For Your Paws Only (Supernatural Enforcers Agency #2) (6 page)

“It just seems weird, I mean, Reginald has blankets and even canned food in there – why wouldn’t another homeless person want them? It’s not like Reginald is coming back for them.”

“Something’s scaring them away,” she agreed.

“Do you think you guys can find out what?”

Wayne nodded. “We’ll grab that care worker and see about finding some people who knew Reginald.”

“Good, I guess I’m going to look through the stuff the techs actually did take from this place.” Cutter sifted through the paperwork he had on the case. “I can’t find a report on it.”

Avery snorted. “There isn’t one. Hale didn’t do anything with it.”

His wolf rumbled at the mention the chief crime scene technician. Hale was a crocodile shifter who suffered from a superiority complex – namely that he believed every single person on the planet was beneath him.

“Fucking crocodile,” grumbled Wayne.

Hale wasn’t exactly liked throughout the SEA, but, in particular, he didn’t get along with the gator shifter. It wasn’t a matter of personality; it was a matter of
species
. Wayne had tried to explain it once. Apparently there was this big rivalry between alligators and crocodile shifters. Crocodiles tended to be richer, snootier and had serious chips on their shoulders, and considered gators to be the lesser hicks of the shifter world.

As far as Cutter was concerned, they were all just lizards and almost the same. Although, he didn’t say that out loud, not after the first time when Wayne went berserk. Hale treated Wayne with as much respect as gum he’d stepped in and was having trouble scraping off the bottom of his shoe.

“Why hasn’t Hale done anything with it?”

“Well, when I asked him about it, he told me it was low priority,” said Avery. “He explained that the items weren’t from the actual crime scene and because the murder was of a homeless man, he considered the case to be less important than his other cases.”

His beast growled as he snapped the file shut. “He actually said that?”

“Almost word for word,” confirmed Avery.

“Fucking crocodile,” reiterated Wayne.

Cutter rubbed his head, running his hand over his short, bristly hair. “I’ll go talk to him.”

Avery pouted. “Aww, I’m sorry I’m going to miss it. Usually, when you talk to someone, it ends with punching. After the crap he gave me over the case, I’d have loved to have seen Hale getting punched.”

“Wouldn’t we all,” muttered Wayne.

“I’m not punching anyone.”

The lioness threw back her head and barked with laughter. “Gets funnier every time you say that. C’mon, Leatherhead, let's go.”

Wayne stood up and stretched his lithe form. “Leatherhead?” he inquired in amusement.

Avery gave him a look of mock exasperation. “Apparently you’re not as well versed in eighties cartoons as I am.”

The alligator gave her a cheery, crooked smile. “Nah, growing up, we never had a TV. My momma said it rotted your brain.”

Cutter bit his tongue. He could have argued that fish head stew and all the other putrid sounding dishes he raved over might do that. But, like crocodiles, he’d learned that his momma’s kitchen prowess was a sore subject. Seriously, though, his family seemed to eat all the parts of animals that everyone else threw away.

The lioness looked at Wayne agape. “You poor thing, how on earth did you survive your childhood?”

Wayne put his hand on his heart. “It was rough.”

“Well, let me educate you,” she said, purposefully. “Leatherhead was a mutated alligator in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.”

“Right, didn’t a film come out about them recently?”

Avery grimaced. “The cartoon is better; you should watch it - it’s awesome. And if you like that, you’ll love Thundercats.”

Wayne waved a hand at Cutter as they walked away, trying to hide his smirk as Avery started explaining about Lion-O and Mumm-Ra.

Cutter shook his head. When he first met Avery, he’d thought her to be so prim and proper. She looked like she belonged on a catwalk –
pardon the pun
- instead of hunting down murderers. But, no, he’d soon come to realize that she was a kickboxing, cartoon-loving, sports-addicted tomboy at heart. She was the star pitcher of the office softball team.

He scowled at that thought. It still irked him that he’d been overthrown as captain in a hostile takeover. Alright, so he probably shouldn’t have lost his temper and chased the umpire around the field, but that umpire was completely biased to the other team! At least they still let him play. He needed all the physical release he could get.

Cutter made his way back to his car. He needed to tackle Hale. The fucking crocodile had no right to decide which victims were worthier than others. Yes, he needed to slam his thin, arrogant face into a wall…

No, no violence. He would talk to him like a rational creature, one shifter to another.

His wolf huffed in irritation. The beast wanted nothing more than to pound away the tension permeating his body. He had a year’s worth of sexual frustration built up, and his only outlets were fighting and exercise. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he hadn’t had sex in over a year. He made up for it by exercising more, boxing and taking the office softball matches far more seriously than necessary, but even those things didn’t seem to help much anymore.

The fact that his self-imposed celibacy seemed to have started at about the time a certain hedgehog shifter arrived at the SEA was completely coincidental.
Yep, totally
. The only reason why he hadn’t been with another woman was because he just couldn’t find one that interested him. Yep, that was all there was to it. Nothing else; nothing whatsoever.

Ugh
.

The strains of the Imperial March from Star Wars started echoing out of his back pocket. With a sigh, he grabbed for his phone. He wasn’t much of a sci-fi fan, but Darth Vader’s theme suited the Director.

“Yeah?”

“There’s been a murder,” snapped the Director agitatedly.

Cutter frowned. Usually, Jessie called to let them know this kind of thing. If the Director was calling, it meant it was really bad news.

“What’s wrong?”

“The victim was a former SEA agent. It was your old partner, Clayton Reeves.”

“In Ursa?”

“No, he was here, in Los Lobos.”

“Give me the address,” Cutter growled hoarsely.

The Director rattled off the details, and Cutter hung up as he ran to his car. His wolf howled mournfully. Clayton, a sly eagle shifter, had been his mentor and partner, right up until Clayton retired, and Cutter moved to Los Lobos.

The son of a bitch was a tough old bird and a former army sergeant. Cutter couldn’t imagine anyone being able to get the drop on him.

Fuck, things just kept getting worse and worse.

Chapter Five

Cutter hauled a couple of agents who were chatting and sipping coffee out of his way. They glared at him but were soon cowed by the ferocious snarl he let loose. He could barely control his wolf.

One of the agency’s greatest agents had just been murdered, and they were gossiping about the janitor getting it on with the head of human resources!

He pushed by a crime scene tech and made his way into the crowded motel room. It was a surprise to find that Clayton had been in town, never mind that he was crashing at a fleapit like the Shifty Bear Motel. The place was known for renting rooms by the hour, and for keeping pest control companies in business.

A number of other crime scene techs moved around the room, and a large, blonde, somewhat familiar lion was leaning over Clayton’s body. His wolf whined, and his gut twisted at the sight of his former mentor prostrate on the bed. A look of surprise was etched into his face, and his body was riddled with gunshot holes.

Cutter sniffed, taking in the familiar Old Spice mixed with cigars and bourbon that always adorned the old eagle shifter. But it was mixed with blood and silver. Someone had shot him with silver bullets, making sure he died quickly and painfully. Shifters weren’t quite as un-killable as say Highlander was, but they were allergic to silver, and attacking them with silver weapons was a sure way to stop them from breathing again.

He stilled, and his wolf whimpered as the familiar scent of blueberries and cream invaded his senses.
Oh, no…

Lucie entered the room behind him, followed by the Director.

“You’re here,” remarked the cold snake shifter.

He didn’t even bother with a sarcastic comeback. He was too upset over the death of his friend and too interested in what the hedgehog shifter was doing there to be his usual, snarky self.

His eyes caught Lucie’s, and she threw him a look of sympathy that eased the sharp pain of loss welling within. His beast was caught between wanting her there to ease his suffering and needing her to leave. It was a need based on protectiveness. He didn’t want her there with that dead body; he didn’t want her to be exposed to the evils of the world. He wanted the sweet, little hedgehog untainted and innocent to the vicious acts of others. It was insane to think that he could protect her from all that, but, nevertheless, the desire to do so was there.

He watched Lucie as she walked over to the lion shifter and passed him what looked like a thermometer.

“Here you go, Doctor,” she murmured.

The lion lifted his blonde head and flashed her a quick smile. “Thank you, Lucie.”

A twinge of trepidation blossomed inside him at those three words, and his beast was not a happy little wolf. He didn’t like the way the male lion had said them; he didn’t like the way her name almost came out as a caress on his tongue.
No, he didn’t like that one bit.

“What happened?” he asked the Director, refusing to take his eyes off the lion doctor.

Lucie melted into the background, but Cutter was painfully aware of her presence, and more than ready to step between her and the doctor – should the lion make a move to her. God help him if he tried to shake her hand or something.

“He’s been shot,” said the doctor.

“I can see that!” roared Cutter, barely managing to control his animal.

“Control yourself or step outside,” hissed the Director.

The lion raised an eyebrow at him, completely unfazed by his outburst. “I’d say he died about eight to nine hours ago, so some time between two and three this morning.”

“Housekeeping found him about an hour ago,” said Diaz as he made his way into the room. He nodded at Cutter, who jutted his chin in return. “I just spoke to the maid. I’ve got agents talking to other guests and the night porter, but no one appears to have heard anything out of ordinary. But then, for this place, ordinary is noisy sex and arguing.”

The jaguar eyed the doctor speculatively but didn’t say anything.

“I wouldn’t say gunshots are ordinary,” murmured Lucie as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

Diaz turned to look at her and, surprisingly, softened a little. “No, my guess is a silencer was used. But, so far, no one heard any loud noises coming from this room.”

“What was he doing here?” demanded the Director, roughly.

“I don’t know,” admitted Cutter.

“You mean he wasn’t in contact with you?”

“No, I had no idea he wasn’t in Ursa.” Enjoying a retirement plan that included getting drunk every day, hiring women to entertain him and obsessing over his unsolved cases.

The Director gave Diaz a meaningful glance, and he looked a little uneasy.

His wolf growled. “What?”

“Other than his personal items – clothes and a razor - and a bottle of bourbon, the only thing we found in the room was a note with your home address and phone numbers on,” explained Diaz.

“Maybe he intended to contact Cutter,” suggested Lucie, “but he just… uh…”

Her cheeks flushed, and her voice trailed away under the cool stare of the Director.

Cutter’s jaw ticked. As kind as it was for Lucie to try and stick up for him, he didn’t want her in the firing line. Even if it did give him a warm, enjoyable buzz that he wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

“Maybe he was going to call after he got settled,” Cutter said, calmly.

The Director pursed his lips. “He’s been here almost a week.”

Oh, not good.

“What was he doing here?”

Cutter threw up his hands in exasperation. “I have no idea. I swear I thought he was back in Ursa. I don’t know why he came here.”

“Whatever the reason, Diaz is going to lead the investigation into his death, and I expect your co-operation.”

His wolf snarled. “Usually the alpha team handles the deaths of agents.”

The Director narrowed his eyes. “First of all, he’s a former agent. Second of all, he was your friend, you wouldn’t be objective, and finally, this is my decision. I don’t expect any further argument.”

Cutter’s nostrils flared as he breathed in and out quickly. His wolf wanted to challenge Diaz and prove he was the better male, but he doubted a primal show of force would really sway the Director in this instance. If anything, it would just confirm that he had made the right decision.

Instinctively, he sought out Lucie. He looked into the calming blue of her eyes, and his beast was instantly mollified. Her presence always did that to him. She pacified and soothed his naturally fractious soul. It was why he couldn’t be around her. If he became too calm, too enraptured with her hypnotic presence, he might just end up doing something he couldn’t take back – like bonding her to him.

“Fine,” said Cutter through gritted teeth.

“I expect Diaz will want to interview you later,” the Director looked to the jaguar for confirmation and he nodded. “Good, keep me informed.” He angled his head toward the lion shifter. “Good to meet you, Rick.”

The lion smiled easily. “You too, Gerry.” His eyes flickered over to Lucie, and he winked. She smiled softly in return.

The Director swept out of the room and Cutter snorted.
Gerry, huh?
He didn’t know many underlings who could get away with that. Gunner did it on occasion but only when he was really pissed off. Who did this damn lion think he was swanking in there calling the Director by his first name and eye-fucking Lucie? He could see that the two of them were not going to get on.

Diaz clapped a hand on his shoulder but quickly removed it when Cutter flashed his fangs. “Alright, settle down. Your interview, let’s say three o’clock in my office?”

“Whatever,” he muttered eyeing Clayton’s body unhappily.

“I’d say let’s wait until you’re in a better mood, but we need the case to be solved sometime this decade.”

Diaz chuckled at his own joke but actually paled and quieted when it became clear the motor boat-like rumbling was emanating from Cutter.

He allowed his eyes to sweep over the room one last time before stomping out; the crime scene techs scattered out of his way. He stopped at his car, breathing deeply, trying to clear the scent of his dead mentor out of his nose.

Poor Clayton
. The old bird could be a mean bastard, but he deserved more than this. Cutter should have been a better friend. Neither of them did Christmas or birthday cards, so their only communication boiled down to a couple of near-silent phone calls a year. They weren’t big on talking, and if the mention of feelings had ever entered one of their conversations, Clayton had shot it down right away and called him a pussy.

Yep, Clayton was just like an older version of him, which is why they got on so well. Problems with rage, difficulty in maintaining relationships with women, gruff personality that didn’t play well with others… His heart clenched and his wolf was stonily silent. Is this what the future held for him, too? Murdered in a dingy motel room and discovered by the maid? He doubted Clayton even had any next of kin. He’d fallen out with the few family members he had, and he certainly didn’t have a mate or offspring. Cutter was probably the closest thing he had to family.
God that was depressing
.

He couldn’t believe he was dead. He couldn’t believe he had been in town and hadn’t mentioned it. Cutter had a bad feeling that the reason why he hadn’t, was that Clayton was doing something he shouldn’t have been.
Or something no one else could know about
. It wouldn’t have surprised him. Clayton was a good guy – deep, deep down – but he saw rules more as loose guidelines.

His wolf mewled as tingles went through his body. He felt a soothing presence approach him.

“I’m really sorry about your friend,” murmured Lucie.

She placed a hand on his arm, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the pleasurable sensations shooting through his body.

“Thank you,” he mumbled.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

She removed her hand, and he almost snarled at the loss. His wolf grumbled as the heavenly vibes she elicited disappeared to be replaced by dull emptiness. An inordinate amount of anger swept through him for allowing her to do that to him.
Anger that he unfortunately decided to direct at her.

Cutter turned on her with flashing amber eyes. “What are you doing here?” he barked.

Lucie looked at him with patient, compassionate eyes. “I just drove the doctor here; he’s new in town. He didn't know the way.”

“The doctor? That lion?” he sneered. “The one that wants to fuck you.”

She blanched ever so slightly at the harshness of his tone, but his words didn’t seem to bother her. “I can’t say whether Rick wants that…”

“Rick, is it?” he jeered. “Fucking cat.”

“But, it wouldn’t matter if he did. You know how I feel about you. I don’t want anyone but you.”

The sincerity and love in her beautiful face almost destroyed him. Those were the words he wanted to hear, and he hated himself for it. He hated himself because he’d been telling Lucie to leave him alone for a year, but as soon as he needed some warmth and love he treated her like shit and expected her to declare how she felt.
She did, too
. His wolf howled mournfully. He was furious at himself. Furious that he wasn’t good enough for her and furious that he didn’t treat her the way she deserved.

Rashly, he cupped her cheek and leaned his forehead against hers. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “You don’t deserve… fuck.”

He let go of her and fumbled for the door of his car, ignoring the shock on her face. That was probably the most intimate gesture he had ever made toward her. He got in the car and drove away as fast as he could.

His wolf pawed at him to turn around, to go back to her. It had been a slip of the tongue. He’d said sorry when what he actually meant to say was, I love you.

Cutter shook his head. No, he couldn’t say those words to her. He was just messed up because of Clayton. That was all there was to it. He wasn’t in a position to be her mate and offer her the life she wanted. No matter how much he wanted her to be his, for his own selfish reasons, he wouldn’t tether her to him for the rest of her life.

He was determined to be unselfish about this. No matter how much his wolf railed against him, he still believed that this was for the best.
Yes, definitely
. He was ninety percent sure of it. Well, maybe eighty percent.

For now, he had bigger concerns. Maybe he could figure out just what Clayton was up to that ended with his murder. Yes, that should take his mind off the curvy, little hedgehog. At least for a few days.

*

Cutter stared at the screen of his computer. He was trying to read a report from the Hale, the chief crime scene tech, but he couldn’t focus on the words. Something about finding a toothpick that had trace DNA on it.

After leaving Clayton’s crime scene, he dropped in on Hale and harangued him over not processing all the evidence he collected for the hedgehog’s murder. Hale tried to argue, in his usual obnoxious way, but Cutter’s fury knew no bounds, and before long he had the crocodile shifter completely browbeaten and prepared to do whatever he was told.