Sampson held up a paper Starbucks cup. “Had to get out. Will’s place is nice but full of tea. And did you know he keeps his cleats in the dishwasher?”
“The racks help stretch out the leather,” I murmured. “So, you’re getting some cabin fever cooped up in there, huh?”
“Not really,” Sampson said, sinking Will’s key into the lock. “I’ve been able to get out, get some information.”
A little flower of hope bloomed in my gut. “Oh, really? Anything worthwhile?”
Sampson swung his head and my hope died. “Nothing panning out yet. But I’ll keep you posted. Have a good day at the office.” He flashed me a smile that was kind enough, but almost bordered on aloof. The slight chill stayed with me all the way through the workday.
I had successfully avoided Steve’s unholy stink and Dixon’s eyebrows-up stares when 5 PM rolled around. I wasn’t particularly excited to study the minutiae of the Sutro Point crime scene—especially since my guts had been wound in a tight, angsty coil for the last eight hours—but I was ready to leave the office. But first I had to finger-walk through the Underworld Detection Agency files, snagging out any creature, demon, deathwalker, or dragon that could have the ability to kill a vampire—or at very least, had the ability to remind Alex that something other than a werewolf could be responsible. My stack wasn’t huge, but it was a start, and I was able to escape the office without fanfare. I felt my tension rise as the elevator brought me closer to Alex and the crime scene photographs. I tried to convince myself that it was solely the details of the case that had my pulse racing, but every time I thought of Alex, of those ice-blue eyes pinning me with one of his steely gazes, it wasn’t just my pulse that throbbed.
“Get yourself together, Lawson,” I murmured to my reflection in the silvery wall. “Murder, mayhem, clearing a dear friend. Not sexy time.” I glared down at my zipper. “Not sexy time.”
I kept up my no-sex mantra all the way to the diner across the street, where I picked up a double bag of burgers and fries. By that time, I was so enamored with the smell of greasy fries and oozing cheeseburger that I had abandoned the idea of taking Alex into a dark corner, and instead fancied taking a cheeseburger there.
Yes, I am a fickle lover.
The police station was filled with the usual buzz—ringing phones, squawking shoulder radios, officers trying to calm down screaming clients. The smell of sweat and fear hung heavy in the air and was only offset by the cheery shafts of sunlight that made their way through the three inches of dust on the big bay windows. I wound through the maze of desks and people, keeping my eyes firmly focused in front of me and my hands on my shoulder bag, my thumb digging into the corner of one of the file folders. By the time I got to Alex’s office I had worked the folder into a stinging paper cut, the pain a calming reminder that these demons were the only ones who caused pain, were the ones who could be truly bad.
I stopped in front of Alex’s office door. He had moved offices since our last meeting and this new office—more permanent, I guessed—actually had his name stenciled on the door. It should have made me feel comfortable that Alex was rooted enough to his job, to San Francisco—to me?—that the police department had seen fit to paint his name on the door, but suddenly, nothing made sense anymore.
I rapped gently with the back of my hand. “Alex?”
I didn’t wait for him to invite me in, even though I should have known better by now. Instead, I pushed open the door and my knees immediately went rubbery and weak and before I knew it I was staring at his coffee-stained carpet, knees hugging my ears, wildly sucking in huge gusts of stale air. Alex was crouched by me with a paper bag in one hand, his other hand resting gently on my knee. The heat from his palm seared my skin and helped to reground me.
“It’s okay, Lawson. Just relax.” His voice was soft and comforting. He patted my knee awkwardly and thrust the paper bag directly into my upside-down line of sight. “Do you need this?”
I slowly straightened up. “No, I’m okay.”
“Do you want me to turn this around?” He was standing next to the huge white board that had made all the blood rush out of my body and strangled my heart. The entire board was covered in full-color photographs of the bodies from Sutro Point. And although I was there, had actually physically seen the bodies, they failed to have as much impact as they did here, photographed, laid out in graphic, static detail, mouths forever locked in silent screams, fingers constantly clawing for safety that would never come.