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“Shut it,” David said. “You’ve gotta report tonight or Damon will go postal. So what are you gonna tell him?”
Jace glanced into the empty darkness surrounding him. Maybe he was getting too old for this shit—or too tired. Hell, both? “Same thing I told him last time—jack shit. I’m not opening my damn mouth until I’ve got their packmaster bound and chained, or, preferably, I’m carrying this perp’s head on a silver platter courtesy of my bare hands.”
David let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought you said you had something.”
“I do.” Jace lowered his voice. It didn’t matter that he was alone; some things he couldn’t say aloud if he wanted to keep his sanity. “I’ve got a scent, and it’s...different.” He hesitated. “Trailing this monster’s stink is about as much fun as shooting myself in the foot.”
“It’s something.”
Jace nearly swore. “You better believe it’s something. But what do you expect me to do, David? Tell the whole damn division their wolf hunter happens to be so good at his job because he’s a friggin’ half-breed? That’ll go over real well.”
Silence answered him from the other end of the line. Another rustling sound blew through the alley, but this time, Jace ignored it. David was only in the know, because they’d been friends before. Helluva word: before. Before their roles as hunters had been official, before life had gotten complicated, fast, before all the shit they’d been stupid enough to dream of became too real. These days Jace was over it.
“Look, I’ll deal with this, all right? Forget about it. I’ll be at the damn meeting with bells on and a smiling face, but let me do it on my own terms.”
“Yeah, fine. I better see you there or the next time I’m around, I’ll have a dog collar and it’ll be coming straight for your neck.”
Jace huffed. “Talk to you later, Big Daddy.”
David snorted. “Yeah, you too, Sugar.”
The line went dead.
Jace shoved the phone in his pocket again, welcoming the noises of the city over David’s nagging. Maybe he reallywasgetting too old for this shit. A siren sounded in the distance. The occasional honk from busy traffic. The thumping vibration of someone’s overstressed speakers.
But damn, he’d missed this place.
The constant din.
Montana, then Idaho, hell the whole western tour had been quiet. Too quiet.
Nine years and he was finally home again.
Yet he was still hiding...
Releasing a long breath, he shook the thought off. He’d missed the city, but he hadn’t missed this. He kicked at an empty Budweiser can. The backdrop of littered city garbage everywhere. Covering his tracks.
Through the din, the swishing sound continued, the noise growing. Jace rolled his eyes, ready to ball up the grocery bag and pitch it. He eyed the plastic.
Shit.The wind had stopped. The bag wasn’t blowing.
The faint sound of footsteps echoed, and the rustling quieted. Jace lifted the revolver from his side, launching himself down the alley and around the corner. He held his gun steady, prepared to shoot. Only to stop mid-run.
He stared in horror.
The streetlights overhead illuminated what lay in front of him as all the breath escaped from his lungs in one fell swoop. “Shit.”
Anonymous tip his ass.
Blood. There was so much blood. Everywhere. The dim orange light from the street lamps framed the corpse like spotlights at a macabre play starring an innocent, mutilated victim. The girl’s head hung crooked, touching her shoulder, mouth open and eyes lifeless. Her features were contorted in a look of pure terror. Pale arms lay limp at what had once been her sides, her legs spread wide, with her pants and underwear wrapped around one ankle. The middle of her body had ceased to exist, ripped to shreds by what Jace knew were large canine teeth.
Anyone with a weak stomach would have tossed their cookies at first glance. Despite all the crazy shit Jace had seen in his years as a hunter for the Execution Underground, evenhisgut did a flip. What the hell was wrong with this guy?Guy?No, this killer wasn’t a person. This sicko was subhuman, and not because he was a werewolf.
Jace fought the urge to punch his fist into the brick wall beside him. Rage overcame him as he thought of the woman’s pain, causing his hands to clench into fists. The beast inside him stirred, longing to emerge. He didn’t know her, but that didn’t matter. She’d been someone, and that someone mattered damn it.
He growled, releasing the tension, and tried to calm himself. He needed to examine the body, and fast. If the police got here, he was screwed six ways to Sunday. Headquarters would have to bail him out. Damon would go apeshit.
Carefully, he knelt by the corpse. Bruises marred her forearms and neck. Based on their colors, they had definitely been made pre-mortem. She’d been dead at least thirty minutes. Long before he’d been nearby. He swore under his breath again. He was always two steps behind this bastard. Leaning over her, he made the mistake of breathing in, and underneath the overpowering smell of blood, the distinct scent of sex lingered. She’d been raped before her death.
