. His thoughts flashed through the night’s events, and he frowned.
Mutilated human victims, a pissed-off wolf hunter and a naked she-wolf. Not a good combination.
4
Frankie threw all her body weight against the Chevelle’s window. Her shoulder hit the glass and sent pain surging through her torso. She maneuvered her hands onto the handle one more time and pulled. Nothing.
“Damn it.”
She rested against the seat. The leather stuck to her naked skin despite the cold temperature. She let out a loud huff. Locked up in a hunter’s car, and every escape route she’d tried thus far hadn’t worked.
She willed her body to change. In her wolf form, these shackles would slide from her wrists, but she couldn’t manage it, not with the silver cuffs singeing the skin of her wrists.
But damn, she had to do something.
Think, Frankie. Think.
Trying every handle and unlock button—no easy feat while handcuffed—hadn’t yielded any luck either. The hunter hadn’t lied—there was no way in hell she could get out of this gas-guzzler unless he allowed it.
She kicked the window out of sheer annoyance. Though it had proved impossible to break earlier, she had to keep trying. Her foot slammed into the glass. The release of tension calmed her, and she side-kicked harder, finally leaving a solid crack, but the window refused to shatter. It had to be bulletproof.
“Stupid. Handsome. Kidnapping. Psycho,” she grumbled, timing a word with each blow. Cracks splintered across the glass, but it still refused to break.
