Page 35 of Whiskers on Kittens

“Yet you have how many counts of criminal mischief?”

“Enough that the judges marvel at my record, none of which bars me from doing my work. I am careful about that. The collar thing was my fault for not having vetted the collar before doing the hit. But that collar got me some really good mileage. That prison stay gets expunged, and I make sure conditions are better for the prisoners. And I get actual community service! This is quite possibly the ultimate community service gig. I’m going to have to remind someone that I’m not supposed to be paid for doing community service. I’m pretty sure somebody is going to try to pay me for my good work. Well, the CPD is definitely going to be paying for your feeding bill. If they had been paying you properly, my wallet wouldn’t be squealing every time I opened it to get you back to healthy. I’ll have to call the CDC and get your actual required caloric intake, and we’ll use a tracking app to make sure we’re in the right ballpark.” As I had problems with not eating enough if I didn’t track, I pulled out my phone, opened my tracking app, and showed him. “I make educated guesses on what I’m eating, and as long as I’m close enough, I don’t care. It’s easy to fail to eat enough as a lycanthrope, even when a dainty lady such as myself.”

“I feel I have somehow taken all your missing bulk and transferred it to my hybrid form. You’re absolutely tiny in your animal form. I break the bed unless it’s specially made.”

“My bed can handle up to fifteen hundred pounds of energetic lycanthropes,” I informed him with a pleased smile. “I even have a fairly bouncy mattress. You are welcome to indulge in some bouncing on my mattress while a hybrid.”

“I’m huge, Kelsie.”

I snickered at his statement. “I bet you are.”

“I didn’t mean like that.”

“If the shoe fits, wear it… and if you are huge, I demand evidence immediately.” My virus approved of my bold statement. On second thought, I added, “Perhaps when we return to my home, where the mattress and bed are rated to handle fifteen hundred pounds of energetic lycanthropes.”

“I’m sure you’ll see my hybrid form before this is over. If we’re cleaning, you’re going to need my strength.”

Nice. “Now that you mention it, that would be convenient.”

“Being honest, as it seems you are quite possibly the type to be fine even when you aren’t fine, how are you doing?”

Damn. The cop had eyes and knew how to use them. I considered his question seriously, nibbling at my meal while I debated how best to categorize and explain my feelings. “One of my strengths is being able to handle everything being on fire all at once. That’s part of my job. When companies come to me for negotiations, they have to put out an inferno of some sort. They trust me to stay cool and calm throughout the entire process. I can’t afford to be anything other than professional. That means you’re right. I am the type to be doing great even though I’m not. If I’m great, and I go into the negotiations upbeat and ready to work, it’s easier to get everyone at the table to relax.”

“I will keep an eye out for that, then. We have people like you on the force, and when they burn out, they shock the hell out of everybody. Nobody expects them to have any issues.”

Ah. He had practical experience with the problem. “Hopefully nothing lethal?”

“We’ve lost some in the line of duty because of it. They got tired and didn’t even try to dodge or take certain precautions. Nobody noticed it had gotten to be too much.”

Ouch. I would have to keep an eye on Mr. Goody-Goody, as he was already wearing himself out working the beat. The CPD held most of the responsibility, but I’d have to talk to him about it.

For the sake of his dream career, he had allowed it to happen.

“I’m sorry.”

“We all are. Well, mostly.”

“These deaths happened in the CPD?”

“Yes, they did.”

“Please email me with their names and badge numbers. I’ll bump that to the FBI and CDC. If the person was driven to commit suicide, it may be classified as premeditated murder.”

Easton stilled, and he stared at me for a long time. “You don’t think it could come to that, do you?”

“I don’t know what I think, but someone who witnessed the situation would have to ask an angel. If you were directly involved with the cops who were killed, you have the right to inquire with an angel.” To make it clear I was serious, I unlocked my phone, opened the group chat with the archangels, and offered him the device. “They will be honest with you. Angels must be honest. But understand if you open Pandora’s Box, you will never be able to close it. But there are other options for you—or perhaps a new beginning.”

I marveled at the careful manipulation of the divine, and I wondered if our discussion of the situation fell into someone’s plans. I could see the Devil using archangels to bring ruin and downfall to the guilty—and I could easily believe the archangels would play the Devil’s game.

Easton accepted the phone, and his brows furrowed. “You really asked them for a chat at three in the morning.”

“I’m sure they saw it coming,” I quipped, allowing myself a smile. “If you want to talk to Gabriel, just ask Michael to loop him in. Just be aware that they are archangels, and they will give you the painful truth. In their eyes, if you’re ready to ask the question, you’re ready to hear the answer. They will answer only as far as they can. He plays a part in that. But it’s okay to ask.”

In his shoes, not knowing would have eaten away at me.

Once he knew, he would have to decide how hard he would fight for justice—and how much he would sacrifice for those who no longer had a voice.

To my dismay, I suspected this was the moment the judge had meant in his office, where Easton would have to decide how he approached the line. Would he stay on the goody-goody side? Would he walk the line, balancing good and evil for the sake of those he served and protected?