He was a far rarer kind—a face shifter. A man who could assume the identity of any man he touched.
That's why he'd brushed past Harrison. He'd wanted to assume his identity. Which meant Harrison was probably still in the men's room.
She waited until Grey had left the room, then scrambled out of bed to grab her clothes. The footsteps leading away from the room told her Grey was out of earshot.
"Jack, you awake?"
"Like I have any other choice with all the noise you've been making."
"Get security into the men's right now. Before Harrison gets there."
She heard the snap of fingers, then the scramble of movement in the background as Jack said, "Why?"
She grabbed her dress and pulled it on, then hunted around for her shoes. "Because the man I've been with the last few hours wasn't Harrison, but Grey. I'm betting the real Harrison is still in the restroom."
"I think all that sex has blown your circuits."
She grabbed her shoes, dangling them from her fingers as she made her way towards the door. "You ever heard of face shifters?"
"No."
"They're an extremely rare form of shifter who can assume the shape of anyone they touch."
"So why call them face shifters?"
"Because it's their face and hair that changes the most.
Generally, the body just shifts its mass around a little, but doesn't actually change shape." Which explained the amusement in the fake Harrison's eyes when he'd first stripped. She should have recognized his body—or, at the very least, his penis and balls, because she'd certainly spent enough time licking her way around both.
Still, who'd have expected Grey to be a face shifter? And that he'd usurp Harrison's position in her bed?
Damn it, why do that? Why bother?
"You think he took Harrison's place to check you out?" Jack asked.
She stopped at the door and peered around. Grey was nowhere in sight. "I really don't know what's going on. You checking out that name he gave us?"
"Steepan? Sure am. So far, it's proving to be another dead end frighteningly similar to Grey."
She padded barefoot down the carpeted hall. "Meaning they might just work together?"
"Could be." Jack hesitated. "Security's just contacted us.
Seems you were right. The real Harrison is half undressed, hog-tied and unconscious in one of the stalls."
"Where's Grey then?" She stopped at the top of the stairs, but the right-angle bends prevented her from seeing the entire bar.
"Just did an about face and is heading for the front door."
Meaning he must have seen security going in and guessed his cover might be blown. "You going to arrest him?"
"If we arrest him for mugging Harrison, we may never get to the bottom of this murder case."
So Jack—or at least the department—still thought Grey was the probable killer. "Have you got someone ready to follow him?"
"The eye is in the air as we speak. Come back to the van, Eryn."
She bit her lip, wanting to follow Grey, yet knowing it wasn't her job. And even though her alternate form was made for hunting, she had to have a scent to follow. Grey was nothing more than a tantalizing hint of masculinity—nice, but difficult to follow on a clear night, let alone a rain soaked one.
"Okay," she said. "Be there in five."
She slipped on her shoes and headed down the stairs. Her gaze automatically went to the door, and at that moment, Grey, still wearing Harrison's form, looked over his shoulder.
Even across the distance of the pub, his gaze had the power to rock her. He half raised a hand, as if in good-bye, then seemed to regret the gesture. He cut the movement off abruptly and walked out into the night.
She blew out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, then made her way across the room to collect her coat.
The rain hadn't eased, nor had the wind. Holding the flyaway ends of her coat together, she splashed her way towards the van, cursing and shivering as the fat drops of water slithered past the collar and down her neck.
The van door was flung open as she approached, spilling warm light into the gloom. She stepped into the van and squeezed past Henry's rotund figure, hitting the warm, crowded interior with a sigh of relief.
She shucked off the dripping coat, hanging it on a hook near the door, then squeezed past Bob, Jack's other assistant.
He didn't even look at her, his gaze glued to the bank of com-
screens in front of him, watching the man who walked with a predator's ease.
"What's he doing?" she asked, plunking onto a chair and scooting it towards Jack.
He glanced at her, a sexy smile touching his lips. "He's walking far too well for a man who's just had several hours of amazing sex."
She raised an eyebrow. "If several hours are all it takes to make you legless, you seriously have to get out of this van and start working on your sexual fitness."
"Ain't that a fact." He glanced back at the com-screen.
"He's heading down seventh."
"No detours? No car?"
"Not so far."
She raised her gaze to the image on the screen. "He knows he's being watched."
Jack frowned. "How? We're using a hawk shifter. In this weather, he shouldn't be able to see him, let alone scent him."
"Grey's not that kind a shifter."
"Then how could he know he's being followed?"
"I don't know." She raised a hand, tapping the screen with a finger. "But if he didn't know, why hasn't he changed back to his true form?"
"Maybe he can't. Don't some shifters have time restrictions?"
"Only because the sheer mass of their alternate shapes can overtax their hearts. Elephants, for instance."
Jack raised a silvery eyebrow. "Never seen an elephant shifter."
"They're rare."
"As rare as face shifters?"
"No."
Jack crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair.
"Seems to me a face shifter might be right at home in the CIA or military."
She nodded. "Even as a cop, they'd be useful. Undercover work would certainly be a whole lot safer if you could just disappear into another identity."
His expression became thoughtful. "You know, we hadn't actually thought to check the files of other departments."
"You think he could be a cop?"
Jack shrugged. "You've been with the man, not me. What does your gut instinct tell you about him?"
She hesitated. She'd worked with cops for nearly nine years now, and Grey just didn't fit the profile. Then again, neither did Jack. But look past the twinkle in Jack's eyes, and you saw the calculation, the distance, that came with being a cop for any length of time. Beyond the occasion flare of lust, Grey's eyes very rarely showed anything. And when they did, it was something altogether darker and more dangerous. He was a killer, but was he a killer of innocents? Somehow, she suspected not.
"If I had to take a guess, I'd say he was a trained operative of some kind."
"Which leads us right back to the military or CIA."
"Or FBI. They have several new paranormal units, don't they?"
"Yeah, but even the new Preternatural Units have to announce their presence to local law enforcement."
"What if Grey is here unofficially?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You think he's here to hunt down the killer?"
"Yes."
Jack studied her for a moment. "Then why bed all the victims?"
"How should I know? Maybe he was feeling horny."
Jack snorted. "Somehow, I think you're making excuses for a man you're rather attracted to."
"Could be." She glanced up at the com-screen. Grey had disappeared. "Where'd he go?"
"Not sure." He leaned the chair back, looking past her.
"Bob?"
"Went into the supermarket."
"Is there only one exit?"
"Yep. Though there's an employees exit around the back."
"There any way to keep an eye on that?"