I glanced at the vid-phone, suddenly remembering it was on and recording. Great. A permanent record of unprofessional touchiness. Not that that would surprise anyone back at the Directorate. I blew out a breath and retrieved my phone. Cole's two assistants were setting up their own recording device, so I no longer had to bother. Of course, this brought me quite a few steps closer to Cole, and his scent spun around me, warm and tantalizing.
"If you're going to investigate the remainder of the house," he said, nostrils flaring—like he was catching a scent that both attracted and repelled—"I need to set up the mobile record units."
"Then do it quickly." I pushed past him and walked down the hall. If footsteps could sound angry, mine certainly did.
Dammit, I didn't need an attraction to a man who hated what I was. I had enough of that with Quinn. Of course, the moon heat didn't give a damn about those sort of things. It just saw a craggy-faced candy it wanted to taste.
Luckily for me, the moon fever had yet to fully begin.
I stopped when I reached the living room doorway and did a sweep of the room with my still-recording phone. There had definitely been a fight in this room—furniture was upturned, the TV and glass coffee table were smashed, and books and magazines scattered everywhere. So, if Dunleavy had fought for his life, why were there no marks on his body? Or could I simply not see them because he was lying on them?
Would I even see bruises on skin that had been stripped off?
The stench of shit was stronger here than anywhere else, but again, it was more human-based than the scent I associated with Gautier. Though that was here as well, just not as strong or as fresh. As I scanned the floor, looking for the source, I saw the feet.
Female feet, to be precise. Even from where I stood, I could see the pink nail polish on some of her toes. The rest of her body was covered by the upturned couch and several layers of book and magazine wreckage.
I glanced over my shoulder. Cole was kneeling beside an opened bag, setting up the mobile recording device. Though why they called it mobile when it didn't actually move anywhere, just hung from a ceiling and recorded a three-sixty view of the room, was anyone's guess.
"There's a second body in the living room. Hurry up with that thing."
"Guardians are not supposed to interfere with investigations." His voice was short, impatient.
"I don't really care what guardians are and aren't supposed to do." Which was more of a truth than Cole would ever know—and a statement that would annoy the hell out of Jack when he heard it. Not that he'd be surprised by it, mind. "How about you quit worrying about what I'm supposed to be doing, and just put a little speed into what you're supposed to be doing?"
"If you'd shut the fuck up and let me concentrate, I might be able to."
I somehow managed to restrain my grin, and looked back at the wrecked living room. A glint in the left-hand corner of the room, near one of the rear windows, caught my eye. The sun had come out briefly from behind the clouds, and in the sudden beam of sunlight, something sparkled a pretty red. It didn't look like the sort of sparkle you got with glass. Even glass covered in blood.
Frowning, I carefully picked my way through the mess. A muttered curse followed my steps, meaning Cole still hadn't got the mobile unit together yet. I kept my phone on record and knelt near the shadows.
Sitting in the dust that had accumulated behind the now upturned TV was a ring. I recorded its position with the phone, then carefully picked it up. It was thick and silver and obviously worth a bit of money. Not the sort of thing a thief usually left lying about carelessly. So, where had it come from? Gautier? I'd never seen him wear rings or jewelry of any kind in the past. But then again, I'd never known he had a hankering for skinning before today, either. I suppose the ring could have belonged to Dunleavy—only this ring was designed for a man with thin fingers. Dunleavy had fat little sausages. And if he'd stolen it, he surely would have taken more care of it.
This ring would fit Gautier's fingers. So, was it his? And was losing it accidental or international? With that psycho, anything was possible.
When I brought it into the sunlight the engraving on the heavy, flat top revealed itself. It was a dragon with three heads, its claws wicked barbed and body snakelike. Six bloodred rubies gleamed in the dragon's eyes.
Just looking at it had chills skating across my skin and I had no idea why.
"You are not supposed to be moving evidence."
Cole's sharp voice made me jump a little. I tried to cover the movement by turning the ring over in my hand and studying the inside of it. "I recorded its position."
"That is not the point."
"No, the point is I'm stepping into your territory and you don't like it." I looked up at him then. "Get used to it, buddy, because I'm going to be messing up your life a whole lot more in months to come."
His stance stiffened a little. No male wolf likes to be challenged, especially when the challenge was as ambiguous as mine. "When the cleanup team arrives on a crime scene, they are in charge, not the paid killers."
His voice was filled with cold contempt and anger swirled through me again. People who judged en masse rather than on an individual basis annoyed the crap out of me. I was sick enough of defending my heritage to all and sundry. I didn't need to start having to defend my job as well—especially when it was a job I hadn't particularly wanted in the first place. "Well, this paid killer has never been one to follow the rules. Just ask Jack."
"Oh, I intend to."
I shook my head in disgust and looked back down at the ring. There was something written on the inside of the band, but it wasn't in a language I recognized. Actually, it looked like nothing more than a bunch of weird little symbols.
I took a photo of it then rose. Cole pressed the mobile unit against the roof, waited until the suction took hold, then hit the record button. The unit whirred to life, and one of the lenses behind the black glass sphere did a circuit around the room before coming back to rest on the two of us. From here on in, any movement and all conversation would be tracked.
"What?" he said, finally looking back at me.
I held out the ring. "Do you recognize the language?"
He took the ring and studied it intently. "Looks old Persian, but I can't be sure."
I raised an eyebrow. "Persia doesn't exist as such, anymore."
"No, but old Persian cuneiform inscriptions do exist, and they look like this."
"And how do you know that?"
"I study old-language forms in my free time."
He had to be kidding, right? "So those weird little pics are actually words?"
"Yes."
"Could you get a priority transcription on it, and send me the results?"
He looked at me for a moment, then moved to the door and grabbed a plastic bag from his kit. "I'll see what I can do."
I clamped down on the irritation that ran through me, and pointed toward the body. "Do you have any objections to me checking her out?"
He glanced up at the mobile unit. "Scan all elements north side of room."
"Scanning."
I looked up in surprise. "I didn't know those things talked."
He raised an eyebrow, like he was amazed a guardian was admitting not knowing something.
Bastard.
I couldn't work up anything more than annoyance, though. The momentary twinkle in his pale blue eyes was just too cute for my hormones to ignore, and when they were interested in someone, everything else went out the window.