I sighed. “I don’t know why I was dumb enough to think he wouldn’t do exactly that. Of course he’d want this case. He can use it as his final grandstand against me.”
Ray Hart hated me. If he could finally prove I was the dope freak he thought I was, or at the very least engaged in something highly illegal, it would make his whole existence. I’d unwittingly become his number one focus during my short eighteen months on the police force. In hindsight, joining the PD had been the most foolish vocation I could’ve ever chosen. But I’d been young and eager to show the world what I had to offer, and unfortunately, even though I hadn’t been full blooded, I’d still been a female born to an enhanced gene pool, which meant I could run faster than any of my human male counterparts, jump higher, lift more than I should be able to, and to top it off, I had better instincts.
According to Raymond Hart, the only rational explanation for “stunts like that” was my being a total crackhead or speed junkie. I must’ve been doped up on some kind of a superdrug to perform feats like that, and even though I’d willingly subjected myself to multiple drug tests, and worked actively on my defense—in the end, the only option left for me was to quit.
But it’d been too late to shake Ray.
After I’d departed from the police force, along with Nick, who had joined with me, Ray had kept me in his sights. For reasons unbeknownst to me, he wasn’t willing to let it go. There were rumors he still took home police footage of me in unexplainable situations, either clearing a six-foot fence with relative ease, or of me explaining how I tracked a perp to an undisclosed location with nothing but my eyes and ears to guide me.
The man was irrationally obsessed, which was a dangerous thing for him to be, especially in light of my recent lifestyle changes.
I glanced at my phone on the dashboard, laying where I’d tossed it. “There’s one more message on my phone,” I said. “It said I had seven, but I only listened to six.” I knew without having to check it was Ray. I glanced over at the driver’s seat. “I’m going to have to listen to it, aren’t I?”
“If you want a decent heads-up, you do. If not, feel free to let it go.”
I reluctantly plucked my phone off the dashboard. “I need some alcohol for this.”
Nick laughed. “Sorry, but all the Jack is at home.”
Ray’s tenor spread like oil into my eardrum. “Hannon, it’s Hart. By now you should know your apartment has been trashed by someone and their goddamn pet. You appear to be camping.” He let that one sit for a second, his glee prickling me through the phone. “When you get your ass out from wherever you are, call me. I need a formal statement. No more fucking around.” Click.
That was it.
A good cop knew a crime like this one was personal, and unfortunately Ray was a good cop. Nobody trashed your furniture and personal possessions except a scorned lover, a drug dealer you owed serious money to, or a sick bastard with a vendetta—and they’d brought their pet, no less. Who brings their animal to a premeditated crime? The only thing running in my favor, the one thing casting a shadow of doubt on the investigation and my possible connection to it, was thanks to the talented Marcy. My most personal space, my bedroom, had been left intact. The place you lay your head is the first place someone goes for revenge.
Damn, I was really going to have to pay her more.
“Ray’s never going to buy that a stranger did that to your place,” Nick said.
“I know.” I ran my hands through my hair. “The only solution is to continue with the personal angle. We’ll have to dig up a former pissed-off target who had motive to break into my house—which shouldn’t be too hard. There wasn’t an actual burglary, so there’ll be no need to press formal charges.”
“And will this mystery person we dig up happen to have a pet whose fur matches the samples taken from your apartment exactly?” Nick chuckled. “Ray’s not going to back off that easily. I’m sure he’ll be lurking in your hallway for the next year until this is solved to his liking. He’s a bloodhound. You haven’t given him a whiff of anything in five solid years, and now you just dumped the best load of crap ever into his lap.”
“Ugh, I know.” I gave Nick a sideways smirk. “But if he doesn’t back down eventually, I can just beat him up with my new guns.” I brought my arms up and flexed my biceps. They didn’t seem any firmer than usual, but I knew they’d inflict a hell of a lot more damage now if applied correctly—and I planned on applying them very correctly. “Or I could grow some fur, or take a swipe at him with my new, handy-dandy claws.” I wiggled my fingertips. The claws weren’t out, but it was cool to know they were there somewhere.