* * * *
Almost two weeks passed before I finally found myself standing in my old, and previously underappreciated, apartment. I’d spent a few agonizing days in the hospital. Other than stitches and a few shots, they’d also had to give me a blood transfusion to replace all I’d lost. I’d been really weak afterwards, so they’d allowed me some time to recuperate before they gave me a clean bill of health. None of my blood work had screamed “future lycanthrope,” so I’d pronounced myself in the clear for that as well. The reason it had taken me so long to get back home was because the police wouldn’t allow it until I’d given a statement, and I refused to return to the company apartment Gabriel had given me.
So I ended up staying in a hotel, until finally I broke down and agreed to talk.
“What happened the night my partner and I found you, Miss Conners?”
“I got attacked by a dog.”
“We found traces of your blood in Lumière. Care to explain that?”
I shrugged and had to bite back a curse when the once automatic movement sent agony shooting through my bad arm.
“Some people can’t control their pets,” I finally managed, and Liam just looked at me in rising disappointment.
“Why would someone bring their dog into a place like that?” Benson barked, exasperated. I shook my head in mutual confusion.
“Rich people,” I said, as if that explained everything. As if some society matron’s purse poodle had leapt from her Louis Vuitton and almost severed the bone in my arm in a fit of wild puppy angst.
Liam reached out and wrapped my hand in both of his.
“We know you’re protecting him,” he said, “and, believe me, you don’t have to.”
“I’m not protecting him,” I said stubbornly, even though, technically, I was.
Liam shook his head. “Then you don’t have to be afraid of him.”
I scoffed. “Afraid? Of him? Never.” True. Why was that true?
Liam made a strange garbled sound, like he wanted to yell at me but stopped himself just in time. “Then why can’t you just tell the truth?”
My brow rose and I massaged my aching arm with my free hand, wishing desperately that I was back in my shitty little hotel so that I could pop a few pain pills and go to sleep.
“Why are you so convinced that I’m not?”
A few hours later they released me, and a few days after that they declared my apartment safe once again. I knew they didn’t believe that any more than I did, but they also had no evidence that I was still in any danger. They had other cases to work and none of the manpower to dedicate to some has-been reporter with a dog bite.
Now, standing in the middle of my living room once more and breathing in the scent of cheap potpourri, I wondered what I was supposed to do with myself now. I couldn’t go around crying wolf. They’d put me in a straight jacket and lock me away. If I was going to reveal what I’d seen, I’d need proof. Hard, irrefutable proof, and the only way I was going to get it was if I waltzed back in to Lumière and got my hidden cameras back. Remembering the lost necklace, my hand rose to brush against my throat.
Even if they hadn’t found the cameras and destroyed them by now, how was I going to face anyone in that building? I wasn’t sure how many of the wolves in the lobby that night had been employees out “hunting” those shadow monsters (or specters), and how many had been Gabriel’s special task force. Every time I passed someone in the halls or went to another department to collect paperwork, I’d have to wonder if they had been there that night, hungering for blood. My blood.
Talk about stressful work environment.
No, I couldn’t go back. Not even to pick up the cameras. It was one of the reasons why I’d been avoiding phone calls from Sonya. I knew that eventually, I’d have to tell her that I was done with the investigation. The problem was that I’d yet to come up with a good enough reason as to why she should let it drop too.
Now, head aching, I dropped my purse in the middle of the floor and wandered back into my bedroom. Pain killers and my favorite pillow were whispering my name and promising a night without dreams.