“Physically, he’s fine,” Smith answered. “But we need you out here.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen or less,” I told him.
On my way.
Thank you.
I didn’t tell him I’d be there even if he hadn’t asked, because I’m not an asshole. I was still worried about him—Physically, he’s finemeant that mentally or emotionally he was very muchnotfine, and as much as I’d tried to stop caring about him over the last six weeks, I had failed utterly. I was also worried about what it meant that Smith was there. Because homicide detectives don’t just show up to people’s houses for no reason and then call in the crime scene techs.
I was already out the door, and opted to grab the extra kits and take my Cruiser rather than the van or the truck. Roger was off, and Lacy was getting an extremely late lunch thanks to an accident this morning that had fortunately not resulted in any dead people, although there had been one bovine fatality and one totaled pickup truck—I shot her a text telling her Smith had called me in and that I was taking my car so I could go straight home.
Because I had the feeling that this was going to take me a lot longer than just collecting evidence. I was hoping I’d be able to con Smith into taking any evidence back with him to log so that I could make sure Elliot was okay. I didn’t know if he’d go for it, but it would be a lot easier if I had my own car instead of one of the crime scene vehicles.
I was driving too fast—I knew I was—but I didn’t care. It was drizzling and cold, and the roads were probably as close to freezing as the air. I told myself to slow down. It wouldn’t do Elliot any good if I ended up in a ditch or wrapped around a tree or telephone pole because I was trying to get to his house thirty seconds earlier.
I drew in a long breath, then blew it out slowly. There wasn’t anything that I could do that wouldn’t wait for those thirty seconds. I might notwantto wait, but it was better that I got there in one piece so that I could do my job and be whatever Elliot needed me to be.
Part of me was vaguely disgusted at the fact that the minute Elliot said jump, I didn’t even bother to ask how high before my feet left the ground. It was needy, clingy, the sort of behavior that you weren’t supposed to engage in while keeping your masculinity intact. Not that I’d ever been terribly concerned about that, since being as big as I am usually telegraphed my gender fairly clearly. The beard also helped.
The rest of me, though, was just plain worried, and I tapped my fingers on my steering wheel, impatient at every light that didn’t immediately turn green. All two of them.
There was a cop car at the bottom of Elliot’s driveway, lights off, and he waved at me to stop as I turned in. I didn’t want to, but I did, because I knew the guy had probably been told to keep everyone out unless they had a good reason to be there. I held out my ID for him, and he waved me up.
“Glad it’s you and not me,” he told me as I rolled my window back up. I waved back at him, wondering what horrible thing I was about to find. To be fair, Shawano wasn’t Richmond, and the things that horrified some of the uniforms up here wouldn’t have caused a batted eye in city that had a couple hundred thousand people—not that Shawano got even close to that number. But what’s considered horrific in a city with gangs and a surprisinglyhigh homicide rate is orders of magnitude worse than what set off people in a small town of a bit less than ten thousand.
It wasn’t pretty, though, I’d give him that.
When I pulled around the curve in Elliot’s driveway and parked behind Smith’s dark blue sedan, I saw it—or, rather, I sawsomething.
Grey-brown, striped with black and white, it was flatish, stretched with chains across the center of the garage door, which had been painted with dark streaks and smudges.
It took me a second.
And then it took me another ten to stop holding my breath and tell my heart to slow down because it couldn’t be Elliot.
First, Smith had said he was okay. It hadn’t been long enough since he’d texted me forthatto have been done to him.
Second, this badger wasn’t nearly big enough to have been Elliot—or any shifter. It was just a badger.
The pinkish lump on the ground under the stretched-out hide was undoubtedly the rest of the poor creature, left where it had been skinned.
No fucking wonder Elliot wasn’t okay.
I needed to work the scene—but I also needed to see for myself that Elliot was unharmed. Not that I didn’t trust Smith, but… I just needed to see him myself.
I used the excuse that I should check in with Smith before I touched or did anything—it was standard procedure to touch base with the lead detective or sheriff on scene, although I was just using it as an excuse to get into the house to see Elliot.
I carried my heavy kit and gear with me up to the front door, and the uniform standing next to it reached out and opened it for me.
I stepped inside and instinctively toed my shoes off, although halfway through doing so I noticed that almost no one else had—although I recognized Smith’s beat-up penny loafers by the door.It made me like him even more, the fact that he showed respect for Elliot’s rules even now.
“Mays,” Smith said, his rough voice pitched low as he walked toward me down the hall.
I nodded to him. “Anything other than what I saw?” I asked him softly. Not that it mattered—Elliot could easily hear both of us if he was paying attention.
“No.”
“Anything I need to know about in the house?”
