Vivian shook her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have put you on this beat. Going up against paranormals when you’re human…what was I thinking?” Her eyes opened. “I’m sorry.”
Jane’s spine was ramrod straight. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I want this beat.” Even as Jane said the words, she realized they were true. She’d thought that the paranormal beat was a pain, that dealing with the monsters and their drama was her job because she was unlucky but…
That’s not true. “I know the score. I understand the monsters.”
Vivian’s sigh was sad. “But that doesn’t mean you have to be the one to clean up their messes.”
“I want to be the one.” And, again, it was true. Jane shook her head, struggling to fully understand the situation herself. “I know it’s dangerous and it’s crazy but…someone has to be in the middle.”
Vivian crossed her arms over her chest. As usual, she wore a finely cut suit. Her hair was twisted behind her head. No-nonsense Vivian Harris. The captain who could make everyone jump.
The secret werewolf.
And Jane’s…friend. Though she would never make the mistake of saying those words to Vivian’s face.
“I bridge the worlds, human and paranormal. I understand them both.” Because of Aidan, because of her own bloody past, Jane did. “I know what the victims feel like. The ones who survive…” She thought of the woman who’d been bitten by the vampire. And she thought of Alan Thatcher and his friend Travis Maller. “And the ones who don’t. I know what their families go through.” Because she’d gone through the same thing. “I can help them. I want to help them.”
And monsters…they weren’t all bad. Vivian certainly wasn’t. And even Garrison—she could understand him, too. The guy kept making big ass mistakes with his life, but Garrison wasn’t evil, not by a long shot. His family had also been killed by vampires, and that attack had scarred him on the inside. He was trying to do his best to make the city safer.
His best was just…kind of off-beat. Slanted. Twisted?
“I want to do this job,” Jane added. She almost couldn’t believe she was saying those words, but they were true. She wanted to keep working this beat. She wanted to give justice to Alan and Travis. And as for the werewolf who’d attacked her? I want to stop him, too. She would stop him.
Besides, she was currently riding a high on the whole new and improved version of herself. Maybe Aidan was right and the side effects of his blood donations would be temporary, but until they wore off, she’d enjoy the bonus of extra strength and some sensory enhancements.
“I don’t want to lose a good detective,” Vivian said. Her brows climbed as she studied Jane. “Because I’d miss you like hell if that happened.”
Jane smiled. “Don’t worry, captain. I’m not going anywhere.” The rogue werewolf won’t get another swipe at me.
“All right.” Vivian straightened. “Then I won’t argue with you.”
Good.
“I’ve got the news covered for now,” Vivian continued briskly. “They’re running with the story of the mugger. Get over to the ME’s office—you’re the one who can light the best fire under Dr. Bob. The guy is being freaking slow as molasses on this case. I don’t know what he was doing all night….”
Jane winced. “He was patching me up. Sorry.”
Vivian looked a bit taken back.
“I’ll get right over there,” Jane added quickly. “I’m sure he’s completed the exam by now.” She hurried for the door.
“Jane.”
She looked back.
“I’m very glad you’re all right.”
Jane smiled at her. “Me, too.” She opened the door. Hurried toward the bullpen and…if she hadn’t still had the enhanced hearing, Jane was sure she would have missed Vivian’s low whisper as the captain said…
“I would have hated having to kill you if you’d become a vamp.”
Jane kept walking, not letting on that she’d heard that last bit, but her heart was suddenly doing a double-time rhythm and her palms were sweating.
Dammit, people needed to not whisper shit when she was around.
***
The police station was busy. Reporters were swarming the steps. Their news vans were all over the place, and he even caught a glimpse of the pretty blond news anchor who’d been broadcasting so damn annoyingly earlier in the day. The blond woman stood in front of the station, a small microphone hooked to her shirt, and her expression grave as she spoke into the camera just four feet in front of her.
Bitch.
The station doors flew open behind the reporter. A woman with dark hair and wearing a battered jacket hurried down the steps. His eyes widened when he realized…
Detective Jane Hart.
What the actual hell? The woman was looking far too hale and hearty. He’d clawed her insides out. Sure, she might, might have been able to survive the night, but no way should she just be running around as if nothing had happened to her.
Not unless…
What are you, Detective Hart?