Page 5 of Her Dragon Outlaw

The concept of shifter DNA in a human is not something that anyone has ever talked about around the office. I kept an ear out for that kind of thing in case the news ever broke, but nope. Nada. Zilch. This is entirely new territory.

I walk back to my desk at the agency as my head buzzes with theories. Since shifters are born, not made, there is no way the vic could have contracted a shifter virus. Unless it is something different—maybe she was bitten and the shifter left DNA like hair or blood in the wound. But that does not explain the fact that it is an injection site, not a bite or a scratch.

I pull up the browser at my desk computer and type in “injection sites local.” After searching fruitlessly for half an hour, all I find is plastic surgeries and rehabs. Unfortunately, there are too many of the former and not enough of the latter in this city. I sigh and kick my chair away from the desk, going for Option B. Marcel is usually working nights, but I saw him on my way in and traipse to the bullpen where he’s tapping away at his Tor browser.

“Put the porn away, Marcel,” I say into his ear. He jumps and laughs.

“Sonova—what’s up, Cody, my dude? That tie is totally kickin’ today.”

I seem to be surrounded on all sides by recent college grads who spend too much time smoking weed and longboarding, but being good at their jobs is what matters to me. I have caught Marcel high once and that was on his day off, so, “whatever, dude,” as he would say.

Son affaire est son affaire.

“I need you to look up injection sites for me.”

“Like places on the body? What kinda freaky shit are you into”

I shake my head. “Locations where people inject other people. Experimental labs, drug dens, that kind of thing.” I have a bad feeling about this whole thing. It is not my usual gig—apparently, it is not anyone’s usual gig in these parts—but I am determined to make the best of it.

At the very least, it is something to sink my teeth into. I cannot deny that this is intriguing and makes the puzzle-solving juices in my brain fizz up.

Marcel taps away on his keyboard, skipping through search results much faster than I can keep up with. I was not around computers for a good chunk of my life before I joined PEACE, and I am still getting used to them.

He pauses on a specific site: its white aesthetic and minimalist design point to high-end cosmetic practice. It looks like any kind of business advertising medical services, but the descriptions of the services are so vague they could be anything.

“Miller labs, huh. Never heard of them.”

“Skin illumination,” I read. “With our patented, home-brand DeoxySure technology, we can make you look and feel 19 years old again.” I get a shiver down my spine but keep reading. “Our patented, home-brand DeoxySure technology gives you the energy you need to live a long and happy life. Try our products with a happiness-or-money-back guarantee. Creepy.”

Marcel clicks on another section of the website. “They’re looking for test subjects.”

“Yep. I’m definitely checking this out.”

“Look at this.” He points to a number at the bottom right of the contact screen: the same number that has been collected at each of the crime scenes.

“Sonova… Thanks, Marcel. Say hi to the boyfriend for me.” I turn to see the boss walk around the corner, and I inform him of the good news. After, I take off from the agency with the lead fresh in my mind. My feet hit the pavement as I round the corner into the parking lot where my car sits.

My teeth ache with that excited feeling of anticipation. Hopped up on adrenaline, I am that much closer to finding a culprit and ending this nasty business. My blood boils with rage at the thought of innocent people wanting to improve their lives cosmetically, as is their right, and ending up at the wrong end of a scalpel. With each minute, another person grows closer to being a victim, and it is up to me to stop them from dying.

5

LORI

Iroll down the window of my car, hoping the fresh air would cool the bile that sits like an acidic ball in the pit of my stomach. After five minutes of deep breathing I realize that I am a lost cause. At least the roads are clear, that's got to be something.

“No reason to be nervous,” I assure myself.

As I get closer to the institute my abdomen clenches and I wonder for the hundredth time just how safe this injection is. I try to cut off the head of the snake with logic. The worst that could happen is maybe an allergic reaction and if that were the case it would have already happened.

Right?

I glance at my arm. The skin is smooth with only a faint redness around a small center point. There’s no swelling, no burning, no itching. So, all in all, I should be happy, or at least content. Not knowing what they are injecting me with is honestly a small price to pay for the quick grand. Right now, money is the last thing I could pass up, especially money that is easy to earn.

Still, I can’t shake this feeling that something is off. That something about that place and those people is just …off. While I’ve never taken part in a research study before, it was odd that they claimed they couldn’t tell me anything.

Letting out a harsh breath I pushed my worries out of my mind and honed in on the money. After today I'd have one less worry, then I could move on to the next. I just had to take one more prick and I'd be on my merry way.

The daylight has softened, the sky turning into a watercolor of pink, yellow and orange. I pull into the public parking lot at Miller, checking myself in the rear view before I step out.

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