And I've a better nose for hunting out killers than anyone else in the squad." Which was certainly more truth than the captain would ever know.
"I'm not denying either of those facts."Benton paused, beady eyes narrowing. "When was the last time you slept properly?"
Ethan didn't answer. Didn't need to.
"And when was the last time you ate a decent meal?"
"Cap, they have nothing to do with my ability — " "They have everything to do with it. You're running on anger, Morgan, nothing else. God, man, you look like shit."
Wasn't that the truth. But the cause wasn't just lack of sleep or food or his missing niece. It was the heat of the moon pounding through his blood.
"Your few minutes are ticking by, Morgan. Move it."
He put on his jacket and pushed past the paramedic and captain.
"Morgan?"
He hesitated and looked over his shoulder.
"Leave. No choice. I catch your ass in the area again, and it'll be locked up until this thing is over."
Ethan's smile was grim. With the full moon rising, there wasn't a prison cell in the country that could hold him.
"Sure, Cap."
The moon caressed his shoulders as he walked away, a touch that burned clear through to his soul. The darkness stirred deep within, and hunger boiled through his veins.
He thrust clenched hands into his jacket pocket and tried to ignore the moon-spun fever. He didn't have time to quench physical needs right now. Not when every minute that passed brought the reality of Janie's death one step closer.
Not when the fiends behind these kidnappings were so close he could almost smell them.
He walked into the warehouse and made his way down the stairs. Floodlights had been brought in an hour ago, and the shadows had long fled. Oddly enough, the room looked smaller than it had when encased in darkness.
Forensics methodically searched for the smallest of clues, but he doubted they'd find anything beyond the oddly human ash impression.
Mark Baker, his friend and partner of the last three years, squatted near the dark stain on the concrete floor. Ethan stopped next to him.
"They figured out what that is yet?"
"Human, if the small bits of bone they've found are anything to go by." Mark's voice was grim.
"A fire hot enough to do this to a human would have killed me."
"Yeah. And made a mess of the warehouse, too." Mark looked up. "By your reckoning, you were only unconscious for three or four minutes. Not enough time for this to happen."
"No." But the fact was, it had. "You questioned the woman?"
"Katherine Tanner? Yeah. She's not saying much, but I have a feeling she knows exactly what went on here."
Her name was Katherine? Odd. He'd expected something more… feisty. "Is Benton taking her downtown for questioning?"
"Nah. Apparently the pair of them have friends in high places, and he's walking on eggshells around them.
Besides, until we know for sure what this is and how long it's been here, what the hell are we going to question them about?"
They could try asking just what in hell it was before it burned. He'd hit the thing with every ounce of strength he'd had. No human could have stood up to those blows.
He knew that for a fact.
"Nothing else in the warehouse?"
His effort to keep his voice carefully neutral failed, and Mark's expression became sympathetic.
"No," he said softly. "Nothing at all."
Ethan nodded. At least he could hold onto hope just that little bit longer — however false he knew it to be.
"The two women still here?"
"Benton let them go about half an hour ago."
"We know where they're staying?"
Mark considered him. "Benton told you to keep away from this case."
"Would you?"
"I guess not." He rose. "They're at the Motel Six down Beach Road ."
"Thanks."
Mark nodded. "I'm guessing you want me to keep you updated on anything that happens?"
"You said it." He hesitated. "As of tonight, I'm on leave.
Don't call me from the office."
"Dumb, I'm not." He looked past Ethan. "Benton's headed this way."
"Which means my time here is up. Keep in touch, partner."
"I will if you do."
Ethan swung around and raised his hands. "I'm outta here, Captain."
"Good. Go home and rest, Morgan. Let us catch this bastard."
He nodded and looked at Mark. "I'll see you Saturday."
"Morgan, I'm warning you — " "It's my wife's birthday," Mark cut in. "No business allowed."
Benton's expression suggested he didn't believe it for a second. "Leave," he said, stabbing a finger in Ethan's direction. "Go. Now."
He went.
Kat flopped onto the sofa and placed the aromatic herbal pack on her forehead. Though the trembling had eased, every muscle still felt weak, and her head boomed. Right now, she needed sleep, she needed coffee and she needed chocolate — and she was only likely to get one of those in the near future.
A soft sigh filled the silence. She cranked open an eye and looked across the room. Her grandmother sat at the laminate table, chin resting on palms as she stared at the small crystal ball in front of her.
"No luck?"
"Not a damn thing." Gwen leaned back and rubbed her forehead. Moonlight danced across the multicoloured stones decorating her gnarled fingers.
"It's been a long night. Maybe after a break you'll get something."
"Maybe." She met Kat's gaze and smiled. "I did see one thing."
She'd seen that smile before, and it usually meant trouble headed her way. Wariness edged her voice as she said, "What?"
"Your werewolf is on the way here."
Kat frowned at her word choice. "Werewolf?"
"The man you met in the warehouse."
"He's a werewolf?" It would certainly explain the anger she'd sensed in him. And her own, somewhat surprising, attraction to a man she couldn't even see. Werewolves were sexually alluring when the full moon was rising. "So why didn't I sense that? I thought he was a shifter."
"He is."
"Well, I suppose if you're going to get technical — " Gwen laughed softly. "No, I mean there're two types — those who are born and those who are bitten."
She raised her eyebrows. "Really? I didn't know." Mainly because they'd never actually come across any werewolves in their travels for the Circle. A couple of wolf shifters was as close as they'd ever gotten.
"Those who are bitten are the ones responsible for all the bad press werewolves get." Gwen rose, her movements stiff as she hobbled over to the kettle. "They're usually bitten well after puberty and haven't the experience or knowledge to control the sexual and emotional turmoil the rising moon causes. And of course, the physical change makes most quite mad."
"And those that are born?"
Gwen filled the kettle and plugged it in, then grabbed three cups and spooned instant coffee into them. "The werewolf born can generally control the worst of his urges. And they can generally shift shape any time they want."
"Does the moon still force the change?"
"Always. That's part of the legacy that can never be escaped."
Like the weakness and headaches she got after using her abilities to the fullest. Like the arthritis ravaging her grandmother's body. "So why is he coming here?"
"He's one of the cops on the special task force. And his niece is one of the missing kids."
"Oh, great." A werewolf seeking vengeance was not what they needed to deal with right now. The kettle's shrill whistle sounded. She put the herbal pack on the coffee table and swung off the sofa. "And you didn't answer my original question."
"No." Gwen hesitated. "He comes here because he thinks we know more than what we are saying — " "Which we do." She grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups. "Does he take milk?"