Page 7

Seth Mays

I’m sorry this is taking so long.

Elliot Crane

Not your fault.

Can I help?

I don’t think so.

At least I still have my phone?

Do I need to go get Humbolt?

No.

Not yet, anyway.

I’d been in the interview room of the Augusta County Sheriff’s Office for the better part of three-and-a-half hours, and I was hungry, worried, and pissed off. Elliot had walked me over, clearly worried about what I was doing. He tried to talk me out of it.

“I have to talk to them at some point,” I’d pointed out.

“Shouldn’t you wait for them to come to you?” he’d asked me.

“And be mad at me for not coming forward the second I was in Augusta County?” I shook my head.

“No. I think it’s probably better if I go to them to ask what happened and offer my cooperation.

” I’ve been lucky to mostly work with good cops, people like Hart and Maza and Maginot and Gale Smith.

Not everybody was a good cop, though, and the more cooperative I was, the more likely things wouldn’t go terribly for me if I got the less-good kind.

Elliot had let out a skeptical grunt. He didn’t have a very good history with police—given that his father had been killed by three men who’d had connections to police work, I couldn’t say that I blamed him.

But he also had me and Hart—who I hope were more positive examples of people who worked in the justice system.

I’d asked him to investigate lunch options for me, hoping that I wouldn’t actually be spending that much time in the Sheriff’s Office.

Clearly, I’d been overly optimistic about how quickly they’d be done with me.

On the positive side, I’d learned several useful things from my three-and-a-half hours.

First, that they were fully aware of both my existence and the fact that I, like Noah, was a wolf shifter. They just hadn’t yet been able to track me down.

Second, drawing from the first point, that they weren’t terribly good at their jobs, given that I wasn’t exactly trying not to be found.

In fact, I’d conveniently come to them , telling my employers—also in the criminal justice system—exactly where I was going and why, so it really shouldn’t have been hard.

And yet, I’d had to walk in their front door. I couldn’t say that I was impressed.

Third, they were visibly annoyed when I provided them with a rock-solid alibi in the form of multiple Shawano County Sheriff’s Department employees, since I’d been at work for the whole possible window of my mother’s death.

Fourth, they clearly thought that a shifter was responsible for killing her.

They hadn’t specifically stated whether or not they thought it was a wolf shifter or if they had specific evidence of shifter involvement, but if they were trying to pin it on Noah, they probably hadn’t considered anything else.

Fifth, there had been blood at the scene that hadn’t belonged to my mother.

They were operating on the assumption that it was my father’s.

I wasn’t sure if they had DNA or even a blood type, but something made them think my father had been injured, perhaps badly enough to make them suspect he was dead.

Sixth, they had absolutely no explanation for why my mother’s body had been left behind, but my father’s had not. Assuming he was the source of the blood and therefore a second victim.

Finally, they really wanted Noah to be their killer.

He’d left fingerprints near the scene, had no alibi, and they, at least, thought there was a motive.

They’d asked me repeatedly what I knew about the phone call from my mother to Noah—nothing—and what I’d known about his visit to her—also nothing.

They also kept referring to Lulu as his girlfriend, which irritated me on Lulu’s behalf and told me that they weren’t trying very hard to actually pay attention to the facts of the case—only their own theories. At least they were talking about Noah using male pronouns.

None of this was making me terribly optimistic about the chances of ever finding out what had actually happened to my parents.

Part of me still didn’t want to care. But, thanks to the letter my mother had left behind, now part of me actually did care, just a little.

Part of me wanted the woman who at least said she loved us—although I suspected she loved the idea of us more than us, given her actions over the first fifteen years of our lives—to have justice for her untimely death.

And part of me just wanted all this to be over with, whether that meant the case going unsolved or not. I just wanted to do what I was legally obligated to do and get myself and Noah—and Elliot and Lulu, of course—the hell out of here.

Right about now, three-and-a-half hours into an interview with no end in sight, that wasn’t looking very likely.

I lay next to Elliot on the bed in our hotel room, watching him read through the photocopy of my mother’s letter, a frown furrowing his brow.

I’d spent just over five hours talking to the Augusta County deputies, my butt hurt, my knee hurt, and my back was attempting to ensure that I would never stand or sit normally again.

Lying down at least made the cramping less bad.

“You know this is fucked up, right?” he asked me, lifting the letter slightly.

“Yeah.” He wasn’t wrong.

“Did you call Val?”

“About this?”

“Yeah, about this,” he retorted. “This is what he does.”

“He’s a fed,” I replied. “This isn’t his jurisdiction.”

“Fuck jurisdiction,” came the immediate response. “He didn’t have jurisdiction in Shawano, either.”

I had to admit that Elliot had a point. “Yeah, but now that he’s federal, I feel like he can’t just do shit like that,” I pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll call him.”

I didn’t bother trying to stop him. It probably wouldn’t have worked, anyway, and I really would have preferred to have Hart working the case instead of the surly Augusta County deputies.

“Hey, Bucky,” came Hart’s familiar voice from the phone. Elliot had put it on speaker. “How’s Mays doing?”

“What would it take to get you out here and on this?” Elliot asked him immediately.

Hart let out a long breath. “Jesus fuck, Elliot. I can’t just take over an investigation without cause, even if I want to.”

I gave Elliot a look that said see, I told you so .

Elliot rolled his eyes at me. “Suspected shifter killing,” he said out loud.

“Is Mays with you?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” I answered.

“Any chance your mom was a shifter?”

“I really don’t think so.”

“What about your dad?”

“We don’t even know if he’s dead,” I pointed out. “They’re acting like he’s dead, but only Momma’s body was found. But as far as I know, my father was human, too.”

“All we have is the one victim, then,” I heard him let out a breath. “And they think a shifter did it?”

“Yeah. They’re holding Noah.” My voice broke a little, and I cleared my throat.

“Any chance Noah actually did it?”

I paused for just a second. “No.”

“Right,” Hart replied, and I knew he’d heard the pause. “Hypothetically speaking, if he had , why would he have?”

“Because their parents are fucking abusive religious assholes,” Elliot interrupted.

“Mays?”

I sighed. “He’s not wrong,” I confirmed.

“Fucking ducky,” came Hart’s response to that. “Could he have done it, physically?”

“Probably.”

“Timing?”

“Probably.”

“But you don’t think he did?”

“No. Not unless…”

“Unless?”

“He felt like he or someone he cared about was in danger. Like, immediate danger.” I cleared my throat again.

“But Momma was pretty small, so I can’t see him feeling physically threatened by her.

” Even if he had been to the house, although I didn’t say that last part out loud.

I probably should have, and I knew I should have, but loyalty to my twin had to come before my loyalty to Hart.

“Noah’s not big, either,” Hart pointed out, unaware of my inner turmoil.

“But he’s a shifter. Unless she had a gun, he wouldn’t have felt even a little threatened by her.”

“Did she have one?” he asked.

“Not that I know of,” I replied. “Nobody in our house had one when we were growing up.”

“You seen the scene yet?”

“No.” Emotion clipped the word.

“Have they cleared it?”

“No idea,” I told him honestly. “I’ll find out.” I sent Humbolt a text—he’d told me I could text him—asking if he knew if I was allowed on the property. I didn’t actually want to go back, but… I did feel bad about the goats and chickens.

Hart sighed. “Look, here’s the deal. If your mom had been a shifter, then it would fall into federal jurisdiction in the state of Virginia. But barring that, I’m gonna need something more than just I know the victim’s kids to get involved.”

I nodded, even though only Elliot could see me. “I figured,” I replied for Hart’s benefit.

Elliot frowned. “So what would make it fall into federal jurisdiction?” he wanted to know.

“Conspiracy, hate-crime, treason, abduction across state lines?—”

“Nothing yet,” I interrupted. “I know what it takes to turn a case federal in this state, remember?”

Elliot grunted, clearly not liking my answer. Hart said nothing, maybe hearing the frustration in my voice.

“I just want Noah out and to be able to go home,” I said, struggling to keep my emotions under control. “I don’t care if it’s federal or not.”

“How long until they have to release or charge him?” Hart asked, his voice, despite the straightforward question, uncharacteristically gentle.

I turned my head to look at the clock. “Nineteen hours,” I answered.

Elliot was out getting take-out Thai food when Lulu called.

“Seth, ohmygod, they’re charging him.”

“What?! On what grounds?!” My heart immediately started pounding,

“Sh-shifter saliva and shifter blood,” Lulu half-gasped out. “Found at the scene.”

“Is either of it Noah’s?”

“I d-don’t know!”

“Where are you, Lulu?”

A thick sniffle. “Hotel in Charlottesville.”

I wondered why not Staunton, since Charlottesville was about forty-five minutes away from where Noah was being held. So I asked them.