I raised an eyebrow at Hayes. “You know what we’re dealing with.”
“Actually,” Hayes said, rubbing his palms on his thighs, “I don’t. Gangbangers I’m fairly used to. This kind of thing”—he gently thumbed the cut over my eye—“I’m really not. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m a little sticky from the blood and sore, but other than that, I’m pretty much fine.”
“You shouldn’t have been out alone in the middle of the night. It could have been much worse. I don’t know what I would have done if …”
I raised an eyebrow. “If what?”
Hayes shook his head. “Nothing. Was there anything else you remember? Anything else you can tell me about?”
I blew out a sigh and crossed the living room, digging my hand into my coat pocket. I sat down next to Hayes again. “When I went back I found this.” I held the little tuft of hair out to him.
“What is it?” he took it, examining it from every angle.
“Fur. It was stuck in one of the tears on my console.”
“Fur?” Hayes’s eyebrows shot up, and he sniffed at the tuft. “Dog fur?”
I looked down at my feet. “I’m thinking werewolf.”
“Sampson.” Hayes put the tuft of hair down on the coffee table and bounded to his feet, crossing the room in two long strides. He touched me gently, staring deeply into my eyes. “Did he bite you? Are you hurt badly?”
He gently rubbed his thumb over the cut on my forehead again, and I winced—although whether it was from the residual pain of the wound or the screaming desperation of my sex-starved body I wasn’t sure. Either way, it was uncomfortable and I stepped away.
“I can’t imagine Sampson would do something like this. And if he did, why now? Why not any other time, when we were alone together at the office? He wouldn’t attack. Not me, of all people.” I swallowed hard against the lump rising in my throat. “He likes me.”
The muscle in Hayes’s jaw twitched. “If he hurt you in any way …”
I pulled at the sleeve of my shirt, and Hayes’s eyes went wide at the yellowing bruise on my forearm. “He didn’t scratch me or bite me.”
“But your eye—”
“That was from the car. I hit my head. If it was Sampson”—I shook my head slowly, trying to avoid the newest flood of tears—“well, it doesn’t seem like the person I ran into was the same person who tore that guy limb from limb. I mean, look at me.”
Hayes swallowed hard. “I am.”
“What?”
“Look, Lawson, maybe the chief and Officer Franks just got to you before Sampson had a chance to really hurt you. You said you don’t remember much. And, how much do you really know about werewolves? What they’re capable of?”
I opened my mouth and then closed it again, frowning. “My boss is a werewolf.”
“Your boss is a man who becomes a werewolf when you leave at night. How much do you know about him when he’s dogged out?”
I felt my eyes narrow, and Hayes raised his shoulders as if to say “So?” I blew out a defeated sigh and flopped down onto the couch.
“Not too much, I guess.”
“How does he act when you chain him up?” Hayes’s cobalt eyes were on mine and they were smoldering. “Is he violent?”
“No,” I said, shrugging. “He never has been.”
“And his hair—fur, I guess—does it look like this?” Hayes held up the clump of hair again.
“I don’t know. He’s fine when I lock him up and I—I leave before he changes.”
“So you’ve never actually seen him as a wolf?” Hayes sat down close to me on the couch, his thigh brushing mine.
I clamped my hands together in my lap. “Well, no, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?”
“I’ve seen a little of the change.” I stood up, started pacing. “Once, after I chained him up I stood outside of his door. Just to see, you know, I was curious. I heard it happen.” My stomach folded as I began to remember the horrible grunts and shrieks that came from Mr. Sampson’s office as his body underwent the transformation from man to wolf. “It sounded so awful, so painful. But I forced myself to peek, just for a second.”
Hayes was sitting erect now, his jaw tight, his lips pressed into a stern line. “And?”
“And it was dark, but I could see his eyes. They almost glowed. Not horror-movie red glow, but eerie, yellow.” I shuddered, remembering. “And his mouth. His teeth …” I looked outside, watching the sliver of moon beckoning in the darkness.
I could hear Hayes swallow behind me, his voice going soft. “And how much do you know about Sampson, the man?”
I shook my head slowly. “Hardly anything, really. He’s generally very private.”
Hayes stood close to me without touching me. Part of me wanted to turn around, throw my arms around him, and crumple into him, all horror-movie-esque. But he was playing the cop and I conceded, following him, going to sit down next to him on the couch as he flipped open his notebook, scribbled a few notes, and looked at me intently.