I hoped I’d be excused before then, but it seemed doubtful.
“Okay, Ms. Hannon. We have what we need for now. Someone will be in contact with you soon. Mr. Jensen’s final condition”—the female cop nodded toward the ambulance—“will affect this process, as you know.” She meant, if Drake managed to survive, I would be expected to testify in court, and if he died, well, there would most likely be a detailed investigation into his death. I wasn’t looking forward to either scenario.
Before we put a call in to 911, Nick had persuaded both girls, changing the story of what had really happened to something easier to swallow. Poor Jen would retain most of her “before” part clearly—but watching me almost kill her attacker bare-handed with stupefying speed had been tweaked as necessary. In the spirit of things, Nick had even coaxed her out of severe shock before the paramedics arrived, which had been a big task because he’d also had the wailing Becky to contend with.
My right hand, where it’d connected with Drake’s jaw, had completely healed in a matter of minutes, so blaming hand-to-hand combat on what had happened to Drake’s face was completely implausible.
While Nick was busy tending the girls, I’d devised a quick solution with an appropriately sized rock. I pressed it into the contours of Drake’s face, smearing the surface of the stone with an adequate amount of blood and tissue. Thankfully Drake hadn’t stirred during the process—and to my relief, he hadn’t been quite dead either. Supernaturals, on the whole, were tough to kill. But that didn’t mean he’d be waking up anytime soon. His injuries were severe—even for a supe.
The story I told the police was that I’d snuck up on him with the trusty rock, interrupting his attack, and hit him with more force than I’d intended. The story hadn’t accounted for any of the other injuries to his body, but there was a chance Drake would heal some of his own wounds by the time he arrived at the hospital. That would certainly help.
I glanced over the officer’s shoulder as they loaded Drake into the back of the ambulance. He’d already been in a human jail, but I had no idea if he’d ever been in a hospital. An imp’s blood wasn’t exactly a red flag. Most of the time their blood was classified as hemophilic.
The officer handed back my ID. “I understand the process,” I said. “Is there anything else?”
“Will we be able to contact you at this number tomorrow?” She read back my cell phone number.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re free to go.”
Nick was still giving his statement, so I stood outside the car and waited. Our story should hold as long as the persuasion held and Jen didn’t decide to change her side of the story to, “The girl with the glowing violet eyes beat him to death with her fists.”
Unfortunately, blue-sundressed Jen would likely have dreams containing pieces of the true events her entire life. The subconscious was a powerful thing, and this had been an extremely traumatic event for her. Lucky for us, and her, Nick was one of the strongest wielders of the gift. There were only a few humans who hadn’t succumbed to his efforts, and the guy heading straight toward me was one of them.
Cripes.
No matter how many times Nick had tried, Raymond Hart’s mind had never taken to persuasion. The alterations in his line of thinking never stuck for more than an hour at most. And Ray always acted crazy for the next few days. He had no idea what had happened to him, just that something had, and he always blamed me, his anger becoming more intense every time we tried. It was a lost cause, so we’d stopped trying.
“Ray, it’s such a nice surprise to see you here,” I said. “I’m assuming you rushed all the way over here, nowhere near your jurisdiction, to make sure I was safe after my awful run-in with a pedophile. Thanks for caring so much, big guy.” I mocked punching his arm
“Cut the shit, Hannon. This has your name written all over it,” he said.