ONE OF THE good things about wearing the tight, tiny jammies was that no blood had gotten on them. Edward had had to give up his boxers to go into a baggie for the lab. They had let him put on shorts and a T-shirt since his room wasn't a crime scene. Until the techs were done, my room was off limits. But neither of us had gotten to clean off the blood yet. My jammies were blood free, but the rest of me wasn't. I had blood on my legs from the knees down, and on my arms nearly to the elbow on one side. Forensic techs had taken samples of the blood on little swabs but hadn't let me clean up yet. The blood was drying and had that crinkly feeling to it like it always did, as if I could feel it adhering to my skin. I was never sure if that was a sensory illusion or if I could really feel it drying. Either way, I could feel the blood almost catching on my skin every time I moved just right. I wanted a shower. They had given me a blanket to hold around my shoulders in the chill of the night air, but the cement of the open balcony area was damn cold under bare feet. It was also awkward holding my gun in one hand while trying to hold the blanket in place. Detective Lorenzo had offered to let me put my gun in Edward's room since the crime scene techs weren't in there, but I'd declined. The Harlequin had tried to kidnap me tonight; I wanted a gun.
Detective Lorenzo was taller than me, but only an inch or so taller than Edward, about five-nine. His hair was thick, and though cut short it had waves to it. He'd have had to shave his head to not have waves, so that, though short, his hair would never be neat. His eyes were a dark, even brown, his face open and friendly, and cute in that boy-next-door way. He was probably thirty because of the detective shield, but he didn't look it. There was some bulk under the suit that let me know either he had naturally good shoulders or he hit the gym, or maybe both. He'd been one of the detectives called to the crime scene before everyone was certain it was part of an ongoing federal investigation. Technically the Marshals Service could have kept him out of things, but most of us tried not to alienate the local police if we could help it. The preternatural branch especially ended up being alone a lot in the field. We relied on local police more than most other federal officers, even the rest of the Marshals Service. One of the nicknames among other cops for the preternatural branch was "lone wolf." On the radio they'd say, "We've got a lone wolf on site." I wondered how the nickname worked when there were this many of us. Can you say "lone wolves" and not sound silly?
Marshal Raborn was taller than all of us, and the fact that he carried a few extra pounds gave him some weight to back it up. He seemed to try to fill the room with his physical presence as if he were a much larger man than he was, or maybe his pissy attitude just seemed to take up more space.
"How did you know it was claws that cut Karlton if you didn't see them?"
"Once I felt multiple wounds, I knew it had to be. If he'd used a blade, I'd have seen his arm moving as he drew it out to stab her again. His arm was stationary. He never had the range of movement to use a knife like that. Claws come out like switchblades; just hold them against the skin and they stab."
"Only if they shift form first," Raborn said.
"I told you, the really powerful lycanthropes can shift just their hands, so it's just claws springing out."
"That's not possible. They have to shift into at least wolfman form to have claws."
"I never said it was a werewolf, Raborn."
"Wolfman is what we call all the shapeshifters in half-man form, Anita," Edward said. He was trying to use his Ted voice, but there was too much of the real Edward leaking through, so it came out cold.
"He was covered head to toe," Marshal Tilford said. "He could have been in wolfman form."
I glanced at Tilford. He was about the same height as Edward and Lorenzo; we were having an average height day on the crime scene, at least for the men. Tilford's hair, what little there was of it, was cut very short and close to his head. He was carrying a little more weight around the middle than Raborn, which meant if he didn't hit the gym soon he'd fail his physical retest. The preternatural branch had to test with the HRU, Hostage Rescue Unit, which was the marshals' equivalent of SWAT. But it was a new requirement since an investigation late last year had ended with fault laid on lack of physical fitness on the officer's part as a major contributing factor to his injuries and the deaths of two civilians.
I must have looked at him too long, or maybe my anger at Raborn was still in my eyes, because Tilford said, "Hey, I'm just saying what I saw."
"He was too human-shaped even under the costume. If he'd been in half-man form, there would have been differences in his legs, his arms; the shape isn't perfectly human even covered up like that," I said.
"And how would you know that?" Raborn asked.
I gave him glare for glare. "Experience."
"I'll just bet you have experience with wolfmen." His voice was low and angry, and disdainful.
I don't know what I would have said, but Lorenzo broke in and said, "The news crews are filming us. Maybe stepping inside Marshal Forrester and Tilford's room would be a good idea?" He smiled while he said it, kept his voice mild and placating. He was trying to smooth things down. Good someone was.
"Blake here likes publicity, don't you, Blake?" Raborn asked.
I started to say something, but Edward touched my shoulder. It was enough. I shut up and went into the open door of their room. Everybody else followed. Edward shut the door behind us.
"What changes in his body would have been there if he'd been in wolfman form?" Tilford asked.
"The legs are sort of longer, but crooked, almost like the knee joint is wrong, and the femur and tibia are both longer. The mask wouldn't have fit that flat to his face. There's more muzzle, for lack of a better word."
Tilford nodded, as if he were filing it all away for later use. I hoped he was. We needed more of the marshals to know as much as possible about what we hunted. Lorenzo was actually writing it down in a little notebook.
"You should give a lecture next time we have training. This would be good stuff to know out in the field," Tilford said.
"I'm always happy to share information," I said.
"Well, aren't you just the center of attention anytime a roomful of men shows up," Raborn said.
"Jealous?" I asked.
"Of what, the men?"
"You're jealous of something. If it's not the men, then what the fuck is it?"
"Are you calling me a homosexual?"
Edward touched my shoulder, more firmly this time, and moved me back so he could step between us. He was probably one of the few people in the world that I would have let move me back.
"Let's all calm down." He had found Ted's good-ol'-boy voice again. It was a voice to make you agree to anything, or at least not mind disagreeing.
We were saved by Raborn's radio. He was called to the crime scene to deal with something. The tension in the room dropped by a ton when he left, and it wasn't just me who felt the relief. It showed on Lorenzo and Tilford both.
"What is his problem with you?" Lorenzo asked.
"I have no idea," I said, and finally let myself sit down on the edge of the bed, careful to keep the blanket between me and the sheets.
"It feels like you have history," Tilford said.
"I swear to you that I've never met Raborn."
"Maybe you have a friend in common, or an enemy," Lorenzo said.
That made me look at him. "That's a good idea, Lorenzo; I'll see if I've ever pissed off anyone Raborn's close to."
"Hey, I'm not just another pretty face," he said, and grinned.
It made me smile, too, which I needed. Men often make women smile or laugh when they don't know what else to do. It's not a bad survival skill in a relationship.
There was more talking, but we didn't learn anything new. I persisted with the crime scene techs until I got permission to use Edward and Tilford's shower. Edward lent me a T-shirt and a pair of boxers with a drawstring to put on after I had the blood washed off. Yeah, it would have been more attractive with just the overly long T-shirt on, but I wasn't going for cute, I was going for professional, and it's just hard to be professional without pants on. It would be hours, maybe even morning, before I was allowed into my room to get my own clothes. I wanted my clothes, but honestly, I wanted my weapons more. Edward had offered me my choice of several dangerous things from his arsenal. I took a second gun with extra clips, because he didn't have any extra clips that fit my Browning BDM. He didn't have any holsters that fit me, or fit the waistband of the boxers, so I was left carrying the guns around the room, but I still felt better, if a little like I should be trying to juggle.
We finally got to sleep after the hospital had confirmed that Karlton was going to be okay. Though they'd have to wait on the lycanthropy test to see if she was clean. My room was still off-limits, but I could sleep for a couple of hours while they finished processing everything if I wanted to. I probably wouldn't have, but Edward stepped in and played mother hen.
"I'll need a new room," I said.
"You'll be in our room," he said.
I raised eyebrows at that.
"I can get another room," Tilford said, and fought for blank face.
"No, you as a chaperone is a good idea," Edward said, and again his Ted voice was sliding away.
"So you're just going to sleep together, I mean . . ." Tilford looked embarrassed.
"We're not lovers," I said.
Tilford looked even more uncomfortable. "I didn't say otherwise."
"I know the rumor mill has me screwing most of the men I'm close to, Tilford; it's okay."
"I'm not sure I'm comfortable, or if regulations even allow us to sleep in here with a woman," he said.
"Karlton is lucky to be alive. I'm not risking Anita. She stays with me tonight. If you aren't comfortable with that, then you do need another room," Edward said. He didn't even try to be Ted; it was just Edward stating facts.
"I'll check and see if they'll even let us stay with a woman in the room they're paying for," Tilford said.
"We can pay for our own room," Edward said.
Tilford checked, and sometimes mixed-sex marshals were forced to share a room by finances. Raborn threw a fit and all but accused me of seducing both Tilford and Edward, but he stopped just short of anything I could really bitch about or that would get him into trouble with anyone listening. He was too senior a man on the scene to sweat much.
In the end Tilford opted not to share the room with us, something about his wife not allowing it. By that time I was so tired my eyes burned, and I just didn't give a damn. Edward was supposed to take Tilford's bed, and I was taking his, farther from the door, but the moment the door was locked behind us, he said, "Help me move the bed in front of the window." We put the second mattress and bedspring up against the big and only window.
"It won't keep them out," I said.
"It will slow them down," he said, "and give us time to shoot."
I nodded. "Agreed." I looked at the bare bed frame. "You know this leaves us with one bed."
"It's for a couple of hours." He frowned. "Or are you saying that you'll need to feed the ardeur when you wake up?"
I took the question seriously. "I've gotten better at controlling it. I'll need solid food, protein. Staying fed physically helps control all the other hungers."
"Good," he said, and began to lay his guns on the bedside table.
"How am I ever going to reach a handgun on the floor?" I asked, as I climbed onto the far side of the bed by the wall.
He handed me a P90 carbine, though submachine gun was always what I wanted to say when I saw one. "Try this."
"My MP5 is in the other room," I said as I checked out the feel of the new gun. I'd shot one, in fact this one, but only at the shooting range with Edward. It was a sweet gun, but the MP5 was a nice gun, too. I put the bigger gun on the side of the bed, practiced rolling over, and I could reach it better than the handgun.
Then came that awkward moment when we were actually supposed to get into a twin bed together. I slept with and had sex with a dozen men on a regular basis, but suddenly it was awkward. Edward and I weren't lovers, and never would be. We were friends and damn near family.
I sat up on my side of the bed by the wall. "Am I the only one who feels a little awkward here?"
"Yes," he said, and sat down on his side of the bed. He grinned at me suddenly, that smile that was all that was left of a younger man before his life went hard and cold. "You know, you may be a succubus and a living vampire, but part of you will always be the small-town girl who isn't sure she should be doing all this."
I scowled at him. "Should I be insulted?"
"No, it's part of your charm that no matter how many men you have in your life, you never quite get comfortable with it."
I scowled harder. "Why is it charming?"
He shrugged. "Not sure, but it's very you."
I frowned at him. "And being all mysterious and vague is very you."
The grin faded a little, to almost his normal smile. It was a colder smile.
I had a thought. "What would you have done if I'd said that I'd need to feed the ardeur when I woke up?"
He lay down, spilling the sheet over him. I already had the sheet over me. He turned and looked at me with the lamp still on. "Dealt with it."
"What does that mean?"
"It means we would have dealt with it."
"Edward . . ."
"Let it go, Anita," he said, and then he reached up and turned off the light. And just as he was one of the few people in the world that I would let back me up, he was one of the few that I would let drop this particular topic. He was right; we'd deal with it, the way we dealt with everything else.
I lay on my back in the dark. He was doing the same. "Edward," I asked.
"Hmm," he said.
"Are you a side sleeper, or a back sleeper?"
"Back."
"I'm a side sleeper, so no spooning, I guess."
"What?"
I laughed and turned over on my side. "Good night, Edward."
"Good night, Anita."
We slept.