"My dear, there's always time if you use your imagination." She patted Kat's arm then hobbled over to the sofa.
Kat picked up the two remaining coffees and followed. "What do you mean by a tight leash?"
"Just that." Gwen eased her feet onto the coffee table and sighed. "Would you mind massaging my feet later? They're aching something fierce."
Kat nodded and placed one coffee cup on the table. The other she held on to as she walked to the door. "We can hardly hog-tie him and keep him captive."
"We won't have to. Trust your grandmother and open the door."
She did. "Welcome, detec — "
The words died, snatched away by the potency of the man approaching. In some ways, he was nothing out of the ordinary — dark hair, nut-brown eyes, a determined chin that desperately needed a razor. He wore a black leather jacket that strained across his shoulders, a white shirt pulled over the top of faded denims and black boots. An everyday man. Except on this man, everyday was not only powerful but sexy as hell.
"Coffee?" She inanely offered him the cup.
One dark eyebrow rose as his gaze rolled languidly down her body. It was a touch that wasn't a touch, and yet one that sent lust winging through every fiber of her being. Though she wore an old T-shirt that exposed far too much of her midriff and loose sweat pants, the intensity of his gaze suggested she might well have been standing there na**d. His desire burned her. Made her tremble. Ache.
"Thank you."
He wrapped a hand around the cup, and his fingers briefly caressed hers. Energy jolted her spine. Knowing werewolves were sexually magnetic during the rising of the full moon and actually coming under the effects of one were two entirely different things. She resisted the urge to mop her brow, and stepped back.
"Come in."
"Thanks."
He moved past, and she caught a whiff of his after-shave. It was an odd mix —
the rich aroma of freshly cut wood combined with the tang of earthy spices.
"Evening, Detective Morgan." Amusement touched her grandmother's voice. "Nice of you to finally drop by and say hello."
"You were expecting me?"
"You seem surprised."
"A little." He folded onto the chair opposite Gwen. "Though Benton told me you were both psychics."
Kat sat crossed-legged on the floor and grabbed her coffee. "But you didn't believe him." It was a statement rather than a question. One that had echoed through their entire lives.
His gaze met hers. There was nothing to see in those rich depths now. No emotion, no heat. What had passed between them at the door had been carefully controlled and thrust away.
"I had no reason to. I still don't."
A werewolf who didn't believe in the supernatural. Interesting. She shared a glance with her grandmother, then said, "So what did you come here for?"
"To satisfy curiosity." He took a sip of his coffee. "Perfect. Thanks."
Kat ducked her head to hide her smile. He might not believe, but he wasn't about to query. Not when he wanted help.
It was Gwen who continued. "Ask your questions, werewolf. It's been a long night, and we both need to rest."
A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Gwen got to her calling him a werewolf. Maybe he thought ignoring the statement was better than confirming what he was.
"You found the body of the second victim — how?"
His tone was deliberate. Controlled. Looking at him you'd never guess his niece was one of the missing kids. Still, you didn't have to be psychic to see where this line of questioning would lead. She glanced at her grandmother. Usually Gwen didn't go too in-depth with details, but she had an odd feeling it would be different with the werewolf.
"Scrying," Gwen answered.