He could smell her perfume, and he hated to admit he enjoyed it. This is your life. This job.You don’t get to enjoy anything. His job was to figure out what happened and inform his boss.
Ray wasn’t supposed to feel the need to protect her. He wasn’t supposed to feel sorry that she had gotten herself in a sticky situation. He wasn’t supposed to be making her feel better.
He shook his head, reminding himself he needed to focus. He needed to figure everything out so that Augusta could go home and back to her normal life. He wouldn’t have to see her anymore.
His stomach dropped at that idea, and he wondered why.
A sudden, high-pitched noise made Ray freeze. He turned, scanning the area. He frowned, realizing he wasn’t alone anymore as a shadow moved.
Had the killers come back to do something to the crime scene? It would be a little late now since everything had been photographed and tagged. But his mind told him that wasn’t it.
He stared off into the distance squinting to catch who it was. They were coming toward him, toward the crime scene. He couldn’t leave. No, he had to stand his ground. So, Ray waited as the shadow grew closer and closer with each passing second.
Chapter7
Ray
The slow gait should’ve been his first clue.
When the man stepped out of the shadows, Ray couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief wash over him. He stood from the crouch he’d fallen into and dusted his hands over the sides of his thighs.
The tattered rags hanging off of the man, along with his staggered pace and tangled wiry hair on top of his head, clued him in to the fact that he was most likely homeless. Ray studied him from a distance, taking in the way he glanced at the ground, a stick clutched in his hand as he moved.
There was a large garbage bag thrown over his shoulder that clinked each time he took a step.
He must be looking for cans to recycle for a few extra dollars.
Stepping away from the shadows himself, Ray called out to him. “Hey.”
The man lifted his stick in the air, clearly startled, and pointed it in the air threateningly. It almost made Ray laugh. What the hell was a stick going to do against a shifter? Or better yet, a gun?
To humor the man, though, he put his hands up anyway.
“I’m not here to bother you.”
“You a cop?”
Seeing no reason to correct him, Ray said. “Sure. I’m a cop.”
There was a distrust there that Ray could appreciate. He knew that walking these streets at night could always lead to some trouble, even if you stayed out of the back alleyways and kept to the main drag.
Crooks and criminals of all sorts loved to wander around in order to stir up trouble just because they were bored.
“What kinda cop are ya?” the man asked.
Ray shrugged. “One that seeks justice.”
That seemed to perk him up just a bit. “Oh yeah? Well, I got something for ya that ya may wanna know.”
Ray raised a brow and crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh? And what might that be?”
“Hmm … Hard to say.”
The man leaned his stick on the wall next to him so he could readjust the garbage bag over his shoulder. He stuck out his palm, and curled his fingers a few times in Ray’s direction.
Ray glanced down at it, staring at the dirty fingers before digging a hand into his pocket and pulling out the small wad of cash he kept on him. He fingered a few bills and stuffed them into the man’s hand.
“How’s this for jogging your memory just a bit?”