Kenzie kissed Ryan good night, then Bowman did, and they walked out into the darkness.
“I’d better go up to Cade’s and make sure there’s no mate Challenges,” Bowman said, sounding regretful. “They’re drunk on beer and frenzy. I don’t need Shifters trying to fight each other to the death while hanging from a zip line.”
Kenzie laughed, but she understood his worry. Shifter rules said no Challenges on mating ceremony night, but when feral needs flared, rules got flushed.
Bowman stuck his hands in his jacket pockets, looking like a wild animal trying to wear civilized clothes. Whiskers were stark black on his face, and his was hair rumpled, his eyes slightly bleary with all the lovemaking they’d enjoyed.
“Check on the Shifters not trying to get some tonight,” Bowman said. “Make sure they’re all right.”
“That won’t be many, but I will.”
Kenzie should turn and walk away now, businesslike. They both had jobs to do, keeping Shiftertown safe. They’d meet up later at home, compare notes. Like always.
Tonight, Kenzie didn’t want to look away from Bowman. She kept her gaze on him as he stood a few feet from her, his breath steaming in the cold. His eyes caught hers, the silver gray piercing her to the heart.
Finally, Bowman gave her a nod, turned around, and walked up the street, heading for the end of the zip line. His boots crunched in the loose stones on the asphalt, then darkness swallowed him, and he was gone.
Kenzie sighed, wishing they didn’t always have to be Shiftertown leaders. If they were ordinary Shifters, they could lock themselves away and continue what they’d enjoyed in the woods, not emerging for days.
Making herself do her job, Kenzie looked in on the indoor Shifter parties going on, making sure that Shifters who needed to go home got there. She left the parties behind, ignoring the slurred pleas for her to stay, and finally went back home. A few hours in the quiet wouldn’t come amiss.
Not meant to be. A car sat in the narrow driveway of the O’Donnell house, and when Kenzie walked inside, she found Gil Ramirez in her living room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Sorry,” Gil said, when Kenzie paused on the threshold. “I let myself in. When I called him tonight, Bowman said it would be all right to wait here for you.”
“Bowman said . . .” Kenzie trailed off and slammed the door, sliding out of her jacket. “Bowman so needs to learn to text me.”
Gil chuckled. “He’s an old-fashioned guy. I can respect that.”
Kenzie made an impatient noise and walked through the living room to the kitchen. “Did he tell you to help yourself to beer? Or did he want you to wait for me to be the gracious hostess again?”
“If it’s a bad time, Kenz, I can talk to you later.”
Kenzie turned around with two bottles of beer to see Gil standing in the living room looking apologetic. She flushed.
“No, it’s fine.” She came back in and handed him a bottle. “Bowman just drives me crazy. Not your fault.”
Gil accepted the opened beer, gestured to the sofa, and waited until Kenzie had seated herself before sitting down beside her. Human courtesy.
“So a mating ceremony today?” Gil asked, sipping beer. “Celebrations in my family can be pretty wild too.”
“Your family is from here?” Kenzie said. “North Carolina, I mean?”
“No, I’m not native to the Carolinas. Most people think I’m Cherokee, but my family are from far away, and we left there a long time ago.”
Kenzie eyed him in curiosity. “From where?”
Gil shrugged. “You wouldn’t know it. You’re from what’s now called Romania, right?”
“I am. Bowman’s from Canada. Did you come here to talk about where we’re all from?”
“No, I came here to talk about our case.” Gil set down his beer and pulled a manila envelope from the inside of his jacket. “I found out about Serena Mitton, the girl who was shot. You interested?”
Of course she was interested. Kenzie noticed that Gil had turned the questions about him neatly aside, but she said nothing as he pulled out papers and photographs.
“Death was from two gunshots to the chest,” he said, scanning a sheet, “from a nine millimeter. She died quickly, the report says. Her name was Serena Mitton. She grew up in Baltimore and moved down here to attend UNC at Asheville. She stayed and became a research assistant while she worked on her master’s degree, in the anthropology department.”
Kenzie’s eyes widened. “Did she work for Dr. Turner?” She’d told him all about Dr. Turner when she’d called him this morning.
“Nope. She was an RA in the lab of one Dr. Jane Alston. From what Dr. Alston told me, Serena did no work for Dr. Turner, and didn’t interact much with him either. Nodded to him in the hall, maybe, but that’s it.”