David shrugged. “That’s a hard call.”
Shane met his gaze for a moment before his eyes fell to the ground again. “I think it has some significance.”
“How do you figure?” David asked.
“Look at the details.” Shane bent next to the body and pointed at the victim’s face, her heavily shadowed lids and red-tinted pout. “From the crime-scene photos, all the other victims wore heavy makeup like this.” He gestured to the hair hanging over the girl’s shoulder. “All of them had their hair done nicely, and from what’s left of their clothes, they weren’t dressed casually.” He stood and stepped back from the body.
“All right, then. What are you thinking?”
“My theory,” Shane said, “is that he isn’t blitz attacking them on the streets. He’s picking them up, like at a club or a bar. That would explain the age range, as well—college girls. A lot of them look around the age of my students at U of R.”
David nodded. “I’ll be damned, Shane. Where do you come up with this stuff?”
Shane shrugged. “I pay close attention to detail.”
David stared into the girl’s frozen face. She was so young, and if she didn’t look exactly like Allsún—large wide eyes veiled by thick lashes, heart-shaped face, head full of curls, and the look of a small pixie—she was close. But no girl would ever be as beautiful as Allsún, not in his eyes. The thought of her lying there like this poor girl sent his stomach reeling, and a sharp pang hit his chest.
But how would he know if this girl really looked like her? Other than quick glimpses, he hadn’t seen Allsún in years. He shook his head, trying to fight off the thoughts. What he wouldn’t give to bury his face in her neck, kiss her one more time, hold her and know that she was safe. He closed his eyes and buried the painful memories in the back of his mind, where they belonged. “Only one problem, though,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“This girl doesn’t look like she’s twenty-one yet. If she’s not drinking age, either your theory is wrong or she was trying to pass as older.”
Shane frowned. “I wish I had my phlebotomy kit. I’d love to run a test of her blood-alcohol content.”
“Too bad there’s no I.D.”
Shane bit his lower lip and rested his chin on his fist. Only a few seconds passed before his eyes lit up. “I have an idea,” he said.
David grinned. “I’m not surprised.”
Shane pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He unfolded the dark blue material, revealing a pattern made up of the constellations. He bent next to the body and used the handkerchief to lift the girl’s hand before he glanced up.
David raised a single brow and nodded toward the handkerchief.
A deep blush ran across Shane’s cheeks. “The constellations have a lot of meaning in the occult. Besides, my grandmother gave it to me. I have to use it or she’ll get her feelings hurt.”
David chuckled. “I can’t very well fault a man for caring about his grandma. If mine gave me a pink flowered jacket, you better believe I’d wear it just to please her.”
Shane fought back a smile as he rubbed the handkerchief across the girl’s hand.
David’s eyes widened. “What are you doing? Shane, you can’t tamper with the crime scene.”
Shane ignored him and continued wiping at the girl’s skin. “Trust me.” Once he managed to clear most of the blood off, he said, “Look at this, David.”
David walked forward and crouched down beside him. The faint outline of a black X was visible on the top of the victim’s hand.
Shane stared at him with a sad look in his eyes. “That’s what they put on your hand at a club if you’re under twenty-one, so then the bartender knows not to serve you. It looks like she tried to wash it off.” He shook his head. “Someone hurting a young girl like this makes my blood boil.”
David nodded. “Me too.” He stood to his full height and turned away. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand looking at this poor girl. In his field, he didn’t often deal with dead bodies. Demons used their victims and then usually left them as catatonic shells of what they’d once been. Rarely did they take the time to kill their targets. He wasn’t sure which was worse. “You have everything you need for the report?”
Shane sighed. “Yeah, I do. We can go ahead and... Hey, what’s this?”
David turned around to find Shane holding the butt of a cigarette. The butt of a Marlboro Red. The two of them exchanged glances.
David let out a low growl. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Shane bit his lower lip. “Should we just throw it out? The cops haven’t found it yet, and they won’t if we dispose of it, so there’s no harm done, right?”
David shook his head and mumbled another string of profanities. “We have to turn it in. I already texted the picture of the crime scene to Damon. If he sees that in the shot, all our asses will be hung out to dry.”
The shit just wouldn’t stop piling up for Jace, would it? David shook his head. If he thought the phone conversation had been like pissing off an angry bull, he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when Damon got hold of Jace.
* * *
JACE MARCHED INTO the building and up the stairs. He reached his door and pressed his ear to the aged, splintery wood. Silence.
The huge knot in his stomach unraveled a little as he opened the door. Princess was still sitting on the bed, staring at him with those big brown eyes. The knot tightened again, and his stomach churned.
“Jace?” Her voice was soft and breathless—the sound of a lover’s whisper.
A jolt of electricity zipped down his spine, and his cock strained against his jeans. He loved hearing her say his name, and he longed to take her hard, claim her as his. He used every ounce of strength he possessed and forced himself to turn away. He closed the door without locking it, then walked into the “kitchen,” so he wouldn’t have to see her.
“Who were you talking about when you said you were nothing like ‘him’?” she asked.
He grabbed the whiskey again and chugged a few gulps.
“Jace?”
“Why do you care?” he barked, his words sounding more defensive than he’d intended.
“Can you just answer the question?”
He blinked several times, stunned at her boldness and her lack of fear. “How about you don’t push it further? All right?”
When she didn’t respond a sense of relief cleared his heightened nerves, but the knot in his chest kept on squeezing.
What was it about this woman that drove him mad, but made him feel like such a dick for wanting her? There couldn’t really be something to that whole mating bull she was talking about, could there? He frowned.
She’s a werewolf. She’s a werewolf. He repeated the mantra and focused on the image of his father, seared into his brain.
Over the years he’d envisioned the face of a werewolf seductress. With the bat of one eyelash, she’d stolen his father and ended his mother’s abuse, but left their family shattered. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined Princess as that woman, that temptress. But the light in her warm eyes ruined everything. He wanted to hate her, but every instinct pushed him into her arms.
“McCannon. Is that Irish or Scottish?” The question wrenched him into the moment.
“What?”