Last of the Shapeshifters

Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

SASHA

The call came in over the radio, and Sasha kicked her car into gear. Two uniforms had stopped a man who fit the description she had given.

“Don’t scare him,” she said into her radio. “Just tell him to wait for me. I’m only a few minutes away.”

She rounded a corner, saw the same man, big and tall, standing with his hands up, and two uniforms nearby, hands on their holsters.

Fuck, Sasha thought. They didn’t have to act like they were reaching for their guns. She stopped the car, saw the man bend down to look in the window and laugh.

He greeted her as she climbed out of the car, and she did not fail to notice him checking her out. So he was that type of man, arrogant, cocky, and thinks he’s god’s gift to women. No sense of boundaries. In other words, a cocky prick.

But he was a looker. Jenny hadn’t been lying about that. She watched as his strong jaw clenched, and then his lips curled into an amused smile. He was completely at ease, as though being stopped in the street by cops didn’t concern him one bit.

She wondered what trouble he had given the two uniforms, and if she had to guess, a whole lot of attitude.

“Cat got your tongue?” the man asked, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Or do you just like what you see?”

Sasha allowed herself a sarcastic laugh. She looked into his deep-set sea-green eyes, and saw that behind the shine was a shadow of secrets. She was surer than ever that his presence in her town wasn’t a coincidence.

“I can see you’re not lacking for confidence,” she said.

“With good reason,” the man said.

“Put your hands up,” Sasha said, the tone of giving an order coming easily to her.

“Mmm, you going to cuff me?”

Sasha clucked her tongue and shook her head. “You wish, darling.”

The man’s smirk grew even more arrogant. “It’s okay, I’ll settle for a pat down.”

“It’s your lucky day,” Sasha said, her eyes never leaving his. He had put his arms up, and she definitely noticed his muscles straining against his tight t-shirt, but she never let her eyes leave his. “Because you’re going to get one.”

“So you’re going to put your hands on me?” he asked, and his gaze grew somehow more intense.

Sasha didn’t lack much self-awareness. She was aware of a buzz of electricity between them right now. But she also knew this was the type of man who you only looked at, but never, ever touched. He was a tornado, and he’d tear through anybody’s life to get what he wanted.

“Oh, no, not me,” Sasha said, leaning back a little, raising an eyebrow at him. “No, he is.” Sasha nodded his head at one of the uniforms. She laughed when the man’s smirk faded a little.

The uniform patted the man down roughly, but Sasha noticed that the man's eyes never left hers. He was testing her, but what he didn’t know was that she was testing him, too.

She already knew – call it an instinct – that his arrival in town was not a coincidence. That it was linked to the murder of Charlie Kinnear. But she also got the distinct impression that he wasn’t the sort who was a killer. She’d learned to read people well, and reading men in particular was a skill she’d honed. After all, she was the only woman in a testosterone-packed station house. If she couldn’t read a room, she’d have spent her days being toyed with.

If there was one thing she was not about to do, it was let a bunch of men get the better of her. And she wasn’t going to let this man get the better of her, either.

“He’s clean.”

“Thanks, Jack,” she said. “You can wait over there.”

“You sure?”

She bristled for a moment – the uniform should not be questioning her in front of anybody – but the boy was young and she knew that it came from a good place of concern.

“I can handle him,” she reassured.

“I’ll bet you can,” the man said, his voice deep and low as the two uniforms backed off toward their cruisers.

Sasha returned her gaze to the man, and was struck again by the intensity in his eyes, and for a moment her confidence wavered as it was as though he was looking into her soul.

But it was only a moment, and her calm and practiced demeanor returned. “What’s your name?” she asked. She brought herself closer to the man, face to face. She wasn’t about to give him the comfort of personal distance. She intended to crowd him.

He was tall, well past six feet, and it was clear he had a muscular body, not the disproportionate kind of a gym-rat, but something more functional. An athlete perhaps? Rock climber? Something like that. She made a mental note. She had to profile him quickly.

His face was attractive, particularly so. There was no doubt that he would use it to his advantage, to aid his charm. But he was cocky and arrogant, and she wondered briefly if it was just a shield, an act he put on. She sensed a restlessness in him, maybe a disturbed past, and he hid it by trying to get everybody else off-kilter. That’s why he had given the uniforms a hard time. It was to get them in their own feelings, and not analyzing him.

And that’s why he was doing this with her, openly flirting and being inappropriate. He was trying to get her off-balance, trying to use the fact that she was a red-blooded woman against her.

It might work for some, but it wouldn’t on her.

The day was hot, and she smelled his body, faint, lingering beneath the fading cologne or deodorant he had on, dried out by a desert sandiness. It was intimate, but also clued her in on his behaviors. He hadn’t been hiding in an air-conditioned car or café. He’d been out walking on the streets. Most avoided it once the sun started to blaze.

The man, still smiling, his eyes sparkling as though he were enjoying this all, but didn’t reply. Another power play. Another asshole.

“Your name,” Sasha said, her voice stern. She studied his face, saw the sharp angles and the strong jaw, full lips, and high cheekbones.

“Dylan Macready.”

“Where were you this morning, Mr. Macready?”

“What time?”

Sasha shook her head. “You answer my questions, not the other way around.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, or do you expect me to tell you everywhere I was this morning?”

She grinned at him. “Damn right I do.”

Dylan laughed. “Fair enough. Let’s see, at the very beginning of the morning… So that's what, one second past midnight? I was in a car. Then for a moment I was not in the car. Had to take a leak. You know, nature’s call. Then I got back into the car-”

Sasha cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I know you think you’re being cute, but don’t forget, I can make your day real, real unpleasant.”

“Spending time with you would never be unpleasant, Sasha.”

“Oh, you won’t be spending time with me,” she said, stepping forward and bringing herself closer to him still. He leaned in slightly, and it didn’t escape Sasha how close together they were. “You’ll be in the drunk tank.”

“But I’m not drunk.”

“That’s for me to decide,” she said, an edge now in her voice. “So, your morning itinerary, Mr. Macready.”

His smile widened “Well, when you put it that way. Look, I’ll come clean, okay?” he said, and his tongue darted out for a moment to wet his lips. “I’ve been sightseeing.”

Sasha grinned. “Like what you’ve seen so far?”

“Just one thing, actually.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

“You.”

Sasha didn’t let her expression change, but she knew she should have seen that one coming. “How’d you get into town? You drive?”

“Nope. I hitched a ride.”

“Where were you dropped off?”

“By the sign that says ‘Welcome to Salty Springs’. Why do they call it that, anyway?”

“You can read a brochure when we’re done.”

Dylan laughed. “That’s not the first time somebody has told me that today, you know.”

Sasha realized that she wasn’t going to get much more out of him, but she’d gotten enough. New in town, he’d been walking around, surveying, and asking around. So he was looking for something… or someone. Maybe whoever did Charlie Kinnear.

She thought about taking him in, as he did match a description, and she could run him through the process just to screw with him, but she figured that might not be worth it. The description was from a known drunk, and so if this guy retained counsel they’d have a field day with that one. And… she knew it would be best to let the man get on with things for now, and she could keep a close eye on him and see if he would lead her to anything interesting.

“Were you around Lester Street this morning?”

Dylan’s cocky grin returned. “Sorry, I’m new in town and don’t know where that is.” He ran a hand through his tousled jet black hair. “Maybe I’ll pick up a roadmap with that brochure.” He looked her up and down, and Sasha did not miss that his eyes settled on her breasts.

“It was nice to meet you, Dylan.” Sasha said. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

“I look forward to it,” he replied.

“Stick around town for a while, Dylan, see the sights, try the food. There’s a lot to do inside the city limits.”

“If you want to go out to dinner, just say so,” he said. “You can ask me all those questions you want over a glass of wine. Or a pint, if you prefer. I’d love to help you in any way I can.”

“Drop by the station house sometime, then,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. “It’s just a few blocks east of here, you can’t miss it.”

Sasha waved off the two uniforms, climbed back into her car, the cool conditioned air a refreshing respite from the baking heat outside. She watched as Dylan walked off, turning around once to wink and smirk at her.

When he had walked half way up the block, she picked up her radio. “Unit seven?”

The sound of the officer’s voice came through all crackly. “This is seven.”

“Follow him until I say to stop.”

“Yes, detective.”

“Try to keep some distance, okay?”

“Not my first time, Monroe.”

“Thanks.”

She sat in her car, thinking about it for a moment. If Dylan had anything to do with the murder of Charlie Kinnear… she’d nail him to the wall. That much she was certain of.