Jack, page 3
part #2 of Hunted Shifters Legacy Series
Mostly, them alleviating the trouble, especially if it was close to their pocket entrances.
Was that what Jack did, too?
Her mind strayed to him for a quick minute, wondering how he kept his cop status separate from his shifter status. Shifters often had no control over their shifting when the full moon came, but some handled it better than others. Were full moons his days off? Did being a half-shifter give him better control?
She shook her head, annoyed at her thoughts.
Kit stayed on the Queens frequency as she fired up her laptop, reviewing her tasks and getting to it: renting a van for Hunter to use in a few days, sending some files over to Edmund's decoy mailbox in Brooklyn. The Queens area was quiet, allowing her to finish up quickly before she was getting up and snatching those chocolates to go with her strawberries.
Her responsibilities were simple, really: to ensure the safety of the neighborhood by listening in on radio conversations, to ensure the clan members were safe when they had to venture out of their hidden realm. There were only eight of them, after all—nine, including her…well, thirteen, if one included Celine, her baby Sidney, the shifter boy they’d adopted named Max, and the vampire boy they’d kept as prisoner, named Jameson. But that was complicated.
Basically, Kit was their messenger and go-to for dealings in the human world, mostly because she was human. She was good at her job, good at her sidelines, and Edmund paid her well. In fact, his steadiness with payment was impressive throughout the years, considering the ups and downs of his finances. As a small clan with a very big pocket—one every other clan would kill to invade—they’d always kept to themselves, kept their interactions and home a secret. That meant a lesser influx of money, which only came from the human world. Somehow, he’d managed to make it work.
So she did her best on her end, too.
Her thoughts halted for a bit when chocolate hit her tongue, followed by the tartness of the fruit. The combination was perfect, and she closed her eyes and allowed bliss to spread as she savored her snack. She rarely went out to eat in restaurants, and she really should make that more frequent. It wasn’t like she was hunted in this world, and she had enough savings to splurge a bit. Maybe she could visit the Italian restaurant just a few blocks away.
The frequency beeped, then returned to its hushed state. But her ears were already perked, trained for the slightest change of beat. She chewed more quietly. Her free hand went to move the knobs again, clicking sounds filling the air and…
“Hello, is anyone online? Is there anyone to talk to? I need help.”
No 911 dispatcher response, nothing on the other line. Kit read the numbers on the small screen on top of her device, indicating where she was locked in. This wasn’t a call to the police or to 911.
“I heard this site is live and records singing voices, but I’m not here to sing. I just called 911 earlier to report that I’m being followed, but their response is frustrating. I still think I’m being followed, and I have a long commute from home. I have no one else to call. I’m currently in New York.” The woman, whose voice was practically vibrating with nerves, spouted off a location. Kit felt her body jolt when she realized it was in Queens.
Her hand snapped forward to open her drawer, rattling it as she hurriedly took out another spare ear device. She clicked it, hitting record and placing it beside the frequency box. Her fingers then flew over her keyboard, searching until she found the website about the so-called live singing. There was no option to respond. The line went quiet, but she could hear breathing, slow at first before it steadily gained speed. Fast, regulated, but getting out of control. If the woman was walking, that meant she was quickening her steps.
“It’s a man; I know it’s a man. I saw the same man twice this morning, when I was in a restaurant, then a souvenir shop. He wasn’t exactly staring…” A soft, frustrated sigh. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid. But having to talk it out helps, okay? Bear with me. I’m nearing an alley, and maybe I should just get in and gather my wits about…”
No, no, not an alley. Never an alley. A sinking feeling started brewing in Kit’s stomach, making it clench. She reached for her phone, pressing on speed dial and letting it ring on speaker. It kept ringing. She pressed another number, then another, but they all just kept ringing, and she had to reluctantly end the call because it was overlapping with the sounds from the frequency. None of the clan members were available, it seemed.
“Alright, I’m in an alley. I’m taking deep, nervous breaths.” A nervous laugh. “And I’m talking to myself like an idiot. Great. Perhaps I should announce to the world my location now, too, and have some random guy hit me up.” A sarcastic tone, as the woman spouted off another address in Queens. “I swear this vacation started out fun, but now I'm here going back to my introverted nature and thinking everyone’s my enemy. But I swear—"
Kit’s body jerked at what followed the interruption: a gasp.
A scream, one that rang in her ears and filled her body with ice.
The scream wasn’t singular, as it was followed by another. More, repeated screams that were filled with fear, helplessness, the gurgling of blood. The line went silent, but panicked whimpers were still there, and Kit realized it was coming from her.
Her hand trembling, she forced herself to snap out of it.
Shaking, she grabbed her phone and dialed 911.
Chapter 4
The scene in front of Jack was as grim as they came: a woman splayed out on the alley ground, her arms spread over her head and her legs following the same angles. They were odd angles, indicating muscles had been strained and bones had been snapped to keep them in that spread-eagled pose.
Upon closer inspection, other tidbits came into focus: the multiple cuts on the body, the longer slash of blade in the gut. The dagger was still there, silver, with a dark wooden handle, locked tight so only some blood would leak out. None of it was drained, eliminating the possibility of a hungry vampire. The clothes had been torn forcefully, but remnants of the woman's underwear had been neatly left behind.
Not a shifter, either, since rogue shifters played rougher than this.
The eyes were gouged out, and the mouth was open to show that the tongue was gone.
Worse, the woman’s position was firm, nails driven over her ankles and palms, pinning her on the spot—like she was some damned Jesus figure and the ground was her cross.
“Jesus.” Beside him, AJ Morales looked just a little green in the face, his mouth pressed tight as he swallowed and turned from the scene. A retching sound followed. AJ was still a rookie in the police force but had been handling murder scenes they’d encountered pretty well.
Nothing like this. This was a calculated gruesomeness that went beyond supernatural urges. He was used to it, of course, but that didn’t make it any better.
“Yeah,” he responded belatedly. “Looks bad.” Footsteps approached, and he looked up at the uniformed cop on the scene. Lemuel Norris was a middle-aged man who’d been roaming the streets for years and keeping bad guys in check. He looked like Santa on some days, pleasant and mild. Other days, he was a force to be reckoned with. He nodded at Jack in acknowledgment.
“Stallone. Congrats on the promotion. How’s it working so far at home?”
Lonely, was the first answer in Jack’s mind. But he dismissed that, understanding his type of work needed isolation. Plus, this was way better for his off days, and way better for his career.
“Thanks. It’s good. Nothing as exciting as being on the streets, smelling the doughnuts and the coffee. What happened here?”
Lemuel lifted a hand, letting Jack pass through the yellow tape. “See for yourself. We have some men already checking the scene, others on foot looking for lurking suspects. We got the call thirty minutes ago. Note down what you think.”
Jack nodded, then stepped to the side and away from everyone else. His keen vision allowed him to see everything, anyway, and he began to take notes of every single detail, along with pictures. He would need those for his research later, piecing together information to submit to the guys in charge of the investigation. It was something he was good at, which was why he was promoted to this new role in the first place.
Not all cops got to be a crime analyst or vice versa, but he managed to do both. That was mostly thanks to all the research equipment he had, an extension to his other personal business: providing first-class security for citizens’ homes.
While he checked on the victim a second time, trailing from head to foot, his ear caught trails of conversation from Lemuel and another cop. He didn’t interrupt, letting them talk as he wondered if this was a one-time thing or a first strike to a serial killer’s spree. It was his task to predict, to let his colleagues know.
“We have the caller in custody.”
“A suspect?”
“We’re looking into that. She stated the whole address, down to the alley. Claimed she found it on some website. Highly suspicious.”
“Female?”
“Yes. Name’s Kit. Last name, I forgot. McNamara?”
Jack looked up sharply, giving the cop a warning look.
“Don’t say caller names out loud. That’s confidential,” Lemuel scolded before Jack could. Which was good, because Jack would’ve torn the cop a new one. Slowly, he stood up from his bent position, walking away from the crime scene as he approached them.
“I’d like to interrogate her if possible.”
“Not part of your paycheck anymore,” Lemuel reminded good-naturedly. The older man glanced at the victim again, then rubbed a hand over his face. “But hell, you’re good at intimidation. Go have at it. See if she’s involved.”
Jack nodded.
Kit and her clan had better not be involved.
* * *
The ashen, restless look on Kit’s face was a bad indication, but Jack let it simmer as he watched her in the interrogation room. She’d been in there alone for maybe half an hour now, not allowed to talk to anyone after the initial questions had been thrown out at her. That culminated into vibrating energy before she stood from the lone chair and began to pace, wringing her hands and taking deep, loud lungfuls of air.
In the dim lighting of that room, her pink hair stood out, even in the ponytail it was in. Strands escaped but she didn’t seem to notice.
“She kept saying she found the woman through a website that you could sing live on. But the site wasn’t a famous one, and it seemed highly suspicious that she’d just be in the same neighborhood.”
“Does the website exist?”
“Yes.”
“Alright.” Jack nodded at the cop beside him, who’d done the initial questioning earlier. “Are you going to question her some more?”
“We were hoping you can give it a good old try.”
“Hmm. Alright.” A pause. “I know her, by the way.”
Surprise filled the other's response. “You do?”
“Through a mutual acquaintance. She’s a mechanic and a DJ. Let’s check out her alibi.”
Jack exited the observation room and entered the one Kit was in, watching as she looked up. Her eyes widened, bewilderment etched on her features before she audibly swallowed and walked towards her seat.
“There’s no need for that,” he said by way of greeting. “Kitty, it’s not a pleasure to see you again.”
At that, her back went frigid. “Call me Kit, please.”
“Miss O’Hara is fine,” he responded deliberately. “Where were you when the murder happened?”
“So she was murdered?” she asked, her voice turning weak. She abruptly sank back in her seat. “She’s dead?”
“Yes. You didn’t answer my question.”
“I already answered this before.” Exasperation flared. “I was at home, browsing through websites. I just finished my DJ shift. You can ask the radio station. I heard her call for help. I heard her scream. I have a recording and everything.”
“Your recording came out scratchy, so we’re going to check its validity first.” He leaned down, looking her in the eye. “That website isn’t a very popular one. Do you frequent it often?”
“I like hearing random people singing,” she said, a hint of defense in her tone. But there was something else: nerves. “I was bored, and I like browsing random sites when I’m bored.”
Lie.
He watched her growing intimidation in the way her eyes glazed. They were brown now instead of the green from earlier; they were their natural color.
Another surprise was how she didn’t flinch from his gaze, holding steady. Almost defiant. But the confidence was a veneer, different from the one in her underground home when she’d been telling him the whole truth about how his memory got taken away.
Kit was hiding something. That meant she was either involved, or this wasn’t meant for the humans.
He leaned forward some more, closing more of the distance between them. The stare-down continued, but now she wavered, and a pleading slithered in before her expression grew blank. She opened her mouth, closed it stubbornly.
Her hand trembled—just a slight tremor, fisted easily and probably not visible to the camera recording them right now.
He could oust her. But instinct screamed not yet in his head, and he found himself following it as he nodded in the direction of the two-way mirror.
“Miss O’Hara, we need your fingerprints then I’ll drive you home.”
* * *
The car ride was antsy, mostly from Kit again as she squirmed repeatedly in her seat. She also kept giving him side glances but didn’t say a word, obviously unsure how to proceed in this scenario.
After a while, she cleared her throat.
“I’m in the clear, right? Because I didn’t do anything.”
“You’re in the clear for now. We have all the information we need from you, and we still have to decipher your recording. As long as you don’t have a second address to hide in...”
“Did you see my house?” she pointed out. “Cluttered, all my gadgets there. There’s no way I’m leaving those behind.”
“Hmm. Would your video cameras guarantee your alibi of just being at home?”
At that, she shot him a sour look. “You said I was in the clear.”
“I was just asking.”
“Get a warrant.”
“Like I said, I was just asking,” he returned easily. Her fighting spirit was intact, the nerves from earlier gone. “Can I park my car inside your garage?”
“Sure.”
They turned a curve, and her garage was right in their line of vision. As they neared, Jack watched her take a device from her pocket and press a button, opening the garage door. He parked the car beside a pickup truck.
“Yours?”
Kit shook her head. “I'm fixing it for a friend.” They got out of the car, and she immediately went to open the hatch before she peered at him. “I suppose you’re here to make sure I get in safely?”
“Actually, no. I’m here because I’m curious about all those devices you have underground.”
He moved fast—used his supernatural side to slip past her outstretched arm and stride down the stairs. Shocked protests broke out of her throat before she was thundering after him, then cursing and running back up to close and lock the hatch. When she returned, she was glaring daggers at him.
“Are you crazy?” she exclaimed.
“Not really,” he mused, eyes sweeping the monitors. Most of the computer screens were turned off, but there was one box device that was lit up dimly. When she noticed where his gaze had landed, she paled considerably.
“You can go,” she said lightly. “I’m fine, and I’m perfectly safe here.”
“We both know you’re perfectly safe here,” he returned. “What’s this, Miss O’Hara?”
“It’s just a device I use for my DJ-ing…” Her voice trailed off when he shot her a look, one that was purely scathing.
“That’s fascinating. I ran security for a radio station in Brooklyn, and their equipment was different.”
Alarm flitted in her expression, followed by nerves. She covered it up with false cheer.
“Every radio station is different.”
“Hmm.”
Kit cleared her throat, fidgeting again. “I didn’t know you worked for security as well.”
“I don’t work for security. I own a business that provides security.”
“Oh. That’s…nice.”
She tried marching to the device, probably to turn it off, but he angled his body to block hers and casually pretended he wasn’t doing so. Impatience ran in his bones, asking him to push further.
Instinct told him she was hiding something, and he needed her to crack.
Quietly, he rested his hand on the table and made a deliberate sweep of his gaze. He’d paid attention before, but there were some things he’d missed, and he now realized what they were.
“Miss O’Hara, correct me if I’m wrong, but is your security here just that locked hatch and these monitors showing the cameras recording outside?”
She’d been stiff when he wouldn’t let her pass, but now she looked bewildered. Good.
“Why would I need more? It’s not like anyone knows me around here, and I certainly don’t announce to the world that I have something they can steal.”
“But you do have something they can steal,” he pointed out. “These monitors, those computers? That device? They all look expensive as hell. I would know since I own my own set of expensive equipment. Anyone can easily break your lock with a crowbar and steal everything you have here.”
“Let them try,” she countered indignantly. “I’ll kick their asses.”
“You can’t.”
“Then Hunter and Ovie can. I have them on speed dial. All of them. No one would dare.”
“So are they involved in the murder, Miss O’Hara, and are you covering up for them?”
At that, her head snapped up. “No. They didn’t do anything. I tried calling them first.”
