“Fur?”
Shorn pieces, pressed to the back of the kit.
Long, brown—the kind that had been collected at the Sutro Point crime scene. I pulled out the piece and unfurled it, horrified, my eyes scanning the blood, the words.
“Oh my God.”
The paramedic was the contract holder? It didn’t seem right.
I shut the plastic case, my saliva going sour. Carved into the nameplate was the name N. Torres. And everything suddenly became clear.
“Nicco Torres,” I whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
I launched myself off the tailgate of the ambulance, cradling my wounded arm in the other. “Alex, Alex!”
He wasn’t far, but the distance between us seemed expansive as I ran in molasses-slow motion. The heat in the air was unnatural, stifling; the entire city seemed to have gone from buzzing and vibrating to stalled, silent, and breathless in that one small second.
“You can’t! Don’t!” I screamed.
Alex stepped out from behind the squad car and I watched in horror as he hung up the phone. I opened my mouth to explain, but my words were lost when the sky thundered and a flash of lightning cracked. All the emotion on Alex’s face was lit for a single split second before going dark again, before rain started to fall in heavy, hot sheets.
I turned and Alex’s finger’s caught my wrist, his touch burning my skin. His eyes were pained. “Sophie,” he said, the words almost lost on the hiss of the rain.
I stiffened. It was so rare that he called me by my first name and suddenly it felt too intimate, too close.
“I know you don’t want it to be true.”
The rain sizzled and steamed as it hit the pavement. I turned my face to the sky, feeling the rainwater on my forehead, on my cheeks.
“It’s not.”
Chaos ensued as the rain pounded the ground. I grabbed Alex. “The paramedic,” I screamed, pointing. “The paramedic is Nicco.”
A raindrop zipped down Alex’s furrowed brow. “The dead werewolf?”
I spun, looking through the rain and the mass of people ducking and reveling in the fresh rain. “That’s Nicco!”
But he wasn’t there.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing Alex’s arm. “We have to go!”
The rain thundered against the hood of Alex’s SUV as we tore out of Chinatown, police lights flashing.
“So, Nicco is alive?” Alex asked.
I nodded, gripping the dashboard. “He’s the paramedic. His name was on the first aid kit. It was on his name badge.” I slapped my forehead. “How could I not have noticed that? He was at every crime scene.”
Alex glanced at me sideways. “I’m sorry, Lawson, but that doesn’t really prove anything.”
I unfurled the piece of hide and it shook in my trembling fingers. “This does.” Suddenly anger raged through me and I gripped the hide. “If I destroy it, it’s over.”
Alex’s hand clasped over mine—hard.
“What are you doing?” I shrieked, trying to shake him off me.
“What are you doing?” he roared back. “You can’t destroy the contract. Not yet.”
“Why not? It’s what we’ve been trying to do the whole time.”
“Not we,” Alex said, taking a corner hard. “You.”
I watched the rain splash over the windshield and the tremble started again. But this time it wasn’t out of fear—it was rage.
“Nicco and Sampson could be working together.”
I gaped at Alex. “Or Nicco could be working against Sampson. Sampson said—”
“Sampson has screwed you up at every turn. He sent you to Mort’s. He fed you the fake UDA files.”
I swallowed, my mouth going dry. “He didn’t feed me the files. Dixon did.”
“God, it’s like people can’t drive when it rains.”
“And the contract was in his medical box, but so were a bunch of loose strands of fur.” I shook the contract, growing more and more disgusted. “This fur.”
“So?” Alex said, eyes focused on the road ahead. “Shedding?”
“He was framing Sampson.”
“What?”
“Nicco was framing Sampson! God, Alex, I left Sampson chained up in my basement. Nicco heard us talking about it. We have to get there before he does.”
“Or before Dixon does.”
Alex took another hard corner and I dialed Nina, commanding her to answer the phone: nothing. I tried Vlad and prayed to Count Chocula’s ghost that he would answer. Nothing.
A car cut in front of us, causing every other car on the block to honk and stop short. “Let me out. I can get there faster from here.”
“Lawson—”
“Don’t!” I exploded.
Alex closed his mouth and slapped open the glove box, his pistol nestled there. “Go,” he said. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I snatched the gun from the glove box and went tearing into the street. My lungs were burning by the time I reached my apartment building, my scissored leg screaming in protest. I snatched open the door, screaming and huffing.
“Sampson! Sampson! Can you hear me?”
There was no answer and I slid across the slick vestibule floor, clawing for the door to the stairwell.