Chapter 21

Sarah POV

“Someone else?” I asked.

“This is a murder?” Agent Travis asked at the same time.

Zane nodded to both of us.

“Could it be someone other than the murderer?” Agent Travis asked. “Perhaps someone else just found the body before us.”

“No,” Zane said. He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply through his nose, then opened them. “The scent is hollow.”

Agent Travis nodded, but Zane could see I was confused.

“It’s an artificial scent,” he explained. “Some wolves can mask their scent with a secondary odor, and while I’m picking up something underneath, something natural, it’s muddled by this other scent.” He sniffed gently at the air. “The hollow scent smells female, which makes me think it might be a man, or perhaps just a double-bluffing woman.”

Agent Travis nodded and turned away to pull out his phone. I knew he was contacting the police because his talk was full of numbered codes. I was more interested in how Zane was looking at the cottage as though his eyes could perceive hidden clues.

“I know only a little about werewolves and scenting,” I said. “I tried to learn all I could about it, but as a human, I’m sure you know, there’s much that’s not to be shared with me. I have Chloe scheduled for a round of lessons with Luna Amilie for her ninth birthday, and—”

I cut myself off. “Oh, I suppose I should cancel that.”

Zane shook his head. “No, that’s wonderful. Luna Amilie’s reputation is outstanding. Perhaps Grace could join her?”

Then he looked confused.

“Yes?” I asked. “What is it?”

He grimaced slightly, making it clear he knew he was about to be insensitive. “I’m just wondering how you could afford her, considering.”

“Considering her reputation and the accompanying fee?” I asked with a light laugh. He had every right to ask anything when it came to his daughter. “I was able to get a consult with her through the orphanage. I think they felt bad about Chloe’s treatment by the other children there.”

I paused, remembering. “She was so very nice, and she said Chloe impressed her.”

“But?” he asked. “There’s obviously something else.”

I shrugged, a little embarrassed. “She said something about how she was impressed by both of us. I believe she meant by a human choosing to raise an alpha werewolf. In any event, she waived her fee.”

He tilted his head. “You never fail to surprise me, Sarah Astor.”

My embarrassment increased significantly, but that wasn’t why I grew warm as he continued in a low, quiet voice.

“Some humans think scents are the most important way wolves communicate, but while it’s important, scent is just one part of it. We scent each other, of course. I know when a wolf or a human is nervous or frightened or happy or sad by their scent, but I’m also looking at their expression, their body language. I’m listening to the tone of their voice, noting their eye contact, just as a human man would do.

“Then there are the more ineffable elements of scent, pheromones, which are perceived not so much as an aroma as a feeling, like goosebumps or a chill down the spine for fear or a quickening of the heart for attraction.” He smiled. “You understand?”

I nodded.

“There are scents that mark us as pack, as family, as mates. Alphas are better at detecting these than betas, betas better than gammas. I know the scent of every wolf in my pack, as well as the scents of many of the humans who live here with us.”

“It’s part of your responsibility?” I asked, making sure my voice was quiet and steady.

He smiled again and nodded. Then something hard came into his eyes. “The kind of trickery I’m sensing here reminds me of Scott, but I think I would know his scent regardless of whether he tried to hide it.”

“Why would Scott be interested in Marshal Kim?” I asked.

“I have no idea,” he said grimly. “But if it caused the rest of his family or the pack problems, he would do it.”

I nodded, thinking I had nothing to offer. The charming man I had met had no relation to this sinister figure Zane was describing, though of course, he would know better than I.

Zane looked at me knowingly. Distantly, I heard sirens. “You thought he was nice,” he said drily.

I shrugged helplessly.

Zane nodded. “He wears his disguises well.”

“I will be wary,” I promised.

Two squad cars cut their sirens when they pulled into the lane leading up to the cottage, then slowly dove up to where Agent Travis was standing. Four police left the cars and joined him in a quick conference, then they all headed back toward me and Zane in their dark blue uniforms.

“Sir, I’m Sergeant Horrace,” a beta said, then gave the names of the other officers, which I confess I instantly forgot. It was hard to tell man from woman in all that shiny regalia. I wondered if some of the spit-and-polish I was seeing weren’t for Zane’s benefit. “I understand you’re detecting a hollow scent?”

“Yes, Sergeant,” Zane said, then explained what he had told me, minus the tone in his voice that had made me a little weak in the knees. I really needed to stop zoning in on him so deeply.

Another vehicle approached, which turned out to be the crime scene van. A pair of betas emerged wearing plain clothes, but soon they had donned white bodysuits including hoods they pulled over their heads and hair. Agent Travis fetched one for himself from the van, then handed another to Zane.

“One for Ms. Astor as well,” Zane told one of the CSI betas. The woman handed one over without expression, and soon I was my own little snowman like the others.

Inside the cottage, which looked cozy and charming except for the dead man on the floor and the blood splatter, I made myself small and watched.

“Careful,” Zane told one of the CSI agents, pointing to the floor. “I see an imprint in the carpet there. Definitely from a dress shoe.”

Marshal Kim was wearing slippers, I noticed.

The agent nodded and set down a little yellow piece of plastic just like they did on TV. I was surprised the show had been so accurate. The other CSI agent was taking photos of everything, and Agent Travis was looking over everything and everyone.

“There’s something wrong with that drawer,” Zane said, pointing to an antique roll-top desk with what looked like a hundred little drawers in it.

The same CSI agent went to the drawer in question, which now I saw wasn’t quite flush with the slot. She tugged it open, waiting for her partner to take photos of it, then drew out a long envelope. After a moment, she poured out the contents on the coffee table, and I couldn’t help gasping.

There were perhaps twenty photographs, all of Chloe, some with me in the frame as well.

“Looks like Marshal Kim was keeping tabs on you,” Agent Travis said to me, then looked to Zane. “If he didn’t take your daughter, he certainly knew who did.”

“And they didn’t want him telling me,” Zane said grimly, looking over at the body now covered with a white sheet.

I looked back at the desk. Nothing else, not a thing, was out of place. “He had these out,” I said, though I hadn’t been intending to speak. “He didn’t get the drawer back right. He might have been in a hurry.”

I looked at Zane. “Whoever killed him wanted to see Chloe.” I pointed to a photo. “That was taken just a week or so ago, and all the photos are from within the last month. He was giving his visitor an update.

Zane smiled at me and again tilted his head. “You never fail to surprise me, Ms. Astor.”

Agent Travis looked at me as well, and I was surprised to see some admiration in his wolf eyes.

“Indeed.”