Jane didn’t lower her weapon, not yet. Her heart ached for the guy, yes, but she wasn’t going to take a chance on being played.
“It’s my fault,” he whispered.
Time to wrap this up. “My name is Jane Hart, and I’m the homicide detective in charge of Alan Thatcher’s case.”
His hands lowered. He blinked up at her.
“I could have told you that sooner, but as soon as you saw my badge, you cut and ran.”
“I-I…I thought you were coming about the weed.” He winced. “I…had some in my apartment. I swear, I was just holding it for a friend, and I—”
“My job is to find the person who killed Alan Thatcher.”
He licked his lips. “You…you have leads?”
Yeah, I’m after a werewolf. Only Aidan has fifty werewolves in the city at last count. “I have leads.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “You—you were going to Hell’s Gate.”
Jane lifted her brows. So?
“That guy who runs the place—shit, I don’t know his name. But the one who has that big, fancy office upstairs…he called me up there, was asking me all kinds of questions about Thatch.” He raked a hand through his hair. “I…know he asked the questions, but I can’t remember exactly what he said.”
Her eyes narrowed. She just bet he couldn’t “remember”—courtesy of Aidan. “You had a lot to drink tonight,” she murmured. “That’s obvious by the smell.”
“Thought it would make…him being gone easier.”
“Nothing makes it easier to deal with the dead.” No, that wasn’t true. Giving them justice—that made things a little easier. “Let me call you a cab. Get you home safe.”
“No.” He shook his head. Weaved. “I’m walking. Clear my…clear my fucking head that way.”
Fine. She handed him her card. “When you’re sober, we’ll talk more. I need to know if you saw anyone suspicious around Thatch last night. I need to know why he was heading up to Aidan’s office at Hell’s Gate.”
“Can tell you now…” His hand fisted around her card. “Didn’t see anyone. Fucking terrible wingman. And don’t know any Aidan…”
Yeah, he did. “He’s got the fancy office.”
Travis just frowned harder at her. “What?”
He is no help to me now. She needed a sober chat with Travis, not this drunken insanity. “Are you sure you don’t want that cab?”
But he’d already started to stumble away. Jane watched him, her body tense, until he vanished around the side of a nearby building. Then she put her gun back in the holster, she straightened her jacket, and she turned to face the dark shadows. “Are you going to keep skulking all night or are you coming out, Aidan?”
Silence. She tapped her foot. Seriously? What was he waiting for? Christmas wasn’t coming soon.
He stalked out—looking all menacing and strong and dangerous. Typical Aidan.
“How did you know I was there?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because I saw you on the balcony at Hell’s Gate. And I know you. When I gave chase after Travis, it didn’t take a huge leap of logic to realize you’d be right behind me.”
“Because I have your back.” He took a few more slow steps toward her.
“Because you’re a semi-stalker.”
He stopped. “I’m…not. I wanted you safe.”
“And I’ve got a gun with wooden bullets in it to stop vamps and a silver knife strapped to not one, but two ankles tonight. I am safe.” She put her hands on her hips. “You used your power on that guy, didn’t you?”
“I wanted answers, same as you.”
“Did you get those answers?”
“He didn’t know anything, not about the killer or about why Alan Thatcher tried to get into my office.”
A dead end, or so it would seem anyway.
Aidan was a few feet away from her. His hands were loose at his sides.
“You know the killer is in your pack.” Since they were facing off, why not be as clear as possible? “Are you planning to call everyone in? You could question them—force them to admit who is guilty—”
“My power doesn’t work like that on other werewolves.”
She’d suspected as much since she’d never seen him try to influence any of the wolves, but still, she’d needed to ask. “Then still call them in so I can question everyone.”
“They want to keep who they are secret, Jane. Most of them are leading completely ordinary lives. Just being human.”
“Look, you have fifty werewolves in this town—”
“Fifty?” He blinked, looking confused.
“You…told me that, once.” She was sure of it. The number had been jarring at the time.
Aidan had fallen silent. Not a good sign.
He rolled his shoulders in an uncomfortable-looking shrug. “The number is really closer to four hundred.”
What. The. Actual. Fuck? “Then why did you say fifty?”
“Cause I didn’t want you to freak out. This was all so new to you!”
She was freaking out. Four hundred?
“Look, Jane, some are kids, they don’t even know what they are yet. Some are elderly—they just want to be left the hell alone. Good people, not all killers. If I pull them in, if I line them up for you to question, then I’ll be destroying their trust in me. I’m the alpha. I’m supposed to be their protection. I need their trust.”
And I need you. Jane swallowed. “I have to interview potential suspects…”
“That’s why I have Paris working to see who has an alibi for the time of Alan Thatcher’s murder and who doesn’t. I’m narrowing down my wolves. Once I get a list going, we’ll go from there.”
Her muscles ached because she was so tense and stiff. “Are you holding back on me, Aidan? I thought we were partners.” He’d lied to me about the number of wolves in this town. “Partners don’t keep secrets.”
His eyes glowed in the darkness. “No, they don’t, Jane.”
Shit, he was talking about her biological father being a vampire. Her hands fisted at her sides. “I have work to do. So if you don’t mind…”
But he was there, right in front of her, the distance between them completely eliminated. “I mind, quite a bit.”
“Aidan…”
His hand lifted and curled under her chin. At his touch, heat seemed to shoot through her body. She always responded that way to him, no matter how furious or scared she might be…his touch always got to her.
Just as he did.
“I’m sorry.”
She found herself leaning forward a bit. “Come again? Because I thought you said—”
“I’m sorry that I’m not the man you want me to be.”
What kind of apology was that?
“I’m sorry that I let you down.” His voice was gruff. “I don’t…I don’t always understand humans the way I should.” Then he released a hard breath. “That’s not true, dammit, I’m not good with anyone generally—humans or werewolves. Emotions weren’t supposed to matter to me. I was raised—after what happened, I was taught…” But his words trailed away.
“Aidan?”
“Emotions were bad. Desires that were too strong—they were bad. I was supposed to stay in control. Always. And the last thing I was ever supposed to do…” Now his voice was low. She had to strain to hear him say, “It was fall for someone like you.”
***
Travis stumbled down the street. He shouldn’t have drank so damn much. He knew that. He was weaving. His head was spinning. And he was about seventy percent sure that he’d be vomiting all over the street at any minute.
It was a good thing the city cleaned the streets each morning. There were plenty of drunk assholes like him out at night, only most of them were still on Bourbon Street, living it up.
He couldn’t be in the crowd anymore. Because every time he turned around, he could swear that he saw Thatch. His buddy—his buddy was looking for him. His buddy needed him…
But I wasn?
??t there.
Going back to Hell’s Gate had been his shittiest idea to date. Being there hadn’t made the pain easier. It had just made everything worse.
He stopped at a crosswalk, his breath coming in shallow pants. Maybe he should have just let the detective get him a cab. Travis looked down at his hand. Her card was still curled up in his fist. She’d had a good voice. Determined. Husky. She’d sounded as if she really had wanted to help Thatch.
But I couldn’t remember shit to help her.
He started to step forward into the street.
A car horn blared at him.
Someone grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back. “Easy, buddy!” The voice was loud, grating, and…familiar. “You almost got yourself killed!”
Travis glanced back at his rescuer. “I…know you.”
The guy’s hold on his shoulder tightened. “Well, of course, you do. I’m your friend.”
He…was. Sort of. Hadn’t Thatch introduced them at a party a few weeks ago?
“I’ll take you home. Come on, my ride is waiting.”
A walk to clear his head didn’t seem like such a good idea any longer. Not when his stomach was churning, and he’d nearly strolled himself straight into oncoming traffic. “Th-thanks, man.”
“My ride is right here.” The guy pointed to a nearby SUV. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
He could actually really fucking use some help. Travis leaned on the fellow as they approached the vehicle.
“You sure got hammered tonight,” the guy said as he opened the passenger side door. “Celebrating?”
“Thatch is dead.” He just announced it. A really shitty move because his Good Samaritan might not have heard the news, but the words just kind of tumbled out of him. He eased into the passenger seat and closed his eyes. “Fucking dead.”
“Yeah, I know.” The words didn’t sound sorry or stunned or anything like that.
They were…happy?
I had way too much to drink.
But Travis forced his eyes open. The vehicle’s interior light was on, and the guy—he was smiling at Travis.
“Thatch is dead,” his rescuer told him, “and soon, you will be, too.”
“I—”
Something sharp drove into his stomach. Felt like a fistful of knives. He tried to scream but the dude had slammed his left hand over Travis’s mouth.
One hand was over his mouth and the guy’s other hand—
He’s stabbing me! Stabbing…
“Don’t worry.” The man slid his hand back. “You won’t die right away.” He wasn’t holding a knife. Freaking claws—bloody claws—had sprouted from his fingertips. “I’ve discovered I like to play a bit with my prey.”
***
“Someone like me?” Jane’s voice was very, very soft. “What is that supposed to mean?”
He had shit for timing, Aidan knew it. Shit for timing and he had no charm to speak of. When you were used to just telling people something and seeing them immediately react—having that absolute control—you didn’t exactly learn a whole lot of tact.
And Aidan had been an alpha since he was twenty-one. That was the age the alpha instinct kicked in. You would either be a normal werewolf—having some increased strength, superior senses, and some wicked sharp claws that burst out when you hunted or when you were pissed—or, if you had the right bloodline and the right genes…you could be an alpha.
An alpha was an altogether different beast.
A typical werewolf couldn’t transform into the body of a wolf…an alpha could.
A typical werewolf could persuade humans, but not control them. An alpha could control completely.
A typical werewolf couldn’t survive injury after injury after injury…An alpha had blood with special healing properties. An alpha’s blood healed not just the alpha, but it could also be used on other wolves who’d been injured in order to speed up the recovery process.
And an alpha…an alpha was born with the desire to destroy vampires. Innate. Blood and bone deep. When a vamp was near, most werewolves felt the urge to attack. It was just part of their DNA. But when an alpha confronted a vampire…
“Aidan, what exactly did you mean…someone like me?”
Tell her. “You know alpha werewolves…they’re drawn to the vamps-in-waiting.”
“Right. Yeah, you told me this before. And I don’t like that our attraction might be due to some genetic mumbo jumbo.”
It wasn’t mumbo jumbo. It was evolution. As long as Jane stayed the way she was, then the beast in him wanted to protect her. Wanted to be as close to her as possible. Vamps-in-waiting—female vamps-in-waiting—could join with a werewolf to produce very special offspring.
A potential new alpha. Jane didn’t know that part. She didn’t realize that alphas were so rare these days because there weren’t enough women like her left in the world.
“I want you,” he told her clearly, “because you’re you. It’s not some genetic thing.”
She watched him.
“Do you ever wonder about my parents?”
Jane took a step back. “Your parents?”
“I…I need to tell you about them.” He had to make her understand what could happen. And why he was going to take steps to stop the hell that waited. I already put in a call to Annette. She is going to see what magic she can use, if there was any magic that could change the future.
“Paris mentioned them.” She pressed her hand to her right side. She did that a lot—especially when she was nervous or afraid. As if touching the old scar would remind her that she’d survived worse. She could get through whatever was coming next.
Did she even know she made that little move? That it was one of her tells?
“What did Paris say?” He’d have to warn his friend to watch his mouth. Aidan’s secrets were his own to reveal.
“That I needed to—”
She broke off when her phone rang.
Shit.
“I have to get it. This late…it’s probably my job. I’m sorry.”
Her job. Another murder?
She put the phone to her ear. He stepped a bit closer. His enhanced hearing would let him hear every word that she and the caller said.
“Detective Hart.” Her voice was clipped.
“I have your card, Detective Hart.” The caller’s words were low, whispered. Aidan still heard them perfectly.
“My card?” Her breath rushed out. “Are you calling about a crime?”
Had to be, if the guy had—
“I stole it from the man beside me. I’m afraid it has a lot of blood on it now.” Once more, the caller’s voice was a whisper.
Jane had gone statue-still. “Who is this?”
“I think you’ve been looking for me.”
Jane stared straight at Aidan.
“If you want me so badly, why don’t you come and find me?”
“Tell me where the hell you are,” Jane gritted out, “and I’m there.”
“No, no…not that easy. You figure it out. Hurry, before the unlucky bastard with me joins the dead.”
The call ended with a click.
“Tell me you recognized that voice,” Jane said.
Aidan shook his head. The fellow had obviously been trying to disguise his voice but…I don’t think I know him.
“Shit, shit.” Then she spun on her heel and started running toward the street.
“Jane, stop!” He raced right with her. “You don’t know where to go. You don’t even know if he was serious—the guy could just be jerking you around. Some punk asshole—”
She whirled toward him. Her chest shook with her heaving breaths. “He’s back in the cemetery. That’s what he meant by the whole ‘joins the dead’ line. He has a victim and he’s about to kill the guy, and I am not going to stand around wringing my hands while that happens. I’m stopping him.” Then she was running again, and Aidan was right beside her.
Chapter Nine
In New Orleans, the cemeteries were called
Cities of the Dead. They’d earned that moniker for a good reason—with the tall, rising crypts and mausoleums that filled the cemeteries, the places actually did look like cities. Cities populated by ghosts and phantoms.
The dead weren’t under the ground. They couldn’t be, not with the flooding that the city had to endure—and had endured—for centuries. The dead slept in their crypts. The tourists flocked to their cemeteries looking for a paranormal thrill, and a killer…
Well, it seemed that a killer had marked one of the cemeteries as his own private hunting grounds.
Jane’s gun was in her hands as she crept between the crypts. Before she’d gone in the cemetery, she’d taken the liberty of putting silver bullets in her gun and ditching the wooden ones. For the time being. Since all signs were pointing to the killer being a werewolf—Dr. Bob sure was convinced of that fact—she’d wanted to have the best possible weapon for this fight. Aidan was at her side. They’d just entered the cemetery—
“I smell blood,” he said.
Dammit. “Lead the way.” Because she didn’t want to waste time searching. If he could track their victim, that would just make things easier. “Get to him. If he’s still alive, he needs our help.”
Aidan rushed forward, but he moved too fast. She scrambled to keep up with him. She hurried to—
“Jane…”
A low whisper, one that froze her in her tracks.
She spun around with her gun up. She knew she’d heard that voice, just as she’d heard it the last time she’d been in this damn cemetery. Was it the same voice that had called to her then? Jane wasn’t sure and she didn’t see anyone. She could hear the thud of Aidan’s footsteps. He was rushing to the victim.
But I think the killer is watching me. “Show yourself!” Jane snarled.
He didn’t. He…
“What are you, Jane?”
Was it Vincent? He’d been outside of the cemetery before. Was the vamp the killer she sought?
Jane saw a shadow move to the right of a tall, crucifix statue. She lunged forward. “Freeze!”
It was so dark. She caught the outline of a man’s back. Strong. Muscled. Bare?