thought in horror. Oh, God, I have to get him down.
But all the blood... His body was drenched, the fireplace was drenched....
How could anyone lose that much blood and live?
She forced herself forward, staring up at the gruesome sight. And from a closer angle she could see that Branson’s flesh was human; there was no fur. His hands were human; his chest was human. The were visage was false, a furred mask.
And that was when Barrie fled. She ran, holding on to invisibility, and she thought she maintained it but wasn’t sure, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stop and find a mirror to find out. She ran down the stairs, out the door. She ran through the garden. She ran across the street to her car, and only then did she let invisibility slip as she scrambled inside the Peugeot and locked the doors, and sat gasping and shaking and freaked, just trying to catch her breath and her sanity.
Killed. Killed and displayed. Someone is killing the Otherworld people.
She clutched the steering wheel just to have a hold of something real, and a few rational thoughts later she realized that there was a more immediate issue. Branson was a were, and even though weres did not hold their beast form when they died, the killer was obviously pointing to the fact he was a werewolf.
The regular police couldn’t be called.
Mick. I need Mick.
* * *
Barrie waited in her car, shivering but watching the house intently. She’d called...everyone. Brodie, Rhiannon, Sailor and even Declan again. And Mick, who was her first call, and the only one who didn’t pick up. Everyone was angry with her—and too relieved to be too angry.
And they all knew they had work to do.
The true nature of the crime was going to have to be covered up, and a logical explanation—method, motive, means—would have to be presented as the official story of the death. It was a prime example of why it was vital to have Others working at every level of law enforcement and related professions to keep up the wall that separated the Otherworld from the human world. And Brodie was perfectly placed on the Robbery Homicide division to handle a celebrity murder like this.
Barrie had never been at an actual crime scene before, and she was beyond grateful that she had such trustworthy connections to call on with this one. Not just Brodie, but his supervisor, Captain Riley, who was not an Other but an active sympathizer, the son of a Wiccan, and was committed to keeping the silence ab—
There was a sharp rap on the window right next to her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Mick was looking in at her through the glass.
Barrie gasped in relief and scrambled for the door handle. He didn’t say a word, just pulled her out of the car and into his arms.
She leaned against him, her heart pounding not just with the surprise but with a rush of desire. Which she immediately had to force down—everyone she knew was going to be converging on them any second now.
“Thanks for coming,” she said.
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said roughly, and then he was kissing her, and she forgot all about anyone else coming. She only wanted him to keep holding her, to feel the rightness of being against him, feeling the beat of his heart in her own pulse....
He pulled back from her and shook her. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”
When she could focus enough to breathe again, she answered meekly, “I’m sorry. I should have waited. I won’t do it again.” She found herself suddenly shaking all over. “It’s horrible. I never want to see anything like that again, ever.”
He looked down at her with a mixture of anger and relief, and then he shook his head. “Show me.”
She took him through the garden, into the house, up the steep and dark stairs, and then they stood at the entrance of the living room with the ocean beyond and the bloody werewolf hanging on the stone wall.
Mick stared for the longest time in silence. He seemed even more stunned than she had been. “Exactly like the film,” he finally said. “It’s a warning.”
“It worked.” Barrie looked around the blue moonlit room and shivered. “We should get out of here and wait for everyone outside. Brodie’s mad enough at me already.” She winced, remembering his voice on the phone.
“Brodie McKay? The Elven cop?” Mick sounded tense.
“Yes, he’s—well,