2. Jailhouse Rock
Jailhouse Rock
‘Eve.’ Tim grabs my wrist lightly as he follows me into the elevator before the doors close. There’s no one else going up from the morgue, so we have it to ourselves.
I know Tim received the same flicker as I did, so he should understand my renewed sense of urgency.
He lets go of my wrist as I turn to face him, knowing exactly how full of fury I look.
‘You can’t go storming into HQ with guns blazing. Metaphorically speaking,’ he says reasonably, taking a deep breath, his blue eyes steady on mine. ‘Not dressed like that, anyway.’
I’m not sure whether to roll my eyes at his attempt at humor or laugh because he’s right. I look ridiculous, still in the flexible shield covering my clothing, plus matching gloves and foot coverings.
I quickly peel them off as we head for the car park.
It only takes a few seconds, and then I shove the clear, flexible material into one of the disposal recycle bins provided.
Then I march through the door into the car park, my partner close behind.
He follows me as I find my car not far from the elevator bank.
‘So what’s the plan?’ he asks carefully as I use my micro to unlock it.
‘Have you got your car?’ I ask, trying to control my agitation.
‘I have our car,’ he confirms, referring to our department-issued autocar. I have my private vehicle, having come straight from home on very little sleep.
‘Fuck, I need coffee,’ I huff out a breath, leaning against the door. At least I’d showered and dressed in my version of work clothes before heading to the morgue. A black silk shirt and grey skirt that hits just below my thighs.
‘Then get coffee on your way. I’ll meet you after.’ His way of telling me not to do anything stupid. At least, not without him there to temper me.
‘Who formally charged him?’ I finally ask.
Him. My boyfriend. The Alpha of the most powerful Werewolf Pack in the city.
‘It was the Captain,’ Tim says carefully, eyeing me warily.
Makes sense. Captain Butch Buchanan wouldn’t trust anyone else. I know it’s also out of respect for me. Still, I’m beyond angry, visibly vibrating with it. Tim is probably the only person who can talk me down without a punch to the face right now.
The initial arrest was made by us. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.
And I’ve been through a lot of fucking hard things in my life.
I’ve been deliberately not thinking about it all morning.
Especially the look on Jake’s face as I cuffed him.
I couldn’t let anyone else do it, though.
The only partial print found at the scene was his.
It had come up in the Lyco database by the time we’d finished at the crime scene, and the bots were taking the body to the morgue for Ruby.
As Alpha, he’s registered. Unlike Vamps, most Weres have consented to having their palm and fingerprints on file, in accordance with the World Treaty.
It enables them to travel, among other things.
I’d told Jake not to say anything. That it was a formality. That I would get it sorted out.
‘The Captain wanted you to know that although they’ve charged Jake with murder, the investigation is ongoing. There’s not enough evidence to convict on the print alone,’ Tim explains. He’s clearly trying to keep me calm, because I could figure that out on my own.
I don’t bother to ask why he’s been charged on so little evidence. I already know it’s political. A Werewolf murdering a human is bad for the city and those who run it. Something that’s no longer supposed to happen under the World Treaty.
Ruby will need to find more evidence on the body tying my boyfriend to the brutal murder- or exonerating him. In the meantime, I need to get back to the jail to reassure him.
Tim walks off after agreeing to meet in the squad room later, and I slide behind the wheel of my steel-grey Aston Martin. The leather is cool and molds to my back. I want to sink into it and take a moment to center myself, but my desperation for caffeine is overriding everything else right now.
I refuse to think about who gave me the car, and why after everything that happened I kept it.
Call it vanity. I know I look damn good in it.
Besides, it’s a dream to drive. It’s also one of the few cars that you can drive manually anymore.
That feeling of being in control, as opposed to the complete self-driving autocars, still gives me a rush.
It’s electric, like all cars now, but there’s an added mod that makes the engine roar, just like the old petroleum ones.
There’s something about that sound that just does it for me.
Sending a quick flicker to Ruby, I update her, even though she won’t get it until after she’s finished the autopsy.
Driving myself means pushing notifications to my wrist only, to be read later.
Reading and driving are a recipe for disaster.
Plus, it wouldn’t look good for the head detective of the NY City Paranormal Police Squad to be caught gunning it in her sports car, distracted by flickers or the feeds.
Sometimes it’s freeing not to be bombarded with a constant stream of info.
Much as I want to cut loose, to let off steam, to get coffee immediately, I keep to the speed limit. With the Skyway high above the city, there are not many cars on the streets, and mine is probably the only human-driven.
Quickly accessing my contacts, I order a grande quad shot latte with vanilla so I can have it delivered by a bot to my car on the way past.
Barely slowing down, I flick my wrist at the service bot, transferring crypto in payment.
Some older people insisted on using their country’s currency, which is also linked to their micros, but paper and coins have been illegal for over a century.
And like most people, I don’t trust banks after the collapse of most of them through corruption and mismanagement.
Parking outside One Police Plaza, where my squad is situated, I stalk across the road in my heeled boots to the courthouse and jail.
Although there are still a few smaller police stations throughout the city, the majority are centralized now.
With the speed of travel on the Skyway and hyper-rail, they’ve mostly become obsolete.
Flicking my wrist at the bio-scanner, I lean in close so it can read my retinas.
Then I declare the gun tucked into the back of my skirt, along with the extra clip of silver-tipped wood bullets I always carry with me.
Passing through the body scanner without trouble, I hit the elevator to take me down to the cells.
Although charged with murder, protocol says it will be at least twenty-four hours before Jake is transferred to the prison.
That’s if Tim and I don’t manage to stall it.
I paste on my give me whatever I want smile. It’s a kind of armor for me, and I’m not above using it on whichever officer is stationed down here.
The deputy on duty is young, and he looks nervous as I approach the door leading to the cells and interrogation rooms. Holding out my wrist, my police badge appears as a holo between us.
His eyes go unfocused as he reads my credentials on his contacts.
I’ve had mine on silent since arriving at the morgue at seven am.
I don’t need any call-outs, my news feed, or socials distracting me.
Tim, Ruby, and the Cap are the only people whose flickers override the protocol.
The world can wait a few more hours for my attention.
The officer swallows as he realizes who I am and who I’m here to see. The reinforced steel door swings inward, and I flash him a bright smile as I step through.
‘I’ll bring him into Intero One for you,’ he says. I gave him another thousand-watt smile while ignoring that he’s trying not to stare at my legs.
‘I appreciate that, Officer…,’ His creds came up on my contacts, and I glance at them without interest before turning to walk down the hallway.
Within five minutes, Jake is marched into the room where I’m sitting, hands in front of him encased in silver handcuffs. I almost laugh. Unless they’ve also injected him with silver nitro, he could probably snap those in seconds as easily as the officer’s neck, even in his human form.
Rising to my feet, I flick my hand at Officer Mulvaney in dismissal. Luckily for him, he doesn’t protest the break in protocol. I know I’m being cut a lot of slack, and I’m not about to question it.
Instead, I look over my boyfriend, all stacked six foot four of him.
They let him keep his street clothes on: dark pants and a blue t-shirt, his golden-brown hair no messier than usual, flopping over his forehead in the way that always makes me want to run my hands through it.
But his beautiful hazel eyes are haunted and dull. I doubt he got much sleep.
I understand why the Captain hadn’t let me be the one to question him.
Despite being the arresting detective, and this technically being my case, I hadn’t expected it.
But I also hadn’t expected it to happen so early in the day.
It’s barely nine AM, and I’d assumed we’d have more time to prove him innocent and get him released before formal charges were laid.
Screw protocol. Fuck being professional.
I glance at the holo-cam I know is recording our every move and throw my arms around Jake’s neck, plastering my lips against his.
He growls low in his throat, and I open my mouth so he can sweep his tongue inside.
A whimper of need escapes me as my blood roars through my veins.
It’s not until he tries to bring his hands up that we both realize he’s still cuffed. I give an internal command to my micro, and they unlock, falling to the floor between us. I want to make a joke about keeping them for later, but the words stick in my throat.