Kelley Armstrong - Broken

“Very funny.”

“We’re near Bay and Gerrard if you want to take a cab over.”

“It’s close enough to walk. How did it go with Hull?”

Silence.

“He’s standing right there, isn’t he?” I said. “Did he lead you on a wild goose chase?”

“So it would seem.”

“We’ll be right there.”

I called Rita Acosta, a reporter I’d known at Focus Toronto . She now worked at the Sun, and we still traded the occasional lead. Now, though, I needed to check on Lyle Sanderson, make sure he was really missing.

“Sanderson, you said?” Her fingers clicked away on the keyboard. “Got him. No missing person report yet, but it’s only been a day and if he lives alone, that’s not unusual. A third person missing in the neighborhood would be a helluva story to break. I owe you on this one.”

“No problem. Can you call me back after you check it out? It’s yours to break, but I might see if I can sell it as a tidbit south of the border. Count the trip as a write-off.”

She laughed. “Smart girl. How much longer are you in town for? We should-Oh, hold on, someone’s here.”

She put me on hold. A minute later, she came back on.

“Gotta run,” she said. “Just got a tip. Working girl killed over on Yonge Street.”

“Just now? I heard the sirens.”

“Well, if you’re in the area, hustle your butt on over.” She rattled off an address. “It’s a knifing, and a nasty one. First guy that found her lost his dinner. Sounds good. Could be my ticket to the crime desk.” A pause. “Gawd, that sounded awful, didn’t it? Time for a new job.” A rustle as she grabbed her purse. “Will I see you there?”

Prostitute? Knifed? Mutilated? With Jack the Ripper not in his portal cell where Hull swore he should be?

“I’ll be there.”

A half block from the crime scene, a cab pulled up beside us. Nick got out, then Antonio, while Jeremy paid the driver. Hull was still with them.

“Mr. Hull is concerned,” Antonio said. “If this could be our-” A quick look at the crowded sidewalk. “-notorious friend, he doesn’t feel it would be safe for him to be alone.”

“Tell him to stay clear,” Clay said.

I’d never been at a murder scene. At least, not while it was an active crime scene. I’d always stayed away from crime reporting. I’d have a hard time talking to a victim and just taking the story, without wanting to do something about it. Maybe that’s because I’m a werewolf or maybe it’s just me.

This victim wasn’t talking, but everyone else was. That’s what struck me first-the swell of voices as we turned the corner. So much for respect for the dead.

The body had been found in an alleyway near an intersection popular with urban nightlife-the sort that did a brisk trade without the benefit of a business license. It seemed everyone within blocks had heard about it, and they’d all converged on the site. Police had erected barriers across the sidewalk on either side, but that only forced the crowd onto the road.

We split up to cover as much as we could. Clay and I stood on the edge of the crowd, trying to eavesdrop, hear what they knew.

“Elena?”

A short woman with dark curly hair waved and strode my way. Then she stopped dead and stared in feigned shock at my stomach.

“Holy Christ. Where’d that come from?” She gave me a hug that nearly toppled me over. “Congratulations.” She reached for Clay’s hand. “Rita Acosta, we met a couple of years ago.”

Clay shook her hand and murmured a greeting, which for him was downright friendly.

Rita waved at the crowd. “Not a hope in hell of getting a firsthand look, although, in your condition, you probably shouldn’t.”

At a high-pitched squeal from the alley, Clay turned sharp, eyes narrowing.

“Is that-?” I began.

“Rats,” he said, lip curling.

Rita nodded. “They’ve got animal control in there now, but it’s a real mess. They must have come out the minute they smelled blood. I heard that the first cops on the scene had to beat the suckers off. Apparently, that’s why the rookie puked. They were feeding-”

She stopped, gaze dipping to my stomach. “Sorry. Anyway, point is you can’t get near the crime scene, and you don’t want to. Come over here, and I’ll fill you in. Unless…”

She looked at Clay, as if checking to be sure that murder details would be okay, considering my “condition.”

“It’s fine.” I patted my belly. “All is quiet-it must be nap time.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep my voice down so I don’t give the little guy nightmares.”

THE YOUNG PROSTITUTE HAD BEEN TENTATIVELY IDENTIFIED as “Kara,” last name still unknown. Her throat had been slashed, a deep left to right cut that seemed to have been done from behind, and she’d died quickly, a blessing considering what the killer had done next.

She’d been cut open from sternum to pubis. Rita had heard that several organs had been removed, though that wasn’t confirmed. The coroner was still working on the body, and not about to talk to reporters. What didn’t need to be confirmed were the facial mutilations, which had been seen by witnesses before the police arrived…including a few who had snapped pictures with their cell phones. According to Rita, Kara had sustained multiple deep cuts to her face, splitting her nose and severing part of her right ear.

I tried not to jump to conclusions.

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna read on the front page of the Sun, so don’t you dare scoop me,” Rita said.

I struggled to smile. “Wouldn’t know how.”

Jeremy caught my eye. Rita noticed, and her gaze traveled over him.

“Friend of yours?”

I nodded, but wasn’t about to introduce him to a human acquaintance if I could help it.

She kept looking at Jeremy, sizing him up. “Single?”

I was about to say something noncommittal when Jaime saw Rita looking, and shifted closer to Jeremy, her hand moving up behind him so she seemed to be resting her hand against the small of his back.

“Guess not,” Rita murmured.

Clay made a noise between a snort and a laugh. Rita’s photographer waved to her.

“Gotta run,” she said. “About that other lead, the missing man? I’ll follow up on that, and give you a call.”

When we got within ten feet of Jeremy and Jaime, I said, “Better wait here. They’re arguing about something.”

Jaime’s face was taut, her eyes flashing as she spoke. Jeremy leaned back with his arms crossed.

“Doesn’t seem like much of a fight,” Clay said.

I stared at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “For Jeremy, I guess that’s a fight.”

We tried not to eavesdrop, but that’s tough for werewolves.

“I can sense her,” Jaime was saying. “She hasn’t crossed over-”

“Which doesn’t mean you need to speak to her.”

“Doesn’t it? If I can get a firsthand account-”

“From a victim, firsthand accounts are often unreliable. That’s particularly true with the ghost of someone who’s just been murdered. You’ve told me that yourself. You’ve also told me how difficult it is to contact them, and how traumatic-”

Jaime crossed her arms as Jeremy uncrossed his. “I never said traumatic.”

People moved between us, and Jeremy stepped away to avoid being overheard. A few minutes later, Jaime wheeled on him and strode off. Jeremy hesitated, then walked over to us.

“That’s the problem dealing with nonwerewolves,” I said. “They lack that critical ‘you are Alpha, you are right’ gene.”

“Very inconvenient,” he said wryly.

He turned and watched Jaime pace along the far sidewalk and, for a second, I thought I saw something more than friendly concern flicker behind his eyes.