Chapter One
Three years later
Boston, Mass.
Detective Gunnar Ericson sat in the passenger seat of his unmarked pool Chevy and checked his watch. “It’s almost midnight, they’d better be paying us overtime for this shit show.”
“You gonna turn into a pumpkin when the clock strikes twelve?” Gunnar’s partner, Detective Maeve O’Riordan, grabbed another donut from the box on the dash and adjusted her position behind the wheel.
“Did you take the last jelly one?” Gunnar prodded the remaining selection.
“Yep. Pregnancy privileges.” Maeve patted her rounded belly. “Gotta take advantage while I can.”
“You’ve been taking advantage since you knew you’d conceived. Does Cash know what a monster he’s created?”
“He went out last night to buy me pickled eggs. At two a.m.”
“True love.”
“Shit. That’s him, isn’t it?” Maeve threw the donut box on the rear seat. “Guy on the left.”
Gunnar stared at the two men exiting the casino he and Maeve had been staking out.
As a lupine, or wolf, he had far superior eyesight to someone without the active gene, especially in low light conditions and at night.
He had a wide field of view, excellent peripheral vision, and could detect the slightest motion.
“Good spot. I’ll go get him. You take the car to the end of the block.
If he runs, he won’t get any further than that. ”
“Deal. No biting.”
“Funny.” Gunnar levered his six-feet-five-inch frame out of the vehicle.
He made it half way across the street before he was spotted and the suspect took off.
Gunnar grinned. “I do love it when they run.” He loped away in pursuit and hadn’t reached anywhere close to his top speed before he caught the guy, bringing him down with a full-length tackle around the knees.
“Guess what, asshole? You’re under arrest.”
Maeve pulled up alongside him and leaned out of the car window. “Can I be of assistance?”
“I’ll let you arrest this idiot, as it’s your last day and all,” Gunnar said as he got to his feet, dragging the perp with him. He cuffed him before shoving him against the car.
“Coolio. I called in a black and white to come pick him up.” Maeve read the guy his rights in a bored tone. “Out of interest, why did ya run? Have you been taking your own meth? You had to know he’d bring you down in seconds. I mean…look at him.”
“Goddam wolves.” The guy spat on the sidewalk.
“Ooh, you want me to add hate speech to your rap sheet?”
“Fuck you, lady.”
“I’ll take that as a yes. My work here is done.” She polished her nails on her sleeve.
They waited until a couple of uniformed cops showed up to take charge of their prisoner then headed for the precinct.
“I am so ready for this shift to be over,” Maeve said, pulling into an empty spot in the parking lot.
“Me too. Boss said he wants to speak to me in the morning, which is never good. Guess I’ll get a new partner for a while.” Gunnar leaned across to give Maeve a hug. “You get off, I’ll finish up the paperwork.”
“And that’s why I love ya. Also, I hid a piece of my goodbye cake in the back of the breakroom fridge for you.”
“Chances of that still being there…”
“It’s in a box marked fecal samples.”
“Your future kid has a genius for a mom.”
“He/she/they sure does.”
Gunnar gave her a final kiss then made his way inside.
At one in the morning, the homicide squad room was quiet.
Two guys on the night shift gave him weary waves then carried on doing whatever it was they were pretending to work on.
Gunnar headed for the breakroom and retrieved his cake, holding his breath to avoid his sensitive nose getting a whiff of out-of-date yogurt and a stale salami sandwich.
He rejected the suspect liquid in the coffeepot for a glass of water then returned to his desk.
He was done with both his cake and his report by one-thirty and was about to leave when one of his colleagues ambled over.
“Hey, Gunnar, I hear they have someone new lined up for you tomorrow.”
“I guess so. Maeve is off to do baby stuff. What did you hear? Tell me I’m not getting someone straight out of the Academy.”
“All I heard was fresh and green. Other than that, the grapevine is silent.”
“That sounds like spinach or maybe broccoli, neither of which I’m fond of. I’ll guess I’ll find out in the morning, which is too close for comfort. These late-night stakeouts are a killer. I need to get home and crash, grab a few hours shuteye at least.”
“Maybe you’ll get a vamp.”
“Not many vamp cops around here. They’re cool anyway.”
“Until they start sucking on your jugular.”
“Cut it out with that bullshit, Evans. Next thing you’ll be trying to convince us all the earth is flat.” Gunnar gave a low warning growl.
Evans backed away. “Yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s late and I’m tired.”
Gunnar gave him a brief nod. “Hope your shift is uneventful.” It was too late to start something with Evans, who had a reputation for being denser than the average cinder block.
Gunnar headed for the parking lot where his Harley was stowed in a narrow space next to a dumpster where there was no chance it would get dinged by some asshole rookie who couldn’t drive.
The pool Chevy was great for stakeouts but Gunnar far preferred his bike.
He zipped up his leather jacket then threw a leg across the saddle.
He got comfortable before firing up the ignition.
The low rumble of the powerful engine always made him smile.
He put his helmet on, because even wolves didn’t win in a fight with the asphalt.
He tucked his long hair into his collar to stop it flying around then headed into the city to home and much needed rest.
* * * *
He was back the next morning after four hours’ sleep, in a mood that could best be described as belligerent.
There wasn’t enough coffee in the world to deal with his sleep deprivation, but he gave it a shot.
A triple shot of espresso in fact. He bought it from the coffee wagon that had a pitch on the other side of the fence from the parking lot.
The guy that ran it, Asa, understood his customer base.
He provided caffeine, sugar, decent burgers and large portion sizes to needy cops at reasonable prices.
He didn’t engage in unnecessary conversation, which suited Gunnar.
He was inhaling his coffee when he walked into the squad room. He didn’t make it to his desk before his captain beckoned him into his glass-walled office, which took up one corner of the floor.
“That was a good collar last night. Nice work.” Captain Jacobson, mid-fifties and bald as a cue ball, sank into his chair.
Gunnar eyed him suspiciously. “The last time you complimented me on an arrest, you’d sent me to a crime scene where the victim was in twelve separate pieces. You ruined my appetite. So spill, what’s going on?”
“You’re being seconded.”
“What the actual fuck? Maeve’s been gone all of five minutes.”
“Keep your hair on and let me finish. My understanding is that you’ll still be working homicide, just with a different, specialist unit that’s going to be attached to us for a while. It’s a trial thing.”
“What specialist unit?”
“Need to know, and apparently I don’t yet. I’ve got an address and you need to get your ass over there by nine. You’ll be briefed when you arrive. Try to act like you were socialized as a kid, okay?”
“This sucks. What about giving me a say?”
“It comes with a special duty allowance. Another two grand a month.”
“Can we stick with the whole how about asking me thing?”
Captain Jacobson glared at him. “You think I had any choice? I don’t know who the fuck picked you, but they did, God help them. Be your usual insubordinate self and they’ll probably kick your butt back over here within the week.”
Gunnar grunted. “Give me the fucking address.”
“Here.” The captain handed him a piece of paper torn out of a notepad. “Memorize it. Shred it.”
Gunnar gave him a final scowl before stomping back to his desk, muttering under his breath.
He was sorely tempted to be late but one look at the mountain of paperwork on his desk changed his mind.
He checked the address, put the piece of paper in the shredder then retraced his steps to the parking lot.
Marlborough Street was in the heart of the upscale Back Bay area and when Gunnar reached the address he found himself outside a well-kept but unremarkable townhouse.
There was nothing outside to indicate that it was anything other than a residential property but as he approached the door, it swung open.
The bespectacled woman standing on the step gave him a condescending look.
“You may put your machine around back. Left, left again. Look for the number on the gate in the alley.” She shut the door in his face.
“Nice to meet you too.” Gunnar took a slow ride around the block to the back yard, wheeled his bike inside then rested it on the kickstand. An older man with short silvering hair stood at the back door to the property.
“Detective Ericson, thank you for being prompt. I’m Warden.”
“Mr. Warden… are you gonna tell me what I’m doing here?” Look at me being polite.
“It’s just Warden, and yes, I am. Please come inside and I can introduce you to your new partner.”
This is some seriously weird shit. Gunnar trailed the man along a thickly carpeted hallway then into an office.
Its furnishings were surprisingly utilitarian considering the plush feel of the property.
Metal filing cabinets ran along one wall and a desk sat in front of the barred window.
In one corner was a low table encircled by three leather chairs.
There were three glasses on the table, along with a bottle of water.
“Take a seat please, Detective. Help yourself to a drink. I’ll be back shortly.”