“You’ll have more success without a shifter on your investigative team,” Commander Eve says when I petition her for a new partner who’s at least fifty percent less asshole and a hundred percent more shifter. “This is a delicate case, Agent Dawes. Sinclair knows that. But from what he has told me of his history—which is not much, by the way—it is also deeply personal for him. He will come around.” The corner of her mouth curves slightly. “He is, despite all evidence to the contrary, a good man. Plus, he knows better than to cross me.”
I hope she’s right.
As I search for the case notes from New York, a hint of nausea crawls up the back of my throat.
Calm down, Zoe. You haven’t even opened the file yet. Get it together.
But suddenly, I feel trapped. My muscles lock, my breath catches in my chest, and I can’t even blink. Panic takes over, and every cell in my body screams with a pain more intense than anything I’ve ever felt before.
Struggling against my own mind, I fight my way free of the blankets and hit the floor, my fingers digging into the well-worn carpet. The rough sensation helps me focus, and my heart rate slows, my thoughts clear, and I’m left with a hollow ache deep inside my soul that I fear will never fade away.
Ten
Sin
Loup Noir is one of the more reputable shifter hangouts in the city. Catering to a high-end crowd, the bar sells twenty-dollar drinks and appetizers on tiny plates that would barely feed a child, let alone any of the patrons who burn calories at twice a human’s rate.
Steps from the bar, two female panthers, who look entirely human save for their sleek black fur and golden eyes, stop me. “You don’t belong here, demon,” one of them purrs as the other bares her sharp teeth.
I hold up my hands, then slowly reach into my coat pocket. “Bureau business.” They tense until I flip open my badge, then one raises a delicate hand and smoothes down the raised fur on the top of her head.
“Go tell Jinx there’s a Bureau agent here,” she says, and the other panther pads off, a red bodysuit hugging her curves. “I’m Dion. I’d say it was a pleasure, but lying leaves a bad taste in my mouth. What do you want?”
Pulling out my phone, I bring up one of the less jarring photos of the dead shifter. “Know her?”
Dion’s eyes widen, taking on a shimmer, and she lets out a low, mournful yowl largely hidden by the loud dance beat surrounding us. With a nod towards the end of the bar, she turns on her stiletto heel and strides away.
This corner of the club is slightly quieter, and she flashes two fingers to the bartender. He pours her a double shot of vodka, then fixes his perfectly round eyes on me. I can’t tell what he is, but I’d guess some form of lizard. Or perhaps a chameleon. “What’ll it be?”
“Zacapa 23. With only one cube of ice.”
Dion tosses back her drink in a single swallow. The bartender refills her glass before snagging the bottle of rum from a high shelf. “Thirty bucks,” he says, holding out his hand.
A fucking rip-off, even if this is some of the best rum in the world. “Keep the tab open.” Drink in hand, I return my focus to Dion. “Who is she?”
“Jacinda. She was a regular on cats-only nights.” Dion sniffs, a single tear glistening on her lashes. “A wolf accosted her years ago—beat her up after she refused to sleep with him—and she only trusted those of the feline persuasion.”
The last word rumbles deep in her throat, and if I were not on the job, I would give serious thought to pursuing her—at least for the night. Instead, I swirl the rum in the snifter, letting the familiar butterscotch scent center me.
“When did you last see her?”
Dion leans halfway over the bar. “Bastian? When was our last cats-only night? Ten days ago?”
The bartender shakes his head. “Eleven.”
“Anyone who might have seen her after that night? Did she have friends? Family in town?” Downing the rest of the rum, I nod at Bastian for another.
“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask Jinx. She’s the owner here, and she knew Jacinda better than I did.” Dion’s voice isn’t as smooth now, and she knocks back the second vodka, then slams the glass down on the bar top. “Jacinda was so sweet. Timid. What...what happened to her?”
“The Bureau is still investigating. Where do I find Jinx? She and I need to have a talk.”
Jinx is a tall, willowy redhead wearing a black chainmail dress that dips low between her breasts before falling all the way to the floor. She rounds her desk in the club’s back office and offers me her hand. “You are Sinclair?” she asks, her amber eyes trained on me.
“Agent Sin.”
Her grip is strong, and as she leans closer, she sniffs once. “Incubus? And...something else. These walls are warded, Agent Sin. Glamour is not possible inside this room, so I suggest you do not try.”
“My talents are for personal use only. If I relied on them to do my job, I would be a piss-poor investigator.” I bristle at the suggestion I would influence a potential witness, but I suppose it is not an unreasonable assumption. “You knew a tiger shifter named Jacinda?”
Jinx’s eyes darken, and she presses her red lips together for a moment before she takes a seat and motions for me to do the same. “You said ’knew.’ Jacinda’s dead?”
“Her body was found this morning at Fort Baker park. One of your floor managers, Dion, said Jacinda was here eleven days ago. I need to know if you saw her after that night.”
“I didn’t. I had a family emergency and left the Feline Fest a little after nine. Jacinda was sitting at the bar with Dion. I called her this past weekend but she didn’t answer, and I left her a message. I worried, but she traveled often for work. Pharmaceutical sales. I assumed…” Jinx shakes her head. “I should have checked on her. What happened?”
“I cannot share details of an ongoing investigation. Do you have her address? Phone number? Names of her other friends?”
“Y-yes. I can give you all of her contact information.” Jinx scribbles on a Post-it note, then grabs a second one and adds her own phone number. “Call me any time, Agent Sin. Jacinda and I weren’t terribly close. She only moved to San Francisco a few months ago. But she was a kind and sweet soul, and I wanted to get to know her better.”
“I will.” Rising, I tuck the papers into my pocket. A vague sense of guilt over questioning Jinx and Dion without my partner lingers in my gut, but I lack the patience to explain the nuances of the shifter world to her tonight. I can sense the grief flowing from the jaguar still sitting at her desk, and before I slip through the door, I add, “I will find her killer and they will pay.”
With no word from Gabriel, the prospect of going back to my penthouse apartment leaves me unsettled, so I take a seat at the bar and order another drink. Three hours later, midnight approaches, and sobriety is a distant, fuzzy memory.
Other than the bartender, not a single shifter has spoken to me, but that affords me the opportunity to observe. The wolves and hyenas do not mix with the cats, but the bears and dragons don’t care. They’ll dance, flirt, and make out with anyone.