New lead
1427 Words
Desmond Loupé
Cassandra slumped into her chair, tossing her sunglasses onto the desk with a quiet sigh. The lenses landed with a soft clatter, mirroring her mood. Her movements were sluggish, her expression flat, and faint shadows smudged beneath her eyes, betraying the exhaustion she tried to hide. Desmond didn’t need to ask—she hadn’t slept much, if at all. Something was gnawing at her, though he doubted she’d admit what it was. After all, they’d only known each other for a day. Well, she’d only known this version of him for a day.
“Coffee.” It wasn’t a question. He placed a venti salted caramel cold brew with extra foam in front of her. The condensation on the cup glistened under the fluorescent lights, a small reprieve from the otherwise stale, gray precinct atmosphere.
Her head snapped up, green eyes widening with surprise. “How?”
“I pay attention,” he said simply, walking back to his desk across from hers and settling into his chair. The leather creaked faintly under his weight.
She stared at the coffee for a moment, her brows furrowing as though trying to figure out his angle. Tentatively, she picked it up and took a sip. “Thank you.” A small, genuine smile curved her lips.
Desmond’s chest tightened, his heart stuttering at the sight. That smile wasn’t just polite or perfunctory; it was real. He’d made his mate happy, even if it was only over something as small as coffee, and his wolf purred in satisfaction. Oh, how he wanted to scoop her into his arms, bury his face in her hair, and tell her she’d never have to be alone again. But he couldn’t. Not yet. She wasn’t like him. She needed time to know him, to trust him, to see him as more than just the detective sitting across from her.
“Did the coroner call yet?” she asked, her voice breaking through his thoughts as she took another sip of her drink.
The soft groan that escaped her lips at the first taste did something to him. Heat flared in his veins, his jaw clenching as he fought to rein in his wolf and his body’s sudden, visceral response. Damn it. Not now.
“Yes,” he said tightly, shifting under the desk to adjust his jeans, thankful he wasn’t wearing slacks today. He gripped the edge of his desk, trying to steady himself. Think of anything unsexy—dead kittens, taxes, cold showers...
“Detective Loupé?” Her voice was sharper now, cutting through his internal battle. She was watching him, one brow raised in confusion and mild annoyance.
“Sorry,” he muttered, sitting up straighter and clearing his throat. “What did you say?”
“What did she say?” she repeated, her green eyes narrowing slightly as though she were trying to decipher his strange behavior.
He cleared his throat again. “She wants us to come down there.” He stood abruptly, shrugging on his jacket with more force than necessary.
Cassandra didn’t press the matter. She shrugged, grabbed her sunglasses and coffee, and followed him out.
The hallway leading to the parking garage was dimly lit, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. “Do you have family in town?” he asked casually, the question breaking the silence as they reached the car. The scent of concrete and motor oil filled the air.
“Nope.” She popped the “p” with finality as she slid into the passenger seat of the unmarked police car.
“Out of town, then?” he pressed, glancing at her as he started the engine.
“Nope,” she repeated, her tone curt.
He frowned, unsure if she was being evasive or simply wasn’t in the mood to talk. Either way, he decided to let it drop and focused on the road instead. He knew she had grown up in fosters homes, she had told him when she helped him as a wolf, but he thought maybe she had kept in touch with some of the other kids.
“I don’t have any,” she said suddenly, her voice softer now.
He glanced at her, caught off guard. “What?”
“Family,” she clarified, her gaze fixed on the city streets outside the window. “I don’t have any. Grew up in the system, never knew my parents. They could be out there somewhere, but who knows?” She shrugged, her tone flat, as if she were talking about the weather.
“I’m—”
“Don’t,” she cut him off sharply, turning to face him. “I don’t need your pity.”
“I wasn’t—” He sighed, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “I wasn’t pitying you. My parents are dead,” he blurted after a moment of hesitation.
Her head tilted slightly, as though she were trying to gauge his sincerity.
“It was a long time ago,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I was eighteen. Joined the Marines right after.” He shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “I’m not telling you for sympathy or anything. I just… I get it. What it’s like to be alone. And I’d never pity you for that.”
She was quiet for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup. Finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
The tension between them eased slightly. She turned to him with a small smirk. “Do you have any pets?”
The question caught him off guard. He blinked, glancing at her. “Oh… uh, no. Most animals don’t take to me.” He chuckled awkwardly. “Why?”
She shrugged. “Not a big pet person myself. One foster home I stayed at had this German Shepherd, and he hated me. Growled every time I came near, then whimpered and bolted like he’d seen a ghost.”
“That’s… odd,” he said, frowning.
“I was six,” she added, biting her lip as if calculating the timeline. “Never figured out why he reacted like that. Maybe he was abused, but he didn’t act that way with anyone else.”
Desmond’s frown deepened. Animals didn’t usually fear humans without reason, especially not children. There was something about her story that nagged at him.
“Favorite color?” he asked abruptly, steering the conversation to lighter ground.
She smirked. “Red. You? Wait, let me guess...Black?”
“Green.” He grinned. “Also, black’s a shade, not a color.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pedantic much?”
He laughed, the sound deep and warm, and she found herself smiling despite herself. The playful, unguarded version of her he’d glimpsed yesterday was peeking through again, and he couldn’t help but want more of it.
By the time they reached the morgue, the tension had dissipated entirely. The sterile chill hit them as they stepped inside, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the tiled floors.
“Cassie!” A petite woman with a bright pink bob emerged from a side office, grinning widely. Her lab coat hung slightly askew, as though she’d thrown it on in a hurry.
“Toshiko, this is my new partner, Detective Loupé,” Cassandra said, gesturing toward him.
“Nice to meet you,” Desmond said, extending a hand.
“Loupé, huh?” Toshiko said with a playful grin, shaking his hand. “Did you know ‘loup’ means wolf in French?”
“I may have heard that,” Desmond replied smoothly, his lips twitching in amusement.
“I like him,” Toshiko declared, winking at Cassandra.
“Tosh,” Cassandra groaned, dragging a hand down her face. “The autopsy?”
“Right, right.” Toshiko led them into the examination room, her tone growing more serious. She slid out the tray containing Stacy Morton’s body, the faint scent of antiseptic mingling with the sterile air.
Toshiko launched into her findings: bite marks resembling those of a large canine, traces of drugs in Stacy’s system, evidence of recent intimacy, and the most disturbing detail of all—the complete removal of her blood postmortem.
“This wasn’t just a killing,” Toshiko concluded grimly. “It was calculated. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing.”
Cassandra’s green eyes darkened, her jaw tightening. “Do you think they’ve done this before?”
Toshiko shook her head. “Yes, and I think they’re just getting started.”
- Writer
