Page 16 of Broken Moon

What didIwant?

I had no clue. Things werehappening too fast—and I needed to put some of them on the backburner for awhile. I loaded my kit into the back of my car with my case of belts andholsters, and then I was on my way to pay a visit to Jessie’s ex.

My cell rang not five minuteslater, and Detective Rick Moreno’s name popped up on the dash screen. I sighed.He never called unless he needed me to look at a case in which he believed thesupernatural to be involved. He also worked in homicide, so his call likely meantsomeone had died.

Not many cops—orhumans—believed in the supernatural, but Moreno had seen me at work. Hebelieved. Though we’d had a rocky start, things were now cool between us. Forthe most part. I tapped the button on my steering wheel. “This is Kaitlyn.”

“I’m going to text you anaddress,” he said without preamble. Moreno was always straight to the point. “Ineed you at the scene.”

Great, and me with an impatientalpha and a wife-beating asshole to visit. “When?”

“Now.” He hung up.

I glanced at my phone when hetexted the address, then decided to put off the visit to Jessie’s ex untilafter Moreno and definitely after the alpha. “Call Jared Walker,” I said, andhe surprised me by answering on the first ring.

“I might be a little late,” Itold him. “A detective with the police department called and I need to takecare of that. I’ll be there when I can.”

“Of course,” he said smoothly.“The humans and their troubles must take precedence.” He ended the call withoutanother word.

“Fuck you too, buddy,” Imuttered.

It took me ten minutes toarrive at the address Moreno had given me. I parked along the street, thenopened the center console to pull out my laminated ID badge, though the initialinvestigation was done, and no one remained at the scene except for thedetective.

I dropped the lanyard over myhead and stared up at the old apartment building before crossing the sidewalkand then walking across the small postage stamp yard. Moreno was waiting at theentrance, his hands on his hips, impatience in his dark eyes.

He hadn’t called me untileveryone else had gone, something he tried to do as much as possible to avoidcomplications. He didn’t want people knowing he called in a “medium” or “littlespook” as they mockingly called me when I showed up at a crime scene. Morenoknew I could see things other people couldn’t, but that’s all he knew. He hadno idea I was a wolf. As far as I knew, it wouldn’t have occurred to him thatwe existed.

We rode the creaky elevator insilence, and I leaned against the wall, crossed my arms, and studied him. Hewore a black suit, white shirt, and blue striped tie, his jacket cut with alittle extra fabric around the waist to better accommodate his gun and gear.His badge was clipped to his belt. Rick Moreno was a good-looking man. Sexy ina dangerous and angry but blank and reserved sort of way. He was also married,but I knew little about her other than the fact that her name was Beth.

Despite the neatness of hisattire, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face sported a few new lines. “Youlook like you need a long vacation,” I said.

He swung his dark brown eyes inmy direction. “As do you.”

I laughed. Moreno wasn’t atalker, but that was okay. Neither was I, usually. “What happened?” I asked, mymind back on the crime he’d called me for.

“I’ll show you.”

I sighed. That was all I wasgetting from him.

A few seconds later we got offon the fourth floor, walked down a dimly lit and clean but old and ratherbattered hallway. The place could have used a refresh. He pushed up the yellowbarrier tape and opened the door to apartment 408, then motioned me inside.

Even before I stepped acrossthe threshold, I felt something. A cold chill swept across my body and Itouched my demon blade, quite unintentionally. “Whatever it is,” I murmured,“it’s still here.”

He stiffened. “Tell me what youneed.” He didn’t draw his gun, but his fingers twitched.

“When I know,” I answered.

He followed me in—when he’dfirst began using me as a consultant on these cases, he’d attempted to protectme from whatever might have been inside. He’d insist on going first, his gunout, because one, his instinct was to protect the civilian, and two, he thoughthecouldprotect the civilian.

But when it came tosupernaturals, the detective and his gun didn’t have a chance.Iwas theprotector, and he’d learned that lesson early on.

I slid my demon blade into myhand, and its warmth caressed my palm. Just holding the thing made me feel morepowerful. I walked into the living room and he stood silently beside me, givingme time to do my thing.

I didn’t see the supernaturalresponsible, but I felt his presence. The room was a mess—the recliner was onits side, the glass coffee table was shattered, a plate of someone’s dinnerupended on the thin carpet. Blood was…everywhere. The floors, the walls, eventhe ceiling. A bloody handprint decorated the large window, and there were clumpsof things I didn’t want to look at too hard scattered over the furniture.

The smells were overpowering,especially to my wolf nose. The place smelled of death—guts, blood, and horror.

The apartment had a particularquietness about it, a stifling, thick silence and a heavy darkness relievedonly by the waning light coming through the windows—another sign a supernat hadbeen here. Bulbs had blown, electronics had stopped working, and there was notso much as a refrigerator hum to break up all the quiet.