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“Record away.” I knelt to stabilize myself then set to work on untying the sneaker. I tugged slack in the laces, stretched the tongue up and the sides out, then freed the shoe from the swollen foot. I glanced at the logo on the inner sole. “Girls, size seven.”
“That isn’t conclusive of gender,” Mrs. Officer warned me. “Kids wear hand-me-downs all the time.”
We had detailed descriptions of what the victims had been wearing, so it was easy enough to check.
“True.” I held the shoe while Mr. Officer snapped pictures. “Can you forward us the photos and video?”
“Sure thing.” Mr. Officer requested my email address. “I’ll ask you to do the same, going forward.”
After helping them bag the shoe, I removed my gloves, tucked them in my pocket, then rose.
“Of course.” I shook his hand and then hers. “You have our full cooperation.”
“Who is our?” Mrs. Officer swept her gaze up me. “You’re not FBI.”
Mysterious disappearances and kidnappings involving children fell within FBI jurisdiction.
Good guess, wrong Bureau.
“FBI isn’t that diverse,” her husband agreed. “Black witch, golem, and…” he flared his nostrils, “…daemon with a hint of fae.”
“Your lives will be much happier and longer if you take us at face value.” I winced at how it sounded. “I’m not threatening you.” No one with a lick of sense went after a warg. They ran in packs for a reason. “I’m telling you our boss doesn’t like when people ask questions.”
If they didn’t know, then they didn’t need to know.
That was the company line.
Look at me, toeing it.
Oh, how times had changed.
“All right.” Mrs. Officer spread her hands. “I’ve heard about shadow organizations. Enough to know I don’t want to find myself on the wrong side of one.” A thread of steel laced her voice. “As long as you’re here in good faith, we have no problem.” She flexed her fingers, and pelt sprouted across her hand. “Fair warning.” Her nails sharpened into claws, and she pointed one at me. “Harm an innocent in our city, and I will give you a tour of the bottom of the ocean and a free pair of cement shoes.”
The reasoning behind Asa’s uncharacteristic boldness crystalized in an instant.
Ourcity.
“You’re the Charleston alphas,” I realized. “I didn’t see that in your files.”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that.” Mr. Officer twitched his lips, enjoying how the tables had turned on us. “But I would be afraid of my wife, if I were you. I have days where I wake beside her in a cold sweat, and that’s after thirty-five years of marriage.”
“Ignore him,” Mrs. Officer told us then cocked an eyebrow at her mate. “You’re worse than I am.”
“Not even close.”
“Remember our first year on the force as mates and partners? Oh. That’s right. You weren’t there.” Mrs. Officer snorted. “Every time you saw me in danger, you sprouted fur and got sent home.”
“That’s not true.” He tugged the ends of her hair. “Sometimes, I sprouted claws instead.”
“Count your blessings.” She swatted him. “Warg males will literally mark their territory.”
A sudden itch reminded me of the bracelet on my wrist. The one woven from Asa’s hair.
Used to the weight of its purpose, the comforting scratch against my skin, I rarely thought of it anymore.
“Daemons will too.” I crimped my lips. “They’re just sneakier about it.”
“I’ll call the cleaners,” Mrs. Officer offered. “File the paperwork via your agency, and you’ll be granted a temporary login so you can access information as it’s uploaded to our regional database.”
