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“Sonofabitch, Hart. Son of a fucking bitch.”
I picked up the other half of my cupcake and stuffed half of it in my mouth, then spoke around it. “Dunn’s friend was telling her about these shifters she was cleaning up after. Whether or not she knew what Dunn was up to is the real question.”
“Any sense on that?”
I shook my head. “Her social media is clean, but that mostly means she’s not dumb enough to post about it. Her name is May Dalton, and she’s a widow with two kids.” I clicked around, looking at vital records. “Her husband, Hank—oh, shit.”
“What?”
“Died of Arcanavirus,” I said softly.
“So you think she’s getting revenge on people who lived through it?”
“Maybe? Maybe it radicalized her? Or maybe she’s just oblivious to the fact that her supposed friend is a deep-fried bigoted shit-bucket and just happens to like to gossip about the people she talks to at work.”
Taavi let out a chuff, and we both turned to look at him.
“You know her?” I asked him, turning the screen so he could see the image of May Dalton.
Chuff.
“She cleaned the hostel you were staying in?”
Chuff.
“Did she seem friendly?” Raj asked.
Chuff.
Raj’s golden-brown eyes met mine over the tops of our laptops. “All four shifters were canids, all four had some sort of connection to the Howlers. And May Dalton is either a piece of shit excuse for a human meat-sack, or she just has really terrible taste in friends.”
Raj snorted. “You do have a way with words, Hart.”
I picked up my third cupcake and toasted him with it. “You’re welcome, Tony.”
“Shut up and eat your cupcake, Keebler.”
27
One benefitto working with the FBI is that once they have a trail of damning evidence, they can start arresting people all over the fucking place. With Brachiofortis Pharmaceuticals tied to Cornerstone Virtues tied to the Oldham list, warrants were rolling in left, right, and center, and Raj and his team were busy coordinating with federal offices all over the fucking country.
He’d let Taavi and me hang out in the office for two days as the reports of arrests—and, later, confessions—started coming in. And then we all went out for burgers and beers, sitting outside on the patio at the restaurant, surrounded by outdoor heaters that still had to be used in early March. It wasn’tquitewarm enough at night yet to go without.
These were the nights that reminded me why the fuck I’d gone into law enforcement to begin with. We’d gotten the bad guys. And gals. A lot of them. We’d found the people responsible for drugging shifters and vampires and killing dozens of people, and they were going to fucking jail.
Raj had even magnanimously invited a handful of people from the RPD—Dan, Shay, Mays, Quincy… about a dozen or so of RPD’s actual finest. We took up the whole patio, but the folks at Citizen Burger didn’t seem to mind. Cops drink a lot. And Nids eat a lot. We had both.
Taavi was happily chewing on a basket of fries, having already eaten two burgers, while Raj and Drew were making headway into their thirds. I had fried pickles, onion rings, and a giant pretzel—as well as a massive grilled cheese sandwich—so I was happy.
It was a good fucking night.
It was the next morning that things got seriously awkward.
Not because of the case, but because today was the day that Taavi was allowed to shift.
We’d stopped by Broad Street All Night Vet on the way home—well, not on thewayexactly, but after burgers—and Zhou had given the all clear for Taavi to shift.
And I was so not ready for it.
