He was several years older than Chelsea, an experienced investigator, and Chelsea had always trusted him in the past. Still handsome, and in good shape if the fit of his jeans and gray dress shirt were any indication. His thick, coarse black hair had a raven’s sheen, and his black eyes were invariably filled with amusement.
At this moment, his gaze was somber, though, frustration gleaming in it as he tossed a copy of the report on Morales’s death toward her.
“What about forensics?” she asked as she picked up the file, leaned against his desk and opened it, a frown creasing her brow.
There was nothing there, just as he’d said.
“Nada.” Leaning back in his chair, hands clasped behind his neck, he shook his head decisively. “The final report isn’t in yet, but my sister’s a tech at the lab. I talked to her earlier.” He shot Chelsea a quick grin, his craggy features filling with amusement. “She says hi, by the way.”
Tara had been a hell-raiser in school.
“Tell her she still has my favorite pair of boots,” she laughed.
Dylan chuckled at the message. “She said you’d remember those boots.” Then he sighed heavily, lowered his arms and shook his head. “I wish I had more.”
“What about your informants, Dylan?” she asked him. “What are they telling you?”
“Informants? In the Cerves cartel?” His eyes widened. “Really, Chelsea?”
She snorted at the false innocence.
“Tell that to someone who doesn’t know how you work,” she suggested knowingly. “Come on, Dylan, I know you have them.”
He grimaced at the statement before glancing to the door. When he turned back to her, speculation lit his gaze.
“From what I understand, hell hath no fury like Samara Cerves since her daughter Louisa’s death. Even my informants were surprised when Morales and his men tried to abduct you. The Blood Queen and her family have been completely focused on finding the girl who snatched her kid from those Coyotes. Samara hasn’t cared about contracts coming in no matter how much money’s attached to them. All she wants is to find that girl and kill as many Council soldiers and Breeds as possible,” he snorted. “She’s racking up numbers there.”
Chelsea stared down at the file, making certain her expression didn’t show a reaction. “She ever find out who rescued the little girl?”
“Whoever that chick was, she’s a fucking ghost,” he stated with a short sniff of laughter. “Crashed the gates and the minute Samara and her men turned their backs, she was gone like the wind. All anyone knows is that the vehicle carried the Breed Underground insignia.” He gave a short little shake of his head and another snort of laughter as he glanced up at her, that laughter gleaming in his eyes. “Has the locals spouting tales about the Unknown again, though. So at least the crazies are being kept busy with something.”
She had to laugh at that. The Unknown weren’t the legends everyone believed they were, but she didn’t care one bit to have them taking the credit for Louisa’s rescue.
They were indeed like ghosts, though. So much a part of the land that they were almost invisible.
“It was a shame about that baby, though,” Dylan sighed, compassion filling his expression. “Whoever the girl is, she deserves a medal, not the fury Samara Cerves is exploding with in her search for her. She’s crazy enough to kill her if she gets her hands on her, though.”
“Why?” Chelsea asked, laying the file on his desk and distracting his attention from her face.
“Because the kid died.” He scratched at his cheek, bemusement flickering over his face. “I guess she’s getting the heat for that, same as the Council Breeds the Blood Queen’s rounding up. Anyway.” He breathed out roughly as he leaned back in his chair again and gave her a heavy look. “I find out anything else, Chelsea, you’ll be the first to know. But that’s all I can give you right now.”
That promise was all she was going to get today, and Chelsea knew it.
“Thanks, Dylan, I appreciate it,” she told him as he rose to his feet.
Lifting her hand in farewell, Chelsea left the office, frustration eating at her as she started down the hall to the bank of elevators.
Someone had to have seen something or someone where Hector Morales was concerned, yet if they had, they weren’t telling the tale.
“Hey, Chelsea, hold up.” A familiar male voice calling out behind her had her stopping and turning quickly.
She smiled at the dark-haired, lanky agent heading up the hall toward her. Cute in a studious kind of way, usually too quiet and rarely in a hurry, Ranger shot her a quick grin.
“Ranger. Are you here to get Cullen’s report?” She smiled at Cullen’s second in command.
He strode toward her, looking comfortable in his relaxed jeans, scuffed boots and nicely pressed white shirt, the sleeves rolled back along his forearms.
“Me?” His brows lifted and despite the teasing tone she could see a glimmer of seriousness in his gaze. “Hell, I was hoping you’d have already taken care of that. I just dropped in to see if Marcy wanted to have dinner this evening.”