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His phone buzzed and he answered it with a growl, then looked up at Sara with the kind of bright smile that made her very nervous. “Well, well. Look what we got here,” he said. “A double murder in Van Nuys, and an eyewitness who swears it was Dragos.”
* * *
“That’s him,” the girl named Alinda said, pointing a bony finger at an image of Luke.
Sara felt her mouth go dry. “You’re certain.”
“Totally.” She turned toward Doyle. “Just like what I said when I called it in. I was in the alley, and I saw him break in.”
“Hasik and Tinsley died late Friday. Why are you coming forward now?”
She licked her lips. “I was talking with people. Checking webpages, for the news, you know. Our news, I mean. And I saw his picture. He’s the one who killed that judge, right?”
“Lucius Dragos is the defendant in the Braddock matter,” Sara said. “Had you seen him before?”
“His kind don’t much come into a place like this.”
“His kind?”
“Vampire,” Doyle said. “This is a Therian bar. Mostly, anyway. Get a few hellhounds, a few demons. Vamps mostly avoid it. The breeds don’t really get along.”
“But he didn’t come in with the public, right?” Sara said. “Didn’t you say he went in through the alley?”
Alinda nodded. “There’s a keypad. He used it.”
“Did he know the code?”
“Sure,” the girl said. “He got in, right?”
Sara didn’t bother answering.
“Why don’t we go in?” Doyle said. “Although I don’t know what we’re going to find. Can’t catch an aura without a body.”
“Guess we’ll have to rely on old-fashioned detective work,” Tucker said, then cringed under Doyle’s dark look.
“Hardly a challenge,” Doyle said. “We got an eyewitness. This thing is wrapped.”
The owner, a burly shifter named Viggo, escorted them to a small office off the back hallway. There was nothing remarkable about the crime scene. The victim’s office looked as Sara imagined it always had, slightly unkempt, very lived in. It wasn’t until Doyle passed her his phone with the crime scene photos that the full impact of what had happened here—of what Luke had done—hit her.
Two bodies seemed to cover the floor. One, a heavyset man with his neck broken, his head lolling at an obscene angle. The other, a wiry creature that lay in a pool of its own blood originating from the long gash across its neck.
She closed her eyes as bile rose in her throat, the acid taste lingering in her mouth. She’d seen thousands of crime scene photos and dozens of actual crime scenes, many much more brutal and bloody than this.
But she’d never before seen one rendered by Luke’s hand. Except maybe Braddock’s. And her father’s.
She fought a shiver as around her, Doyle and Tucker inspected the room. “Got security cameras?” Doyle asked.
Viggo shrugged. “Tinsley had cameras. Whether he bothered to turn them on—”
“Pull them.”
“Don’t bother.” They all turned toward the doorway and saw Nikko Leviathan stepping into the room. The victory evaporated from Doyle’s expression, replaced with cold wariness.
Leviathan turned to Viggo. “Leave us.”
“What’s going on?” Tucker asked, the moment Viggo closed the door.
“Prosecutorial discretion,” Leviathan said. “We’ll not be pressing charges against Dragos. Not for this.”
