Page 102 of Claws & Cover Ups
“Okay.”
“Nick, just— He wouldn’t leave like this. Can you keep me updated?” Naive guy. But then again, I was just like him thirty minutes ago. And he’s not working with much information here.
“Sure,” I assure him and disconnect the call. I finally have the identity of my arch nemesis, and one way or the other, I’m capturing him.
I run down the stairs to my car in my sweats and break all the speed limits on the way to Elliot’s. It’s honestly a surprise I’m not pulled over. But I’m several steps behind, and the only way to catch up now is to hit the accelerator.
I park outside his house and notice his car is still in the driveway. Of course, he wouldn’t flee in a car registered under his own name. If that was his real identity to begin with. He could have rented a car or just taken a cab to the airport since no one was really following him, at least not the human law enforcement.
I get out of my car, my senses heightened to the maximum capacity in my human form. We learn to tone them down as kids, or life would become extremely annoying. Right now, I’d hear if someone so much as sneezed two blocks away.
A mixture of extremely offensive scents hit me all at once. It’s too much. An assault. By Elliot?
No.No no no no. This smell is familiar.
I dial the code Sam texted me right after we got off the call. I push the door open, ignoring the smell choking me, my eyes tearing. I know what I’ll find inside before I even step through the door. The hair on the back of my neck prickles.
Chaos. Pure chaos. Every surface covered with shattered glass, pieces of clothes, junk that Elliot wouldn’t let into his house, even at gunpoint. Eerie calm lingers in the air, but my senses are under attack, fighting for survival.
I lost.
The killer got him first.
I stand there looking at the couch where we had countless dinners, now torn into smithereens. The television I forcedhim to watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine on is now smashed. The kitchen where I cooked for him, where he baked like a professional baker for all of two weeks before refusing ever to do it again, is now covered in broken dishes and scattered food.
There’s a chair in the middle of it all. Set apart from the chaos, as if someone didn’t want any distractions near it.
It’s empty now. But I know from the last two crime scenes, it won’t be for long. The killer already made space to present Elliot’s bruised body to the world.
My claws rip free at the image. My wolf is ready to murder anyone who’d look at Elliot wrong.
No.No.
Hecan’thave him. Elliot is mine.Mine.
That gets me into action. Every victim was missing for a few days before they were killed. I have time.Fuck, I hope I have time.
I rush out of the house to the driveway. I need to think. My eyes are still itching, tears streaming down my face. But I’ll survive. I need to make sure Elliot does too. He has a lot to answer for.
I pace around the driveway. We haven’t been able to find anything in the case. No suspects. No clues. Maybe I need to look closer. And maybe I need help.
I pull out my phone and call the only person I can think of. Matt picks up at the first ring. “Dude, you were just here—” he starts.
No time. “I need you,” I say. It comes out shaky.
I hear movement on his side. “What's up, Nick?” He asks. “Are you okay?”
“It's Elliot. Please, can you come to his house? I'll send the location,” I say urgently.
“Do you want me to bring Oliver too?”
“No, please don't,” I say and disconnect the call.
I need to get to work. I pull the mask out of my car and walk back into the house. I put on gloves mechanically, my brain already working the crime scene. I look around, tryingto find something, anything that will change things this time. Maybe the killer slipped.
Matt makes it in twenty minutes, which I spend turning up every surface in the house. If only I’d been better at my job, less distracted, Elliot would be here with me instead of alone and scared with a stranger.
Matt’s eyes widen as he takes in the house. He’s covered his nose, and his eyes are already red. “What the fuck?”
