“I followed the werewolves when they entered the compound. I saw the envoy and his small entourage arrive, with the little grindylow. I have not seen one here in ... quite some time. And never so far from Britain. And never, ever, away from a cold lake, stream, or river. They like cool temperatures. I was curious.” He chuckled, the sound as musical as flute notes. “So I invited myself to the party.”
“Where you hung around in the ceiling.” I propped on the counter at the back of the shooting gallery, my gear beside me, thinking. There was no scaffolding. Nothing to hold on to in the ceiling. “Glamoured, right? So we wouldn’t see you if we looked up.”
“I am clever.”
I remembered Bruiser’s eyes on my front porch, haunted. Yeah. That was the word. He’d looked haunted. It was a look that made me want to help, to prove him innocent, and that was not part of my job, not part of my contract, not something that would earn me one red cent. But I was going to do it anyway. “Did you see where Bruiser went when he left the ballroom?” I asked. “Can you prove he didn’t kill the girl? Were-cat. Whatever. Did you see who killed Safia?”
“I saw many things last night but little that will help you.”
That stopped me. “Why are you here, Gee? What do you want?”
“Good-bye, little goddess.” He ended the call with a faint click, and when I called him back, it went directly to voice mail again.
I hung up, irritated and confused; stuck the cell into an ammo pouch in my gear. There were too many things going on to get a handle on it, to see any kind of big picture. “Goddess, my vamp-kicking butt. Give me a straight-out hunt with fanged prey and blood anytime,” I grumbled.
“Me too, sister,” a voice said. It came from a guy coming in the door of the indoor range, a mean looking little guy with a gun case big enough to hold a cannon. Penis envy? I was nearly mad enough to say it aloud but managed to hold it in. I grabbed the broom and swept up my brass, dumping it into the half-full brass barrel in the corner. Then I stirred my casings into the mix, losing them in the discards of others, very aware of the little guy’s eyes on me. Paranoid? Me? Starting to be.
Outside, I kicked Bitsa on and eased into traffic, the air like a hot wet blanket against me.
I made a stop by the main offices of NOPD, telling myself that it wasn’t to see Rick, but to look at some files in the woo-woo room. And I believed it, sorta. The guard at the desk was one I had seen before and he slid the sign-in pad to me, tossed me a temp ID badge, and waved me on through. It was shoddy security, but I wasn’t about to complain. I made my way up the stairs, Rick’s desk drawing me like a magnet. It was vacant. No papers on the surface, no old coffee cup, even the computer was off. There was a layer of dust on top of everything. The layer of dust told me clearer than words that he was, indeed, undercover. Again.
Relief warred with anger. He could have told me. I swerved away and made my way through the room, ignored by everyone and returning the favor, to Jodi’s office. I knew where it was, though I’d never been invited in. Which might be a good thing. Jodi and her right-hand man, Sloan Rosen, were bent over reports, Jodi sounding tired, angry, and slightly hoarse. And she was still wearing the same clothes she had worn the night before. I tapped on the door and she looked up, irritation creasing the skin beside her eyes. “What do you want?”
I started to be cute, but instead said, “I’d like to get at the files in the woo-woo room.” I felt weird saying the words, as if my own subconscious was surprised. But it faded instantly. “If it’s okay.”
“Sure.” She tossed me a set of three keys and I caught them. Nodded my head and backed away. “Jane,” she called. I stopped. “I hear George Dumas is staying in your house.” I wasn’t quite sure what to make of her tone so I just nodded. “He’s a person of interest,” she said, “in the death of the diplomatic assistant.”
I nodded again. “I just came from the shooting range, where I left a lot of spent brass on the floor. Every single casing had my fingerprints on them. If someone stole my gun and swept up my brass, they could frame me easily.” I tossed the keys lightly and caught them. “I’ll have these back in an hour.” I turned and left the office, feeling Jodi’s eyes boring a hole in my back. I wondered if I had a target painted on it. I had lost the chance to hear anything about the case, but I had also lost the chance to be questioned by my friend or asked to spy on another friend and houseguest. I figured I had won.
The woo-woo room had changed since I first saw it, from a utilitarian storage room containing paper copies of all the city’s paranormal case files to a storage room with a computer, a dry board, a copier-scanner combo, a table, and more comfortable chairs. I eyed the computer, thinking about trying to log on, but passwords were surely not something I could guess at, and getting caught spying was a surefire way to get kicked out of the room forever. I turned to the hard-copy files and started digging.
I stayed in the woo-woo room for nearly an hour and photocopied a dozen files, most without taking the time to read thoroughly, and carried them back out with me when I left. Jodi wasn’t in her office, and I didn’t look for her, leaving her keys on a blotter in plain sight. I had a feeling that this case might put a lot of stress on a relationship that wasn’t that strong to begin with.
CHAPTER 13
I Intend to Make You Regret That Decision