Page 112 of The Blood we Crave

Witty, cat-shaped eyes look up at me, unfamiliar and overconfident.

“Spatial awareness. Could use some work, yeah?”

I carelessly sweep my gaze across this unwelcome newcomer: Canadian, female, and staring up at me as if I’m a fly caught in their unsuspecting web.

“I could recommend the same for you, with obvious manners,” I say coolly.

“You’re absolutely right. I apologize.” She grins, full of herself or sheer overconfidence. “Odette Marshall, and this is my partner, Gerrick Knight. We’re from a special task force in Virginia and were called in to consult on the recent murders.” She extends her hand for me to shake it. “Didn’t want to forget my manners again.”

I only stare down at it with no intention of returning the gesture. I look over at her male counterpart. Muscles on muscle with veins threatening to explode. High and tight haircut, standing with a cool expression and arms braced behind his back.

“It’s only polite manners to shake someone’s hand when you’re pleased to make their acquaintance,” I hum, shoving my hands into my pocket. “The effort is noted though.”

Odette Marshall, to her credit, continues to smile at me, even as her left eye twitches with annoyance. No one enjoys being undermined, especially when they think they are in charge.

I’m surprised by their presence, more disappointed it had taken them this long to make the trip.

“Do you also plan to withhold evidence and take bribes?” I click my tongue, looking at both of them for the answer. “I wasn’t sure if it was a skill they taught all members of the FBI or just your coworkers.”

There had been global coverage regarding Cain McKay and Finn Breck’s indiscretions while swearing to protect and serve. Unfortunately, none of the information that had been leaked could tie them to the Halo, but it was enough to discredit their images.

As if it matters now—they’re both dead. One is documented, and the other is supposedly still on the run. They’ll never find Cain’s body. I made sure of that after Rook was finished with him.

“Rest assured, Thatcher, we are just two detectives looking for answers with nothing but good intentions,” she mewls. “It is Thatcher, right?”

The confidence she has is because she thinks she’s above me. That she somehow has the upper hand because she’d read my file, asked a few questions, and gathered intel on me. All of us, if I had to suspect.

Except there is no upper hand with me. You are at my side or beneath my shoe.

“Is there something I can do for you, detective? Or are you and your marine just making the rounds?” I ask, bored with this interaction.

If Gerrick is surprised by my assumption of his military service, he doesn’t show it, only continues to watch in silence as his female partner takes the lead.

“Yes, actually, there is.” She folds her hands in front of her. “We wanted to see if you could answer a few questions for us. You’re a local, after all, and from what we have gathered, quite intelligent. You could be a great help in us finding some direction on this case.”

I hold in my scoff. This is the route they want to take with me? Really?

“Detective,” I muse, a smile on my lips, “I’m charmed, but please refrain from trying to stroke my ego. You’re not very good at it. But if you want direction…”

I reach into my pocket, sliding my wallet out and plucking a white card from one slot. I turn it over, offering it to her with two fingers.

“You can type this into your GPS, and it will send you straight to my lawyer. I’m sure he’ll be more than willing to answer any of your questions in regard to me.”

“Oh, come on, you need a chaperone? Not capable of answering without supervision?”

It’s the first words Gerrick has spoken, his voice exactly as I expected. Deep and rough around the edges. I raise my eyebrow at his statement, my grin widening.

“Am I capable of answering your questions? Absolutely.” I hum, nodding my head softly. “Will I? Not likely.”

He grunts, crossing his arms in front of his chest. I avert my eyes back to Odette, still standing smug regardless of my compliance.

“Very interesting, the differences in those two words,” she hums. “We’ll make sure to tell your lawyer hello, and while I’m at it…”

She reaches into her pocket, retrieving a pale card of her own and looking up to meet my gaze. We stand there staring at one another, a sense of knowing passing between the two of us. I know her game, and she’s aware of mine.

Although my semiannual bloodshed is not on her radar, those dead girls with missing limbs are. She wants a killer, a bad guy in custody, and I’m her prime target.

I assume she is going to hand it to me, but she steps to the side, aiming her gaze at the people tucked in the booth behind me. They had silently watched our interaction but are now actively a part of the conversation.

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