True Nature (2 page)

I promised to stay in touch but warned her that my progress might be slow. As I led her out the front door, I felt sure we’d talk often.

I was once again unlocking my desk when I heard a noise from the back. When Hunter and I opened up our practice, we purchased this small, older home and had it renovated. What had been three bedrooms off a side hallway were now offices. The noise came from there.

I listened and went down the hall, pausing at the closed door to Hunter’s office. No light showed at the bottom of the door, but again, I heard a light thump.

I drew my gun, then opened the door and flipped on the light. “Don’t move!” I stepped into the room.

My eyes met the emerald eyes of the black panther behind Hunter’s desk. He looked at me with an expression that can only be described as regal disdain.

Oh yeah, there is an aspect of my partnership with Hunter MacRae that’s very interesting and a bit of a secret—he’s a shapeshifter, with the uncanny ability to change into any kind of feline form he wishes. I know you’re chuckling—what’s funnier than a lawyer who can change his form and metabolic make-up at will? Not much.

The black panther was Hunter’s preferred form, and he primarily used it to escape a husband who came home earlier than expected. There’s the element of speed, of course, and the fact that even an angry husband won’t pursue a wild animal if he happened across it in a chase through the backyard. This form served Hunter well.

As I holstered my gun, the air sizzled with electricity and movement, and Hunter became a man— dark-haired, green-eyed and handsome.

When he stood before me in his stunning naked male splendor, I noticed his hands were smeared with blood.

What had he done this time?

“Call the police,” he said. “There’s a body in the woods.”

Chapter 2

A sharp January wind cut through the area behind the office. Hunter thrust his hands in his coat pockets. Thank God he had extra clothes here or he would have been forced to shift back to panther form. Zoe would have to deal with the police on her own. He’d ended up at the office because he’d forgotten to restock the clothes he kept in his trunk. Someday soon, he was going to have to master the magic of keeping his clothes on when he changed.

In the distance, voices called through the woods. It was lit up like midday, with security lights so bright they created a glare. In the darkness at the edge of the woods, beams from flashlights shone through the trees as the police fanned out from the body.

The body. In his head, Hunter pictured the hideous mass of blood and twisted flesh. He had been running toward the office when the smell of fresh blood caught his attention. After years of feline prowling, he had seen his share of dead animals. But never a dead person. Never such a vicious killing.

Zoe had insisted on seeing it herself, of course. She had handled it, although Hunter suspected she’d thrown up when she went back into the office and waited for the police. Hunter was oddly fascinated. There had been a smell near the body. A mark of some sort. It called to his second nature in a way that was new.

Before his mind could stray too far in that direction, he snapped his attention back to his surroundings. He needed to focus. He strode through the yard to where Zoe hovered on the well-lit back porch.

“I hate lying,” Zoe muttered. “I’m not good at it. I think the lead detective suspects something’s off about our story.”

Hunter shrugged. “There are no lies, Zoe. I found a body in the woods.”

“While you were in the form of a panther.”

“That’s not important. We found the body and phoned it in.” Together, they had created a story before the police arrived.

“It sounds simple enough,” Zoe agreed. “So why did the detectives separate us for questioning?”

One detective had talked to Zoe out here while his partner chatted with Hunter in the front yard. Almost two hours had passed since the police arrived.

“It’s standard to split up witnesses,” Hunter began, and then turned as footsteps approached.

Detective Michael Scala, homicide cop for the Wayne Police Department, came up the shallow flight of stairs. He had questioned Zoe earlier.

“You guys doing all right?” the cop asked.

“Oh, heck yes, we love spending Friday nights out in the cold with cops everywhere,” Hunter quipped.

The detective didn’t smile, and Zoe glared at Hunter. He sobered and added, “At least the rain stopped.”

Scala squinted up to the sky. “Snow’s coming, though. Going to make the crime scene hell to finish processing.”

Cheerful guy, Hunter thought.

“Can you tell me again what you were doing in the woods?” Scala asked in an offhand way.

Hunter avoided looking at Zoe. Just like back in seventh grade after being caught smoking behind the dumpster at school, she was probably looking at him like Oh, shit, what do we do now? Good God, even when neither of them had done a thing, Zoe had a guilty look in her big brown eyes. It shouldn’t appear that the two of them were telegraphing signals to each other, so he looked away.

“Miss Buchanan?” the detective asked again.

“It’s Zoe, please,” she reminded him.

Hunter’s attention snapped to Zoe. He recognized the note in her voice. She found this guy attractive. He glanced at the detective. Tall. Dark hair. Appeared to be well built. Hunter supposed this cop was acceptable for Zoe in a strong, silent Clark Kent way. He was sharper than he let on, too. It wasn’t difficult to imagine suspects and witnesses being fooled into thinking he was all good looks. There could be a quick, intelligent trap behind those eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Zoe said, “I’m sorry, Detective—”

“Call me Mike,” the detective said with a smile.

Zoe’s expression was glazed, the same look she’d had when she confessed to cheating on her boyfriend in college. This was ridiculous because the louse had first cheated on her repeatedly. But Zoe was a compulsive confessor. Her need to tell what she’d done was well known. Hunter needed to stop her before the handsome cop got her to say too much.

“It was upsetting,” Hunter cut in. “Finding a body in that kind of condition was pretty upsetting to both of us.”

The detective turned to him again. “Tell me again why you and Mr. Buchanan were out in the woods.”

“We came out of our office and heard a racket in the woods,” Hunter replied. “Dogs were barking up a storm.”

Scala frowned and flipped through the notes on his pad. “No one else in the neighborhood seems to have heard anything.”

“Who else was around?” Hunter asked. This block was all houses converted into small businesses and offices. Most of them are shut up tight by 7:30, which was about when he and Zoe went in the woods, located the body, and called it in.

“A couple of people were working late in the realtor’s office across the street. They didn’t hear any dogs barking,” Scala explained.

Hunter’s shrug was deliberately casual. “We did. Zoe and I thought it was strange.”

Apparently having gathered her wits a bit more, Zoe added, “We went out to investigate. The dogs ran off. Hunter tripped and fell into the…” She swallowed.

“That’s how Mr. MacRae got blood on his hands?”

Hunter nodded. He’d had blood on his paws, and blood remained on his hands even after he shifted to human form. They had needed an explanation for the police.

“Kind of gruesome,” Scala noted.

“Very,” Zoe agreed.

“You run across much like this in your work?”

Zoe flashed a smile. “I spend most of my time following cheating spouses and checking out disability claims for insurance companies. We don’t get many bodies. How about you?”

“Not many like this,” Scala retorted as he flipped his notebook shut. “The coroner’s crew is taking over now.”

“Does that mean we can leave?” Hunter asked.

“Yes. We’ll be finished up in another hour or so,” Scala said. “We’ll be back in the morning at first light.”

“I hope you find something that helps,” Hunter said. “Do you think this was a homeless person who died out there and the animals got at him?”

“We’re not sure what we’ve got yet.”

Hunter nodded. “You have our phone numbers. Let us know if there’s more we can do.”

“Will do.” The detective looked back at Zoe. “I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

Scala walked away, stopping to talk to an officer who was stringing yellow police tape at the edge of the small yard.

Hunter bent and whispered to Zoe, “I think he likes you.”

She punched him in the arm.

“And you like him,” Hunter continued.

“Get in the freaking house.” Zoe opened the door and pushed him inside.

“Sure you don’t want to stay out here and admire the detective?”

“Damn you,” she grumbled.

They went through what had once been a utility room, wiped their feet on a sturdy rug, and hung their coats. Zoe groaned as they moved into the kitchen that was now breakroom. “God, what a mess. Why in the hell were you out in the woods, anyway?”

“We kitties will roam,” he said, deliberately purring.

“One of these days you’re going to get yourself killed running from husbands.”

Hunter’s grin faded. “Somebody did get themselves killed. In a bloody awful way. I had a hard time backing away from it.”

Zoe cringed. Most of the time she was a good sport about his special “abilities.” But she didn’t like being reminded that Hunter’s animal nature meant he loved doing some really nasty things.

A look of horror crossed her face. “It wasn’t somebody’s husband, was it?”

“I haven’t killed any humans. Although I have been tempted to rip out the throats of some of the lowlifes we’ve dealt with in the last three years.”

Zoe moaned. “Please don’t say that, Hunter.”

“What I felt tonight wasn’t pleasant,” Hunter said, his expression still serious. “There was something about finding that body. Something completely new to me.”

Zoe leaned forward to touch his forearm. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, trying to clear the disturbing thoughts. He needed to talk to his grandfather about this. Another shifter might be able to tell him why he had reacted so strangely to the scents and the blood.

“It’s nothing,” he told Zoe. “Let’s chill out. Put it out of our minds.” He held up his hands. “Even though I washed up after the police got here, I still feel gross. I think I’ll grab a quick shower.”

One of the advantages of working in a remodeled house was a full-size bath. But Zoe wasn’t ready to let him off the hook yet. “One day you’re going to end up flayed by a jealous husband or put in a zoo by animal handlers.”

“Probably,” he agreed, turning toward the bath. “Would you mind making some coffee?”

She was still grumbling when he shut the bathroom door. No doubt, she would continue to curse his activities with married women. If they argued long enough, she’d call him an alley cat, and he’d call her a prude. And on and on. They would never agree.

As Hunter ran the shower and stripped, he considered his proclivity for uncommitted relationships. Was it because he was a shifter? His grandparents had been married for a long time, but maybe most supernaturals had problems with commitment. Other creatures existed, but he wasn’t acquainted with any of them.

According to the lore about mythical creatures, the vampire represented the sexual natures and the risk of obsession. Zombies came to be when independence was lost and identity taken. He’d heard that the werewolf was the worst because the monster dwelt within the human and the battle of wills was the fiercest of all.

The shapeshifter was considered milder by nature and could change shapes anytime, while werewolves needed the full moon. Hunter’s flexibility made it easier for him to live on the edge.

So maybe he took too many chances. That was his way.

When Hunter returned to the break room, Zoe was drinking coffee, eating cookies, and leafing through a copy of
Out There
, the tabloid Hunter loved because it was devoted entirely to UFOs, shapeshifters, weres, vampires, skin walkers, demons and other things humans found frightening.

“I thought you hated that rag.” Hunter poured a mug of coffee.

“I do. But I figured I’d better read up on the current perception of the supernatural world since you are in imminent danger of discovery.”

Hunter rolled his eyes and took an appreciative gulp of coffee. Zoe never changed. She always expected him to be outed or eaten or both. She was sure a simple Neighborhood Watch sighting of an “escaped” panther would bring the villagers out with their lanterns and farm implements.

He and Zoe had been best friends since they were thirteen. He had been a skinny, lonely kid, all arms and legs and awkwardness. She had been a tomboy and pretty much an object of scorn to the snotty girls and boys in their private school. But together, they had defeated a band of middle-school bullies. From the beginning, it was like they had an almost mythical bond. Neither of their families provided much affection or closeness, so they had found that with each other. She was still the only person outside his family to know he was a shifter.

People often asked Hunter why he and Zoe weren’t together as a couple. There was one time, years ago, when they had explored being sexual together. The “incident,” as they called it, ended with laughter rather than consummation.

Hunter smiled at the memory.

Zoe slapped the magazine down in irritation. “I’m glad you think all of this is funny. Are you even the least bit worried?”

“What are you doing here on a Friday night? Shouldn’t you be out dancing in some club or trawling for warm bodies?”

“I don’t trawl bars,” Zoe said through gritted teeth. “That’s Darla’s gig, not mine.”

Hunter grinned. He was teasing her, as usual. He knew the most exciting thing Zoe had done on a Friday night of late was go to a book signing at the Doubleday Book Store in New York City. If she wasn’t reading, she was watching movies. “Spending your nights with the DVR is not healthy. How many times have you watched all the seasons of “True Blood?” Real men are a lot warmer in bed than a movie or a book.”

Zoe snorted. “At least I don’t see men whose wives chase me through dark streets.”