Hadley hadn’t said their movie night wasn’t a date, and she hadn’t set Ford straight about them being two for two after he taught her to pick locks.
Ford laughed, delighted, and Midas literally saw red, had to glance away until the glow faded.
“There’s a trail out back.” Ford jerked his chin toward Midas. “Ask him to play bloodhound. God knows you’re not shy when it comes to asking me.”
Hadley turned hazel eyes on him, the dare in them clear. “Well?”
Midas glowered at Ford. “Thanks for throwing me under the bus.”
“Hey, she’s the one driving.” He pointed at her. “You got a problem, take it up with her.”
“Beep, beep.” She mimed honking the horn. “Get on board or get left behind, Goldilocks.”
Thanks to the freshness of the warg’s scent, Midas didn’t have to lower himself to sniffing couch cushions to get a lock on their suspect. Walking past both of them into the backyard, he identified the well-worn path leading into Perkerson Park.
“He went this way.” Midas crouched where the scent would be closer. “Often.”
Hadley was a warm presence at his back. “Did he take it tonight?”
“No.” He shook his head. “The scent in the front yard is stronger than this.”
Her gaze swept the bare dirt and crushed grass. “Is it the same?”
“Warg,” he answered. “Not what I noticed on the first or third scenes.”
“Ford?” She gave him room to join them. “You’ve been on all the scenes. Can you link what you smelled there to here?”
Casting her a flat stare, he squatted farther down the path.
Midas rose to his full height when Hadley remained by his side, and they waited together.
Sixteen
The soul-deep tether binding me to Ambrose tautened as he stretched its farthest limits, and he yanked me a step forward before I dug in my heels. The scent of magic had him salivating, far more power than a warg possessed naturally, but I had to play this the right way or risk exposing us both.
As nice as it had been to expand my social circle beyond Bishop and the POA, I was ready to get back to working solo. Had Ford and Midas not been here, I could have ordered Ambrose to search the premises without first using the cover of breaking down the door to muffle my voice. I could have eliminated the house without stepping foot inside and found the trail then followed it instead of ignoring the hard tug in my chest where the hungry bastard twisted and clawed to go after his prey.
Only the knowledge the killer wasn’t in our immediate vicinity kept me from saying to hell with it, outing myself, and going hunting alone.
“The scent is richer here, different.” Ford rubbed a hand over his nose. “I’ll try again farther down.”
“Different is good.” I shifted on my feet, restless. “Different puts us one step closer to nailing him.”
Midas, hair gilded under a motion light, turned to me. “You trust gwyllgi noses that much?”
They might not be as accurate as Ambrose when tracking magic, but they picked up scent trails just fine. “Don’t you?”
Frustration clear in his voice, Ford yelled, “I need a second opinion here.”
“That’s my cue.” Midas strode off, leaving me behind to observe.
Bishop called a few seconds later, and I answered, knowing he expected an update.
“Well?” He slurped. Loudly. “Did you find him?”
“The jury is still out,” I admitted. “A warg lives here.” I repeated to him what I had reminded Midas. “Bonnie used a charm to alter her scent. He might be doing the same.”
A niggling doubt surfaced, but I couldn’t put my finger on what about that bothered me.
“Jury?” He slurped a second time to make sure I got the mental picture of him drinking blood hot from the microwave. “What jury?”
“Midas and Ford. They’re sniffing around to see if the scents match up.”
Spluttering commenced and then coughing and then wheezing. “You’ve got Midas Kinase playing bloodhound for you?”
The bloodhound comparison was either used so often because it was accurate, or because it was an insult. I really ought to ask before I went there again. I was also starting to assume Midas was a far more common name than I realized since everyone identified him as Midas Kinase. “Yes?”
“Midas goes out of his way to avoid women with the exception of the classes he teaches. The work he does at shelters is timed like clockwork. I’m not saying his desire to help isn’t genuine. You only have to see him in action to know it is, but he’s like a kid choking down a pill he doesn’t want to take but knows is good for him.” He kept clearing his throat but recovered his composure. “What have you done to him?”
“Nothing.” Delighting in tormenting Bishop, I couldn’t resist adding, “Yet.”
Midas snapped his head up and fastened his impossibly blue eyes on me.
I wished then I was like Ambrose, that I could swirl away into nothingness.
“So,” I said, turning my back until I got my heart to slow its pounding, “we’re checking out a trail leading into the park. I’ll give you an update when I have one.”
“Stick to yanking Ford’s tail,” Bishop advised, as if he could see the trouble I had gotten into thanks to my big mouth. “He’s less likely to bite you for it.”
“Har har.”
“I got sidetracked by the deluge of surveillance footage, but I see the block is off the cleaners’ database. I’ll start digging around on your warg kid and get that background info on Jessica to you ASAP.”
I ended the call and pocketed the phone to give me a few extra seconds before turning.
A refusal to show weakness was the only reason I didn’t scream or jump back when I found Midas standing inches away from me.
“You need to see this.” He waved me on. “We found another cache.”
Already dreading what he had to show me, I made myself follow, and then I breathed out, “Animals.”
A few cats, a dog, a possum, and small furry bodies that might have once been squirrels decomposed in a hole worn smooth around the edges. He’d had the presence of mind to dig under a bush to conceal them, but he hadn’t bothered to cover them with dirt, and other animals had been feasting, as evidenced by the various pawprints from the local wildlife.
“Why switch from animals to people?” That was a big leap. Huge. “These appear to be older kills, but they’re smaller. Decomposition would be faster. What do you think?”
“I agree.” Midas stepped up beside me. “These predate the bodies from the park. The ground kept them cooler, and the bush kept them out of direct sunlight, slowing down the process.”
“Practice or simple hunger?”
“Hunger,” Midas decided. “Animals store food this way. It’s natural.”
I didn’t say a word, but I felt my face rearranging its expression.
“Natural for us,” he clarified. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen in gwyllgi whose beasts are ascendant.”
“He left his cache of victims in water.” I recalled the bizarre factoid about raccoons washing their food that had popped into my head when I first saw them. “Statement or preservative?”