Dead Shifter Walking (7 page)

Time of deaths put the grandparents first, then
three hours later, the husband/father. Three hours, what the hell!
It did not take three hours to drain a body; I could vouch for that
first hand, especially if a hungry vampire was doing the draining.
Secondly, if it were an off-the-reservation vamp, they would have
drained each of them quickly before moving on to the next. A human
family of eight had a small chance against the undead. Ugh! Again,
the file was missing photos that would show if there were any signs
of struggle.

Back to the order, next was the aunt and uncle,
both siblings to the mother. Strange, did they have spouses? If so,
that was a loose end to tie up. After the aunt and uncle, the
children were next, then finally the mother.

I scratched my nose, attempting to pull more
wine, but sadly realized I was out. Crap, I suppose I did need to
get some sleep. I stretched as I chucked the wine bottle into the
garbage before stripping out of my clothing and crashing onto the
bed; the green glow informed me the sun was about to rise at 4:30
a.m.

….

At 8 a.m., I was jerked awake by my nightmares,
my sweat slick against my body, absorbing into the white sheets
beneath me. Shaking my damp locks, I stumbled into the shower.

When Mercer finally called back at 9 a.m., I was
more than ready for an influx of information to my starving
files.

“Morning, sunshine,” I answered, cradling the
phone with my shoulder as I laced up my boot.

He grunted. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping?”

“Nah,” I answered, strapping on my watch,
“sleeping is highly overrated. So, I have a few questions,” I
started, mentally organizing my list of questions.

“Meet me at the station,” he said, hanging up,
again.

Alright, while I will fully admit to having a
whole nest of issues, he was just plain rude. I consoled myself
with that fact while driving to the station.

“So, good looking,” I said, setting my coffee on
his desk, “what d’ya got for me?”

He didn’t even look up, but studiously moved
papers across his desk. Looking closer, I realized what the
beautiful glossy photos were―crime-scene pictures of the actual
house. Score!

In the first photo, an immense red stain covered
the baby blue carpeting, while the furniture was untouched. Up the
stairs, I could see a body behind the railing an arm casually
draped over. The next picture was the body on the stairs, the
daughter, also lying in her own pool of blood, lifeless eyes
clouded over in death, her throat ripped in half.

“Did they test those substances around the
bodies?” I asked, reaching for the pictures over his shoulder.

Mercer looked up at me. “No.”

The next picture was of the son. I leaned
closer, and confirmed what I suspected. The room he was in had
plaster damaged against one wall, the furniture strewn about, and a
bookcase completely collapsed. He fought hard to live. As I looked
into his empty glassy eyes, I promised I would find the son of a
bitch who snuffed out his entire family’s existence.

“Do you want me to fail, Mercer?” I asked
softly, close to his ear, my anger pushing against my shields.

His hands froze mid-shuffle, blood draining from
his face.

“Why is my file missing these?” I whispered,
moving closer pulling a rope of confidence from my core to bolster
my claims. I needed to know who the fuck this guy was playing for.
If I had to break into the police station, I wasn’t above it.
Honestly, I wasn’t above much when I was determined.

My phone buzzed, interrupting my
interrogation.

“Olivia,” I answered straitening up quickly.

“Hey, it’s Kass.” Her tone made me move away
from Mercer.

“What?” I asked, wanting to get to the heart of
the matter.

“I’ve been helping Hannah learn control and just
overheard that Logan is going to be in town Saturday morning.
Darren is livid. I don’t know what Logan said, but Darren asked if
I knew of any safe houses. Apparently, Logan owns this house and
Darren is worried about Logan’s goons trying to take Hannah,” she
finished quietly.

Ice moved through my veins. “Relocate Friday
night. Do you know where?” I asked softly.

“Yeah, Olie, I know. You really think…” she
paused before finding the courage to continue, “you think he would
hurt his own niece for being one of us?”

“Absolutely,” I answered. “I’ll be over this
afternoon. Isn’t it a bit early for you?” I asked checking my
thick-banded watch.

“Um, yeah. Early start to the day and all that
jazz,” she answered unsteadily. Hannah’s cry came from the
background. “I gotta go, Olie.”

I stared at my phone, wondering what in the
three rings of hell was going on there. Shrugging, I turned back to
Mercer. His color had returned; time to make it flee again.

As I took a few steps forward, he stood,
stopping my progress. I gave him my wide-eyed innocent look.
“Don’t,” he warned, buttoning his black jacket and stuffing his
hands into the navy blue pants. “Let’s go.”

“Where to?” I asked with fake enthusiasm.

He didn’t answer me, walking away instead. This
was not going well at all. Following him, I saw nothing but the
blasé interior gray walls and yellow linoleum as we twisted through
corridors, pressing open a metal door into the blinding morning
light.

Squinting, I followed him around the squad cars,
pristinely lined up and squeaky clean, to a rusty old pickup
truck.

As I opening the door, it gave a warning creak.
Sliding into the newly reupholstered seat, I gave his square side
profile a disbelieving look.

“What?” he asked, cranking the engine.

“Country much?” I asked as Hank Williams belted
out on the stereo.

He grunted, leaving the parking lot and the
police station with its steel gates behind.

Paranoia tapped my shoulder, pointing out that I
was in a truck with a man I didn’t know, traveling to an unknown
destination with no one knowing where I was. That sounds like a
brilliant plan, she screamed at me. Those were some valid points. I
mulled over whether I could take Mercer. It wouldn’t even be close,
it was much easier for me to drop bodies than it was for him.

That hesitation would undoubtedly give me the
upper hand and get him killed. I leaned against the worn
upholstery, feeling the gun in my back push back with reassurance,
not to mention the hidden blades as well. I pushed paranoia back
down and paid attention to the city outside of our windows, the
homes had become larger, newer, with landscaping that required a
crew to maintain.

Mercer checked his paperwork, flipping open a
manila envelope before pulling into a home with tall wrought iron
gates and a curved driveway. I like the idea of gates, but these
were easy to scale and easier to bend for a shifter. The Manor had
real wrought iron gates that could conduct electricity if needed,
and I always thought it was needed.

The gates opened automatically as he approached,
another huge no-no in security; although, it did prove the family
thought it had nothing to worry about. I was, of course, assuming
this was the crime scene. The grumbling truck ceased its ranting as
I slid out the side of the vehicle, taking in the austere face of
the home. The burnt red door was marred in its intricate beauty by
the yellow police tape slashing across its face.

Mercer walked around his classic beast, leaving
his file in the truck and picking up a briefcase from the truck
bed.

Exiting the truck, I eyed his stiff gait and
pondered the nonexistent conversation; my suspicions were growing.
Climbing up the pristine steps, I had a plan; it wasn’t the best of
plans, but I was confident I could pull it off.

I followed Mercer into the home, closing and
quietly locking the door behind me. He turned, raising an eyebrow,
and I smiled a slow sexy smile. “You have some explaining to do,” I
whispered.

He bravely moved within an inch of my face, his
eyes giving nothing away. I smiled genuinely; this could be fun. I
moved my fingers to his button-down shirt, my eyes not leaving his
face. “Mercer,” I whispered.

He growled a reply, nuzzling my neck. I drew an
exaggerated gasp, undoing the second button, my fingers stalled as
I brushed the wiretap on his chest. “Don’t stop,” he said a little
too loudly.

I pulled his shirttails out of his pants quickly
undoing the rest of the buttons. “Take me now,” I whispered
roughly.

“Turn around,” he growled, moving away to bang
the table against the wall, keeping in line with the illusion that
I was a succubus whore and his wiretap was destroyed in the process
by my violent tendencies. I would almost be annoyed if I didn’t
find the situation ludicrous.

I gave a strangled cry. “More,” I screamed.

He continued the assault on the table. “Come on
baby; you can do better,” I said with a sultry smile.

“Really?” he mouthed at me rocking the table
faster.

I made a strangled moan and started panting.
Mercer was concentrating on the table and never saw me rip off the
wiretap. “Fuck,” he screamed, glaring at me. Then he remembered his
part and kept his panting up.

I smiled, moving the tap outside underneath his
truck tire. Who even used these archaic things? Shouldn’t it have
been a high-tech pen? Guess I’d have to ask the guilty party on
that and stop watching so much James Bond.

Mercer was waiting, arms crossed, when I stepped
back in, not bothering to lock the door this time.

“What the fuck, Mercer?” I asked with equal
measures of pissed off and slightly aroused.

“They made me wear it—” he started.

“Who?” I interrupted, shoving him back a
step.

He ran a hand over his close-cropped blond hair.
“Hash,” he answered reluctantly. “He wants evidence to prove that
you’re dangerous.”

I sighed. “You would do better with a video
recorder.”

He shrugged. “I took the gamble that you were
smart enough to figure it out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, that’s just wonderful.
Now what the fuck is going on with my file?”

He sighed. “Hash told me to not disclose
everything to you.” He shrugged. “When you asked me those questions
this morning, I realized you were serious about catching the
murderer, so I decided to help instead of hindering.”

I nodded. “Fantastic! I’d hate to kill you after
our romance,” I said, not smiling.

Mercer didn’t say a word; smart man.

“What’s in the suitcase?” I asked changing the
topic.

He opened the kit on the carpet, revealing an
interesting chemistry set. “We are on our own with this. So we are
going to have to test everything ourselves.”

I nodded. “Guess we better get to work.”

…

Four hours later, we were at a diner digesting
our findings. It was all blood, and there was so much of it, that
if a vamp had committed the murders, they hadn’t sampled a single
drop, which just didn’t make any sense. There wasn’t a single
fingerprint, anywhere. How the hell was that possible?

Mercer had seen the scratch marks on the mother
also; although, being the stoic detective he was, he wasn’t calling
them claw marks but only suspicious lacerations. Whatever. If they
were claw marks, that would mean a whole list of supernaturals so
long I didn’t even want to think about it. The only species we
could eliminate would be human.

I rubbed my temples, eating my second piece of
apple pie after consuming my meal of a greasy cheeseburger and a
double order of fries. I had to get to Kass soon; it was already
later than I had planned.

“How can you eat that,” Mercer asked, pointing
to my empty plate, “and look like that?” pointing at me.

I raised an eyebrow. “I’m fucking fantastic,” I
said seriously.

That got me a chuckle. The truth was, I blew
through calories faster than a call girl went through condoms, and
I was always a few too short.

I checked my watch: 6 p.m. “Can you give me a
lift back to my car?”

He nodded, finishing his own sandwich before we
paid.

The truck ride back was equally quiet as the
first, but this time, it was from speculation, not from having an
unknown eavesdropper.

“It feels personal,” I said. “Did you notice the
order of death?” I asked, turning towards him.

“Yep,” he said, shifting in the driver’s
seat.

“Anything strike you as odd?” I pushed.

He gave me an uncomfortable glance as traffic
began to move at the now green light. “Let’s not jump to
conclusions quite yet.” We pulled into the parking lot next to my
car. “I have an appointment with the next of kin tomorrow at 10
a.m.”

I nodded. “See you then.” Getting out the truck
in the front parking lot, I headed to my own car, already late for
Kass and Hannah. My subconscious was still kicking around the crime
scene, so I didn’t remember much of the drive.

I was hungry again, though.

Hannah met me at the door. “Hannah,” I heard
Kass ask in the background, “who is it?” She had a slight tendril
of worry coating her words.

Hannah smiled, launching into my arms. I was
twirling her as Kass came to the door. “Feed me,” I growled,
tickling Hannah to hear her bubbling laughter.

…

An hour later, we were sitting down to chicken
parmesan, homemade marina noodles, and fresh-from-the-oven
bread.

“Kass,” I said between mouthfuls, “I had no idea
you could cook.”

She gave Darren a sheepish smile during dinner;
I had this nagging suspicion. Kass knew the kitchen too well, she
was comfortable around the help, and she kept dodging my questions.
I didn’t like the suspicion that was growing in my gut.

Scrubbed, teeth cleaned, hair dried, Hannah was
deep in slumber when I closed the book I Want to Be an Astronaut
and sneaked out, closing the door partially.