“To party. To get laid.” Travis shrugged.
Jane wouldn’t like what came next…but Jane wasn’t there. Aidan leaned forward and locked his gaze on the human. He needed answers and he didn’t have time for bullshit. “Why did you come to this bar?”
“Because Thatch said he wanted to get inside. Thatch picked the place, I just followed his lead.” Travis Maller’s answer was instantaneous.
“And did Thatch tell you why he wanted to get into my office?”
“No.” Travis blinked. “Um, what are we talking about?”
“Get your ass back down to the bar. We’re done.” The human didn’t know anything that could help him.
Travis hurried out of the room.
Aidan watched him go.
Alan Thatcher. He was the one with the answers. Unfortunately, it wasn’t easy to get answers from the dead.
***
Jane headed toward Hell’s Gate. It had been a long day. A day of chasing leads, of talking to the family, and of dealing with political bullshit at the PD.
The death of Alan Thatcher was being handled with extreme care. Jane’s boss, police captain Vivian Harris, had been in charge of the afternoon press briefing. When a good-looking, wealthy college student was killed, yeah, a press briefing was needed. A Cover-Our-Asses briefing. Vivian had fed the reporters a BS story about the guy being killed in a mugging gone wrong.
Jane had stood silently behind her captain, her stomach in knots.
Vivian was a werewolf, part of Aidan’s pack. She didn’t want to leak any intel about the paranormals, but she did want Jane to find Alan’s killer.
That’s my job now. To protect the human victims.
There was a long line of folks waiting to get inside of Hell’s Gate. The street was overflowing with bars—why didn’t some of those people head into a different venue? Muttering to herself, Jane skipped that line and headed straight for the door.
And she plowed into a big, blond guy.
“Sorry!” His breath—heavy with the smell of booze—blew across her face. “I’ve got…got to go…”
She stared up at him. Thick blond hair, young twenties, strong face, Tulane t-shirt…
He brushed around her.
“Stop!” Jane called out.
That’s the guy who was at Hell’s Gate with Thatch on the security video. She’d been showing his picture to folks at the Tulane campus all day. While she hadn’t found him, Jane had learned a name to go with his face. Travis Maller. Right before she’d come to Bourbon Street, she’d even gone to his off-campus apartment, the guy hadn’t been there.
Because he was back in Hell’s Gate.
At her cry, Travis Maller didn’t stop. He just quickened his steps.
Dammit. Jane yanked out her badge. “I’m a cop!” She rushed after him. “And I need to talk to you!”
Travis cast a frantic glance over his shoulder—then he turned and ran straight into the throng on Bourbon Street.
“Oh, come on,” Jane muttered. Then, shaking her head, she gave chase.
***
Aidan had just stepped onto his balcony when he saw Jane rush after Travis Maller. His gaze swept the crowd on the street below him. New guards were supposed to be watching her back but…
This is my Jane.
He jumped off the balcony. When he hit the street, his knees didn’t even buckle.
“Did you see that shit?” One man’s voice called out, the words breaking a bit. “That SOB just jumped—”
“You’re drunk,” Aidan snarled back as he pushed his way through the crowd. “You didn’t see anything.” That was the beauty of humans. Most would explain away the paranormal activity that they saw with their own eyes.
Just drunk. I imagined it. Guy was probably on the ground the whole time. Yeah, they did half of his job for him.
He rushed forward.
He didn’t see Jane.
His nostrils flared. I don’t need to see her. I can track my Jane anywhere.
And she’d turned left. So did he.
***
“Stop running, dammit!” Jane grabbed Travis by the shoulder and slammed him against the wooden wall of an abandoned building. He’d fled down a side street—a deserted street that was nearly pitch black because the street lamps barely flickered. “I’m not going to hurt you!”
“Don’t arrest me!” He shoved against her.
Jerk. Jane shoved back, hard, then she whipped out her gun. “And don’t attack a cop, dumbass.”
He stilled.
“That’s better.” Her breath sawed out of her lungs. “Are you Travis Maller?”
He nodded, miserably. “I’m sorry.”
Jane tensed. “For what? What have you done?”
His knees seemed to give way and the guy slid down until he hit the ground. Jane kept her weapon aimed at him.
“Drinking didn’t make it better…” His words were slurred. “Not a damn bit…”
“What are you trying to make better?”
He tilted his head back, looking up at her. “My best friend is dead.”
“I know. That’s why I need to talk with you.”
“Then you know.” He sighed and his shoulders shook. “I killed him.”