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“Okay, people, this is officially a multiple homicide,” he yelled, his voice echoing through the building. “Keep your eyes peeled for a bladed weapon and look out for possible evidence.” He already had his phone out by the time he finished speaking, presumably calling for CSI.
I pulled out my phone and texted Raj—3 dead shifters, no perps. So far.
“Detectives?” somebody else called from somewhere in the warehouse.
Dan looked at me.
“Your show, your call,” I replied.
“I’ll go,” he said, then headed deeper into the building, passing storage bins and pallets of crates that had clearly not been touched in years, if the dust layer over everything was any indication.
That left me, three very uncomfortable uniforms in SWAT gear, and three dead shifters.
What a fucking party.
“Detective?” One of the uniforms, a woman with light brown skin and dark eyes that I could just barely see through the clear plastic of her face shield, stepped forward.
“Yeah, Little?” Her name was written on the brow of her helmet.
“You want one of us to go direct the CSI team inside?”
“Sure, thanks, Little.”
I’d expected her to go, but, instead she gestured over one shoulder, and one of the two guys behind her headed back the way we’d come in.
“Detective?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this…” She paused, and I turned to look at her, but she wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she was staring up at the three bodies. “Is this tied to that shifter abduction?”
I wasn’t really supposed to say a lot about that, and I honestly didn’t know, which is what I told her. “Don’t know yet,” I replied.
She nodded. “The last victim…” she began, still staring at the shifters.
I waited. Watched her swallow, the motion shifting the high collar of her turtle neck.
“I—We—” Her voice broke.
I was suddenly very glad that Bettina Chisolm was one tough shifter. “Your girlfriend?” I asked.
“Fiancée,” she answered, her voice soft, but rough. “But I was… I was in Georgia visiting my parents when it happened.”
“Fuck, Little.” I winced at my own inability to not open my mouth and say something dickish and stupid. “Sorry. I—How is she doing?” I’m such a goddamn asshole.
Little sniffled a bit, then nodded as she answered. “Better. She’s doing better. She’ll be okay. Eventually.”
“She seems like one hell of a tough woman,” I said, wincing inwardly again.
But Little let out a soft burst of laughter. “She is. Thank God. She is.”
The sound of feet and voices entering the warehouse drew our attention as the CSI team—led by Mays and Quincy, bags slung over their shoulders—shuffled into the building in their bunny suits and booties.
“What do you have for us, Detective Hart?” Mays asked, walking up.
I shifted. “It’s Maza’s case.” I gestured in the direction Dan had gone. “But at least these three.”
Mays studied the bodies. I saw the moment he noticed the nose ring. “Shit. All three are shifters?”
