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“You might want to step aside, junior,” Doyle said, not bothering to slow as he lifted the tape and started to slide under.
“I’m sorry,” the officer said. “No one passes.”
“We got authority here,” Tucker said, staring hard at the guy, his eye color flickering from brown to green. “So come on, rookie. Get off our backs and let us through.”
The officer’s face went through the usual jumble of confusion before smoothing out. He smiled, all polite cooperation, then lifted the tape so Tucker could slip under.
Doyle followed, unable to stifle his grin. His partner might be human, but the boy definitely had gifts. “And that’s why I keep you around.”
“You wound me, man,” Tucker said, pressing his palms over his heart. “I’m seriously wounded.”
“You’ll want to speak with Lieutenant Sanchez,” the now-compliant uniform said. He pointed to a dark-haired woman in an LAPD windbreaker. “She’s in charge.”
“Not anymore.” Tucker and Doyle continued toward the crime scene, even as Sanchez marched toward them, her Noxema-fresh face pinched. She wore black trousers, a matching blazer, and the windbreaker with the hood hanging down despite the rain. For that, at least, Doyle gave her points.
Another woman with honey-blond hair, a wide mouth, and at least four inches on the detective, marched beside Sanchez in jeans, a black turtleneck, and a raincoat. They intercepted Doyle and Tucker about midway to the body.
The detective spoke up first. “You want to tell me who you boys are and what you’re doing at my crime scene?”
“I’m Agent Ryan Doyle. My partner, Agent Severin Tucker. And it ain’t your crime scene.” He pulled his shield from his pocket.
She peered at the shield and ID, but it was the tall blonde who spoke. “Division 6? Why’s Homeland Security involved? There’s no federal jurisdiction here.”
Doyle tilted his head, studying her. “Who are you?”
“Sara Constantine. Assistant District Attorney.”
“Yeah, well, you need confirmation, you just call this number.” He pulled out a card and passed it to her. Ask for Nikko Leviathan.”
Constantine barely looked at the card before passing it to Sanchez, who studied it, then shot a scowl between him and Tucker. “This is a crock of shit.”
“You really should make the call,” Tucker said, his eyes doing that thing as he concentrated on Sanchez, who frowned, then said, “I probably should go make that call.”
Constantine’s eyes widened as the lieutenant stepped away. She turned, her narrowed eyes going first to Tucker and then to Doyle. “Homeland. This case. Seriously?”
“‘Fraid so.” Technically, it was true. The North American branch of the Preternatural Enforcement Commission had been formally set up as a department within Homeland Security. A secret department, but there nonetheless. And considering the type of terror the PEC chased, there was a certain beauty to the ancient organization’s modern cover story.
Constantine turned those sea-green eyes to Tucker. “Is he shitting me?”
“No, ma’am,” Tucker said. “We at Homeland Security do not have a sense of humor of which we’re aware. And now we’re going to go see our victim.”
Her feet stayed planted, but she tilted her head and sent Tucker a scathing glare, because despite the pretty face and wide smile, she was clearly a hard-ass.
“Step aside, counselor,” Tucker said, those eyes of his turning on that sweet, inescapable persuasion. “Just step aside.”
Doyle fought a grin. Sara Constantine was about to get whammied.
Constantine cocked her head. “Not until you explain exactly how a Federal agency is claiming jurisdiction in this murder.”
Doyle caught Tucker’s eye, but his partner only shrugged.
Well, hell. Guess he had to pull out the big guns.
He took a step toward Constantine, stopping only when he felt the pressure of his partner’s hand on his shoulder. He glanced up, saw the quick shake of Tucker’s head, followed by a nod at something behind Doyle. He turned to see Lieutenant Sanchez returning.
“It’s theirs,” she confirmed to Constantine, shooting both Doyle and Tucker the kind of glare that could freeze water. “I talked to Porter himself.”
“What have I been saying?” Doyle flashed the women a triumphant smile, then led the way toward the med tech, Tucker right beside him as the two women hung back, probably whining about mean old Division 6.
