Shift Work (Carus #4) (7 page)

His hips flexed, and he pushed against me.

He paused, and his gaze sought mine. Infinitesimal shards of sapphire gems, streaked with leopard yellow to reveal the animal simmering beneath the surface, met my gaze with a need so intense it vibrated my body, my heart, my very being down the cellular level.

Yes, yes, and yes.

My mountain lion purred in agreement.

Sensing my unspoken agreement, Tristan slid inside with deliciously slow pressure, hard and thick.

We sighed in unison. With his hips flush with mine, he paused again. His mouth twitched. He tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear and sank his weight on top of me.

“You’re stunning,” he said. His full lips met mine in a gentle kiss. With his arms holding me tight, he started to move.

And my world shattered.

Chapter Seven

“Folgers got it wrong. The best part of waking up is going back to bed after you pee.”

~SnarkEcards

The sun snuck through the gaps between the blinds and sill to caress my face. The room smelled of night blooming jasmine and japonicas. It also smelled of Tristan…and me. A new smell. Earthy, and not unpleasant. Tristan’s arm draped across my midsection; a welcome weight and slight discomfort. His naked body pressed against the back of mine; slightly stuck with the remnants of sweat despite having cooled down.

I could lie like this forever; bathing in Tristan’s heat with the dew of lovemaking clinging to my skin, the faint caress of soft sheets and the crisp smells and sounds of a calm day.

My phone chattered. I ignored it, rolled around in bed, and snuggled against Tristan so my face smushed into his neck. His honeysuckle scent engulfed my nose and I took in deep breaths, wanting to get back to the place of tranquility before technology rudely interrupted.

My phone chittered again. And again. And again.

I groaned and flopped back in bed.

“Mrrmmph.” Tristan’s hand groped for me.

I reached over to the night stand and checked my screen. Five missed calls from Stan.
Crap!
Stan and Lafleur had told me the paperwork and red-tape would take at least a couple of weeks for approval. In the meantime, they’d only call me in as a consultant if something big came up.

I tapped in my password and hit Stan’s contact information. He picked up right away.

“Andy, finally,” he said. His voice sounded like it had been wrung through a cheese grater and then punched in the guts a few times.

“Sorry, late night,” I said. My heart swelled with the growing closeness to Tristan and the humming contentment of my body and feras. “What’s up?”

The silence on the other end droned on while I waited for Stan to make some snarky comment about my love life. It never came. Only the slight fuzzy sound of the connection. And then I heard it.

A sob.

“Stan?” I sat up in bed and pushed Tristan’s roaming hands away. The dendrites in my brain sent off a cacophony of warning sirens. “Stan, is everything okay?”

Tristan rolled onto his back. His eyes popped open under furrowed brows.

Another sob, this time louder, came through, followed by a sniff. “They…”

I waited, apprehension twisting my stomach into a knot. Tristan smoothed his hand down my leg and gave me a quick peck on the cheek before slipping out of bed. His footsteps padded against the laminate flooring as he made his way to the kitchen. He would’ve heard Stan’s voice. He knew something was up. He gave me space and privacy. The coffee maker started to gurgle in the kitchen, and I sent a mental thank you to Tristan.

“Stan, are you still there?” I asked after he’d been silent for what seemed like eons.

“They killed her,” he blurted out and then broke down into sobs.

“What?” I flung the sheet off and stood up. The cool morning air brushed over my naked skin and goosebumps pebbled on my arms and legs.

“My…my wife…she’s…Oh god!”

I stared at my phone, and my heart crunched in tune with the sounds of pain coming from the other end. His wife was dead? I’d never met Stan’s partner in crime, but I knew the veteran cop loved her unconditionally. His face always lit up when he spoke of her. Stan emitted another sob, and I wanted to reach through my cell phone and hug him.

“Where are you?” I asked.

Stan didn’t answer.

“Stan! Where are you?” I demanded.

“The precinct,” he mumbled. “They left me in the staffroom. They won’t tell me anything that’s going on. No one will talk to me. Except…” He sniffed loudly into the receiver. “…except to say they’re sorry for my… Fuck!” He drew in a long breath through his nose. “I didn’t…I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Well, you called the right person. I’ll be right there, buddy. Just…just hold on, okay?”

Tristan!
I mentally called out.

I caught it all. Go. I’ll lock the door on my way out
, he replied.

Thank you
, I replied. So much for a romantic breakfast in bed and another round of hide the sausage. Screw it. What a selfish thought. My plans were insignificant to Stan’s pain. Tristan understood. We’d have plenty of mornings together later.

I threw open the window and shifted to my falcon form. The transformation would cleanse my body and soul and give me time to think during the ten minute flight to the precinct. Stan had arranged for a change of clothes and a lock box on the precinct’s roof after my meeting with Lafleur. No gallivanting around naked in front of the VPD. It meant telling Stan and Lafleur about my falcon form. After they got over it, they decided it was pretty cool. Now, I was thankful I dished my secret,

Holy crap! Stan’s wife. I screeched into the bright morning air. The poor man. What he must be going through right now.

Why’d he call me?

Did it matter?

Not at all. But he had a whole brotherhood of police officers, male and female, to draw on. Why wasn’t someone there to support him?

By the time I’d landed on the precinct’s roof top, red hot anger raged inside my bird body on Stan’s behalf. I shifted quickly, threw on my stashed clothes—baggy VPD sweats and a matching long-sleeved shirt—and marched into the building.

Stan’s floor was empty, aside from the office clerk, manning the front desk. Officer Gallows had deep set Slavic features and large bags under his eyes. I’d met him a number of times, usually with him sitting behind a desk. When he looked up and took in my appearance, he didn’t look surprised. The creases around his eyes smoothed out, and he sighed. “Glad you’re here.”

“Where is everyone?” I barked.

The officer jumped in his seat. “Looking for Loretta’s killer.”

“Everyone?”

He nodded.

“Is that why Stan’s alone right now?”

He nodded, again. “He wanted to be alone. Yelled at us to leave him and find the killer. Told the therapist to go fuck himself. Everyone’s out trying to do
something
.”

“Oh.” My anger dissipated, and I mentally slapped myself for being such a jerk.

“No one knows what to do, so we’re doing everything we can to find out what happened. We’re…we’ve lost members of our force before. We all know it’s a risk of the job, but for the perp to take one of our family members…this shit’s fucked up. Everyone’s on edge, and we all want to find out who did this.”

I nodded, totally getting it. Stan wouldn’t let them comfort him, so they were out doing the one thing for him they knew they could do—police work.

“He still in the staffroom?”

The officer nodded. “Just Tony outside the door. Pops his head in every now and then to…you know…make sure Stan doesn’t hurt himself.”

Without speaking, I walked around the desk, through the secured area and made my way to the staffroom at the back of the building. A cop with a solemn expression and soft eyes, probably Tony, stood outside the staffroom. After a brief nod in his direction, I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. Stan sat at an empty table in a plastic fold out chair, elbows down and his hands cradling his head. He swayed back and forth in his seat, constantly pushing his face down to run his fingers through his sparse, but messy hair.

“Stan,” I said. My voice broke.

He froze and lifted his head. Blood shot eyes, stark white complexion, dried lips. The room stank of his misery; hot metal, stiff in the air as if an invisible weight compressed everything.

I swallowed.

Stan pushed back from the table to stand. Without a word, I walked over to him, and pulled him close for a hug. With his head bent at my chest, he cried. His shoulders shook. His whole body racked with sobs, and my shirt became damp as his tears soaked through the material.

I held him tightly and whispered “shhh” into his ear. But I didn’t tell him it would be okay. That was a lie. It wouldn’t be. He’d lost his life partner. His mate. Norms might not have mate bonds like some of the supernatural, but that didn’t mean their loss was any less significant. I’d seen Weres lose their mates. It wasn’t pretty. It looked, smelled, and felt exactly like this.

I rubbed his back and kept shushing into his hair.

“They killed her,” he whispered. “They killed her because of me.”

Chapter Eight

“Grief is the price we pay for love.”

~Queen Elizabeth II

An icy chill vibrated up my spine as his words echoed in my head. “What do you mean?”

Stan pushed away from me, swiped his nose with his sleeve and looked at his feet. “The local news ran a story about KK and named me as the lead investigator. When I got off my shift, I went home to find her…” He squeezed his eyes shut. Then his shoulders straightened, his body tensed, and he opened his blood shot eyes to fix me with his intense gaze. Cop mode switched on. “No money or jewellery was taken and a vial of KK was found on the scene. Lab results aren’t back yet, but preliminary inspection… They don’t think KK was in Loretta’s system. Whoever shot her, did it to send me a message.”

It took my brain a full minute to digest Stan’s words.
How do I respond to that?
“We’ll get them.”

“Damn fucking straight we will.” Stan’s jaw clenched, so hard his jaw would probably ache later. His body swayed.

“Should you be here?” I asked.

“Don’t tell me where to go, Andy.” He swiped at his running nose and sniffed. “I’ll return the favour.”

I held my hands up. “Stan, I’m here for you. We’ll do whatever you want. I don’t have to follow the rules like your fellow officers. Let’s get these fucktards.” Technically, as a “transfer” I did have to follow the rules like any other cop, regardless of the whereabouts of my paperwork. But I’d break the rules for Stan.

“You’ll take care of it?” Stan’s red-rimmed gaze remained locked on mine. Understanding smacked my brain. He wanted me here as his assassin friend. As the woman who could take out anyone, at least in his eyes.

“I’ll take care of it, or I’ll turn the other way if you want to do it yourself.” I didn’t hesitate in my answer. If anyone understood the need to mete out justice animal-style regardless of human laws, it was a Were or Shifter. No one messed with our mates without paying for it. Painfully.

Stan nodded and finally looked away. “Can you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

“Can you go to my home…”

“And sniff it out?”

He nodded again.

“You bet.”

Stan’s body relaxed a little, and he went to the mini kitchen to fiddle with the coffee maker. “You have clearance for the crime scene, you don’t have to wait for them to finish. I’ve already told them not to gun down any wild animals that come on the scene.”

“I don’t know where you live,” I said.

He prattled off his address and then turned his back to me. He wanted more time alone, despite asking me to come here. A steadfast career cop, manly-man like himself would hate that I’d seen him break down. But a part of my heart softened knowing he’d trusted
me
to see him like that.

“We’ll get them,” I said again before walking out.

****

Stan lived just across the bridge from downtown Vancouver, and the flight to his house took less than five minutes once I launched into the air. Nestled into a cozy community cul-de-sac, his home stood two stories with a white picket fence. Stan had never mentioned children, and I always assumed he didn’t have any. They’d be grown and out of the house anyway. I couldn’t see Stan housing a thirty-year-old unemployed son in his basement without mentioning it at least once during our B&B sessions.

Cop cruisers took up the entire street and police tape surrounded the property. A number of cops milled around and a few sat on the curb with their heads in their hands. One of their own had been targeted. Every single one would be thinking, “What if?” What if it had been their wife, their home? It wasn’t a question enforcement officers could spend much time asking. They couldn’t afford the hesitation.

With the house swarming with officers, I decided to land and shift in the park down the block behind a patch of bushes. No need for more people to witness multiple changes. Quickly shifting into my mountain lion form, I padded down the street and approached the crime scene cautiously. Just because Stan cleared me and warned his coworkers I might show up, didn’t mean they wouldn’t unload a clip of bullets into my ass before they realized their mistake. The presence of a cougar tended to have that effect on people.

My ears pinged forward at every sound, and I wound around the first cruiser.

“Holy shit!” an officer exclaimed. A rustle of his uniform and the tell-tale swish sound told me he’d drawn his firearm. It took every ounce of control not to whirl and attack. Instead, I plunked my fat cat ass down and purred, as loudly as possible.

“Wait!” a female officer called out. “That’s Stan’s friend.”

“Thought she was a wolf?” the officer shouted back.

“Nah, that was someone else,” she replied and walked up to me. She had thick brown hair and kind eyes. “Look at her. She’s just sitting and purring. Not feral or wild. He told us to expect a mountain lion, didn’t he?”

“Dude’s got connections.”

“That’s Stevens for you.”

The officer without the drawn gun approached me slowly with her hand out. I nuzzled her hand like a fucking house cat, and her muscles relaxed. “See?” she said.