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Riker’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but the conversation was making him uneasy.
Moreau stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not the only one, Riker. There are others in the precinct—people who aren’t entirely human.”
Riker’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“I know about the supernatural world,” Moreau said quietly. “I’ve known for a long time. My first case revealed it to me, but I was kept safe by a powerful wolf-shifter—the Alpha of New Orleans. In exchange for my silence, he protected me.”
Riker stared at her, stunned. This was not the conversation he had expected. There were plenty of guys who called themselves the alpha of this or of that and plenty more people who believed themselves to be an alpha of some form or another, himself included. But there was only one man who could claim the title of the Alpha of New Orleans. If his captain had met—not to mention been protected by—Jean-Michel Gautier, there was a lot more to Evelyn Moreau than any of them had ever thought.
“Why share this with me?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Because I believe you’re one of them,” Moreau said, her gaze steady. “You and several others in my precinct. I just want all of you to know—I’m on your side. And you can count on me.”
She didn’t wait for him to respond. Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving Riker standing there, his mind spinning.
Captain Moreau knew. She had known all along. And now, she had made it clear that she was watching—and that she was offering her support.
Riker didn’t know how he felt. Everything he had believed was being challenged. The world wasn’t black and white, human and magical. It was shades of gray, filled with complexities he hadn’t been prepared for.
As he stood there, the weight of the case pressing down on him, Riker realized that he wasn’t just hunting a killer or a shapeshifter. He was confronting his own demons—and it was going to change everything.
Chapter
Seven
CATALINA
Catalina had returned to the family mansion in the Garden District—her head spinning from her aunt’s betrayal. What the hell was going on? She could make no sense of it. Shaking her head as if to clear it, she set those thoughts aside. Catalina often found that if she put a problem or a puzzle aside, the answers would come.
She had barely set foot inside her home when her phone buzzed. She glanced down to see Riker’s name flash across the screen. A rush of heat tingled through her as she remembered their last encounter—fighting side by side at The Thorny Rose, then beneath it and the unexpected intimacy that had followed. The memories chased away the grief and anger she felt from Maeve’s betrayal. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Catalina answered.
“Riker,” she greeted, trying to keep her voice neutral, but she knew it probably came off as warm.
“Catalina. You got a minute?” His voice was a gravelly rumble, but there was a hint of something softer beneath the usual gruffness.
She frowned slightly. “What’s going on?”
“I’ve uncovered some things. We need to talk. How about dinner? My place, tonight.”
Dinner? Catalina hesitated, but curiosity overrode any reluctance. “Dinner, huh? Are we discussing business, or is this some kind of date?”
Riker’s chuckle was a low, seductive sound that sent a thrill through her. “Business. And maybe a little of the other. But mostly business.”
She bit her lip, the playful banter setting her pulse racing. “All right. I’ll be there.”
“Eight o’clock. You know the French Quarter well enough. I’m on Dauphine, right by the river. I’ll leave the light on.”
Catalina hung up, already trying to decipher the unusual weight behind his voice. There was something about Riker she hadn’t quite pinned down yet—something that drew her in deeper than she cared to admit. And whether it was his stoic charm or the growing connection between them, she found herself looking forward to the evening.
By the time she arrived at Riker’s flat in the French Quarter, the sun had dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the historic streets. The scent of jasmine and the distant sounds of jazz floated through the air, blending with the hustle of the nightlife. Riker’s apartment was in one of the newly converted buildings along Dauphine, boasting high ceilings, exposed brick, and large windows that framed a breathtaking view of the Mississippi River.
When he opened the door, Riker stood before her in casual jeans and a worn T-shirt, his grizzled, salt-and-pepper hair slightly tousled, and that ever-present five o’clock shadowmaking him look even more ruggedly sexy than usual. Why had she never realized before now just how sexy the man was? Simple: she’d never been impaled on his cock and felt him thrusting deep inside her until the day before. The sight of him in this relaxed setting sent an unexpected shiver of desire through her.
“Come on in,” he said, stepping aside to let her enter.
Catalina took in the space as she walked inside. It was simple but elegant—hardwood floors, a leather couch, and shelves lined with books and mementos that gave the place a surprisingly homey feel. The large windows gave an unobstructed view of the river, its dark surface shimmering under the moonlight.
“Nice place,” she commented, impressed despite herself.
