Butterfly Assassin Page 14

  “Please don’t repeat that to anyone.” Again, Aaron’s voice was no more than a pained whisper.

  “I won’t,” Michael answered, meaning it. It had no relevance to their case; it didn’t need to be added to any report.

  “Thank you.”

  He felt Aaron’s gaze on him again but stared resolutely forward as his heart hammered in his chest. There’d been too much gratitude and sincerity in those two words. Michael didn’t need to see the expression that went with them. He was in enough trouble already. The air in the car seemed to thicken with every second that passed, and the trip to the Clapham Common pack building had never felt so long.

  The rest of the journey passed in silence, which was both a relief and incredibly awkward.

  By the time Michael pulled up in front of Aaron’s building, he was desperate for Aaron to get out of the car.

  It appeared Aaron was of the same opinion because he had the door open as soon as the car rolled to a stop. “Thanks,” he muttered and hurried out. Once on the pavement, he hesitated before ducking back inside the car. “Thanks for driving me home. I really did appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “What happens now?”

  Michael forced a smile he didn’t one hundred per cent feel. “Go home, have a quiet weekend, and we’ll be in touch next week.”

  “Next week?” Aaron fidgeted with the zip on his jacket. “You don’t need to see us over the weekend?”

  “No.” Michael needed some space, not more of Aaron’s company. He didn’t want more opportunities to make an arse of himself or do something stupid. “Unless there’s another murder, we can’t do anything until next Friday.”

  Aaron nodded. “Okay.”

  “But don’t leave the city,” he added as an afterthought. “Either you or Harry.” He should have made that clear much earlier. Jesus. If anything did change, he wanted them easy to contact.

  He probably didn’t need to worry because Aaron was looking at him as though he was crazy. As though the mere suggestion was ludicrous. Gesturing at his building, Aaron replied, “Where would I go? This is my home.”

  “Good.” Michael motioned for Aaron to close the door. “Goodnight, Aaron.”

  “Night. And thanks again for the lift.” Aaron closed the door and headed for the front of his building.

  Habit made Michael wait until Aaron was safely inside before driving off, and he spent the journey home berating himself. Aaron was helping them with their investigations to avoid being arrested. He wasn’t someone Michael could afford to get involved with. Hell, he shouldn’t like him, let alone want to—

  He cut that thought off before it could fully form. So Aaron was hot. There was nothing new about shifters being attractive. A yawn took him by surprise, and he shook himself in an attempt to shake off the lethargy. He was tired, that was all. His mind wasn’t as focused as it should be, and he was letting things affect him that normally wouldn’t.

  He and Frank were off this weekend. Hopefully a few days away from this case would clear his mind. Of everything.

  Of course, he had to get through Friday first, and something told him not everyone in that room had been oblivious to his fascination with Aaron.

  Another yawn, and thankfully Michael saw the familiar sign for his road.

  No point dwelling on any of that shit tonight.

  He’d deal with it tomorrow.

  UNFORTUNATELY, tomorrow came in the form of a text from Frank saying he’d pick him up in half an hour.

  Awesome.

  Frank only ever picked him up when he wanted to talk before they got to the office. He lived closer to work than Michael did, so if they were lift sharing, it made sense for Michael to do the driving. Except when Frank had something on his mind, like now, apparently.

  At least he’d brought coffee.

  Frank handed him the Costa cup as he got in the car. More than likely a pre-emptive peace offering because Frank knew he wouldn’t like what he had to say.

  Michael took it with a “Thanks.”

  He’d barely taken a sip when Frank started.

  “What’s going on with you and Harper?”

  Taking a moment to swallow his coffee, Michael thought how best to phrase his answer. “What do you mean?”

  Frank levelled an unimpressed glare at him. They’d been partners too long for Michael to get away with an answer like that.

  “Sorry.” He took another sip of coffee, the bitter taste waking him up a little more. “And I don’t know. Nothing, I don’t think.” And nothing had happened, really. Overnight, Michael had convinced himself it was all in his mind.

  Frank huffed. “It didn’t look like nothing yesterday. I’m pretty sure you were almost in his lap at one point.”

  Michael opened his mouth to protest but caught the twitch of Frank’s lips as he fought a smile. “Fuck off.” He jabbed a finger in Frank’s direction. “It’s all your fault, anyway. You put the idea in my head in the first place.”

  “Ahh, so there is something there?”

  “That’s not what I said.” Bloody Frank. “Look, I’ll admit that I might find him attractive.”

  Frank snorted.

  “Which, seriously, you did put that fucking thought in my head.”

  “I didn’t tell you to grope him in the conference room.”

  “I didn’t grope him.”

  Frank’s raised eyebrows showed what he thought of that comment.

  “Oh, piss off, I didn’t. But fine, I was closer than I needed to be. At times.”

  “Many, many times.”

  “Whatever.” He glanced out the window and drank more of his coffee. This was Frank, though. If he couldn’t be honest with him, then they were fucked. “Shit, Frank. I like him.” The words were both a relief to get out and acid on his tongue. “I don’t know why he’s different. Why I seem unable not to cross that line, but…” But I’m walking the very edges of it, and part of me wants to jump right over.

  Frank sighed. “Apart from your flirting yesterday, has anything happened?”

  “No.” At least that was easy enough to answer.

  “And do you want it to?” He glanced over at Michael.

  Arse. Why did he have to ask that?

  The temptation to give Frank the answer he wanted was there, but Michael ignored it. They were friends as well as partners, and he refused to do him the disservice of lying. “Yes. And no. Fuck, I don’t know, Frank.” He fiddled with the edges of the coffee cup, flinching when a bit splashed over the rim. “Yes, I want it to, because he’s hot and I like him. But no, because he’s essentially a criminal and also involved in our current case.”

  Frank said nothing for a long few seconds. “Well…” He kept his eyes on the road as he spoke. “We dropped all possible charges when he and Harry agreed to help us. So technically, he’s not a criminal. Not one with a record, anyway.”

  That was true, but… “I still know he broke the law.” And so did the rest of his team. “And what about the case? If he ends up witnessing anything that we need him to testify about, I don’t want to jeopardise that.”

  “You’re definitely considering pursuing something with him?” Frank asked. “And I’m not asking to be a dick, I’m serious. And just to remind you, a shifter will ultimately get tried by the alpha council, and they don’t give a shit about things like that.”

  “I don’t know, I think there might be a good argument to try the case in the human courts, but we’re getting ahead of ourselves. We have to catch them first.”

  “And Harper?”

  Michael let out a long sigh. “I really don’t know. The more I think I shouldn’t, can’t, pursue anything with him, the more appealing the whole idea is.” He cast Frank a wry grin. “You know how that goes.”

  “Yeah.” Frank indicated to turn right as they neared their office building. “But my two pence worth… I strongly suggest you wait until this case is over before doing anything with him.”

  Af
ter what Michael just said too. The bastard. “Thanks, Frank. That helps a lot.”

  Frank grinned at him and pulled into the underground car park. “You’re welcome.”

  NO MORE bodies turned up over the weekend, and Michael managed to spend his two days off doing odd jobs around the house. Ones he’d been putting off for far too long. He also managed to keep thoughts of Aaron to a minimum. It was funny how having to cope with a flooded kitchen floor kept his mind off it.

  By the time Monday morning rolled around, Michael was pretty sure he’d got his little crush under control and could at least get through this case without risk of jeopardising it.

  Frank was already at his desk when Michael arrived and so was most of the team. Stewart came in a few minutes after him, and as he did so, Arlington came out of his office and stood in the doorway. “Now that you’re all here.” He ducked back in and appeared again holding a blue folder. “Alpha Wallace called me first thing this morning.” The whole room sat up straighter. “She’s been contacted by a pack from Nottinghamshire.” He opened the folder and scanned one of the pages inside. “Alpha Yates of the Clumber Park pack. About a missing member of their pack. A Dale Wilson.”

  Oh. Michael’s heart rate ticked up, and he leaned forward a little, eager for more information. “How long has he been missing?”

  Arlington’s smile was grim. “Just over four weeks.”

  Before the first murder. That would be too easy, surely? “Why didn’t they report him missing before now?”

  “You know they don’t like to involve us in their affairs unless they absolutely have to.” He ran a hand through his thinning hair, looking tired. Michael wondered what sort of conversation that had been with Alpha Wallace. “Apparently, Wilson was answering text messages until just over a week ago, but then stopped suddenly. Two members of his pack came to look for him, with the London packs’ permission, but have found nothing so far.”

  “Nice of them to let us know,” Frank grumbled. “It’s not as though we have a shifter running around killing people or anything.”

  “I understand how you feel, Coldwell, but Alpha Wallace assures me she’s only now become aware of this and notified me as soon as she found out.”

  “You believe her?”

  “I have no reason not to. While I might not agree with all of their methods, the alpha council have never lied to us.” He smiled, a little more genuinely this time. “If she’d held onto the information for any reason, I believe she would’ve told me that too.”

  Michael agreed with him. The alpha council had some odd ways of doing things—well, odd to Michael. But he’d never known them to lie.

  “Okay, so what do we know about this Dale Wilson?” Michael eyed the folder in Arlington’s hand, itching to take a look at it.

  “He’s six feet four, white, with short, dark hair and brown eyes.”

  Michael rolled his eyes, “That could be half the shifters in the city. No photo?”

  Arlington shook his head. “Only the one from his ID badge, but it’s due for renewal and isn’t the clearest. I’ve requested a more up-to-date one. Alpha Wallace assures me she’ll have one by tomorrow.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s any chance we can speak to his pack ourselves?”

  “Not at the moment. Alpha Wallace will be here tomorrow. She’s aware of the significance this could have for our case and wants to discuss it in person. For now, she’s our liaison to the Clumber Park pack.”

  “What about Harper and Nash? Do we carry on with our investigation into Daryl White, aka Mr Smith? Or do we wait and see where this new information leads us?” Michael held his breath waiting for the answer, not sure what he was hoping for most.

  Arlington seemed to consider it for a moment, then frowned. “Carry on as you were for the time being. White may or may not be involved, and if this”—he tapped the folder—“turns out to be unrelated, I don’t want to have lost time looking into him.”

  “Yes, sir.” Something akin to relief rushed through Michael, and he realised with a start he was actually looking forward to seeing Aaron fight. He swallowed and pushed that thought to the back of his mind to examine later.

  “In the meantime, I want everyone to be on the lookout for a shifter they don’t recognise. Ask around your contacts in the packs. I know it’s a long shot. The council will likely have done the same, but you never know. You might jog someone’s memory.” He held the file out to Michael.

  “Read it and pass it around. We’ll have a meeting in the conference room tomorrow when the council members arrive. I want everyone up to speed on the missing shifter.”

  A chorus of “Yes, sirs” sounded around the room. Arlington nodded and disappeared back into his office.

  Michael laid the file on his desk and flipped it open with Frank, Stewart, and Bridgford looking over his shoulder. “You know you can have it when I’m done, right?” They all ignored him.

  Christ. There wasn’t much to go on.

  The first page listed his name, age (twenty-six), pack, and pack status. Wilson had just been made a beta. Reading a little further, Michael noted he’d been named beta but hadn’t gone through the ceremony yet, so no extra beta strength. Not that he’d need it to kill a human. And not that Michael was jumping to conclusions.

  A photocopied version of his ID card sat halfway down the page—grainy and a little blurred. He squinted, trying to see if that made a difference, but it didn’t. The guy in the photo looked about eighteen if Michael had to hazard a guess. If he was twenty-six now, his appearance could have changed in all sorts of ways.

  The second page held only slightly more information. Michael presumed this had all come from the alpha council after they’d spoken to Wilson’s pack. According to them, Wilson had come to London to meet up with some friends and go to a concert. From there he was due to go to the south coast for a few days before returning to his pack.

  “Look at this,” Michael said, pointing to the second paragraph. “It states that he met up with his friends and went to the concert, and according to them, he left London the next day.”

  Frank leaned in closer. “The texts he sent his pack suggest he travelled down to Brighton and was enjoying a few days down there. He even extended his stay.”

  “Yeah, but the local alpha down there is adamant Wilson never arrived in their territory.” Michael stared at the file. “Even if Wilson’s not our guy, there’s something very wrong with this picture.”

  Bridgford straightened. “Come on, Arch. It’s too much of a coincidence that we have a shifter serial killer, and now suddenly a missing shifter. They’ve got to be one and the same.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Fuck. He ran a hand through his hair—too long and in need of a cut. How did Dale Wilson, a shifter visiting from Nottinghamshire tie in with Daryl White? It didn’t seem possible that he’d got to know White so well in such a short time that he’d kill for him. But Michael still trusted his gut feeling that White was involved in some way. He just didn’t know how, exactly. “Maybe the council can shed some light on it tomorrow.”

  “Let’s hope so, because this case gets weirder by the day.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Aaron stood in front of the mirror Tuesday morning wondering whether or not to apply make-up. By rights, he should still have a bit of bruising on his face if he was healing at a human rate. Maybe yellowing slightly by now, but there’d still be some evidence of his last fight.

  They’d been summoned to the SCTF offices to meet with the alpha council—just the thought alone made him nervous—and he didn’t know whether to risk that someone connected to Smith would see him or risk some awkward question from the council members. If he went in there with a marked-up face, they were going to want to know what was going on. And then Aaron would have to explain everything. Which he might well have to anyway. He wasn’t sure exactly why they were going. Sam hadn’t said, just that they needed to be at the SCTF offices by eleven thirty that morning. Det
ective Archer, Michael, had said before that the council were giving the SCTF two weeks to sort this out before they offered their help. No way had it been two weeks.

  A knock sounded on Aaron’s bathroom door, and then Harry popped his head around it. “Come on, Aaron, you’re not even dressed yet. We need to be out front in less than twenty minutes. What the fuck are you doing in here?”

  Aaron pointed to his face. “Debating whether to add a bit of bruising or not.”

  “Definitely not. On the slim chance the council don’t know about our visits to illegal boxing matches, we shouldn’t give them any reason to find out. And you walking in there with a face full of bruises will have them asking all sorts of questions.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was thinking.”

  Harry sighed. “I know you’re worried about someone from the fights seeing you all healed, but we’re only going from here to the SCTF place, and we’ll be in Isaac’s big black SUV with its handily tinted windows. No one’s going to see you.”

  He made a very good point. Aaron was probably worrying over nothing. “You’re right.”

  “I know I am.” Harry grinned and reached in to give him a playful shove. “Now hurry up and get ready so we can go. If we’re late getting downstairs, I’m telling Isaac it was your fault.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Welcome.” Harry ducked out of the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

  Aaron stared at his reflection again, the silvery scar above his eyebrow standing out against the rest of his unmarked skin. Shifter healing couldn’t do anything about that. He’d got it well before he was bitten—in the days where he was scrawny and smaller than everyone else. His gaze drifted lower to the tattoo on his chest. Another thing he’d got before taking the bite. Unlike his scar, looking at his tattoo brought back happy memories. It made his heart swell and his chest ache because of the woman who’d encouraged him to get it. Aaron missed his nan fiercely, but she’d always be with him now.